August 11, 1984 - Day 11
LONDON - FRANCE - BELGIUM
London - Ramsgate - Dunkirk, France : en route
One of the trivia bits I read in some magazine said that the phone number of the Buckingham Palace switchboard was actually listed in the phone book! So, just to verify with my own eyes that it was so, I opened up the phone book on the dresser table and there it was! I took it down in my travel journal notebook, and then set about the process of checking out of our Royal National home.
We left a bag with various assorted London purchases at the concierge's desk, for pick up upon our arrival at the end of the tour. The first people we made acquaintance with were the Fil-Ams from San Diego. Gene N. stuck these San Diego carnation stickers on Ma and I, and introduced us to his group. Jun G. was hoping to find a power pack for his video camera, which was running low on battery power. Nice folk, if a bit full of the bonhomie.
We were scheduled to arrive in Brussels via Dunkirk, on the Channel ferry from Ramsgate. The bus going to Ramsgate had one of the worst PA systems imaginable, and our poor Tour Manager had troubles unending trying to get his voice to be heard through to the back of the bus.
The route from London went through the lovely countryside of Kent, which made up for the noise and general commotion in the bus. We got ourselves loaded onto the ferry with very little fuss, and ended up sitting with Jun and his wife Carmen, more or less. That's because it was a somewhat choppy ride, and I was starting to feel queasy until I learned it was better to walk around on deck instead of sit and watch the dipping of the horizon outside the windows.
I would have gone topside, but then I learned that there were on board slot machines and duty-free shopping. I changed over our leftover pounds into dollars, which were endorsed to Ma. With the 60p left in my hand, I went over to the slot machines, where I won a two-pound jackpot that was spent on a t-shirt and cologne.
When we arrived at Dunkirk, there was no one manning the customs/immigration desks, so Ma and I sailed on through. This, I discovered, entitles us to one extra entry into France, which will come in handy, as the travel agency has only given us a double-entry visa instead of a multiple-entry one. We are fortunate!
Dunkirk, France - Brussels, Belgium
The bus into which we were bundled for the Continental portion of our tour had a good PA system. Light-years away from the other bus, which is a mercy for our Tour Manager. We were finally able to decipher that his name is Earl Younger - an *extremely* good-looking person, he is — most definitely spoken for. After taking care of the "administrative details", he showed that he knows how to take a catnap on the bus; he put his fee up on his briefcase, and was off like a light!
It was raining by the time we arrived at Belgian border, giving me thoughts of espionage movies and border crossings. We had a driver substitution, as Martin's back problems had flared up. He was replaced by Bart Wildenbergh, who will be with us until we get back to Dunkirk again. The rain softened to a slow misting throughout our 2.5 hour drive from the border to the city of Brussels, and it was under overcast skies that I had my first view of the city.
Brussels : Hotel Bedford
Bart guided the bus down old cobblestone streets to the front of the hotel, where Earl checked us in and distributed our room keys so we could freshen up before our walking tour to the Grand Place. After gathering us in the lobby, Earl set off on a route that passed at least half a dozen lace shops on the way, filled with examples of the world-famous Flemish lace. Our last stop was at the Manniken Pis statue (the little boy who peed to put out a beginning fire at the city wall and thus saved the city), and from there, Earl said we could make our own way back to the hotel.
Taking our time, we walked towards the Grand Place, and found a mysterious plaque on the wall of a shop or pub just off the main square, on the lower corner, leading to the street of the Manniken Pis. It showed a reclining man embossed into the brass, with a Latin inscription at the bottom of the plaque indicating a patriot or martyr. We noticed that people passing by would pass their hands over it as if it were a religious icon -- the plaque is very well-rubbed, almost hard to see figure, and the inscription is blurred as well.
In the middle of the Grand Place, a stage was set up for a presentation of modern ballet, and a friendly policeman told us the show began at nine p.m. What a great pity we had to leave the city early the next morning, it would have been nice to see an open-air performance. Instead, I thanked the policeman in halting French and got him to smile and answer back -- in French, as well!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 10
August 10, 1984 - Day 10
Today is the actual start date of the Eurobout tour, according to the brochure. Like all tours, it's basically a free day for the rest of the tour members to check-in at the hotel. Since we decided to fly in a week early (!!) to give allowance for jet lag and exploring London, this we're amply rested and ready for the tour to start.
Nigel had made arrangements to meet us at the Leytonstone Tube station for a drive through the English countryside. I had to consult the handy Tube map that had been my constant companion since we started using it. Discovered that Leytonstone Station is on the Central Line of the London Underground, on the boundary of Zones 3 and 4. OK, no problem about that, and Nigel was waiting with a smile on the platform when we arrived.
He handed Ma and I into the car and soon we were heading out to Essex, to the town of Chipping Ongar. It's the home of St. Andrew's Church, Greensted-juxta-Ongar. Historical notes say that recent analysis of the wooded plank walls which indicate that they date from around 1063 AD (rather than the 845 AD date given by an earlier test). It is still acknowledged as the oldest wooden stave built church in the world. In all probability, it was built by Homo Dapifer, the new Norman lord of the manor recorded in the Doomsday Book.
It's a tiny little church, a simple place, with wood darkened by age and the feeling of several generations of worship gathered in a single place. It gives a sense of spiritual comfort, and I found myself saying a prayer for a safe journey and for good things to happen to Nigel for being so nice to someone he'd only just met.
Our next stop was Finchfield, for lunch a short walk. Finchfield is a small residential district in Wolverhampton. It's a lovely place, with shady walks and houses that seem to have been planted there for a very long time. The air was brisk and good for the appetite — I managed to demolish a huge steak and kidney pie!
We popped into the car again, and along the road, Ma and I were admiring the rolling green fields of the countryside, marvelling how fresh everything looked. There were cows in some fields, and then Nigel pulled over at one point, and led us out to meet some horses standing by a roadside fence! They were lovely animals, both brown, and taller than I was — their heads came up to Nigel's shoulders. They seemed happy to see us, and could hear the pleasure in our voices as we said hello, and the one nearest me bent down to snuffle my pockets for sugar or carrots or an apple. Pity I didn't have any on hand, but the horse let me pet it anyway.
Our last stop of the day was Castle Hedingham, dating back to the Norman Conquest. It was primarily a garrison rather than a residence, and is 110 feet high. Built c.1140 by Aubrey de Vere, it is still owned by one of his descendants, The Honourable Thomas Lindsay and his wife Virginia. There are four floors to explore, including a magnificent Banqueting Hall spanned by a remarkable 28 foot arch, one of the largest Norman arches in England. A good view of this splendid room can be obtained from the Minstrels' Gallery, built within the thickness of the 12 foot walls.
What a pity that the place was closed, I would have enjoyed exploring about inside an honest to goodness castle keep. (Just think of the stories I could have spun from that visit!) Still, we had a lovely time strolling about the grounds before Nigel drove us back to Leytonstone to catch the Tube for London.
It was a lovely day, and we got back early to get our bags organized. We'll have to be leaving some stuff with the concierge when we leave, and pick it up when we get back from the Continent.
Tomorrow the tour gets underway!
Today is the actual start date of the Eurobout tour, according to the brochure. Like all tours, it's basically a free day for the rest of the tour members to check-in at the hotel. Since we decided to fly in a week early (!!) to give allowance for jet lag and exploring London, this we're amply rested and ready for the tour to start.
Nigel had made arrangements to meet us at the Leytonstone Tube station for a drive through the English countryside. I had to consult the handy Tube map that had been my constant companion since we started using it. Discovered that Leytonstone Station is on the Central Line of the London Underground, on the boundary of Zones 3 and 4. OK, no problem about that, and Nigel was waiting with a smile on the platform when we arrived.
He handed Ma and I into the car and soon we were heading out to Essex, to the town of Chipping Ongar. It's the home of St. Andrew's Church, Greensted-juxta-Ongar. Historical notes say that recent analysis of the wooded plank walls which indicate that they date from around 1063 AD (rather than the 845 AD date given by an earlier test). It is still acknowledged as the oldest wooden stave built church in the world. In all probability, it was built by Homo Dapifer, the new Norman lord of the manor recorded in the Doomsday Book.
It's a tiny little church, a simple place, with wood darkened by age and the feeling of several generations of worship gathered in a single place. It gives a sense of spiritual comfort, and I found myself saying a prayer for a safe journey and for good things to happen to Nigel for being so nice to someone he'd only just met.
Our next stop was Finchfield, for lunch a short walk. Finchfield is a small residential district in Wolverhampton. It's a lovely place, with shady walks and houses that seem to have been planted there for a very long time. The air was brisk and good for the appetite — I managed to demolish a huge steak and kidney pie!
We popped into the car again, and along the road, Ma and I were admiring the rolling green fields of the countryside, marvelling how fresh everything looked. There were cows in some fields, and then Nigel pulled over at one point, and led us out to meet some horses standing by a roadside fence! They were lovely animals, both brown, and taller than I was — their heads came up to Nigel's shoulders. They seemed happy to see us, and could hear the pleasure in our voices as we said hello, and the one nearest me bent down to snuffle my pockets for sugar or carrots or an apple. Pity I didn't have any on hand, but the horse let me pet it anyway.
Our last stop of the day was Castle Hedingham, dating back to the Norman Conquest. It was primarily a garrison rather than a residence, and is 110 feet high. Built c.1140 by Aubrey de Vere, it is still owned by one of his descendants, The Honourable Thomas Lindsay and his wife Virginia. There are four floors to explore, including a magnificent Banqueting Hall spanned by a remarkable 28 foot arch, one of the largest Norman arches in England. A good view of this splendid room can be obtained from the Minstrels' Gallery, built within the thickness of the 12 foot walls.
What a pity that the place was closed, I would have enjoyed exploring about inside an honest to goodness castle keep. (Just think of the stories I could have spun from that visit!) Still, we had a lovely time strolling about the grounds before Nigel drove us back to Leytonstone to catch the Tube for London.
It was a lovely day, and we got back early to get our bags organized. We'll have to be leaving some stuff with the concierge when we leave, and pick it up when we get back from the Continent.
Tomorrow the tour gets underway!
EUROBOUT CONTINENTAL CAROUSEL 1984 - PASSENGER LIST
EUROBOUT 808-04 CONTINENTAL CAROUSEL
10 August- 2 September 1984
United States
Frank and Bertha, Angie, Lois
Fil-Americans
Gene and Puring, Truding, Josefina, Jun and Carmen
Taiwan
Francy, Sylvia, Gremy, Diana
Philippines
Shirley and Evelyn, Eduardo, Cora and Cindy, Teodoro and Thelma
Trinidad and Tobago
Basil and Rita, Yolande, Betty Ann, Choy Lee
Jamaica
Keith and Sonia
India
Joe and Maria
Eurobout Staff
Keith Totilo - owner/manager
Earl Younger - Tour Manager
Drivers
Martin - Dunkirk to Belgian border
Bart Wildenbergh - Belgian Border, across the Continent, back to Dunkirk
City Guides
Vienna : Christina (city tour) and Uwe (Vienna Woods and Illuminations)
Rome : Gabriella
Venice : Paolo
Barcelona : Nuria
Paris : Christine Vignot
10 August- 2 September 1984
United States
Frank and Bertha, Angie, Lois
Fil-Americans
Gene and Puring, Truding, Josefina, Jun and Carmen
Taiwan
Francy, Sylvia, Gremy, Diana
Philippines
Shirley and Evelyn, Eduardo, Cora and Cindy, Teodoro and Thelma
Trinidad and Tobago
Basil and Rita, Yolande, Betty Ann, Choy Lee
Jamaica
Keith and Sonia
India
Joe and Maria
Eurobout Staff
Keith Totilo - owner/manager
Earl Younger - Tour Manager
Drivers
Martin - Dunkirk to Belgian border
Bart Wildenbergh - Belgian Border, across the Continent, back to Dunkirk
City Guides
Vienna : Christina (city tour) and Uwe (Vienna Woods and Illuminations)
Rome : Gabriella
Venice : Paolo
Barcelona : Nuria
Paris : Christine Vignot
Sunday, August 6, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 9
August 8, 1984
Today on our "must-see" list was Harrods, which, according to all the heraldic devices on its store frontage, is official purveyor to Her Majesty the Queen Mother, Her Majesty the Queen, HRH the Duke of Edinburgh, and HRH the Prince of Wales. Mercy on us, but it is a bastion of the aristocracy, rather like Rustan's back home. Only of course, Harrod's dates back quite a few years before Rustan's...you can almost feel the spirits of ancient shoppers checking you out.
Armed with our new-found knowledge of the Tube, we hopped on it at Russell Square station and landed in Knightsbridge in no time. We popped out of the station and took a good look around us to orient ourselves, and then, like pilgrims entering a shrine, popped ourselves inside.
It's a lovely place. Never mind that one feels like a country bumpkin for never having been there before — it is a lovely place. Exclusive merchandise everywhere, the sales personnel keep an eye on you without making you feel like they think you'll run off with the display items; neither do they hover about you like circling vultures. I felt my jaw drop inside the Wedgewood section, which wasn't so bad after being afraid to breathe through the entire lead crystal display. Gawds! Ma and I picked up two Wedgewood saucers as souvenirs. One is pink and one is blue, and both of them have those Grecian cameo figures.
We returned by Tube to the hotel for an afternoon nap, in preparation for our first theatre showing. At three p.m., we presented (or rather, rushed) ourselves past the doorman of the Garrick Theatre, and were shown to marvelous seats for the matinee of No Sex, Please...We're British. Apparently, this is the world's longest running comedy, about a bank manager's wife who thinks she's being hired to distribute Swedish crystal.
Unfortunately, the crystal is actually a shipment of X-rated movies, and the disposal of the blue films is what drives the play. It doesn't help matters that the bank manager is trying to ingratiate himself with his boss, who has consented to have dinner at his subordinate's house, as a sign of grace and favor, if you will.
I couldn't stop laughing. It was good thing everyone around me was laughing as well — the dialogue was sharp and witty, full of wordplays and double-entendres. The acting was marvelous! Some of the facial expressions were priceless. Two marvelous hours of fine acting by a wonderful cast, and I begin to understand why there are those who consider the theatre the only venue for actors who wish to be called actors in the truest sense of the world.
Back to the hotel for an early dinner and a last minute check of our things. Tomorrow is the start of our tour!
Today on our "must-see" list was Harrods, which, according to all the heraldic devices on its store frontage, is official purveyor to Her Majesty the Queen Mother, Her Majesty the Queen, HRH the Duke of Edinburgh, and HRH the Prince of Wales. Mercy on us, but it is a bastion of the aristocracy, rather like Rustan's back home. Only of course, Harrod's dates back quite a few years before Rustan's...you can almost feel the spirits of ancient shoppers checking you out.
Armed with our new-found knowledge of the Tube, we hopped on it at Russell Square station and landed in Knightsbridge in no time. We popped out of the station and took a good look around us to orient ourselves, and then, like pilgrims entering a shrine, popped ourselves inside.
It's a lovely place. Never mind that one feels like a country bumpkin for never having been there before — it is a lovely place. Exclusive merchandise everywhere, the sales personnel keep an eye on you without making you feel like they think you'll run off with the display items; neither do they hover about you like circling vultures. I felt my jaw drop inside the Wedgewood section, which wasn't so bad after being afraid to breathe through the entire lead crystal display. Gawds! Ma and I picked up two Wedgewood saucers as souvenirs. One is pink and one is blue, and both of them have those Grecian cameo figures.
We returned by Tube to the hotel for an afternoon nap, in preparation for our first theatre showing. At three p.m., we presented (or rather, rushed) ourselves past the doorman of the Garrick Theatre, and were shown to marvelous seats for the matinee of No Sex, Please...We're British. Apparently, this is the world's longest running comedy, about a bank manager's wife who thinks she's being hired to distribute Swedish crystal.
Unfortunately, the crystal is actually a shipment of X-rated movies, and the disposal of the blue films is what drives the play. It doesn't help matters that the bank manager is trying to ingratiate himself with his boss, who has consented to have dinner at his subordinate's house, as a sign of grace and favor, if you will.
I couldn't stop laughing. It was good thing everyone around me was laughing as well — the dialogue was sharp and witty, full of wordplays and double-entendres. The acting was marvelous! Some of the facial expressions were priceless. Two marvelous hours of fine acting by a wonderful cast, and I begin to understand why there are those who consider the theatre the only venue for actors who wish to be called actors in the truest sense of the world.
Back to the hotel for an early dinner and a last minute check of our things. Tomorrow is the start of our tour!
Friday, July 14, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 8
August 7, 1984
Today we collected our Eurobout paraphernalia at the hotel lobby. We've got travel bags, brochures, luggage tags, and travel maps. These were stowed in our room. While we were doing last-minute primping, I got a call from my pen-friend Nigel, saying he was in the lobby.
Nigel and I had been exchanging letters through a penpal service, and though we'd sent each other pictures, I was approaching this meeting with butterflies in my stomach. I felt awkward, meeting him with Ma present; but the idea of being on my own to meet him was even more daunting.
In any case, before my imagination could go off the deep end, he was there; a nice solid kind of person, quiet in manner and with excellent manners. He was a bit shy, but that was to be expected. He would make a good friend, definitely. He had us wait out front while he got the car out of its parking slot; it's a cute little thing, though he managed to squeeze himself in without any discomfort whatsoever.
Nigel had us out of the city limits in good time, and he said that he would be taking us through a drive in the country, with a visit to Hampton Court. It was a bit unsettling to be in the front seat, given the way Nigel drives, which is swiftly but with care. Still, the views were worth it. It was beautiful to rest one's eyes on the countryside, looking at the facades of any number of old homes, many of them are "antique" in every sense of the word.
We made Hampton Court in good time, and as I set my feet on the gravel sweep, I could hardly believe I was actually walking on the same grounds as Henry VIII and his immediate family. It is a magnificent estate, and kudos to the British for preserving it through war and economic crises. It's easy to imagine the royal ghosts that might be watching from behind the portraits!
The gardens are vast. We passed the oldest living grape vine in Britain, if not the entire world — apparently the thing still produces fruit and the resulting wine is still drinkable. Amazing. We passed The Maze, and I was tempted to go in, except that the sight of the tall hedgerows marking the maze walls and boundaries was intimidating in the extreme. Instead we turned our attention to the little souvenir shop and came away with lots of souvenirs. Nigel asked if he could take us out for another country drive, and we accepted with pleasure.
We had our dinner at "The City of London" Tavern, a place that is described as specializing in authentic pub food. It's across the road from Blackfriars station, and the trip down was a delight — all those clean-cut young businessmen in their conservative pinstripes, reading the evening paper! It would have been very rude indeed to start taking pictures in the Tube car, but then again, it's the pictures one doesn't take that one remembers the most.
Unfortunately, we arrived too early at the Tavern, just after the rush hour. So we just had time for dinner and because Ma was afraid of being out in a strange city after dark, we had to skip the festivities which were supposed to start at nine in the evening. We took another one of those lovely London cabs back to the hotel, and never did I feel so safe while traveling. Even at night, and in a city unfamiliar to me.
Today we collected our Eurobout paraphernalia at the hotel lobby. We've got travel bags, brochures, luggage tags, and travel maps. These were stowed in our room. While we were doing last-minute primping, I got a call from my pen-friend Nigel, saying he was in the lobby.
Nigel and I had been exchanging letters through a penpal service, and though we'd sent each other pictures, I was approaching this meeting with butterflies in my stomach. I felt awkward, meeting him with Ma present; but the idea of being on my own to meet him was even more daunting.
In any case, before my imagination could go off the deep end, he was there; a nice solid kind of person, quiet in manner and with excellent manners. He was a bit shy, but that was to be expected. He would make a good friend, definitely. He had us wait out front while he got the car out of its parking slot; it's a cute little thing, though he managed to squeeze himself in without any discomfort whatsoever.
Nigel had us out of the city limits in good time, and he said that he would be taking us through a drive in the country, with a visit to Hampton Court. It was a bit unsettling to be in the front seat, given the way Nigel drives, which is swiftly but with care. Still, the views were worth it. It was beautiful to rest one's eyes on the countryside, looking at the facades of any number of old homes, many of them are "antique" in every sense of the word.
We made Hampton Court in good time, and as I set my feet on the gravel sweep, I could hardly believe I was actually walking on the same grounds as Henry VIII and his immediate family. It is a magnificent estate, and kudos to the British for preserving it through war and economic crises. It's easy to imagine the royal ghosts that might be watching from behind the portraits!
The gardens are vast. We passed the oldest living grape vine in Britain, if not the entire world — apparently the thing still produces fruit and the resulting wine is still drinkable. Amazing. We passed The Maze, and I was tempted to go in, except that the sight of the tall hedgerows marking the maze walls and boundaries was intimidating in the extreme. Instead we turned our attention to the little souvenir shop and came away with lots of souvenirs. Nigel asked if he could take us out for another country drive, and we accepted with pleasure.
We had our dinner at "The City of London" Tavern, a place that is described as specializing in authentic pub food. It's across the road from Blackfriars station, and the trip down was a delight — all those clean-cut young businessmen in their conservative pinstripes, reading the evening paper! It would have been very rude indeed to start taking pictures in the Tube car, but then again, it's the pictures one doesn't take that one remembers the most.
Unfortunately, we arrived too early at the Tavern, just after the rush hour. So we just had time for dinner and because Ma was afraid of being out in a strange city after dark, we had to skip the festivities which were supposed to start at nine in the evening. We took another one of those lovely London cabs back to the hotel, and never did I feel so safe while traveling. Even at night, and in a city unfamiliar to me.
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 7
August 6, 1984
Today we caught the Changing of the Guard, and very lucky we were to do so. Thanks to currently running NATO exercises, the schedule was switched from a daily changeover to even-numbered days. The Guardsmen are doing NATO rotation, hence the regiments are undermanned, and a composite full-dress battalion is so *not* the thing. It was a beautiful sight, and we managed to get a pretty good vantage point, though not quite front row and center.
We took a walk in St. James' Park after the Changing of the Guard. I have a particular soft spot in my heart for all the wee creatures that you can find in a city park. Here, the ducks, geese, sparrows and the rest of the wildlife appear to be quite used to people. The come up to those who approach the water's edge, looking for all the world as if people were created to give them handouts. For a little while we sat on a bench and people-watched, relaxed and absorbed the atmosphere.
Today was the day we learned to use the Tube. As was our won't, we took one of the big red buses, but I managed to read the route map wrong and we ended up practically in the suburbs of London. We lined up at another bus stop, but then a sweet old lady who got tired of waiting for the bus decided to take the Tube instead. She figured us for tourists, and asked if we'd like to join her. Mama was having a mild attack of nerves due to our surroundings, and off we went.
The Tube station was just around the corner, and the lady told us how to follow the map of the system. Every line has a color, and there are arrows to show which platform you should be standing on if you are going in a particular direction. So very easy, much easier than taking the bus! Riding in the trains isn't scary at all (at least not from my point of view), and in less time than it took with the bus, we were back in the familiar region of Russell Square.
We discovered a Safeway supermarket across the hotel. It's located in the Brunswick Shopping Center, which is a sort of mini-mall. We bought fresh fruit in season, especially apples and nectarines, some milk and bottled water. After all the excitement of dealing with the transport system, we settled in early.
Today we caught the Changing of the Guard, and very lucky we were to do so. Thanks to currently running NATO exercises, the schedule was switched from a daily changeover to even-numbered days. The Guardsmen are doing NATO rotation, hence the regiments are undermanned, and a composite full-dress battalion is so *not* the thing. It was a beautiful sight, and we managed to get a pretty good vantage point, though not quite front row and center.
We took a walk in St. James' Park after the Changing of the Guard. I have a particular soft spot in my heart for all the wee creatures that you can find in a city park. Here, the ducks, geese, sparrows and the rest of the wildlife appear to be quite used to people. The come up to those who approach the water's edge, looking for all the world as if people were created to give them handouts. For a little while we sat on a bench and people-watched, relaxed and absorbed the atmosphere.
Today was the day we learned to use the Tube. As was our won't, we took one of the big red buses, but I managed to read the route map wrong and we ended up practically in the suburbs of London. We lined up at another bus stop, but then a sweet old lady who got tired of waiting for the bus decided to take the Tube instead. She figured us for tourists, and asked if we'd like to join her. Mama was having a mild attack of nerves due to our surroundings, and off we went.
The Tube station was just around the corner, and the lady told us how to follow the map of the system. Every line has a color, and there are arrows to show which platform you should be standing on if you are going in a particular direction. So very easy, much easier than taking the bus! Riding in the trains isn't scary at all (at least not from my point of view), and in less time than it took with the bus, we were back in the familiar region of Russell Square.
We discovered a Safeway supermarket across the hotel. It's located in the Brunswick Shopping Center, which is a sort of mini-mall. We bought fresh fruit in season, especially apples and nectarines, some milk and bottled water. After all the excitement of dealing with the transport system, we settled in early.
Wednesday, July 5, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 6
August 5, 1984
After visiting the Catholic house of worship (Westminster Abbey), today we gave time to the Anglican house of worship (or what we Filipinos call "Protestant", not being bothered to distinguish between the various denominations) -- St. Paul's Cathedral. It one of the most beautiful works by Sir Christopher Wren, if not the most beautiful. Certainly, for a public place, one of the most welcoming. I'm fairly sure that had I been by myself, I would have at least made the attempt to get up into the dome, just to see if I could; they say the view will take away what little breath you have left after climbing the stairs.
The Prince and Princess of Wales were married out of this lovely church. Following tradition, Ma and I made three wishes, said a few prayers, and lighted a candle to watch for us after we'd gone.
From the Cathedral, it was off to the Tower of London, which took up most of the afternoon. We joined a guided tour led by one of the Beefeaters. That's the nickname of the Royal Guard - I suppose they were given an extra ration of meat, back in the day, in order to keep up their strength for the job. Our Beefeater was as big as a bear -- and an endless fund of Tower lore. His dry wit enlivened the anecdotes surrounding the Tower, and there was a lot of polite laughter at regular intervals.
The Tower is actually misnamed. It is something more in the way of a small castle by the riverside. Tower Bridge (the often misnamed "London Bridge"), is one of the prettiest drawbridges around...people love to linger about in hopes of seeing it rise for vessels traveling on the Thames.
It was interesting to discover that there were, apparently, two styles of execution practiced at the Tower. Each style was performed in a separate area of the compound. First you had the "commoner" method, which served as a particularly gruesome form of public entertainment. The poor soul who was executed in this manner, was led out to the outer walls and, to the jeers and cheers of the populace, endured the awful punishment of being "hanged, drawn, and quartered." Basically, you were hung until you were almost dead, and then, in this state, the executioner slit opened your middle and drew out your innards, which were then thrown into a fire -- while you were watching! Then you were beheaded and your corpse divided into four. By comparison, a simple hanging was a merciful thing. I cannot wrap my mind that people would voluntarily come to such a gruesome event...and bring children, at that.
The "private" method of execution was reserved for those incurring the ruler's personal ire. The relative advantage to this, was that one was executed out of the public eye, and one was generally executed swiftly, through beheading. In the reign of Henry VIII and later Tudor years, Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard met their ends in this manner, as did Lady Jane Seymour (only 17, and victim of her uncle's political games).
Of course, the Tower and Henry VIII are nearly synonymous, given the many people he sent there for one reason or another. Henry VIII is also famous for his six marriages, three of which ended in a spectacular manner. Our Beefeater offered us a rhyme to help us keep straight the fate of each Henry VIII's wives : "Divorced, beheaded, died/Divorced, beheaded, survived":
== Divorced - Catherine of Aragon, mother of Mary Tudor
== Beheaded - Anne Boleyn, mother of Elizabeth Tudor I
== Died - Jane Seymour, mother of Edward VI
== Divorced - Anne of Cleves
== Beheaded - Catherine Howard, cousin of Anne Boleyn
== Survived - Catherine Parr
The highlight of the tour that I was most looking forward to experiencing, was the walk through the room where the Crown Jewels are kept. The room is divided into two levels: an upper tier where one can linger and take longer to appreciate the stones, and a lower tier wher you can get a closer look, but must move along a lot faster. Ma and I took the lower tier -- in our books, a closer look at a faster pace beats a lingering look from a distance.
The Crown Jewels and Regalia are set up against a background of dark velvet -- purple, most likely -- and strategically placed lights that bring out the best of the gems. The Star of Africa probably the most spectacular of the lot. It's the size of a hen's egg -- it looks almost alive under the spotlights; think of a crystal clear ice cube, that somehow retains an aspect of something living, and that's what it looked like to me. Part of its beauty is that it is set, all by itself, on top of the royal sceptre, where all eyes can focus on it, undistracted by any supporting jewels.
The Koh-i-noor Diamond, in the Queen's Crown, is another gorgeous, glorious stone. It is India's contribution to the Crown Regalia, as the Cullinan is South Africa's -- both of them making their way into the Crown Jewels via interesting ways. The Koh-i-noor is said to bring bad fortune to male owners and good fortune to female owners; it once belonged to Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal, and when the old Shah had to be confined to bed, his son had the diamond placed in his window, positioned in such a way that the Shah could see the Taj Mahal reflected on its main facet.
After filling ourselves with history, Ma and I decided to move back into the modern world with that most prosaic of female activities -- shopping, and then a quick meal in nice surroundings before heading back to the hotel.
After visiting the Catholic house of worship (Westminster Abbey), today we gave time to the Anglican house of worship (or what we Filipinos call "Protestant", not being bothered to distinguish between the various denominations) -- St. Paul's Cathedral. It one of the most beautiful works by Sir Christopher Wren, if not the most beautiful. Certainly, for a public place, one of the most welcoming. I'm fairly sure that had I been by myself, I would have at least made the attempt to get up into the dome, just to see if I could; they say the view will take away what little breath you have left after climbing the stairs.
The Prince and Princess of Wales were married out of this lovely church. Following tradition, Ma and I made three wishes, said a few prayers, and lighted a candle to watch for us after we'd gone.
From the Cathedral, it was off to the Tower of London, which took up most of the afternoon. We joined a guided tour led by one of the Beefeaters. That's the nickname of the Royal Guard - I suppose they were given an extra ration of meat, back in the day, in order to keep up their strength for the job. Our Beefeater was as big as a bear -- and an endless fund of Tower lore. His dry wit enlivened the anecdotes surrounding the Tower, and there was a lot of polite laughter at regular intervals.
The Tower is actually misnamed. It is something more in the way of a small castle by the riverside. Tower Bridge (the often misnamed "London Bridge"), is one of the prettiest drawbridges around...people love to linger about in hopes of seeing it rise for vessels traveling on the Thames.
It was interesting to discover that there were, apparently, two styles of execution practiced at the Tower. Each style was performed in a separate area of the compound. First you had the "commoner" method, which served as a particularly gruesome form of public entertainment. The poor soul who was executed in this manner, was led out to the outer walls and, to the jeers and cheers of the populace, endured the awful punishment of being "hanged, drawn, and quartered." Basically, you were hung until you were almost dead, and then, in this state, the executioner slit opened your middle and drew out your innards, which were then thrown into a fire -- while you were watching! Then you were beheaded and your corpse divided into four. By comparison, a simple hanging was a merciful thing. I cannot wrap my mind that people would voluntarily come to such a gruesome event...and bring children, at that.
The "private" method of execution was reserved for those incurring the ruler's personal ire. The relative advantage to this, was that one was executed out of the public eye, and one was generally executed swiftly, through beheading. In the reign of Henry VIII and later Tudor years, Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard met their ends in this manner, as did Lady Jane Seymour (only 17, and victim of her uncle's political games).
Of course, the Tower and Henry VIII are nearly synonymous, given the many people he sent there for one reason or another. Henry VIII is also famous for his six marriages, three of which ended in a spectacular manner. Our Beefeater offered us a rhyme to help us keep straight the fate of each Henry VIII's wives : "Divorced, beheaded, died/Divorced, beheaded, survived":
== Divorced - Catherine of Aragon, mother of Mary Tudor
== Beheaded - Anne Boleyn, mother of Elizabeth Tudor I
== Died - Jane Seymour, mother of Edward VI
== Divorced - Anne of Cleves
== Beheaded - Catherine Howard, cousin of Anne Boleyn
== Survived - Catherine Parr
The highlight of the tour that I was most looking forward to experiencing, was the walk through the room where the Crown Jewels are kept. The room is divided into two levels: an upper tier where one can linger and take longer to appreciate the stones, and a lower tier wher you can get a closer look, but must move along a lot faster. Ma and I took the lower tier -- in our books, a closer look at a faster pace beats a lingering look from a distance.
The Crown Jewels and Regalia are set up against a background of dark velvet -- purple, most likely -- and strategically placed lights that bring out the best of the gems. The Star of Africa probably the most spectacular of the lot. It's the size of a hen's egg -- it looks almost alive under the spotlights; think of a crystal clear ice cube, that somehow retains an aspect of something living, and that's what it looked like to me. Part of its beauty is that it is set, all by itself, on top of the royal sceptre, where all eyes can focus on it, undistracted by any supporting jewels.
The Koh-i-noor Diamond, in the Queen's Crown, is another gorgeous, glorious stone. It is India's contribution to the Crown Regalia, as the Cullinan is South Africa's -- both of them making their way into the Crown Jewels via interesting ways. The Koh-i-noor is said to bring bad fortune to male owners and good fortune to female owners; it once belonged to Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal, and when the old Shah had to be confined to bed, his son had the diamond placed in his window, positioned in such a way that the Shah could see the Taj Mahal reflected on its main facet.
After filling ourselves with history, Ma and I decided to move back into the modern world with that most prosaic of female activities -- shopping, and then a quick meal in nice surroundings before heading back to the hotel.
Monday, July 3, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 5
August 4, 1984
We have a technique by which to maximize our budget while traveling, and cut down on our eating intake besides. We wake up at a time such that, after having showered and dressed and securing our bags for the day, we get down to the breakfast room an hour before the buffet is supposed to close. In effect, breakfast turns into brunch, and we only need to take a medium afternoon snack and a light dinner before turning in to bed.
Today it was Westminster again, to get a closer look at the Abbey. We strolled inside, and there was much craning of neck to appreciate the Gothic architecture -- ribbed ceiling vaults, stained glass windows, and statues everywhere. Everyone who was someone wanted to be buried in the Abbey, judging from the markers on the floors and walls. As a royal house of worship, most of the monarchs of England are buried here. Royal marriages and christenings also take place here, as do the coronations.
It was fun playing "spot the historical figure" -- because in addition to markers and statues, there are effigies on the tombs. Supposedly they are accurate representations of the people in the tomb. It's entertaining to believe, however, that sculptors were paid an extra sum of money to remove less than flattering features without making the effigy totally unrecognizable.
I spotted Isaac Newton, Mary Queen of Scots, Elizabeth I, The Black Prince Edward III (unwitting father of the Wars of the Roses) and his consort. There was a touching memorial to the Princes in the Tower, who disappeared under the reign of their uncle Richard III. It's shaped in the form of a canopied crib, but you can't see who's inside, because it's oriented away from the official tourist path -- you look up into a mirror set into the wall, and see that two young boys are lying in the crib, embracing each other, as it was described in Shakespeare's play. A sad and fairly unsolved mystery, for while the remains under the memorial are thought to belong to the young princes (brothers of Elizabeth Tudor and therefore uncles to Henry VIII, had they lived), the world may never know how the boys died.
Or even if they died at all. Many a rumor abounded that the young princes were spirited out of England and hidden away abroad. A favorite location was Burgundy, since the Queen was somehow related to Richard III. Certainly at least one pretender showed up from that direction. But who is to say?
We also saw the Stone of Scone that makes each coronation official. It's a very large looking rock, and sits beneath the throne used during the coronation ceremony, surrounded by the latticework connecting the four legs of the throne. How very interesting that being crowned on top of a rock should confer legitimacy on a ruler!
After the Abbey, we strolled around the area of Clarence House, the official residence of Her Majesty the Queen Mother. The skies had gradually turned from mildly overcast to iron-gray, and it had actually begun to rain. Thank heavens for travelling umbrellas! However, the rain quickly stopped, and the crowds gathered outside Clarence House let out with a loud cheer when the Royal Scots Highlanders (for after all, the Queen Mother was born and raised in Scotland) emerged to pipe "Happy Birthday" for her appearance on the balcony.
The Queen Mother was dressed in pale blue, and she looked quite healthy and happy, waving to the people and looking the way a dowager Queen ought to look. What a pity the rain started up again, as though it meant business, chasing us away from Clarence House to the end of the Mall towards Buckingham Palace.
It was here that we had our first experience with the London black cabs. One obligingly stopped for us, and it was love at first sight when we got into the roomy interior. The cab had seen quite a few years of service, but it was well-maintained, the cushions firm and the floor carpets brushed down to a fine point. It gave one the feeling that one had just stepped into a cosy sitting room.
The cabbie got us to the hotel in good time, with none of the odd feeling that maybe he took a more scenic route to add a little onto the fare. Fortunately, I remembered that first one has to get out of the cab and then pay the driver through the window, which made the cabbie smile, since we were so obviously tourists!
We both had hot showers to counter the sudden chill of the rain, and on the TV, I discovered that if we'd managed to stay longer at Clarence House, we would have caught Prince Charles, Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones, and Viscount Linley as they came to pay their respects to the Queen Mother! Ah, well...the Queen Mother was quite enough royalty, and since she was the birthday celebrant, the proper person to wave at in any case!
We have a technique by which to maximize our budget while traveling, and cut down on our eating intake besides. We wake up at a time such that, after having showered and dressed and securing our bags for the day, we get down to the breakfast room an hour before the buffet is supposed to close. In effect, breakfast turns into brunch, and we only need to take a medium afternoon snack and a light dinner before turning in to bed.
Today it was Westminster again, to get a closer look at the Abbey. We strolled inside, and there was much craning of neck to appreciate the Gothic architecture -- ribbed ceiling vaults, stained glass windows, and statues everywhere. Everyone who was someone wanted to be buried in the Abbey, judging from the markers on the floors and walls. As a royal house of worship, most of the monarchs of England are buried here. Royal marriages and christenings also take place here, as do the coronations.
It was fun playing "spot the historical figure" -- because in addition to markers and statues, there are effigies on the tombs. Supposedly they are accurate representations of the people in the tomb. It's entertaining to believe, however, that sculptors were paid an extra sum of money to remove less than flattering features without making the effigy totally unrecognizable.
I spotted Isaac Newton, Mary Queen of Scots, Elizabeth I, The Black Prince Edward III (unwitting father of the Wars of the Roses) and his consort. There was a touching memorial to the Princes in the Tower, who disappeared under the reign of their uncle Richard III. It's shaped in the form of a canopied crib, but you can't see who's inside, because it's oriented away from the official tourist path -- you look up into a mirror set into the wall, and see that two young boys are lying in the crib, embracing each other, as it was described in Shakespeare's play. A sad and fairly unsolved mystery, for while the remains under the memorial are thought to belong to the young princes (brothers of Elizabeth Tudor and therefore uncles to Henry VIII, had they lived), the world may never know how the boys died.
Or even if they died at all. Many a rumor abounded that the young princes were spirited out of England and hidden away abroad. A favorite location was Burgundy, since the Queen was somehow related to Richard III. Certainly at least one pretender showed up from that direction. But who is to say?
We also saw the Stone of Scone that makes each coronation official. It's a very large looking rock, and sits beneath the throne used during the coronation ceremony, surrounded by the latticework connecting the four legs of the throne. How very interesting that being crowned on top of a rock should confer legitimacy on a ruler!
After the Abbey, we strolled around the area of Clarence House, the official residence of Her Majesty the Queen Mother. The skies had gradually turned from mildly overcast to iron-gray, and it had actually begun to rain. Thank heavens for travelling umbrellas! However, the rain quickly stopped, and the crowds gathered outside Clarence House let out with a loud cheer when the Royal Scots Highlanders (for after all, the Queen Mother was born and raised in Scotland) emerged to pipe "Happy Birthday" for her appearance on the balcony.
The Queen Mother was dressed in pale blue, and she looked quite healthy and happy, waving to the people and looking the way a dowager Queen ought to look. What a pity the rain started up again, as though it meant business, chasing us away from Clarence House to the end of the Mall towards Buckingham Palace.
It was here that we had our first experience with the London black cabs. One obligingly stopped for us, and it was love at first sight when we got into the roomy interior. The cab had seen quite a few years of service, but it was well-maintained, the cushions firm and the floor carpets brushed down to a fine point. It gave one the feeling that one had just stepped into a cosy sitting room.
The cabbie got us to the hotel in good time, with none of the odd feeling that maybe he took a more scenic route to add a little onto the fare. Fortunately, I remembered that first one has to get out of the cab and then pay the driver through the window, which made the cabbie smile, since we were so obviously tourists!
We both had hot showers to counter the sudden chill of the rain, and on the TV, I discovered that if we'd managed to stay longer at Clarence House, we would have caught Prince Charles, Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones, and Viscount Linley as they came to pay their respects to the Queen Mother! Ah, well...the Queen Mother was quite enough royalty, and since she was the birthday celebrant, the proper person to wave at in any case!
Sunday, July 2, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 4
August 3, 1984
After having had our bus tour yesterday, I looked over our vouchers and agreed with Mom that a trip to the London Diamond Centre and Greenwich in the afternoon would be a nice way to spend the day. We took the double-deck bus near the hotel, and shortly found ourselves in front of a modest looking building. Making our way inside, we were greeted at the reception area by a very nice woman, who was to be our guide for the tour of the premises.
Our first stop was an impressive display of all the world's most famous diamonds. Not the real things, naturally, as quite a few were part of the royal regalia -- but accurate crystal replicas that were very well done, they sparkled almost the originals would. The Cullinan diamond was truly the mother of them all -- there was a replica of the raw stone and the final cut gems; there were at least eleven, if I remember the story correctly. Recognized the Star of Africa and the Hope Diamond from my encyclopedia photo plates. Very pretty indeed!
The tour showed us how diamonds are transformed from lumps of volcanic rock into sparklers. Cutting a diamond was a dicey business -- one slip, a hidden crack inside the stone, and what might have been a lovely gemstone would turn into volcanic dust. There's a legend that the poor man whose job it was to first open the raw Cullinan, all but fainted when his initial slice through the rock made it safely through to the other side!
Every cut -- pear, marquise, emerald, heart-shape, and the much-loved round brilliant -- has to follow a particular facet structure. It is the faceting that brings the diamond to life, each and every angle positioned in such as way as to direct and reflect light into the heart of the stone. A shade too shallow or too deep, and the stone loses its fire, and much of its appeal.
The workrooms, of course, were sealed to visitors, and we could only peer at the work tables through thick glass windows. Amazing to see the decisions, based as much on instinct as on the knowledge of the stone's structure, on which cut to use in order to preserve as much of its size as possible. After all, size does matter, at least where diamonds are concerned. The patience in polishing and then choosing the settings for the showroom pieces makes one see the profession of a jeweller in a new light -- and with a great deal of appreciation.
So, having been taken through the entire process, we were led into the showroom, where we oooh-ed and ahhh-ed and regretfully passed on the chance to acquire a genuinely certified diamond to take home! However, on our way out, the nice lady who gave us the tour, said we were entitled to a souvenir of our visit, which took the form of a one carat cubic zirconia stone. It's not a natural diamond, but rather a man-made synthetic substitute. Definitely a lot cheaper, but with all of the fire and ice one would expect in real stones. Ma and I are going to find settings for these beauties when we get back home, and hopefully nice ones to show off the stones.
The afternoon saw us heading for the Thames, in order to catch the river launch for Greenwich. Another one of those special vouchers from the British Airways tour packet, and we are beginning to truly appreciate just how wonderful this tour package is! The weather is perfect for traveling down the river -- and how the Londoners can do all this business on the river and not turn it into a stinking mess of filth is a wonderful thing. I think of the state of the Pasig River and want to cry, and to think that Jose Rizal wrote about the joys of swimming in it during his days!
Greenwich was once a royal palace, and one can imagine the appeal of traveling by royal barge to what was once a rural area. Apparently Henry VIII spend some childhood years here, and his children (Mary Tudor, Elizabeth I and Edward VI) also spent part of their time in this green and lovely place. The gardens are neat and pretty, and with a little imagination, you can close your eyes and see Henry VIII as a young lad, playing with his siblings Arthur, Margaret, and Mary.
In the present day, the Royal Maritime Academy makes its home in Greenwich. A fitting place, as many a clipper ship set sail for the Orient and India from here. The Royal Observatory used to be here, but alas, the state of London air pollution is no longer conducive to stargazing, and they have moved further into the country.
Two famous ships are berthed in Greenwich. One is the Cutty Sark, named after a famous poem about a young man named Tam O'Shanter. One night, after celebrating a successful market day at the local pub, passes by the church and comes upon a coven of witches dancing in a secluded grove. When they've done dancing, the young man calls out praise for the witch dressed only in her "cutty sark" or chemise -- which of course was not the thing to do. The witches give chase, and Cutty Sark actually has her hand on the tail of Tam's horse when it crosses the bridge leading into town. Fortunately, witches cannot cross water, but the poor horse's tail came off in Cutty Sark's hand. The ship's figurehead immortalizes this moment, showing an angry young witch, dressed in a chemise, holding the horse's tail in her hand.
The Cutty Sark clipper traveled back and forth between England and China, her main cargo the foundation of that charming English custom called afternoon tea. She was built to handle more sail than boats of her time, yet still be sleek enough to "clip" over the ocean in the annual race to bring home the first pick of China tea. Walking along her decks, feeling the breeze coming in from the sea, is a fine thing indeed.
Also berthed in Greenwich is the Gypsy Moth IV of Sir Francis Chichester. I grew familiar with the image of this lovely yacht from perusing the faux woodblock print illustration on the tables at the Automat. The Gypsy Moth IV was built to beat the times set by the Victorian clipper ships for their voyages to Australia - Sir Francis' goal was to be there in 100 days. He made it in 107 days, on a vessel 53 feet long! In doing so, he not only set records left and right, but also showed that pursuing "impossible dreams" could be well worth the effort.
Of course, one couldn't leave Greenwich without doing that most touristy of things -- finding the location of the International Date Line and standing with one foot on either side of it! It's marked in steel on the ground, and once you've got your feet in place, you realize that you're half in the Eastern Hemisphere, and half in the Western; half in today, and half in tomorrow.
We got back to London via launch, and the breeze had picked up so that it was refreshing to be out and about. Back in the hotel, the TV showed that there's a lot of Olympic excitement, as Britain has a chance to sweep one of the track events.
The Queen Mother's birthday is tomorrow! Ma and I have made plans to visit Clarence House and see if we can't snap a few pictures of Her Majesty. They say she comes out on the balcony to meet the people who gather to wish her a happy birthday. Maybe we'll get lucky!
After having had our bus tour yesterday, I looked over our vouchers and agreed with Mom that a trip to the London Diamond Centre and Greenwich in the afternoon would be a nice way to spend the day. We took the double-deck bus near the hotel, and shortly found ourselves in front of a modest looking building. Making our way inside, we were greeted at the reception area by a very nice woman, who was to be our guide for the tour of the premises.
Our first stop was an impressive display of all the world's most famous diamonds. Not the real things, naturally, as quite a few were part of the royal regalia -- but accurate crystal replicas that were very well done, they sparkled almost the originals would. The Cullinan diamond was truly the mother of them all -- there was a replica of the raw stone and the final cut gems; there were at least eleven, if I remember the story correctly. Recognized the Star of Africa and the Hope Diamond from my encyclopedia photo plates. Very pretty indeed!
The tour showed us how diamonds are transformed from lumps of volcanic rock into sparklers. Cutting a diamond was a dicey business -- one slip, a hidden crack inside the stone, and what might have been a lovely gemstone would turn into volcanic dust. There's a legend that the poor man whose job it was to first open the raw Cullinan, all but fainted when his initial slice through the rock made it safely through to the other side!
Every cut -- pear, marquise, emerald, heart-shape, and the much-loved round brilliant -- has to follow a particular facet structure. It is the faceting that brings the diamond to life, each and every angle positioned in such as way as to direct and reflect light into the heart of the stone. A shade too shallow or too deep, and the stone loses its fire, and much of its appeal.
The workrooms, of course, were sealed to visitors, and we could only peer at the work tables through thick glass windows. Amazing to see the decisions, based as much on instinct as on the knowledge of the stone's structure, on which cut to use in order to preserve as much of its size as possible. After all, size does matter, at least where diamonds are concerned. The patience in polishing and then choosing the settings for the showroom pieces makes one see the profession of a jeweller in a new light -- and with a great deal of appreciation.
So, having been taken through the entire process, we were led into the showroom, where we oooh-ed and ahhh-ed and regretfully passed on the chance to acquire a genuinely certified diamond to take home! However, on our way out, the nice lady who gave us the tour, said we were entitled to a souvenir of our visit, which took the form of a one carat cubic zirconia stone. It's not a natural diamond, but rather a man-made synthetic substitute. Definitely a lot cheaper, but with all of the fire and ice one would expect in real stones. Ma and I are going to find settings for these beauties when we get back home, and hopefully nice ones to show off the stones.
The afternoon saw us heading for the Thames, in order to catch the river launch for Greenwich. Another one of those special vouchers from the British Airways tour packet, and we are beginning to truly appreciate just how wonderful this tour package is! The weather is perfect for traveling down the river -- and how the Londoners can do all this business on the river and not turn it into a stinking mess of filth is a wonderful thing. I think of the state of the Pasig River and want to cry, and to think that Jose Rizal wrote about the joys of swimming in it during his days!
Greenwich was once a royal palace, and one can imagine the appeal of traveling by royal barge to what was once a rural area. Apparently Henry VIII spend some childhood years here, and his children (Mary Tudor, Elizabeth I and Edward VI) also spent part of their time in this green and lovely place. The gardens are neat and pretty, and with a little imagination, you can close your eyes and see Henry VIII as a young lad, playing with his siblings Arthur, Margaret, and Mary.
In the present day, the Royal Maritime Academy makes its home in Greenwich. A fitting place, as many a clipper ship set sail for the Orient and India from here. The Royal Observatory used to be here, but alas, the state of London air pollution is no longer conducive to stargazing, and they have moved further into the country.
Two famous ships are berthed in Greenwich. One is the Cutty Sark, named after a famous poem about a young man named Tam O'Shanter. One night, after celebrating a successful market day at the local pub, passes by the church and comes upon a coven of witches dancing in a secluded grove. When they've done dancing, the young man calls out praise for the witch dressed only in her "cutty sark" or chemise -- which of course was not the thing to do. The witches give chase, and Cutty Sark actually has her hand on the tail of Tam's horse when it crosses the bridge leading into town. Fortunately, witches cannot cross water, but the poor horse's tail came off in Cutty Sark's hand. The ship's figurehead immortalizes this moment, showing an angry young witch, dressed in a chemise, holding the horse's tail in her hand.
The Cutty Sark clipper traveled back and forth between England and China, her main cargo the foundation of that charming English custom called afternoon tea. She was built to handle more sail than boats of her time, yet still be sleek enough to "clip" over the ocean in the annual race to bring home the first pick of China tea. Walking along her decks, feeling the breeze coming in from the sea, is a fine thing indeed.
Also berthed in Greenwich is the Gypsy Moth IV of Sir Francis Chichester. I grew familiar with the image of this lovely yacht from perusing the faux woodblock print illustration on the tables at the Automat. The Gypsy Moth IV was built to beat the times set by the Victorian clipper ships for their voyages to Australia - Sir Francis' goal was to be there in 100 days. He made it in 107 days, on a vessel 53 feet long! In doing so, he not only set records left and right, but also showed that pursuing "impossible dreams" could be well worth the effort.
Of course, one couldn't leave Greenwich without doing that most touristy of things -- finding the location of the International Date Line and standing with one foot on either side of it! It's marked in steel on the ground, and once you've got your feet in place, you realize that you're half in the Eastern Hemisphere, and half in the Western; half in today, and half in tomorrow.
We got back to London via launch, and the breeze had picked up so that it was refreshing to be out and about. Back in the hotel, the TV showed that there's a lot of Olympic excitement, as Britain has a chance to sweep one of the track events.
The Queen Mother's birthday is tomorrow! Ma and I have made plans to visit Clarence House and see if we can't snap a few pictures of Her Majesty. They say she comes out on the balcony to meet the people who gather to wish her a happy birthday. Maybe we'll get lucky!
Friday, June 30, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 3
August 2, 1984 - Day 3
Today we woke up to another glorious day, and according to our itinerary, it was the day of our London city tour. We went down to breakfast, and the young Filipina server added an extra slab of bacon on our plates, just because we were both from back home and "nice people." I was a bit puzzled at that, until I realized that some of the folks from home tend to treat our overseas foreign workers as second-class citizens. You know, "I can afford to travel at leisure, and you're just a waitress."
Hunh. If some of those folks stopped to think that the "waitress" is earning something like Php 50 for every British pound in her salary (and could therefore afford to shop in Rustan's if she wasn't sending the money home to finance her siblings' education and build a house for the family), maybe they'd act with some common decency. Or maybe not -- common decency, like common sense, is quite uncommon these days. Traveling experience has taught me that the basics of good manners -- "Please", "Thank you", "Excuse me", and "I'm sorry" go a very long way in terms of service.
Now, that bacon...British bacon is nothing at all like our paper-thin slices that fry up into crispy strips that burn if you remove your eyes from the pan for so much as a moment. The bacon at the Royal National is about 3mm thick, solid meat, all the fat towards the edge. I felt full just looking at it! And there were *two* of those monsters sitting on my plate, plus a small hill of scrambled eggs and hash browns on the side. Cholesterol up the wazoo, and delicious to the last bite.
The assembly point for the tour was at the hotel lobby, where other people taking different tours with the same company were gathered. A shuttle minibus collected us and dropped us off at Marble Arch, where we were sorted into different transports -- Ma and I wound up on a double-deck red bus, one of the things that reminds you that you are really in London.
From Marble Arch, we went past Hyde Park, from which one could see the Albert Memorial, this intriguing structure of marble and stone, which was built to commemorate the life of Albert, the Prince Consort of Queen Victoria. We had Speaker's Corner pointed out to us; how very fascinating to have a place for the average citizen to literally get on a soapbox and rant about whatever his passion of the moment may be. The only rules that apply, as I recall, have to do with not speaking treason against the Crown, and not defaming other people.
Across the way from the Albert Memorial is the Albert Hall. It's a circular concert hall, and is famous for its concert series called the "Proms". Then we were whisked past the Houses of Parliament, which was in the middle of being cleaned of accumulated grime. I'd always thought the stone was a natural gray color, but it turns out that it's actually a shade of golden beige. Surely the sight of the morning sun on a newly cleaned Parliament Building is something to lighten the spirit. This is where I learned that Big Ben is not the clock tower, but the bell inside the clock tower.
Westminster Abbey was our next stop, and most of it had already been cleaned, the stone warm and welcoming in the sudden shade of the day. St. Paul's Cathedral followed, equally beautiful and impressive, but less intimidating than the Gothic architecture of the Abbey. The former makes you crane your head to look at the sights, the latter invites you to sit down and contemplate the mysteries of life.
The Tower of London next. Awesome. Imagining the historical figures who walked through those forbidding gates -- and whose ghosts may still take a look around at night -- is enough to make a person pause in their steps. By contrast, Trafalgar Square, while full of its own historical associations, is brimming over with life, and not just because of the flocks of pigeons that keep Lord Nelson's statue company all day. The Square sits in one of the busiest areas of London, with people coming and going, and vehicles using the rotonda to get from one street to another.
Into the very heart of London, or "The City", the area enclosed by the original boundaries of ancient Londinium. Here we find the financial institutions that were the foundation of the Empire's fortunes, where money from "trade" (which the aristocracy thought as somewhat beneath them) helped to sustain business and created a prosperous middle class, whose daughters married into the aristocracy, their dowries helping to prop up old and ancient names.
We passed the Horse Guards at their Whitehall residence, then the bus swung back onto Oxford Street. I was literally bouncing in my seat as I spotted names familiar to me from reading any number of books about London: Marks and Spencer (carried in Manila's most elite shopping establishment), Selfridges, and British Home Stores. Taking a closer look, it seemed that the Bally stores were having their sales right on the sidewalks in front of their stores...lots and lots of shoes!
Finally, the tour bus returned to Marble Arch, and it was up to us to find our own way back. We took another bus to Euston Station, and ended up walking two blocks down to the hotel. I am breaking in my new shoes with a vengeance, and they seem to be breaking in my feet in the process. Ouch!
Today we woke up to another glorious day, and according to our itinerary, it was the day of our London city tour. We went down to breakfast, and the young Filipina server added an extra slab of bacon on our plates, just because we were both from back home and "nice people." I was a bit puzzled at that, until I realized that some of the folks from home tend to treat our overseas foreign workers as second-class citizens. You know, "I can afford to travel at leisure, and you're just a waitress."
Hunh. If some of those folks stopped to think that the "waitress" is earning something like Php 50 for every British pound in her salary (and could therefore afford to shop in Rustan's if she wasn't sending the money home to finance her siblings' education and build a house for the family), maybe they'd act with some common decency. Or maybe not -- common decency, like common sense, is quite uncommon these days. Traveling experience has taught me that the basics of good manners -- "Please", "Thank you", "Excuse me", and "I'm sorry" go a very long way in terms of service.
Now, that bacon...British bacon is nothing at all like our paper-thin slices that fry up into crispy strips that burn if you remove your eyes from the pan for so much as a moment. The bacon at the Royal National is about 3mm thick, solid meat, all the fat towards the edge. I felt full just looking at it! And there were *two* of those monsters sitting on my plate, plus a small hill of scrambled eggs and hash browns on the side. Cholesterol up the wazoo, and delicious to the last bite.
The assembly point for the tour was at the hotel lobby, where other people taking different tours with the same company were gathered. A shuttle minibus collected us and dropped us off at Marble Arch, where we were sorted into different transports -- Ma and I wound up on a double-deck red bus, one of the things that reminds you that you are really in London.
From Marble Arch, we went past Hyde Park, from which one could see the Albert Memorial, this intriguing structure of marble and stone, which was built to commemorate the life of Albert, the Prince Consort of Queen Victoria. We had Speaker's Corner pointed out to us; how very fascinating to have a place for the average citizen to literally get on a soapbox and rant about whatever his passion of the moment may be. The only rules that apply, as I recall, have to do with not speaking treason against the Crown, and not defaming other people.
Across the way from the Albert Memorial is the Albert Hall. It's a circular concert hall, and is famous for its concert series called the "Proms". Then we were whisked past the Houses of Parliament, which was in the middle of being cleaned of accumulated grime. I'd always thought the stone was a natural gray color, but it turns out that it's actually a shade of golden beige. Surely the sight of the morning sun on a newly cleaned Parliament Building is something to lighten the spirit. This is where I learned that Big Ben is not the clock tower, but the bell inside the clock tower.
Westminster Abbey was our next stop, and most of it had already been cleaned, the stone warm and welcoming in the sudden shade of the day. St. Paul's Cathedral followed, equally beautiful and impressive, but less intimidating than the Gothic architecture of the Abbey. The former makes you crane your head to look at the sights, the latter invites you to sit down and contemplate the mysteries of life.
The Tower of London next. Awesome. Imagining the historical figures who walked through those forbidding gates -- and whose ghosts may still take a look around at night -- is enough to make a person pause in their steps. By contrast, Trafalgar Square, while full of its own historical associations, is brimming over with life, and not just because of the flocks of pigeons that keep Lord Nelson's statue company all day. The Square sits in one of the busiest areas of London, with people coming and going, and vehicles using the rotonda to get from one street to another.
Into the very heart of London, or "The City", the area enclosed by the original boundaries of ancient Londinium. Here we find the financial institutions that were the foundation of the Empire's fortunes, where money from "trade" (which the aristocracy thought as somewhat beneath them) helped to sustain business and created a prosperous middle class, whose daughters married into the aristocracy, their dowries helping to prop up old and ancient names.
We passed the Horse Guards at their Whitehall residence, then the bus swung back onto Oxford Street. I was literally bouncing in my seat as I spotted names familiar to me from reading any number of books about London: Marks and Spencer (carried in Manila's most elite shopping establishment), Selfridges, and British Home Stores. Taking a closer look, it seemed that the Bally stores were having their sales right on the sidewalks in front of their stores...lots and lots of shoes!
Finally, the tour bus returned to Marble Arch, and it was up to us to find our own way back. We took another bus to Euston Station, and ended up walking two blocks down to the hotel. I am breaking in my new shoes with a vengeance, and they seem to be breaking in my feet in the process. Ouch!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 2
August 1, 1984
London, England, United Kingdom
Somewhere between Frankfurt and Brussels, we were hit by another round of clear air turbulence. The good news was that we'd finished breakfast; the bad news is that the sausages were lying in an unmoving blob somewhere in the depths of my stomach, and every lurch of the airplane sent a wave of mild nausea over me. This is the most basic reason I dislike nonstop, long-haul flights so much -- the shaking of the plane as it goes over mountain ranges or plows through weather disturbances. Blargh.
It is here, while in German airspace, that the flight captain informs us that our ETA is 0545H, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. I sit up, forgetting my discomfort, as I realize that the captain is also apologizing for getting us into Heathrow several minutes early, as those who have arranged transfers from the airport will now have to wait instead of being able to go directly to their destination. That's a new one in my books...it's more common for the captain to apologize for being late.
The landing was perfect, the rear wheels making contact with the runway with barely a jolt through the plane. Given that my usual seat on trips abroad is right over the rear wheel carriage, this makes it easy for me to determine just how well the pilot knows his plane and his runway.
Getting out of the plane and getting into the baggage claim area was a breeze. There was an interesting moment while Ma and I were walking through the immigration hall -- this Filipina woman who had been sitting about two or three rows in front of us, was on the phone talking very loudly to the person on the other end. Loud enough for people's heads to turn and wonder why she needed to be almost yelling at nearly six in the morning. Even the airport seemed half-asleep at that hour! Ma and I were wondering if the woman wasn't some sort of jilted mail-order bride or something fanciful like that, while we stopped briefly in the washroom and tidied up before facing the immigration officer.
Immigration was fine, the officer looked at us, looked at our passports, reviewed our forms, and stamped our passports. He almost smiled at us when we thanked him, but of course he had to see to the next person in line. Guess he wasn't expecting such cheerfulness at that hour of the morning.
According to the tour brochure instructions, we had to look for the A3 bus from Heathrow's Terminal 3, and ride it into Central London. The sun was up -- yes, there was sun! -- and it looked to be a glorious day of sunshine. The bus driver was so nice about helping us up with our bags, and also with making sure we stopped at the right place.
When people back home found out we were heading to London, there were many prophecies of doom, to the effect that the British are snobs. Hah, I know all too well that snobbery is not limited to the British -- anyone who has spent time as a transferee into an all-girls convent school where your classmates have not only known each other since the cradle, but their *mothers* were batchmates as well -- as I say, anyone in that position can tell you a thing or two about how the art of being a snob is practised in the upper classes.
My first impression of the British is that they're formal, more than snobbish. They don't run up and kiss you and throw open their doors within the first ten seconds; they're more of the Emily Post "how do you do" type. Not better or worse, just *different*.
We're going to be here for ten days. I can tell that we are going to have fun!
The Royal National is our hotel, and we're in Room 4032. I'm feeling a bit ditzy, and I don't really feel the jet-lag, despite having just arrived from a long-haul flight. Once the bags were up, and Ma felt rested, we embarked on a walker's workout -- from the hotel on Russel Square, past the British Museum (insert wide-eyed gaping here), to Oxford Street, where we walked up and down its length. Our eyes have seen Marks and Spencer, and it was good.
Upon our return from orienting ourselves to the shopping district, we discovered the Barclay's Bank just around the corner from the hotel, in Woburn Place. The dollar-pound exchange rate is good, and we are thankful.
There are many, many Filipinos living in London. Most of the senior staff at the hotel is Filipino, in fact. The Filipino population here seem to have adapted to British life very well, and as far as attitude goes, they come off better than Fil-Ams. Or maybe it's just me? So far the Fil-Ams of my acquaintance have this air of "I'm an American and you're not," as if earning American citizenship is such a wonderful thing. ::wrinkles nose:: To renounce your citizenship in a Third World country in order to become a citizen in one of the richest nations in the world, so that your children will have opportunities their peers can only dream of in your former country -- that I can understand. To be "in your face" about it...*that* irritates me.
But I'm in Europe to enjoy life and soak up the culture, not get all University-radical ::grin:: about things. Let's see what tomorrow brings!
London, England, United Kingdom
Somewhere between Frankfurt and Brussels, we were hit by another round of clear air turbulence. The good news was that we'd finished breakfast; the bad news is that the sausages were lying in an unmoving blob somewhere in the depths of my stomach, and every lurch of the airplane sent a wave of mild nausea over me. This is the most basic reason I dislike nonstop, long-haul flights so much -- the shaking of the plane as it goes over mountain ranges or plows through weather disturbances. Blargh.
It is here, while in German airspace, that the flight captain informs us that our ETA is 0545H, fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. I sit up, forgetting my discomfort, as I realize that the captain is also apologizing for getting us into Heathrow several minutes early, as those who have arranged transfers from the airport will now have to wait instead of being able to go directly to their destination. That's a new one in my books...it's more common for the captain to apologize for being late.
The landing was perfect, the rear wheels making contact with the runway with barely a jolt through the plane. Given that my usual seat on trips abroad is right over the rear wheel carriage, this makes it easy for me to determine just how well the pilot knows his plane and his runway.
Getting out of the plane and getting into the baggage claim area was a breeze. There was an interesting moment while Ma and I were walking through the immigration hall -- this Filipina woman who had been sitting about two or three rows in front of us, was on the phone talking very loudly to the person on the other end. Loud enough for people's heads to turn and wonder why she needed to be almost yelling at nearly six in the morning. Even the airport seemed half-asleep at that hour! Ma and I were wondering if the woman wasn't some sort of jilted mail-order bride or something fanciful like that, while we stopped briefly in the washroom and tidied up before facing the immigration officer.
Immigration was fine, the officer looked at us, looked at our passports, reviewed our forms, and stamped our passports. He almost smiled at us when we thanked him, but of course he had to see to the next person in line. Guess he wasn't expecting such cheerfulness at that hour of the morning.
According to the tour brochure instructions, we had to look for the A3 bus from Heathrow's Terminal 3, and ride it into Central London. The sun was up -- yes, there was sun! -- and it looked to be a glorious day of sunshine. The bus driver was so nice about helping us up with our bags, and also with making sure we stopped at the right place.
When people back home found out we were heading to London, there were many prophecies of doom, to the effect that the British are snobs. Hah, I know all too well that snobbery is not limited to the British -- anyone who has spent time as a transferee into an all-girls convent school where your classmates have not only known each other since the cradle, but their *mothers* were batchmates as well -- as I say, anyone in that position can tell you a thing or two about how the art of being a snob is practised in the upper classes.
My first impression of the British is that they're formal, more than snobbish. They don't run up and kiss you and throw open their doors within the first ten seconds; they're more of the Emily Post "how do you do" type. Not better or worse, just *different*.
We're going to be here for ten days. I can tell that we are going to have fun!
The Royal National is our hotel, and we're in Room 4032. I'm feeling a bit ditzy, and I don't really feel the jet-lag, despite having just arrived from a long-haul flight. Once the bags were up, and Ma felt rested, we embarked on a walker's workout -- from the hotel on Russel Square, past the British Museum (insert wide-eyed gaping here), to Oxford Street, where we walked up and down its length. Our eyes have seen Marks and Spencer, and it was good.
Upon our return from orienting ourselves to the shopping district, we discovered the Barclay's Bank just around the corner from the hotel, in Woburn Place. The dollar-pound exchange rate is good, and we are thankful.
There are many, many Filipinos living in London. Most of the senior staff at the hotel is Filipino, in fact. The Filipino population here seem to have adapted to British life very well, and as far as attitude goes, they come off better than Fil-Ams. Or maybe it's just me? So far the Fil-Ams of my acquaintance have this air of "I'm an American and you're not," as if earning American citizenship is such a wonderful thing. ::wrinkles nose:: To renounce your citizenship in a Third World country in order to become a citizen in one of the richest nations in the world, so that your children will have opportunities their peers can only dream of in your former country -- that I can understand. To be "in your face" about it...*that* irritates me.
But I'm in Europe to enjoy life and soak up the culture, not get all University-radical ::grin:: about things. Let's see what tomorrow brings!
Saturday, June 24, 2006
[LONDON LIGHTS 1984] DAY 1
July 31, 1984
MNL - HKG - ABU DHABI - LON
So. We have ourselves a brand new airport building, and one thing is fairly evident: the lack of provision for the hordes of relatives that gather to send off or welcome their particular passenger. It is also HOT inside the new airport -- much more so than outside! Of all the times for the airconditioning system to die, it had to be today, right NOW, when the building has been baking under the sun for the better part of the day. Augh!
Thankfully, we didn't have any problems at the check-in counter, nor the immigration/customs counter. There's always that little uneasy moment when your breath hitches, even if you know perfectly well that you have nothing to feel guilty about! Made sure we had our boarding passes, and luggage checks; paid our terminal fees and were allowed to enter the duty-free area.
Took a look at the overhead menu at one of the snack bars. Hamburger and Root Beer at PHP18 *each*! Gracious, what is the exchange rate coming to...
BA 020 boarding starts at 1745H - the aircons appear to be working in the transit lounge, for which everyone present seems truly grateful. The heat outside is withering.
We arrive at Hong Kong's Kai Tak airport at 1945H, after leaving Manila at 1800H. It's always an wondrous thing to arrive at Kai Tak -- the plane appears to descend right into a mountain range, straight through a narrow corridor with mountains on either side. The view outside the window makes it look like one gust of wind could make the plane brush its wingtips against a solid wall of green. Then just when you can't stand any more suspense, the plane bursts out of the mountains.
Then you realize that the runway the plane is heading towards, is a wide strip of concrete with deep ocean on three sides. Yikes! There's a momentary chill that runs down your back at the thought of the plane shooting off the concrete into the water; and suddenly you've touched down, the plane is slowing, and...you've arrived!
We have ourselves a layover until 2100H, when the flight leaves. Boarding time is at 2030H, which means the time we should present ourselves at the gate. Subtract 15 minutes to travel from the duty-free area, so we ought to be at the transit area by 2015H. Effectively, that means we can hang out at the duty-free for about 10 minutes, since we got off the plane at around 2000H.
Changed some Philippine pesos into US Dollars, and then went window-shopping at the duty-free area. Not much else *to* do, since we were heading for Europe; no sense in bringing along baggage to lug around for the next several days, right? More than enough souvenirs to be found along the way.
The Hong Kong-Abu Dhabi leg was approximately six hours and 50 minutes of flying. I don't remember too much about it, since we were served dinner and the cabin was then blacked out for those who wanted to sleep through the flight. I got a brief glimpse of the inflight movie titled Harry and Son starring Paul Newman as Harry and Robby Benson as Howard, before nodding off to sleep.
Landing at Abu Dhabi, my legs were rubbery and I felt as though I'd left my brain at home. But I wasn't so far gone as to appreciate the transit lounge where we were allowed to stretch our legs while the plane refuelled for the next leg. It was a circular area, with an open balcony that let you look down at the rest of the airport. I have a blurry memory of the fantastic gold jewelry that was on display, and not much else, before we were bundled back into the plane.
The Abu Dhabi-London segment was plagued with clear air turbulence halfway through. CAT is one of the things that make flying a misery for me; especially on long-haul flights like this one. I will forever cherish the memory of the Captain telling people to remove the spoons from their coffee cups at the end of his usual "We regret to inform you..." spiel.
The British Airways steward was a sweetheart. Yes, I'm perfectly aware it was part of his job, but for someone who'd been on his feet for quite a bit, and in a shaking plane, to boot -- taking the time out to tuck in my lap blanket and offering to get me some water was a lovely thing to do.
London appears to be having a heatwave. @__@ That's a new one. But we'll see -- their heatwave might be our December weather, seeing as they live in colder regions and their average summer temperature is different from ours.
Our inflight movie was called Romancing the Stone and starred Michael Douglas (Jack) and Kathleen Turner (Joan). It's a combination of Raiders of the Lost Ark and High Road to China.
The movie contained adventure, romance, and comedy. Real life decided to add some suspense when the film managed to snarl inside the projector during the final climactic scene, and with nearly an hour before the final descent! For a moment, it seemed as though the economy section was doomed to land before finding out of Jack would escape the clutches of the alligator and get the girl! The crew managed to fix things with time to spare, and there was much cheering when the ending proved to really be a happy one.
MNL - HKG - ABU DHABI - LON
So. We have ourselves a brand new airport building, and one thing is fairly evident: the lack of provision for the hordes of relatives that gather to send off or welcome their particular passenger. It is also HOT inside the new airport -- much more so than outside! Of all the times for the airconditioning system to die, it had to be today, right NOW, when the building has been baking under the sun for the better part of the day. Augh!
Thankfully, we didn't have any problems at the check-in counter, nor the immigration/customs counter. There's always that little uneasy moment when your breath hitches, even if you know perfectly well that you have nothing to feel guilty about! Made sure we had our boarding passes, and luggage checks; paid our terminal fees and were allowed to enter the duty-free area.
Took a look at the overhead menu at one of the snack bars. Hamburger and Root Beer at PHP18 *each*! Gracious, what is the exchange rate coming to...
BA 020 boarding starts at 1745H - the aircons appear to be working in the transit lounge, for which everyone present seems truly grateful. The heat outside is withering.
We arrive at Hong Kong's Kai Tak airport at 1945H, after leaving Manila at 1800H. It's always an wondrous thing to arrive at Kai Tak -- the plane appears to descend right into a mountain range, straight through a narrow corridor with mountains on either side. The view outside the window makes it look like one gust of wind could make the plane brush its wingtips against a solid wall of green. Then just when you can't stand any more suspense, the plane bursts out of the mountains.
Then you realize that the runway the plane is heading towards, is a wide strip of concrete with deep ocean on three sides. Yikes! There's a momentary chill that runs down your back at the thought of the plane shooting off the concrete into the water; and suddenly you've touched down, the plane is slowing, and...you've arrived!
We have ourselves a layover until 2100H, when the flight leaves. Boarding time is at 2030H, which means the time we should present ourselves at the gate. Subtract 15 minutes to travel from the duty-free area, so we ought to be at the transit area by 2015H. Effectively, that means we can hang out at the duty-free for about 10 minutes, since we got off the plane at around 2000H.
Changed some Philippine pesos into US Dollars, and then went window-shopping at the duty-free area. Not much else *to* do, since we were heading for Europe; no sense in bringing along baggage to lug around for the next several days, right? More than enough souvenirs to be found along the way.
The Hong Kong-Abu Dhabi leg was approximately six hours and 50 minutes of flying. I don't remember too much about it, since we were served dinner and the cabin was then blacked out for those who wanted to sleep through the flight. I got a brief glimpse of the inflight movie titled Harry and Son starring Paul Newman as Harry and Robby Benson as Howard, before nodding off to sleep.
Landing at Abu Dhabi, my legs were rubbery and I felt as though I'd left my brain at home. But I wasn't so far gone as to appreciate the transit lounge where we were allowed to stretch our legs while the plane refuelled for the next leg. It was a circular area, with an open balcony that let you look down at the rest of the airport. I have a blurry memory of the fantastic gold jewelry that was on display, and not much else, before we were bundled back into the plane.
The Abu Dhabi-London segment was plagued with clear air turbulence halfway through. CAT is one of the things that make flying a misery for me; especially on long-haul flights like this one. I will forever cherish the memory of the Captain telling people to remove the spoons from their coffee cups at the end of his usual "We regret to inform you..." spiel.
The British Airways steward was a sweetheart. Yes, I'm perfectly aware it was part of his job, but for someone who'd been on his feet for quite a bit, and in a shaking plane, to boot -- taking the time out to tuck in my lap blanket and offering to get me some water was a lovely thing to do.
London appears to be having a heatwave. @__@ That's a new one. But we'll see -- their heatwave might be our December weather, seeing as they live in colder regions and their average summer temperature is different from ours.
Our inflight movie was called Romancing the Stone and starred Michael Douglas (Jack) and Kathleen Turner (Joan). It's a combination of Raiders of the Lost Ark and High Road to China.
The movie contained adventure, romance, and comedy. Real life decided to add some suspense when the film managed to snarl inside the projector during the final climactic scene, and with nearly an hour before the final descent! For a moment, it seemed as though the economy section was doomed to land before finding out of Jack would escape the clutches of the alligator and get the girl! The crew managed to fix things with time to spare, and there was much cheering when the ending proved to really be a happy one.
Monday, June 19, 2006
First Post
Hello there!
Thank you for dropping by this journal. I hope you'll enjoy yourself while you're here.
In 1984, as a graduation present, my mother took me on a coach tour of Europe. We were gone nearly a month (in the days when the exchange rate of the Philippine peso to the US dollar was still fairly reasonable), and after Europe, we flew to the United States to visit friends in San Francisco.
It was my first major trip out of the country. I'd been to Singapore and Hong Kong on short summer vacations; day-tripped to Malacca and Johore Bahru. But it was for Europe that I made the specific resolution to bring along a thick notebook and a pair of good ballpens, in order to write down an account of each day of the tour. While adding weight to my day bag, it was always good to have my writing kit handy, to jot down details of the tour while the memories were fresh.
That first journal was originally intended to be a hard copy project, laid out in Aldus PageMaker and illustrated with clippings from souvenir maps and brochures. It resurfaced on the internet -- albeit in extremely bare-bones format -- as a journal on Blogger, but I removed it while I was in the process of eliminating various internet accounts that had either expired or lain dormant for longer than I had expected.
With the amazing developments in online journaling, I felt the urge to repost the contents of this maiden travel journal. The idea will be to retain that wide-eyed wonder of a first visit to the Continent, while making sure that grammar, spelling, and sentence construction pass the eagle eye of the readers.
Here's hoping you enjoy your stay!
Thank you for dropping by this journal. I hope you'll enjoy yourself while you're here.
In 1984, as a graduation present, my mother took me on a coach tour of Europe. We were gone nearly a month (in the days when the exchange rate of the Philippine peso to the US dollar was still fairly reasonable), and after Europe, we flew to the United States to visit friends in San Francisco.
It was my first major trip out of the country. I'd been to Singapore and Hong Kong on short summer vacations; day-tripped to Malacca and Johore Bahru. But it was for Europe that I made the specific resolution to bring along a thick notebook and a pair of good ballpens, in order to write down an account of each day of the tour. While adding weight to my day bag, it was always good to have my writing kit handy, to jot down details of the tour while the memories were fresh.
That first journal was originally intended to be a hard copy project, laid out in Aldus PageMaker and illustrated with clippings from souvenir maps and brochures. It resurfaced on the internet -- albeit in extremely bare-bones format -- as a journal on Blogger, but I removed it while I was in the process of eliminating various internet accounts that had either expired or lain dormant for longer than I had expected.
With the amazing developments in online journaling, I felt the urge to repost the contents of this maiden travel journal. The idea will be to retain that wide-eyed wonder of a first visit to the Continent, while making sure that grammar, spelling, and sentence construction pass the eagle eye of the readers.
Here's hoping you enjoy your stay!
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