Monday, January 19, 2015
London
Jetlag still has control
over my life; but when it paid a 3. 15 am Wake-Up Call, it was decidedly
better than the previous night’s–2. 15 am. I used time creatively once
again to update my blog and scour the Web for suggestions on What To
Do. My trusted guides for Secret London and Key to London’s Secrets
were insistent about a visit to the West side of Highgate Cemetery and
having Been There but Done Only The East Side, a few years ago, I was
happy to comply. Accordingly, I went online, scored a ticket for the
guided tour beginning at 1. 45 today and given by Friends of Highgate
Cemetery (as the West side, supposedly the far more interesting one) is
only open to visitors on guided tours.
Then, my young friend
Jonas, all of seven years, made a 6.00 am appearance in my room, climbed
into my bed and promptly suggested we watch cartoons on the giant Apple
TV in my room. And thus it was that I became introduced to Scooby-Doo
and his friends! All fun cam to an end when his mother walked into our
room and shook her head at him disapprovingly. I am afraid I might not
be asked to stay again if I deprive her son of his beauty sleep.
Uh-Oh!!!
So while he showered and breakfasted, I jumped into the
shower myself and at 8. a00, we were out the door, escorting him along
Abbey Road to the American School London where he is in second grade. As
he ran along, I took the bus to Finchley Road to the giant Waitrose
there to buy my favorite year’s-worth of favorite groceries (did you
know Waitrose Darjeeling teabags–not available in the USA where they
have never heard of Darjeeling–and it is doubtful they have heard of
tea–are much cheaper than Twinnings’s Darjeeling and just as good?). I
bought myself an almond croissant and sipped a latte as I roamed through
the aisles (please Waitrose, if you can be in Dubai, why can’t you be
in New York?), then took the Tube at Finchely Road back home for two
stops.
When my groceries were safely deposited back home, I had my
second breakfast: Waitrose’s Fruit and Nut Muesli with Honey-Vanilla
Yoghurt and the,n in half an hour, I was out the door myself and ready
to hit the sales.
Disappointments Galore at Posh Stores:
Only
I had arrived in London too late this year, you see–all so-called
post-Christmas sales ended on Saturday evening, it appears. Arriving at
Green Park station, I strode past the Ritz and into Fortnum’s
hoping to find some of its famed goodies on sale–only to find Nothing.
And I mean Nada. As a 14 came sailing down Picaadilly, on I hopped
thinking Harrods has never let me down. But when I inquired inside,
Madam was icily informed that the sale ended two days ago! Darn and
Blast! Still, I bet there was some dregs still to be had. Somewhat
inspired, I asked for the Souvenir section–and as I rode the escalators
past all the heads of Nefertiti smiling down on me and spying the new
sculpture of Diana and Dodi and the soaring seagull in the basement,
provocatively entitled “Innocent Victims” , I arrived at the third floor
where my eyes alighted on Christmas Pudding–not just any pudding, mind
you, but luxury ones sold in the signature Harrod’s ceramic pudding
bowls. Yes!!!! They were heavy as sin and would be a pain to haul across
the pond, but still. It had not been a worthless journey.
Finally! On Carnaby Street:
Back
on the Tube , I headed for Soho and the arching signs of Carnaby Street
which I had never seen–because I had never been there! Off at Oxford
Circus on a particularly chilly day, I was grateful for my layers of
cashmere, when my eyes alighted on Liberty of London–another iconic
store famed for its pretty cotton printed fabrics and its Tudor design.
Well, although I had intentions to buy nothing, how could I resist? It
was worth the thrill alone of riding in those linen-fold wooden
pannelled lifts alone. So off I sped to the top floor where the last
remnant items of their sale are still on display. Slim pickin’s,
everywhere, I thought, disappointedly.
A few minutes later, I was
striding out the chocolate shop and right on to Carnaby Street and there
they were–those arched signed soaring high above the street and saying
Welcome to Carnaby Street. I had a wander all the while becoming
increasingly aware of the weight on my shoulders for en route, I
had also found a Boots pharmacy from where I cleaned out a sale on Dove
Silken Glow Body Wash–perhaps the best buy ever in toiletries and the
only hand soap you will ever find in our bathrooms back home. With its
sophisticated French perfume you might think you had paid a small
fortune each time you squirt a bit on your palm. You would be wrong. One
Mission Well Accomplished!
More Disappointments in Store:
The
idea was to deposit my loaded sack back home on Abbey Road and find
transport to Highgate for my 1. 45 pm tour. But although the spirit was
willing, the flesh succumbed to jetlag; and still cold-clogged,
sleep-deprived me felt a bit light-headed as I left my flat to try to
find my way there. Not being so familiar with North London and the
network of Tubes and buses there, I made some terrible mistakes as I
followed maps (no GPS on my internet once I step out of the house,
remember?) and before I knew it, I was at Swiss Cottage trying to find a
cab to get me there on time. No such luck! Not a cab was in sight as I
trudged along and bus drivers are nowhere as helpful as they once used
to be–they seemed never to have heard of Highgate Cemetery and
certainly did not know how to point me in the next direction. I was
tired and sleepy and frustrated and knew I could not get there on time.
It was time for Plan B.
More Retail Therapy on Elizabeth Street:
I
had stopped to fix myself a sandwich when home and it was on a Green
Park bench back in the city, watched by crafty pigeons and craftier
squirrels, that I ate it and gave myself a bit of a rest. Then, I was on
the Tube again and headed to Sloan Square and Elizabeth Street to
indulge in a treat for which I had waited a very long time–15 months to
be precise: being introduced to Jo Loves, the new avatar of my
favorite perfumier, Jo Malone. She opened her one and only store
exactly one month after I last left London the last time and the Number
One item on my agenda was a visit to her store for an introduction to
her new line.
In the able hands of Michael, I had my skin painted
with brushes laden with body creme. Strips of card were sprayed with her
new works of sensual art: Pomelo, Green Orange and Coriander, A Shot of
Sweet Peas, Pink Vetiver (my favorite), A Shot of Thai Lime over Mango.
Ceramic Tagines gave me the experience of stepping into a fragrant
steaming bath–Jo calls it caviar for the bath tube. Being the expert
marketer she is, she would. They went on and on. Inspired by her travels
(in Thailand, in New York and by the store next-door, a florist, where
she had begun her working life in retail), Michael did a competent job
enticing me. I had thought, knowing “Jo” as if she were my best friend
or sister, I would absolutely adore them all. But nothing of the sort
happened and but for two, I was left not too enthused. Perhaps it will
take my nose and my psyche a while to make the transition. We shall see.
I was presented with sample strips although no real sample phials were
given, and off I went down Elizabeth Street which on a less freezing day
would, no doubt, offer more enticements.
Off to King’s Cross:
It
was time to touch base with my friend Rosemary whom I know as Roz who
was meeting me at King’s Cross for our evening together. The Victoria
Line took me directly to the spot she suggested: the Square in front of
the station near the Henry Moore sculpture (added recently). I was
early, I needed the loo, I decided to wander into the newly-refurbished
Renaissance Hotel to see the spectacular stairway that a fond
long-time Londoner claimed was his favorite place in the entire city (I
can’t remember who). Thank you dear Sir John Betjeman for saving this
gorgeous building from destruction. It has, despite all restrictions,
been artfully converted into a modern hotel. Today, its corridors gleam,
its Gothic windows offer views of a busy street that sees hordes
spilling out by the minute and bars galore, named suitably The Gilbert Scott (the original Victorian architect) and The Betjeman Arms
(after the 20th century poet who saved it) allow the passer-by to enjoy
a drink and a sit-down. I used the lovely loo, as intended, before
making my way to the square where, five minutes later, I had a lovely
reunion with Roz just off work.
Laser Lights Festival at Canary Wharf–Not!!!
It was time for a warming cup of tea in the station concourse and before long, we were catching up at Leon
over steaming paper glasses–why has London succumbed to such trashy
New York ways? Where are the civilized ceramic pots of tea that you
could only find in the UK when you ordered tea please? So many changes
and some not quite appealing enough!
Then, we were on the Tube
headed to Canary Wharf. Roz had been justifiably doubtful about the
Lights Show that the Visit Britain tweet had recommended throughout the
month of January. But I was the foreigner and she was indulgent. Canary
Wharf was not her favorite place, but there were lights and there was a
Carluccio’s, so why not, she said???
Only there really
wasn’t very much to impress. Trees still sport their ice-blue strings of
lights but I suspect those have been left over since Christmas. That
said, if there were lights were wanted, there were thousands–from the
soaring skyscrapers that formed a concrete well-illuminated city. In the
park nearby, whose ingeniously-designed gushing fountains sported a few
floating discs of light that changed color cutely by the minute, there
were some lights. But the laser projections on the building walls and
on the river that I had expected were nowhere in sight.
Dinner Time at Carluccio’s:
It was time for some serious eating to compensate for our disappointment and Carluccio’s
never disappoints (why Mr. Carluccio, do you not leap over the Atlantic
and come to America?). We chose the Primi and Secondi specials for
10.99 pounds each–the kind of deal you can never dream of finding in
America. And how well we chose too! We had two starters of caponata that
were served bruschetta-style over warmed goat’s cheese and toast points
to be laden with chicken pate and the most divine caramelized oinions.
Over glasses of red wine, we had ourselves a most decadent first course
and being the conscious, careful eaters we are (we talked mostly about
food after we had discussed family and work doings!), we seriously
wondered whether we could do justice to our mains: polenta with
slow-cooked beef ragu poured all over it (delicioso!) and al dente
served penne pasta with spicy Italian sausage. Predictably, we enjoyed
both courses immensely but could only pick. Needless to say, we skipped
on the dolci (my favorite course, always foregone, sadly) and then we
were out of the maze that is the malls and the corporate offices and on
the Jubilee Line headed home.
I was exhausted and 10.00 pm when I
put key through door (I had hopped off at Baker Street and switched to a
bus that dropped me right opposite my building instead of having to
walk from the Tube station down Grove End Road), it was all I could do
to greet my hosts (little Jonas was already in bed) and crash.
Retail
Therapy had provided little solace but meeting my friend and catching
up with her is always a pleasure and it somewhat made up for the cold,
the lack of goodies to take back home and the fact of getting hopelessly
lost in trying to find Highgate. The only silver lining was that the
clerk at the cemetery had sympathized with my situation and, through a
phone call, offered me the tour tomorrow.
Until then, cheerio!