(The Clock, Hampton Court)
And so I decided to end my journey where it began 10 months earlier, in country’s capital: London. Beth and Ellen waited with me at Diss station where I would catch the train to London Liverpool street. It’s funny how we had so much time waiting, we were early as usual, but then all of a sudden the train was approaching and it seemed like there was so much I had to say to them. I wanted to give them the biggest hugs I could and tell them how incredibly special they are to me and how I couldn’t imagine my time in England without them. As it was I had enough time to throw my bags up into the carriage before hugging each of them in turn until the doors began shutting tight down all the compartments. It was one of those National Express trains where the window pulls down in order to open and close the door and so, though discouraged, you can stick your head out of the train. As the train slowly moved from the platform I watched the fading figures waving me goodbye before taking a more traditional seat in the carriage. After that, the day was only memorable for the tears that I shed at different locations en route to and in the city of London as well as the longest and most expensive cab ride in recorded history. Unfortunately my hotel was in Bayswater, where I always make a point to stay because I know the area, it’s also located on the other side of London from Liverpool Street Station. By the time I got to my hotel, which was well situated near many known sites to me but was otherwise decidedly dull in the small single room I had reserved. While deciding what to do with the rest of the evening I broke down in wracking sobs (don’t feel pity, it’s only natural and it’s sure as hell better than keeping it all in) and found myself ridiculously close to getting back on a train for Suffolk. Of course I didn’t. I struggled through my bought of loneliness and then got my act together by falling back on what always makes me feel inspired and utterly in awe of the big city: a bought a ticket to the theatre. I lucked out really and snagged one of the last tickets to see Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest at the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park. I grabbed a quick bite at a pub I’d frequented in the past and then headed to the park. The show was brilliant, the actors were unknown to me but still superb and I even had a glass of Pimm’s to lift my spirit.
(The Gardens at Hampton Court)
Friday was the day I had been looking forward to and planned out a week before. I caught a train from Waterloo to Hampton Court just outside of London and the former country palace of Henry VIII and all subsequent monarchs. It’s one of those tourist sites that I had yet to see in all my time spent in London and I thought it high time I checked it out. Still on that list are Windsor Castle, Somerset House Galleries and Madame Tussauds so I’ll have to remedy those losses at some later date. I obviously hadn’t done my research because I was taken aback by the absolute masses of people on the train and I thought, surely, surely, there can’t be this many hardy tourists even if it was the height of the season. So when I disembarked at Hampton Court Station the crowds were justified by signs advertising the annual RHS (Royal Horticulture Society) flower show. Now that may not sound like the height of amusement to my average American reader but I can assure you that gardens, flowers, and horticulture in general is a sort of British phenomenon that cannot be reasonably explained, so you can imagine how throngs of Britons from all necks of the country were descending upon this tiny town outside. The only lucky thing was that it meant not all of these people were going to tour the palace.
(Hampton Court Interior)
Hampton Court is huge. The core of the building was constructed during the reign of Henry VIII in the 16th century and then added onto in the following centuries giving each wing or addition a connection to a certain ruler. Relying on this rather handy set up, the directors of the Royal Historic Palaces decided they could make monarchical tours in the different areas of the palace. I managed to take in about three of these Monarch based tours along with another based on the servants and the spiffy kitchens in which they slaved to entertain the king and his many (I’m taking hundreds if not a thousand plus) guests. I ambled through the gardens but declined tackling the famous hedge maze in the fear that I would get lost in its depth while a myriad of small children wound through it easily.
I caught the train back into the city and then walked from Waterloo station to the Imperial War museum that was fairly close and which I’d also never been to. It’s choc-a-block full of tanks, missiles, and other destructive entities from the past and present. It also houses an intense archive that someday I would love to delve into just for the chance to get my hands on some of those documents! I got to go into the recreated WWI trench and experience the Blitz from a bomb shelter and walk through a street devastated by the German bombers. I was there for nearly two hours but only scratched the surface, I can see people like my dad going there as a vacation and spending an entire week visiting the museum every day in order to see as much as they could.
(Imperial War Museum)
I felt that London was far too close to Maidstone and that I would feel horribly if I didn’t see my dear friend Martin once more before, so again I found myself waiting for a train, this time at Victoria Station. If there’s one thing I know in London it’s the various train stations most notably those of Victoria, Paddington and Kings Cross. I was met by a black and blue Martin (an incident involving Martin’s face and a football apparently) where I then was given the grand tour of Maidstone or at least those places I’d missed on my first visit. We wandered through the streets and wound our way through the parks and green spaces. We had a nice little pub lunch; I had my last English fish and chips, and enjoyed each other’s company. Then it was time to leave again, how quickly it went. When I returned to London I gathered up all my belongings in my small hotel room and put the final touches on my luggage. You may be wondering what this means. I mentioned earlier a slight fraying of my big red duffle…well this had turned into an actual hole to the point where I could stick my hand in and feel around inside. To remedy this, I purchased a large role of duct tape and proceeded to use half of it by reinforcing the bottom of the bag with who knows how many layers of tape. Needless to say, my bag made it back to San Francisco Int’l wholly intact.
Once I had gotten my luggage life together I decided to run around the corner to one of the local pubs on Bayswater Rd, The Black Lion, to have my last dinner. I was also awaiting a call from two of my dearest friends from home, Jackie and Heather, who after spending nearly two months trampling around Europe found themselves in the very same city as myself. We’d agreed to meet up for a drink in Notting Hill so I was just waiting for them to spruce up and get a move on. I had a lovely roast, my last one, complete with Yorkshire pudding and heaps of gravy. Around 9 I met Heather, Jackie, and a friend they were staying with at The World’s End near Notting Hill (that’s a pub not a location, by the way!) We had a pint and chatted away before they headed out into the wet London night and I made my way back to Bayswater for my last sleep in England.
(Notting Hill, Portobello Road Market)
Packed and ready I took an, overpriced, cab to Paddington where I caught the Heathrow express and arrived with plenty of time to chat amiably with my fellow travellers in the baggage check queue. I utilized the 15minute/pound Internet to let my worrisome parents that I did indeed make it to the airport and that, yes, they took on all my overweight luggage without complaint (which is more than I can say for some of my friends). Security was fine as usual, I think I’m just good with security people because they always end up smiling at me and I’ll make a joke or pleasant remark. Maybe I’m just a pleasant influence, I’d like to think so. After security is my favorite place: duty free shopping, the reason being my chance to purchase some quality English booze and taking it on the plane with me. My beverage of choice is naturally Pimm’s, the perfect summer drink. I filled my arms (three one litre bottles) before being told I was only legally allowed to have one litre of liquid with me through customs. However, the nice man at the check out told me I’d be able to get away with two, which was rather convenient as they were on a 2 for £20 deal. After settling the most important of affairs I bought a book, some chocolate and water at W.H. Smith’s, had a Starbuck’s fix and a bite to eat in between idle wandering from seat to seat and flicking between various books.
The next thing I knew I was sitting on the plane talking to Ellen, and using my English mobile phone for the last time, saying final goodbyes though it didn’t feel like it. I’m always amazed at how quickly we’re able to travel these days (I say this like I knew what it was like before air travel!) but it boggles my mind to travel 5,000 miles in half a day. So it was with that thought that I gathered my bags (near the end of the conveyer belt which is always a bit stretching on the nerves) and found myself in the same place that I had left ten months before.
What a trip, eh?
