I am not tired of London (yet), though I probably do need a nap. But as we returned to London from our sojourn in the country and I felt a little stunned by the crowds and noise, I did think of Dr. Johnson’s famous quote: "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford." I love London; I say it frequently, and I’ll say it again, and mean it wholeheartedly. I can’t imagine a trip to England without at least a few days in London. But more and more I have come to value the time outside of London, in the country and villages and smaller cities like Wells and Bath, which do not have all that life can afford, but have just about enough to make me happy.
Rather unintentionally, we planned our trip so that we began in the smallest village, Chipping Campden; then went to a small city, Wells; then to a bigger city, Bath; before ending up in the very big city of London. The crowds and intensity did increase accordingly as well. In London everyone seems to be moving very fast somewhere. I am a fast walker, but many Londoners walk faster than me. (However, as the weather warmed up over the weekend, the pace of London seemed to slow—there was much more strolling, and sitting around outside cafes and pubs, and lounging on the grass and folding chairs in the parks.)
We left Bath and returned to London as we had arrived thirteen days early—by train. We were just a little more loaded down with bags than on our arrival! (Not much, really.) We first dropped off my father at the train station with all our luggage, driving up to Platform 2 and leaving him on a bench surrounded by suitcases and bags. Then mother and I took the car back to Hertz to drop it off, getting a taxi back to the station. By the time we were on the train, it was approaching noon.
Even though this train is not as fancy as some of the newer lines, it is always nice to collapse into a seat and watch the world go by. As always, we arrived in London too quickly. After hauling ourselves into a taxi, we returned to the Harlingford Hotel in the early afternoon.
I was the first to go into the hotel, and the desk clerk who had helped us before greeted me in a friendly but understated way. Then, a few minutes later, as my father came in the door, I heard her shout, “Bob’s back!” I couldn’t believe it—Mr. Popularity. (I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t even remember my name, unless she looked at the reservations.)
London was noticeably warmer and sunnier than when we had left, and the hotel was warmer as well. When I went up to my room, I was a little dismayed that the window did not open. I asked my father to check when he went down to see whether the window could be opened. (I could see why they might not want it to, as it was a full length window with a little balcony that I’m sure they wouldn’t want people to go out onto.) I made some kind of dramatic statement about how I can’t sleep in a room where the window won’t open (although after he left I noticed the fan, which would probably cool the room off adequately). But (luckily) before I could concede, the desk clerk called the room and said she could move me to a different room where the window would open, and it was a bigger room. So I left my tiny little single room to move up one floor higher (which didn’t matter to me), to Room 28, which is one of the nicest double rooms, with a 4-poster bed, a fireplace (nonworking), plenty of floor space and a big bathroom. Very nice.
The only plan I had for the remainder of Friday afternoon was a trip to Kensington Gardens and tea at the Orangery. At my father’s request, I added a visit to Harrods to follow tea; easy to do as Harrods is now open 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Monday through Saturday, and noon to 6 p.m. on Sundays.
The best way to get from Bloomsbury to Kensington Gardens is the #10 bus from Euston Road. That route goes through Knightsbridge and on to Kensington Gardens, so it would be a good bus back to Harrods later on as well (both the #9 and #10 go from Kensington to Knightsbridge). The bus ride was somewhat slow and I noticed, when we got into the park, that my parents were as well. I became concerned that the weeks of travel were taking a toll, and felt reluctant to make them walk too much just so that I could see some of the gardens. Besides, it was after 4:00 and I felt we needed to get to the Orangery before it was too late (cue ominous music).
So we headed toward the Orangery without further ado. Had I realized what would happen when we got there, I would have perhaps urged everyone to try to walk fast! As we approached the Orangery, I went ahead to the entrance—where I saw a sign posted. “Due to a private function, the Orangery will be closing at 4 p.m. today.” We were too late (though it was not our fault; normally it is open until 5:00).
No tea for me—but at least the roses are in bloom!
So it was back to Kensington Road to catch the 9 or 10 bus to Harrods. Harrods was, of course, packed—what else would you expect on a Friday afternoon in June? I had tea on the brain, especially after the rejection at the Orangery. I insisted we all go to the Terrace Bar on the fourth floor for tea. The Terrace Bar is the outskirts of one of Harrods fancier restaurants. We were seated in the enclosed balcony, which must be air-conditioned because it was cool and breezy despite the conservatory-style glass roof. It was very pleasant sitting outside Harrods, looking down at the roofs of Knightsbridge. We ordered one full tea plus extra sandwiches, which was just right for us.
Then we sent my father off to go see Harrods, arranging to meet in the Egyptian Escalator an hour and a half or so later. My mother and I sat a while longer, finishing the tea, then went off on our own browsing tour. We ended up buying a few of the Harrods PVC bags, both for gifts and because we (I) couldn’t resist the new designs! After a stroll through the Food Halls (always an impressive sight), we met up with my father as planned and headed for the tube back to Russell Square.
We weren’t tired of London, but we were tired and ready to call it a night.
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