A slow start to the morning, catching up with the email, getting the blog written, eating a light breakfast—muesli and chopped fruit, a cup of instant coffee; and a walk down to the corner convenience store for a copy of the Herald Tribune. Late morning, we set out for the walk up to the Archway tube station, catching a southbound train for just a couple of stops to Camden Town, where we had arranged to meet the family at “Amy Winehouse’s” pub, perhaps—in view of the singer’s early demise--too appropriately named The World’s End. Instead, we caught up with Matthew and Diane and the three grandchildren, Alice, Joe and Georgia...
... at the top of the tube station steps, disgorging Londoners and tourists by the thousand.
Camden, it turns out, is quite the scene on a Saturday afternoon.
The streets were so crammed with mostly young people that the only means of progress was elbowing one’s way through the throng. Souvenir shops lined the streets on either side, along with vast numbers of parlors offering tattoos and body piercing. We were not tempted. Further on, we crossed the canal that runs through this part of London on its way from Birmingham to the Thames, and watched the barges being raised and lowered in the Camden Lock.
The area around the lock is a mass of food stands offering a vast range of ethnic choices, from Peruvian churros to Polish sausages, from Mexican tortillas to Japanese sushi and Chinese stir fry. Ellie and I shared tasty wraps—I think Middle Eastern, but would swear to it; Joe chose dim sum, Matthew empanadas. Finding nary a seat at any of the tables, we found a set of steps on which to perch—only to be moved on, politely enough, by one of the adjacent shopkeepers. We stood and munched as best we could.
A little unavoidable shopping after lunch. A bazaar-like atmosphere, with inexpensive goods being hawked by enterprising salespeople from throughout the world. Diane led us for respite to the Gilgamesh, a bar unlike any I have ever seen—a cross between an Asian temple and an over-the-top Middle Eastern bordello, with elaborately carved wood everywhere
... brass and bronze fixtures, and richly textured, colorful draperies. I wished I had brought the camera along on my visit to the men’s room—a vast palace in itself, with long, circularly curving urinals decorated with Asian imagery in high relief. Failing that, I had Ellie take it to the ladies...
The drinks, of course, matched the décor—cocktails and mocktails concocted from exotic mixes of ingredients. I chose the Kettl One vodka with sour apple and fig. Matthew had something else...
By this time, the rain had begun to set in. As we headed back to the tube station, Matthew stopped at a colorful toy store to buy a yo-yo; he's pretty good.
... and the grandchildren managed to find some weird stuff at the rows of stalls...
... and we passed up on the chance to dip our feet into a tank of water filled with small fish that like to feed off the dead skin on the human extremities...
An underground train ride, then, down to Leicester Square, where we emerged into a similar crowd from the one we had just left—though perhaps, here, a little more touristy than Londoner. Diane had wanted to check out the lobby of the new luxury hotel, W, which also offered the family to make use of the loos—such halls of mirrors, it seems, that it was almost impossible to find one’s way our. Poor little Georgia was truly lost for a moment in the funhouse ladies room, and was rescued only by the intervention of her dad. She emerged in tears, much scared by the disorientation.
A visit, next, to the spanking new M&M store, adjacent to the hotel on Leicester Square. Four brilliant floors...
... designed exclusively in M&M colors, a monument to the genius of marketing, a veritable Disneyland created to celebrate the little chocolate pills—and to turn the concept into a cash machine. Loud rock music everywhere, to addle the brain and numb its critical capabilities. The “products” must have been the result of a thousand brilliantly creative minds put to the service of this mindless emporium.
We were relieved to emerge into the still wet but now rainless streets...
Diane had one last treat in mind for us, leading us down Charing Cross Road to Monmouth Street to a tiny shop where, she had heard, the best coffee in the world was brewed. It was, indeed, good coffee, and much needed by this point. But hard to find a seat. Ellie and I were accorded the privilege of taking the only two available, while Diane and Matthew and the children were reduced to take-out cups outside on the street.
Somewhat—no, utterly—exhausted by this time, we were happy to follow Diane’s suggestion of a cab back to the flat...
... to pick up our pre-packed bags for the drive out to Harpenden, where we were to spend the night. An easy drive out of town—the family took the train from St. Pancras—to meet up once more at their house for a quick drink before dinner.
You would think, would you not, that the day had been sufficiently filled with excitement? But no, Diane had booked us all in for dinner at a local Indian restaurant where we over-indulged our remaining appetite—I happen to love Indian food, and found it irresistible—and mulled over everything from family history to the problems of the world. We were ready for bed, believe me, when we got back home. But first there was the ritual of an after dinner drink, imbibed outside, under a now clear sky, all of us gazing upward in search of shooting stars.
Oh, and from the upstairs windows when we finally made it to the bedrooms, a fireworks display from a neighbor’s yard! Ellie and I went to bed and lulled ourselves to off sleep with a rerun of “The Other Boleyn Girl” on the television set.
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