Tourists

January 22, 2007: continued. After our droll breakfast at the Melia White House, we began our initial exploration of London. Since our hotel was practically ontop of the Great Portland Street Station, we were able to duck through the rain showers between Melia and the Station and the end result was not overly damp. But we needed umbrellas, it was decided. Too much rain on our first morning of tourism. So we took the underground to Trafalgar Square and bought umbrellas (London umbrellas, I called them). Turns out we only needed them for a total of two hours. We walked beneath our London umbrellas in the direction of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, toward Westminster Abbey, these landmarks striking unbelievably statuesque poses in our midsts as we stood humbled beneath them. I've never witnessed anything so ornate, so intricate, as this corner of London (and so old!) Craig was silent nearly the entire time - although, I recall he gasped his wonder here and there - it was like being in a different dimension of time. We walked around and around, staring up at the impossibly beautiful grace of these buildings. And then we walked away from it. We walked to Buckingham Palace, right up to it, as close as we could get which is these days not too close (I couldn't poke the guards to try to make them laugh). Craig decided we would walk around the Palace. Traveler's tip: Do not walk around the Palace: you will see nothing but a towering stone wall guarded by intimidating wrought iron spikes circling the topmost frame of the wall. I complained a little at this point. I couldn't help it - the wall surrounding the grounds of the Palace held no magic for me. Craig felt bad - he had no idea! But it was quickly water under the bridge. After the Palace we wandered along St. James Park and wound up near Trafalgar Square again, where we opted for fish and chips and pints at the Sherlock Holmes.
I suppose this was our first actual exposure to English fish and chips. But what can I say? It was fine - a normal serving of battered white fish served with a side of tartar sauce and a pile of "chips," or fries which we smothered in vinegar - voluntarily. Because that's what the English do. At least so we think.*While we sat at Sherlock discussing our tourism thus far, the door swung open and in walked a stream of Craig's friends. I don't know how small of a world it is but clearly it is small enough that all of us would elect for the same touristy pub in the same afternoon around roughly the same hour. We didn't arrange it in advance. Not at all. So seeing them there after Craig and I were seated with a pint and some food was weird. Not bad. Just weird.*