Euro Day 9: A Tale of Two Cities

Monday, July 16, 2007. With our luggage packed and ready for transport, we opted to partake of this morning's optional guided tour led by our local Blue Badge, Stephen. At 7:30am we met the other early birds in the Chancery lobby and we were soon prowling the neighbourhoods surrounding Lincoln's Inn Fields - which is just steps from the hotel. Among other things, this area is the historic and current locus of the legal profession in London while said-named park is thought to be an inspiration for NYC's Central Park. The buildings and inner courtyards of the Inns were such serene places on a busy Monday morning - yet just a block away was the hurley-burley of London as she awoke for another workaday week. The tour, while just an hour in length, held a few notable highlights for me: the shop said to be the inspiration for Dickens' Olde Curiosity Shop, Temple Church (though I would have liked to see the inside), and a little shop that sells wigs for the legal folk.

JediBoy poses in the alleyway
enroute to Lincoln's Inn Fields


A lone Knight Templar
stands guard over the Inns

With our visit to the Inns at an end, we bade our goodbyes to Chancery Court as our bus departed for Waterloo Station. Our mission, catch the 10:40am Eurostar for a 3-hour trip into to Paris' Gare du Nord station.

For those of us who are used to the sleepy, somewhat low-pressure experience of riding trains in Canada, getting onto the Eurostar was something very different - more akin to boarding an airplane at a busy airport. There was security everywhere, metal detectors, and x-rays for ourselves and our carry-ons. I could only imagine what was happening to our other luggage. Even my 14 year-old BandGeek was subjected to a very friendly and very thorough search of her backpack.

The Eurostar looking serious

The train, itself, was quite comfy but not much different than our own (Canadian) Via1 service. I will say that the Eurostar's decor is quite modern and bright - and my fervent hope is that the invention of the adjustable head-rest 'wings' resulted in a Nobel prize for someone. The brunch served to us was quite nice: yogurt, fruit, coffee, souffle, etc. But the real prize was the free-flowing champagne. While sitting in the seat directly in front of me, Dee was somehow unaware of this service and regretted the missed opportunity to get buzzed on a train traveling 300 km/h. My descriptions of the experience were sadly lacking for her, so it seemed.

The scenery from the Eurostar is largely unremarkable. On the English side it's mostly urban terrain that continues to thin as the English Channel approaches. While it's allegedly possible to catch a glimpse of Dover before entering the Chunnel, this eluded me. As for the Chunnel experience, it's simply 20 minutes of absolute darkness until the train is expelled into the French countryside. Here the scenery is definitely rural - and it is here that the Eurostar glides towards top-speed on the flat French countryside. The following video clip is a condensed version of this trip and, if you're lucky, you may catch a glimpse of Your Humble Authour peering into the inky black that is the Chunnel.



Once at Paris' Gare du Nord, with it's reputation for pickpockets and ne'er-do-wells, we were met by our new local guide Sylvie. She, along with the Double-A's, deftly led The Gang through the throngs of people and onto our waiting motor-coach. We were to get a brief narrated tour of Paris on our way to our hotel. We spotted a few highlights along the way such as the Eiffel Tower and Opera Garnier - and I had that feeling of otherworldliness that we were (indeed!) in Paris. The bus parked at the Trocadero, which is perhaps the most famous vantage-point for taking photographs of the Eiffel Tower. And that's just what we did!

View from the Trocadero

After our leisurely picture-taking, we boarded the bus once again for a short ride to a local park. Here, Sylvie taught us all to play a traditional French game called Petanque - which is a hybrid of bocci and curling. We split ourselves into several teams and had a few rousing - if not amateurish - games. We were all rewarded for our efforts with some lovely desert croissants. And lest anyone think that Petanque is 'just for the tourists', rest assured that I did witness a televised match while in Paris - and the players were most serious about their sport!

Sylvie readies les boules
for a game of Petanque

Finally, it was time to check-in to the Hilton Arc de Triomphe - really just steps away from the actual Arc. The Hilton is beautifully appointed in the Art Deco style, and we were checked in at light-speed. Since we're a family of 4, Paris hotel regulations stipulate that we must have 2 rooms. So it was that we were given 2 adjoining rooms, actually connected by a private hallway. The kids were in their glory, being on their own. Dee and I were in our glory, being on own. Paris was going to be nice.

After some settling in, the kids elected to chill out in their new apartment while Dee and I took a stroll around the neighbourhood. A few blocks from the hotel is a park - Parc Monceau - designed in the English style, with ponds, lush greens, benches, and even pony rides. The park - as we later learned - is surrounded by expensive apartments - which was reflected by the armies of nannies and their charges we encountered in the park.

Dinner that night was a lovely private buffet at the hotel. The food was very good and prepared in the French style: fish, chicken, salads, mousse, etc. The good people at Disney had even supplied a sketch artist who did caricature portraits of each kid - a great way to keep them engaged during dinner.

By 8pm, the skies above Paris clouded over and it began to rain (our one-and-only instance of inclement weather). Since we were tired from the long day anyways, we retired to our rooms to read our guidebooks and prepare for the day ahead. I turned on the TV and caught a bit of BBC World Service. Oddly, they were doing a travelogue of Vancouver, Canada. The 'locals' came off looking somewhat like wanna-be surfer-vegetarian-hedonists who wear magic crystals and lace their speech with 'dude' or 'far-out'. I smiled and thought of Douglas Coupland.

As I closed my eyes and coaxed sleep to arrive, my dreams reminded me of stairs. Tomorrow, we would climb many of them.

Euro Day 8: A Day for Knights

It's Sunday, July 15, 2007 - and free wireless access proves to be elusive still. After a week without Internet access, I was getting twitchy. I elected to screw my resolve to the sticking place, however, and forget my troubles in a plate of Eggs Benedict at The Pearl. Heaven!

With breakfast out of the way, it was time for a short bus trip (this time on a more conventional carriage) to St. Paul's Cathedral, with our human encyclopedia, Stephen, narrating the way. This morning was to be a walking tour, so poking our heads inside the Cathedral was not in the cards. Stephen gave a wonderful lesson on the history of St. Paul's, however, and we learned that 'cathedral' comes from the Latin 'cathedra' which means 'throne' or 'chair' - and so St. Paul's houses the throne for the Bishop of London. There - now you're smart like me!

Approaching St. Paul's Cathedral

From St. Paul's we snaked our way to the Millennium Bridge which afforded a most scenic (and windy!) view up and down the Thames River. There we took time for pictures with the iconic Tower Bridge visible in the morning gray - offering proof for us all that this really was Merrie Olde London. At the far end of the bridge lie Shakespeare's Globe Theater - or at least a pitch-perfect reconstruction of the Globe. After a recent episode of Doctor Who, I had hoped to find the time to poke my head inside the the open-air theater - but that was not for today.

The view from the Millennium Bridge

As I turned my eyes back across the Thames from whence we came, I was struck by the South Bank's transformation since my first-and-only trip to London in 1985. Where I had remembered warehouses and empty streets there were now shiny office buildings and tres-expensive condos. I could not decide if this was a good thing or not - but I'm always suspicious of new development aimed at a demographic with bigger offices and cars than I.

We met our bus once more after a brief stroll along the Thames. Now we were to cross back along the Tower Bridge to our next destination - the Tower of London! After a short 'welcome ceremony' out front of the Tower led by the Double-A's (Alex and Andrew), The Gang filed into the Tower grounds en masse with Stephen leading the charge. There was a short walkabout and an informative overview of Tower history by Stephen. At that, we were unleashed for a few hours of free time to explore the complex on our own.

The Tower Bridge as seen from
outside the Tower of London

To properly see every detail of the Tower would take the better part of a day, I imagine. So we decided to concentrate on a few sights. As is customary for all tourists here, we made a point of eyeballing the crown jewels. Similar to how one cannot really imagine 'a million dollars', it was difficult to comprehend the wealth sitting in those oh-so-fortified rooms. JediBoy (my son for you new readers) led us to the White Tower for its collection of swords, suits of armour, cannons, etc. This was interesting, but I will admit that, soon enough, all these bits of metal on display sort of 'ran together' for me. There are only so many suits of armour and rusty swords that can hold one's interest.

We also did the Wall Walk which afforded some great views of the entire complex and a peek into how the Tower's 150-ish residents actually live. It's also a great way to explore a few of the outer towers. And, of course, we made a point to have our family portrait taken with a Yeoman Warder (aka Beefeater) by our side. Interesting fact: one must have a minimum of 23 years military experience before applying for the position of Yeoman Warder.

The White Tower



King Henry's Chapel

We (or rather, I) wanted to check out a Torture Chamber exhibit, but no one was willing to sacrifice their lunchtime to learn about vivisection. Pity that. We opted for a bite to eat at the Tower's 'New Amouries Restaurant'. The food was surprisingly good - and I quite enjoyed my roast pork with mash (followed by some manner of banana cream cake).

By 1:30pm we met up with The Gang and shuffled back to the bus. I should backtrack a bit here. When we checked into Chancery Court we were given ABD passes to The London Eye to use at our leisure. Some folks had used theirs on check-in day, but many of us did not. For those who wished to ride The Eye today, the bus would drop us at the right place while the remainder of The Gang could stay aboard for a lift back to the hotel. So, it was to The Eye we went!

At 400 feet high, with a single revolution taking 30 minutes, The London Eye is an impressive piece of equipment snuggled up to the banks of the Thames. To actually get onto The Eye is a less impressive thing to experience. Confusion seemed to reign supreme. Our first task: get in line (with about a hundred other people) to exchange our vouchers for actual tickets. There were a few hot tempers as a mob mentality kicked in. In one small area there were a few lines to negotiate - one for people with vouchers and one for people with cash. The trouble was that it was unclear (even to Eye staff) which line was which. A little patience went a long way, however, and soon we were able to get our tickets from one of the harried ladies behind the counter.

Next up: stand in another line (this time outside) to get onto The Eye. It took 45 minutes to prevail over drizzly weather, line-boredom, and security checks, but we eventually made in onto one of The Eye's 24-person capsules. The view, however, was all worth it. The leisurely revolution of The Eye gave us an amazing sweep of London, with Big Ben just a stone's throw across the Thames. Half-way through the ride, we watched a driving rainstorm sweep across London - and it was beautiful. And - lucky you, Gentle Reader - here is a bona fide snippet from our home movie of our lovely ride on The Eye.



By the time we exited our capsule - rain ponchos at the ready - the storm had passed. We picked our way down the flooded walkway, passing soaked tourists caught unawares - as we headed back towards the Parliament buildings. Our next goal for our afternoon of free time - Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. We found our destination without much trouble, paid our money, and found ourselves in the underground complex from where Churchill & Co. had run much of WWII. The complex - with its institutional-green meeting rooms, barracks, and such - have been left just as they were when the Rooms' inhabitants emerged into the sunlight on VE Day. The experience was singular in recreating the sights and sounds of living underground during the height of WWII. It was very sobering for us all.

With Churchill behind us, it was time to park ourselves on the museum steps and ponder our route back to Chancery Court. We were exhausted - and it was fortunate we had a few swiped chocolates from the Chancery lobby's candy dish to fortify us! Our plan was to make one more foray in the Tube for a lift home. As luck would have it, a procession of cabs came along and we were able to flag one down (were we going native?). We were back at Chancery Court in just minutes, thankfully.

Tip: For anyone who carries a PDA of some kind (I use a Palm Tx), there is a wonderful little application called MetrO that allows you to carry transit schedules for many cities worldwide (I carried along London and Paris). MetrO does more than just list transit schedules, however. It also allow you pick 'to' and 'from' destinations (including landmarks) and will automatically calculate the best route to take based on criteria such as quickest time, fewest transfers, etc. I will never without MetrO when I travel - and you can check out this free application at metro.nanika.net.

Since tomorrow would be a travel day to Paris, we needed our luggage packed and ready for the porters by 7:30am. We used this rest period, therefore, to get our suitcases put together. The kids - it should be noted - opted for some quality Gameboy time. Eventually, our fatigue subsided and our stomachs let us know it was time for some dinner. We decided to head over to Covent Garden (also within walking distance of the hotel) to see what we could see.

Covent Garden is quite a place. It's very large and was full of people milling about and lots of street performers to keep us entertained. We eventually settled on an outdoor cafe with a very talented guitar player nearby to help us pass the time. We had the added bonus of watching a slightly(?) inebriated fellow try to bribe the guitarist to play a few requests. It was all in good fun, however, and the crowd appreciated the show all the more. As had been our custom since we arrived in England, I gave the kids some coins which they dutifully (if not shyly) placed into the performer's guitar case. So while we started dinner a little tired and grouchy after a long day, the meal and the music made for some nice family time - and we went home a lot happier.

Something occurred to me while sitting under that cafe awning - England smelled different. It had been in the back of my brain all week - fighting to be recognized. It was nothing unpleasant or even unusual and, in a way, it was a bit like the ozone smell that lingers after a good storm. I came to remember that same smell from my short time there in 1985. I liked it in 1985 - and I liked it again in 2007. But it made me a tad melancholy as I remembered how very different my first trip to England had been - just me and 3 friends. No firm plans and no sense of anxiety about being in a place so foreign. I felt older. Maybe the responsibilities of being a parent, having a career, and all that middle-class suburban 'stuff' had dulled my sense of wide-eyed wanderlust. Or maybe - just maybe - I think too much.

Our bellies full, we found a shorter walking route back to Chancery Court. We finished up our packing. I wrote in my journal. And we closed our eyes for awhile. Tomorrow - it would be Paris!

Euro Day 7: Jolly Holiday

Today, July 14, 2007, would be our first official tour day with Disney. We started off with (yet another) Full English Breakfast - only this time surrounded by the 1 million fresh-water pearls that decorate The Pearl restaurant at Chancery Court. By 8:30am we were in the lobby awaiting our final boarding call for the 1960's vintage Routemaster double-decker bus that Disney was providing for a tour of London. Soon enough, the 4 four of us had claimed topside seats to listen to our amazing local (Blue Badge) guide, Stephen, narrate our route to Westminster Abbey.

The Routemaster

Once at the Abbey, we all listened raptly to Stephen as he took us through a few hundred years of history in just 90 short minutes. The lectures were sometimes punctuated by the sounds of the Abbey's boys choir as they rehearsed in a nearby school. The overall vibe just made me feel glad and content to be in-the-moment. Dee was even kind of enough to shuffle the kids off to the gift shop to allow me a few minutes to wander the Abbey on my own, where I was able to locate the grave markers of many of its famous residents. I was even able to poke my head inside The Pyx, where visions from Neal Stephenson's 3-volume Baroque Cycle finally crystallized.

Big Ben and Westminster Abbey

From the Abbey, we strolled through St. James's park over to Buckingham Palace. The Park was green under a warm July sun, and full of people enjoying themselves. This just reinforced my observation that the English really do make use of their parks to an extent we don't don't often see in North America. By 11:45am, Alex and Andrew (the Double-A's) - with Stephen's help - had positioned The Gang at a spot near Buckingham's soldiers barracks. This seemingly out-of-way corner gate was apparently a prime position to view the procession after the Changing of the Guards. And boy were they right! As the guards marched by, we literally had to back up a step or two to avoid being mowed down by the procession.

Procession after Changing of the Guards

Afterwards, we made our way to the Palace to find that the crowd had dispersed. This was a great time for photos. My only disappointment was to find that there no longer a guestbook at the Palace gate. 20-odd years ago I signed that guest book - although the Queen has yet to send me a 'thank-you' note. I'm blaming the mail, but a phone call would have been nice, too.

Buckingham Palace

By this time our Routemaster was waiting for us near the palace, and we were whisked off to Harrod's to partake in tea and luncheon at the 4th-floor Georgian Room. Now when I think of 'luncheon', I think of fussy little sandwiches made from rolls of coloured bread filled with something that has the vague consistency of cat food. Not true! We were served salad, finger sandwiches (containing actual meat!), scones, jams, desserts, and - of course - tea. The atmosphere only enhanced the sense of occasion: white linen, fine china, 3-tiered serving dishes, and white-jacketed serving staff. There seemed to no end to the food and we all came away feeling quite stuffed.

With lunch out of the way, we had a few hours of free time until the evening events. We chose to wander a bit through Harrod's and take note of all the items we could not afford. You just know you're in the wrong place when, instead of a store directory, there are actual live human beings on each floor whose job it is to answer any and all questions. Some highlights of note: the pet department with it's 1000GBP cats, the oh-so-tacky 'Dodi and Diana' memorial, watching an Arab fellow - in full flowing garments - jumping on a bed to test it's comfort, and overhearing a well-dressed lady telling someone at the other of end of a cellphone that she'd only spent 10,000GBP so far.

We eventually found our way out of Harrod's - easier said than done - and took a stroll over to Kensington Gardens (Hyde Park) with the goal of seeing Kensington Palace (Diana's home at one time). The park was certainly idyllic on this Summer day. People were lounging about in chairs, trying to turn their pasty white skin to something approaching 'tanned'. Others were playing frisbee, paddling the Serpentine, even riding horses. The park was much larger than we anticipated, and the long walk left a mere 30 minutes in which to tour the Palace. We opted to just make our way back to Chancery Court by way of the Tube.

Navigating the pricing system for the London Underground requires mathematical understanding beyond my capability. In the end I simply thrust a wad of cash at a man behind some thick glass, and he returned all but 10GBP and some some single-use tickets for the 4 of us. All of that to ride a mere 6 stops back to the hotel. And the ride - crushingly crowded and lacking air conditioning. It was not one of the kids' more cherished experiences, but certainly a memorable one. Once back at the hotel, it was showers and dress-up time. Tonight was to be a fancy outing.

The evening started with a great meal at the members-only Soho Club in London's West End. We stuffed ourselves on roast beef, prawns, gourmet hamburgers, finger desserts, and on and on. Dinner was only a prelude to the evening's entertainment, however. We had prime seats to see Mary Poppins - the smash hit musical playing in London at the Prince Edward Theater. The theater was beautiful - very reminiscent of Toronto's Pantages (now Canon) theater. It was darn warm in the theater, however, and I was glad to have worn light clothes. As for the play itself, it was simply one of the best musical theater experiences I had ever had (and we've seen our fair share of theater)!

After the play, we were instructed to remain in the theater until the audience had left. And with that, the Stage Director appeared to give us a backstage tour! Being a very technical play, there were a lot of sets and props under computer control - and it was fascinating to see how everything worked. While we were not allowed to takes photos, our guides did get a group photo of all the kids lined up on the main set - a real keepsake!

After 40 minutes or so of poking around backstage, we were led out the back into the wilds of a West End evening. Music, shouting, and madness is all I can remember as we made our way back to the bus through the streets overflowing with theater patrons and clubbers. Soon enough, we were back at Chancery Court - ready for sleep, ready for day two.

The West End after the plays let out

Euro Day 6: Call Me A Cab!

It's July 13th - Friday, July 13th and, yes, this is just lazy foreshadowing.

At 8:30am we took our leave of Eagle House, Bathford under overcast skies with warm breezes to kiss us good-bye. Today would be D-Day - short for Disney Day - where we would be joining up with our Adventures by Disney Cities of Knights and Lights tour of London and Paris. Our first task was to drive 2 hours back to Heathrow airport so that we could return Blue Passat and meet our Disney Driver for a lift into London.

The trip was pretty uneventful, and I remarked how unfortunate it was that the whole driving thing was coming to an end just as I was learning how not to dig my fingernails into the steering wheel. One side note on this trip: we discovered the joy of gas prices in the UK by paying 31GBP for half a tank of diesel! We pulled into Avis Heathrow a little after 11am - slightly ahead of schedule. Our first taste of triskaidekaphobia kicked in when the good people at Avis discovered the damaged tyre (quite by accident, actually) and assessed a 78GBP charge. No problem. Let it go. Stay calm.

We pulled our caravan of wheeled suitcases onto the Avis shuttle and, soon enough, we were at the appointed Disney pickup spot (Terminal 3 Arrivals) with 30 minutes to spare. The plan was coming together. We'd made it from Bath on time and intact. Come Noontime, we'd be traveling in luxury into the heart of London. But no Disney Driver was to be found. I paced the Arrivals area peering at the many, many drivers holding up signs for their charges. No one was looking for me, however, and by 12:30pm, Dee elected to call the Disney 'emergency' number - long-distance to the US (why not a local number?). After a few calls back and forth, Disney acknowledged there had been a screw-up and that we should take a cab into London. Someone from Disney would be waiting for us at the hotel and would pay the fare. No problem. Let it go. Stay calm.

Tip: Make sure your cell-phone will work in England and France. Your cell-phone provider can tell you what frequencies/protocols your phone must support and what the per-minute charges will be. Carry along the ABD 'concierge' phone number as well.

The UK's heightened Counter Terrorist warning came to be a blessing where finding a taxi was concerned. As we walked to the taxi stand - looking annoyed and bewildered I'm sure - 2 uniformed officials quizzed us for a destination and immediately waved a cab to pick us up. The cab ride was unusual in the sense that the vehicle did not seem designed for the likes of us. The luggage rode shotgun with the driver and BandGeek was obliged to use a fold-down seat facing the rear of the cab. But 40 minutes and 60GBP later, we were standing in front of the amazing Chancery Court Hotel being greeted by Alexandra (Alex) - one of our guides for the next week.

Check-in was a breeze as Alex took care of everything, all the while apologizing for the Disney Driver screwup (apparently a miscommunication between Office Staff and Field Staff). We were even given an upgrade room for our troubles. The hotel - once home to The Pearl Insurance Company - was (and probably still is) as upscale as I'd ever encountered (pictures below). Alex was obviously in control of all details. All in all, fears of Friday the 13th melted from my brow.

Chancery Court

The Lobby

The ABD tour would officially kick-off at a group dinner scheduled for 5:30pm at the hotel. So after some quick freshening up and unpacking, we decided to kill the afternoon by visiting the British Museum since it's only about a 10-minute walk from Chancery Court. We had only limited time to tour the vast spaces of the Museum, so we elected to focus on seeing the Rosetta Stone and the Egyptian wing (especially the mummies). I had hoped to visit the Reading Room, but it was closed in preparation for a new exhibit that would not open for a few months. A small disappointment, but we had a great time nonetheless.

The British Museum



BandGeek ponders the Egyptians

Tip: The British Museum has free admission and is very close to the Chancery Court. As you're walking there - and if you're a Doctor Who fan - you might spot a shop that is full of figurines and models (Daleks, Tardis's, etc.). It's well worth a look.

At the appointed time, we met the rest of the tour group (aka The Gang) for the Welcome Reception. There were drinks (pop, wine, etc.) and snacks set out as we found a place at one of the tables. This was a chance to meet our fellow travelers. Alex and Andrew (our second ABD guide) handed out pieces of paper and instructed each of us to find out 10 interesting facts about other members of The Gang. I'm a fairly social guy when the need arises, but introducing myself to strangers and probing them for their secrets is a little out of my comfort zone. But this was actually a fun exercise since everyone had the same goal and motivation. Sure enough, we met a lot of people and found out some pretty neat facts. Examples: we were the only Canadians in The Gang, one mother/daughter couple were hopscotching their way from California to DisneyWorld, Ireland, ABD London/Paris, Disneyland Paris, and then ABD Italy (whew!), and one lady won the trip in a contest at her place of work - to name but a few. At 35 strong, The Gang was starting to bond.

After Alex and Andrew's overview of the week ahead, we retired to another room for dinner. The theme was basically 'all things British'. The buffet was a sampling of British fare (cue the jokes about British cuisine). The tables were decorated with British-inspired centerpieces. There was even a stand in the corner serving chips in newspaper cones. For those Gentle Readers who are thinking about taking this tour, I won't spoil any more of the surprises. Suffice to say that dinner was very enjoyable and the excitement in the room about the week ahead was palpable.

By 8pm, The Gang was drifting off to their rooms, and we followed suit. Tomorrow would be a busy day including a double-decker bus tour, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, tea at Harrod's..... And that's only part of the day's plans - which I'll talk about in the next post.

Bedtime Snack

Tip: While Disney does run the show, don't expect to be inundated with Mickey Mouse and the like. This is, indeed, a vacation tour. From the get-go it will be obvious that Disney is employing their exceptional strengths in customer service, 'themeing', and ability to 'tell stories'.

Euro Day 5: Splish Splash

Eagle House's garden entrance

July 12, 2007. It's Thursday, so it must be time for a Bath. One full day of sightseeing and one last day on our own before the good people at Disney start running the show. After a quiet breakfast at Eagle House, we pointed Blue Passat towards Bath. Dee was slightly annoyed that our morning dawdling might mean we'd be late for the 10am walking tour of Bath. The tour was free - hosted at the local Tourist Information (TI) office in Bath. Based on the great experiences thus far with free tours, Dee was not about to miss out.

Blue Passat knew the way back to the Cricket Grounds and we were at the TI with 10 minutes to spare (and lash marks across our backs!). In reality, the tour did not start until 10:30am, and we were obliged to cool our heels in the small square outside the TI. We passed the time watching dodgy-looking street folk try to keep the pigeons at bay. Good times. Soon enough we met our guide Myra - an elderly native of Bath with an encyclopedic knowledge of local history and architecture. For the next 2 hours Myra led us through back alleys and across broad boulevards and kept us rapt with her stories. The kids were generally engaged, although JediBoy did wane towards the 90-minute mark. We all agreed that Bath - with its Roman/Victorian stonework, lush green spaces, and the River Avon - was among the most beautiful cities we'd seen so far.

Bath phone booth

Bath counil flats - i.e. public housing

After a quick lunch - a Yorkshire pudding bowl filled with beef in ale, all designed to hide those hideous peas - we decided to dive into the algae-tinged waters from which Bath got its name. Actually, we decided to stroll casually beside the waters, in the Roman baths. As luck would have it, we fell into yet another free tour as we passed the turnstile. I think we got far more out of the tour than had we wandered about the ruins on our own simply reading the posters and signboards. The baths are an interesting combination of Roman engineering with a thick layer of Victorian dramatis on top. The waters begin some 4 kilometers below ground from where the hot water literally bubbles to the surface. The sickly green tinge is a result of hot water meeting sunlight. Back in the day, the now-open-air baths where sheltered by a wooden roof, and the waters would have been clear and inviting. As well, the baths were once part a larger complex available to the average Roman to cater to their more 'sensual' needs. I think our modern-day spas probably pale in comparison.

Main bath complex

View of Bath Abbey from the main bath complex

As a fitting end to our tour of the Roman baths, we adjourned to the famous Pump Room - a Victorian tea room that overlooks the baths. Included in the bath admission price is the opportunity to sample a glass of (filtered) bath water from a pump located in the aforementioned tea room. The theory: drinking the heavy mineralized water has curative properties. The reality: the water is a rather acquired taste. I found it not too bad, but with a vile aftertaste. I await The Cure, however.


We banished the taste of bath water with a quick ice cream snack out on the square. As the minerals washed from our tongues, we listened to the variety of street performers that earn coins from the tourists. My favourite was a dreadlocked Jamaican fellow who only knew 2 songs - and only 2 or 3 lines from each song - which he simply repeated over and over as he mugged for the tourists. What he lacked in talent he made up for in bravado.


Also skirting the square is the Bath Abbey. It's quite ornate for an Abbey and proved all the more interesting by the fact that Myra (leader of the morning tour) had educated us a bit on the symbolism in the Abbey's stone carvings. As luck would have it, the Bath Philharmonic was holding a public rehearsal - which afforded us a lovely concert as we sat in one of the rear pews.

Bath Abbey tower

Inside Bath Abbey

It was nearing mid-afternoon at this point, and we had decided to have dinner in Bath rather than driving back to Bathford. As we strolled over near the River Avon we noticed there were a number of small, 2-deck tour boats sitting idle. This would be a perfect way to kill some time before dinner and relax a bit. Long story short, the Avon cruises are relaxing for sure (and the on-board beverage service didn't hurt either). However, these tours have little in the way of historical narrative. These are really just 60-minute scenic trips, and that was just fine for us.

A fellow Avon River tourboat

Boat rentals on the Avon River

Refreshed from bobbing up and down the Avon, we strolled the narrow alleys of Bath a bit - looking for someplace to grab a bite to eat. We settled on a light dinner of sandwiches at Bath's (in)famous Sally Lunn's - known for it's signature "Sally Lunn's buns" - small round loaves of bread. This local eatery has a history stretching back 300 years, and the atmosphere doesn't disappoint. The food did not disappoint either and we found ourselves purchasing some buns to go.


With our stomachs full, it was time to say good-bye to Bath and head back to Eagle House. We would cap off our wonderful day with a walking tour of Bathford. There has been a community on the town site since Roman times, with the local church - St. Swithun's - in existance since the 1300's. The village looks like what a small English village ought to look - if it were haunted. Stone walls bordering narrow lanes, an ancient church with an adjacent graveyard, stone buildings surrounded by stone walls, greenery overgrowing everything, and no human activity other than a couple of fellow tourists walking the same circuit as us. The village is beautiful and yet so foreign to us North Americans. But I couldn't shake the whole Children of the Damned vibe.

Bathford near dusk

The family walking in lonely Bathford

And at that, we retired back to Eagle House to pack our vagabound belongings and prepare for another travel day ahead. Tomorrow, we would head back to Heathrow and turn ourselves over to the good people at Adventures by Disney.

Euro Day 4: Old Stones and Cricket

Wednesday, July 4, 2007 and the Salisbury morning brings bright Sun and warm breezes. After one last Rokeby House breakfast, we bid our hosts, Karen and Mark, a smiling farewell and drove a few kilometers into the town center. I will note for the record that Dee declined the car keys for this short journey.

We were set on visiting Salisbury Cathedral. After a short stroll through quiet, narrow streets, we passed through the ancient arch and stood at the edge of the green space that skirts this, the tallest spire in the UK.

The free tour inside was led by our newest friend, Peter. A retired military man, Peter was the very model of a modern Major-General - and his knowledge of the Cathedral's history and architecture is vast. For 90 minutes he kept us all spellbound (even the kids!) with his stories and attention to detail. While there were so many highlights during this tour, seeing an original copy of the Magna Carta and the world's oldest working medieval clock are a few that stood out for me. It was only later that we learned the typical tour is scheduled to last only 45 minutes, and we appreciated Peter's lessons all the more.

With our time Salisbury coming to an end, our goal for the rest of the day was to meander our way towards Bath, taking in a few sights along the way. Our first stop - Old Sarum - which is the original site of what is now Salisbury. All that is left on that emerald-coloured windswept hill are the foundations of what once was. When the local populace decided to bug out in the early 1200's, they took whatever building materials they could, and moved them a few miles south to the town's present location.

After a good hour's worth of exploration at Old Sarum, we piled back into Blue Passat for the short drive to Stonehenge. Driving on the Salisbury Plain must be one of the more relaxing and idyllic trips one could make on a sunny day. Miles of green, undulating hills give way to spectacular vistas - always at just the right moment. Soon enough we were there - in the middle of nowhere in particular - amid the ancient stones of Stonehenge. While perhaps a little bit more commercialized since my first visit some 20-odd years previous, not much had changed around the site. The open fields, curious sheep, and low-key trickle of visitors were largely how I remembered things. I liked that visitors were now issued a device that provided an audio tour of the site (a feature common at many tourist destinations in England, so it seems). One big difference was the show of military force this time as compared to the 'hippie riots' that had punctuated my last visit.

After an hour or so of looking around and lunching on ice cream and scones, it was time to push on towards Bath - our next base of operations. Our actual destination was the village of Bathford on the outskirts of Bath - home to our next B&B, Eagle House. We'll explore the village of Bathford in another post, but suffice to say that it is ancient and makes liberal use of stone. Eagle House, some 250 years old, is magnificent with its stonework, gardens, and 12-foot ceilings. Certainly there was a different 'feel' than Rokeby House, and we knew we'd enjoy our stay.

After a bit of settling in, we decided it was time to dip our toes into Bath (yes, bad pun). While our guidebook suggested otherwise, we decided we might drive ourselves into town. John, our host, gave us excellent directions that would get us into the heart of town while avoiding the typical tourist congestion. The drive was not bad, although we got lost for a bit in the busy traffic. But soon enough we were in a public car-park at the Bath Cricket Grounds. This was a tip from John - not many people know that the car-park exists, and we had no trouble finding a spot for Blue Passat. As a bonus, some cricketers(?) were on the pitch holding a practise, and we spent a few minutes watching this very odd sport!

Expectedly, Bath is old and constructed largely of stone. After some 'roadhouse faire' at a restaurant in the central area of Bath, our plan for this evening was to avoid any real sightseeing. Rather, we intended to to sign on to watch a bit of street theater known as Bizarre Bath - which had run across during our Internet research. So, we found the pub at the appointed meeting time and paid our pounds. The one-man show did not disappoint. The best way to describe it is 'street theater meets Monty Python'. While it offers no historical education, we did get to spend 2 hours walking through central Bath being thoroughly entertained. Mind you, if you pale at the idea of a magic trick involving a rabbit named Stuart, a rucksack, and the River Avon, then perhaps you'd be better off to skip Bizarre Bath. My family, however, loved it.

The tour wrapped up at 10pm, and so it was time to find our way back to Bathford. Driving the twisting roads in the dark was not so bad, but I made a note to avoid doing it again. And so, a busy day came to an end inside the old, stone walls of Eagle House. Tomorrow, we would tour Bath properly.

Time Traveling in the Blogosphere

So I went and made a somewhat-public statement that I'd go back and finish the posts I started 6 months ago about Eurotour 2007. After re-reading my trip journal, I think this will be fun (for me) and uncomfortably close to watching someone else's vacation slides (for you). But since there's bugger-all going on here lately and my Vanity Project isn't being nominated for any awards anytime soon, what the hell. Let's do a Dallas Shower Scene and pretend it's July 2007 once more, shall we?

Eurotour Day 1 (and 2) was Monday July 9, 2007 and that was the day I had a heart attack. No one paid much attention, but it happened. You can read about it here.

Day 3: Suck It Up, Buttercup

After the horrors whose corporeal form was a Blue Passat, today promised more of the same. The game plan was to drive(!) 60 minutes from Salisbury down to Portsmouth; the present and historical home of the British Navy. I love ships - especially old ones - and this day was one I had been planning for weeks. The trouble was, I was not enamoured with the idea of more driving. And so, I avoided the topic as long as possible.

The morning stated with a lovely breakfast of smoked salmon and creamy scrambled eggs prepared by our hosts at Rokeby House. I think I enjoyed this much more than anyone else. All through the meal I studiously avoided any talk of Portsmouth.

After breakfast we wandered over Salisbury market looking for interesting things to buy. There were none. We wandered over to Salisbury Cathedral for a look-see. There was a funeral underway and we couldn't go inside. I'm sure there's more to do in Salisbury on a grey Tuesday morning, but it was not obvious to us.

And now, the picture that is etched in my mind forever more: my family imploring me (rather angrily) that we needed to get into the Blue Passat and go see Portsmouth. When you get leaned on by an 11 year-old, you better grow some stones (I heard some big kids say that once).

And so I did.

Karen from Rokeby assured us the drive was easy. Well guess what? It was easy! And the tire held! And 60 minutes later we descended from the high, flat plains of Salisbury and my breath froze in my lungs as I saw the vast, sweeping, grey-hulled expanse of history that is Portsmouth. I had never seen so many ships in my entire life!

In this, the birthplace of Charles Dickens, there really was more to do than we could fit into a single day. We concentrated our time, therefore, on the Historic Dockyards. Upon purchasing the deluxe tourist pass, the highlights included:

The soaring Spinnaker Tower and it's 23-mile view out to the Isle of Wight:

Nelson's HMS Victory - the oldest commissioned ship in the Royal Navy:

And Henry VIII's ancient Mary Rose - cast in a haunting, waxy light:

Add to all this a boat tour of the harbour, a chance to climb around another vessel or two, some museums, and a most excellent Italian meal, and you've got a jam-packed day of salt-water, barnacles, and history.

As we drove back to Salisbury at the tired end of the day, it occurred to me that I'd learned a few things. First, driving in England could be tolerable (barely). Second, I'd been reminded of how much fun a family could have together. Third, my sense of direction still sucked. We got lost in Salisbury (again) and ended up in the maze of one-way streets in the old part of town that all the guide books say you must avoid.

After a few rolls of the dice, however, we magically were spat out from the mouse maze of narrow streets and found ourselves back at Rokeby House. And thus ended the day with cups of tea all around and some quiet journal writing. Tomorrow we would be traveling back in time even further - Stonehenge and beyond!

Hard Time in the Internet Age

Apparently I've dodged a bullet, but I may be a wanted man. You might recall my abject failure in blogging from Europe last month. You may also recall my one small success in exchanging a few quick emails courtesy of a wide-open private wireless connection I encountered.

I broke the law, as it turns out. Using someone's WiFi signal without their permission is a crime in the UK. And the authorities are prosecuting. At first blush I thought this sounded a bit harsh. As I think about it a bit, I'm conflicted. It probably should be viewed as theft, but what is the best punishment?

Either way, I'm polishing my shiv.

The Invisible Threat

In the not too distant past it would have seemed somewhat odd to talk about terrorist threats while leafing through your vacation snapshots. Sadly, the Bogeyman is our regular traveling companion anymore. I'd swear we know some TSA agents by name down in good ol' Orlando MCO. And the sight of National Guardsman (with serious firepower at the ready) is almost an unremarkable fixture in many tourist spots throughout the US.


But Europe was different. In the UK, the threat of the Bogeyman seemed more ominous; the feeling of safety more tangible.

• Salisbury Plain - tank crews patrolled the back-roads of Salisbury Plain as we casually strolled the walking paths of Stonehenge. Yes, the picture above is real.
• London - as London Eye riders exit their 'capsule', 2 attendants calmly enter the capsule with over-sized dental mirrors. Their goal: search under benches and above light fixtures for anything suspicious. Oh, and don't take video footage of this process - they don't like that at all. Trust me.
• Portsmouth - the current terror threat level is causally posted for all to see in this, the home of the British Navy. Two heavily-armed (i.e. automatic assault rifles) security officers stand watch over a group of burka-clad ladies and their children as holiday photos are snapped beside the HMS Victory. The security officers don't pretend to be doing anything other than watching these people. When the Muslim tourists move, so does the security detail.
• UK in general - We heard a statistic on the radio as we putt-putted down the M4. The UK employs more CCTV (security) cameras per capita than anywhere else in the world. While actual numbers are not known, the estimate is something close to 1 camera for every 12 people. That's over 5,000,000 cameras keeping citizens safe - or something. George Orwell sprang to mind as London police arrested the latest batch of terrorist suspects based on CCTV evidence.
  

France - or rather Paris - was another story. The only overt security we really saw were a few soldiers patrolling a railway crossing in the middle of nowhere as we sped by on the Eurostar. As well, the President's residence enjoyed the protection of a few dozen Surete and soldiers. Their job was mostly standing around making idle chit-chat and some occasional spirited blowing of whistles at rubbernecking tourists.

Beyond this, it seemed that the French are somewhat half-hearted about the whole idea of terrorist threats - no armed officers prowling tourist hot-spots, no posted threat levels. There were some very token bag inspections at the Louvre and Disneyland, but that was it. Our hotel was a stone's throw from the Saudi and Japanese embassies, but we saw exactly one rent-a-cop in the vicinity. His job: keep the illegal parkers from his part of the street.

Two countries. Two realities. And both different than ours. It's a strange old world, isn't it?

White Knuckles

Part 1 in semi-regular series detailing Euro Tour 2007 highlights. While guaranteed to be interesting to the Author, it's likely and expected to be less so to Readers like you. All hail the Wankosphere, for it feeds my ego. Let's begin, shall we?

Phase 1 of the adventure was a 4-and-a-half day free-spirited driving tour of Southern England. The general plan for Day 1: land at Heathrow, pickup the car, visit nearby Windsor Castle, then drive to Salisbury for some R&R in a B&B we had booked. The theme here was to keep jet-lag at bay and quickly get ourselves acclimatized to UK time.

The plan generally worked, but not in quite the way we had intended.

Air Canada fulfilled all of our expectations and ensured our flights were late. The culprits, as always, were ominous mechanical issues followed by the tried-and-true 'bad weather in Toronto' gambit. This time, it didn't matter. We were getting into Heathrow at 6:30am anyways, so Air Canada could be late as they liked as far as I was concerned.

After an uneventful flight filled with boring movies, uneatable 'food', and free booze, we arrived at Heathrow (late) and spent almost an hour clearing customs. Because I don't sleep much on airplanes, I had already achieved a Zen-like state of fatigue and the customs lineup took on a slightly psychedelic tinge around the edges.

With some perfunctory questions from a customs dude with frosty-tipped hair, we found our bags, found the Avis shuttle, and - before I could think twice - we were standing in front of a gleaming blue 2007 VW Passat diesel wagon. Good news: it would easily hold our luggage. Bad news: the steering wheel was on the wrong side.

According to Google Maps, Windsor Castle is but a mere 18 minutes from Heathrow. Armed with these instructions, a traditional map, and a GPS, we managed to extend the trip to about 45 minutes. Finding Windsor was easy. Finding the Castle was dumb luck.

Prying my hands of the steering wheel required gentle coaxing. I knew my heart would explode before the end of the day, but my family would not believe me. I wondered how they would get my body back to home soil. I could only imagine the Air Canada screw-ups.

But the sun was shining, the air was warm, and the Castle was the first friend we would make on our journey. It was interesting enough, but not really the sort of place that would inspire awe in Her Majesty's subjects. We saw the changing of the guard, some staterooms, the chapel - but my mind became fixated on the journey ahead.

Soon enough, we decided to head to Salisbury where we would be using Rokeby Guest House as our base for a couple of days. Notwithstanding the valiant efforts of our navigational tools, we could not escape the environs of Windsor. We got lost, got lost again, found ourself back where we started, then did the whole thing over again. For 90 minutes we did this as the muscles in my neck crept ever-close to my earlobes.

This was a trial-by-fire driving lesson in England. I soon got the hang of driving on the left and my tires were hitting the left-hand curb less frequently. It soon became apparent that the mechanics of driving would not be the issue. Navigating would be the problem - and a big one at that since roads tend to Not Be Straight and Not Go Directly Anywhere. Traffic circles were a cute idea, but little-resembled circles. Imagine a highway clover-leaf flattened out and shrunk to fit inside the smallest English village. Now imagine that finding your road inside one of these hairballs is decided by a lottery who's rules are a secret. Now you've got an English traffic circle.

Then came Eton, home of the venerable Eton College. While not on our agenda, we nonetheless found ourselves quite suddenly on its narrow, ancient streets wistfully imagining the circumstances under which the authorities would find our bodies decaying inside a lifeless blue Passat. I made a mental check of the location of our passports. It would make identification easier, I imagined.

That's when we had 'the incident'. The left front tire (or is that tyre) kissed the curb yet again and emitted a rubber-on-stone shriek. As a cabbie would soon point out to us, this had caused the sidewall to develop a plum-sized rupture. Day 1, and I was already having to deal with car repairs. It was Nova Scotia all over again (another story for another day).

Into a gas station for driving directions and a check of the tire. The spare tire was full-sized, so there was no urgent need to locate a garage to buy a new tire. I made the decision to drive on the damaged tire and, if it burst, I'd throw on the spare. Damn the torpedoes.

90 minutes later, we were in Salisbury - 3 hours in total to take a trip that the good people at Google promised would take 1 hour. And the tire - still intact.

The final irony - we got lost 1 block from the B&B because the lovely people who own Rokeby Guest House gave us incorrect directions. Once we sorted this out (with some help from a convenience store clerk), we found the B&B a comfortable oasis in which to encamp. To put things in perspective, a pile of leaves under a tarp would have been equally as comfy for us by this time. We had long ago ceased to be running on fumes. Now it was spite.

The last act of the day before falling into comas would be dinner at a local pub where the people were friendly and the food was better than Air Canada's.

This was Day 1, and I already had an irrational fear of driving blue Passat's. What would the next 4 days bring? The large beer told me to forget about all this for while, and so I did.

The Myth of Free WiFi

Okay - Euro Tour 2007 was an utterly amazing 2 weeks. Portsmouth, Bath, Salisbury, Old Sarum, Windsor, Eton, London, Paris, Versailles - and the list gets longer. It was truly a family adventure and there are stories to tell, pictures to share, and impressions to paint.

I so hoped to be posting from Over There. I had my cool little Palm device with WiFi and had figured out how to post to Blogger via email. All I needed was an occasional wireless connection and I'd be reporting from the front lines. I had read so many breathless accounts of the European penchant for free hotspots, I suppose I pictured myself sitting in a cafe or in a park exuding a diamond-cool Wired magazine kinda vibe as I casually jacked into the Net from my PDA.

Cue the squeeze-box music. A loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and the Information Highway running through my hands.

But I 'supposed' wrong. Nowhere did I encounter wireless access for the proletariat. Hotels, airports, cafes - they all wanted my credit card. Only once did I find a free connection, and that was some poor soul's unsecured home network that appeared for only for a few moments late one night at our room at a Salisbury B&B. I managed to squeak out one quick email to our house-sitter to let her know we'd arrived in England reasonably intact. Then, the connection evaporated - consumed by the Salisbury mist, I imagine.

I'm going to share some stories anyways. Maybe I'll even post it as a day-by-day account (set the Wayback Machine, Sherman) - at least until someone cries "Uncle!". But I can't help being a tad disappointed that my little experiment in 'You Are There' ended up a failure.

Stay tuned...