One day in London

What do you do when you have only one full day in London?

It helps if shopping is not a priority. Many of my pasts days in London were occupied with hitting one shopping venue after the next. It was fun, if exhausting, but now I have all that stuff and don't need much more. (Don't need some of that, either.) Plus, it's Thursday, and if I wanted to go to, say, antiques markets, I would be out of luck, because Thursday is not a good day for the markets.

I ran in Regent's Park before breakfast. Not quite as early as planned, and as I stopped frequently to take pictures, I didn't get back to the hotel until almost 8:30. Breakfast closes at 9. You can believe that my mother was pissed. But I put on a burst of speed and was showered, dressed, hair-dried and in the breakfast room by 8:45.

But somehow the energy that took me out running and got me ready in record time dissipated over the meal, and by the time we left the breakfast room and I checked email, both of us needed just a little bit of a rest before heading out. So we retired to our rooms to recline just a bit until the room cleaners kicked us out.

I didn't have a set schedule, or any plan at all, so it wasn't a problem that we didn't even leave the hotel until after 11. We walked down the street to the Russell Square Station and hopped on the tube to Piccadilly Circus. That's always a good place to start.

When we emerged from the Underground into Piccadilly Circus, I was startled at the lack of crowds. I don't remember ever being in Piccadilly Circus when it wasn't swarming with people. Was it the recession keeping people away? Or simply that it is March, pre-spring break, and my last visit was in June, always a busier time? We walked around the Eros statue, taking a few pictures. Of course, it is never so deserted that someone doesn't walk into or interfere with your picture-taking!

As I was taking a picture down Piccadilly (the street), a young man asked me if I would take a picture of him and his friend. I figured that they must have figured I was a safe bet not to take off with their camera.* They stood in front of the Eros statue (how sweet) and I took one horizontal and one vertical shot, hoping that at least one would be frame-worthy.

As I returned the camera, the young man asked, rather formally, if he could return the favor. I considered just a brief moment, then called my mother to come for a picture. I handed our camera over, thinking briefly that this could be the best scam ever (ask someone to take your picture with your nice looking camera, then offer to take one with theirs and run off with it instead). He did not run off, and now we have quite a nice photo of my mother and me in front of Eros.

From Piccadilly we headed down Haymarket, as this is the best way I know to get over to Trafalgar Square. A look at the National Gallery is mandatory. Going inside is optional.**

Once again, I felt like the crowds were curiously lacking. But maybe it was just early in the day.

This was now turning into a walking tour of favorite London sights. I opted not to head down the Mall to Buckingham Palace, but instead turned down Whitehall towards Westminster, Big Ben, and the Thames. My mother, who was still tired, started getting a little grumbly about the wandering with no apparent destination. She kept trying to pin me down over where we were going. My answers—we are going towards Big Ben, we are going along Embankment—were curiously unsatisfactory to her. But she followed. What else could she do?

I did have a bit of a plan. I thought we could walk along the river approximately to Waterloo Bridge, then cut back into the Strand. Before getting quite that far we walked into the Embankment and Victoria Gardens, and paused to sit on a bench for a few moments. We were just about at the Jubilee Bridge, a walking bridge that crosses the river on either side of the Hungerford Railway Bridge, and my mother abandoned her recalcitrance and agreed to walk onto the bridge to get some good photo ops.*** We took numerous pictures of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben; the London Eye; me; and various combinations of the above. We were seeking the perfect picture. While we may not have accomplished that, my mother liked this windswept one of me.

Despite my intentions, we were unable to get to the Strand from the Embankment near Waterloo Bridge (you have to actually be on the bridge), so we kept going, looking for an escape route. It came at Somerset House, where we entered one of the buildings at the Embankment level and was able to take a lift up to the Strand level. This was a part of Somerset House I had not been in, housing a design center and some other things. We left quickly, not wanting to feel obligated to make a donation, and crossed the courtyard and passed the Cortauld Institute to get back to the street.

By that point we were both ready for a break, which would mean a place to sit and have a little something. So we hopped on a bus that was headed toward Piccadilly Circus (as most buses going down the Strand are). It's really only a short distance, but with all the stops and delays, it was a rather long bus ride.

I wasn't sure where to go, but walking down Piccadilly seemed like a good plan. After a quick visit to Waterstone's (and the purchase of three books), we came to Fortnum and Mason, always a favorite stop. The last time we were there they were undergoing renovation, but now it was all complete and the store was restored to the heights of elegance.

Once of the new additions to F&M is a cafe called the Parlour on the first floor. It specialized in ice cream treats (as in "ice cream parlour," get it?) but also has other light foods, tea, and most importantly, scones and clotted cream. We decided to each have an open-face smoked chicken sandwich (for nourishment) and to split an order of scones. When the scones arrived they were quite petite—a little smaller than I'd expected, to be truthful—but they came with an amazingly ginormous scoop of the most luscious yellow clotted cream. It was thick, heavy, sticky and the very essence of creamy, and every bit of it went on those little scones. I regret nothing!

After the scones and cream we did a little shopping in the new and improved F&M (okay, I am not completely cured of shopping). We were entranced by some appliqued tea cosies (and egg cup cosies) and I skulked around taking pictures with my camera phone.**** We had some idea of making our own versions for gifts at home. We shall see.... In the meantime, we bought "samples" to bring home. Down on the ground floor I also bought a bunch of miniature tins of tea, to use in gift bags for the various tea parties I am committed to putting on this spring. And some silver dragees, just because they're beautiful. But that was all.

And that was certainly enough to make a day. We walked the remaining blocks to Green Park Station, past the Ritz Hotel,***** and rode the tube back to our rather less ritzy but welcoming hotel.

For a little more of our day, check out the pictures here.


*Little did they know I am a runner! Oh, who am I kidding. They were both young and slender, they would have caught me in a minute.

**They do have very nice public restrooms, though, should the need arise. And as the National Gallery is free, and a sight to be seen even without the displays, a visit inside is worth your while if you have the time and the inclination.

***She also discovered the elevator which carried us up and down to the bridge and street. I didn't object. My legs were curiously tired and my ankle and achilles tendon were quite tender today.

****I can't download them until I get home, however.

*****And past Richoux and Patisserie Valerie, two other places we could go for tea in future if we were looking for somewhere to go that wasn't a hotel or a department store.