[title type="h5"]
Day 4: Wednesday, May 27, 2015.
Overtaken In London.[/title]
In contrast with Mary Ann's well-planned day of shopping through an extensive, looping, moving-right-along route around London, her attempt to have an equally satisfying and expensive day of shopping today didn't come to much. The Marys left at around eight a.m. for Harrod's. That's the world's most impressive department store, offering for sale such a wide range of potential purchases that it can be said to sell everything. But for some reason that didn't bring any satisfaction to the girls. Perhaps this is because a) it is rather cold outside, and the Marys are dressed as if it were New Orleans, or 2) MA's feet hurt, due to uncomfortable shoes--the only kind MA owns, near as I can tell.
The shoe matter is probably my fault. I don't own a pair of shoes that I would not be able to wear for ten or twelve hours at a stretch. The karmic imbalance might explain everything.
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Breakfast in the dining room at the Langham Hotel in London. [/caption]
I go to breakfast downstairs in the Langham Hotel, where the opening meal of the day is complimentary and good. The best part of breakfast is reading the Financial Times and the just-plain Times, both of which have a clever style of journalism that doesn't take politics as seriously as we do in the U.S. The articles all seem to wink an eye at you, regardless of the topic.
I am just finishing my work for the morning when the Marys appear in the room to collect me. Mary Ann says I should go to see the Transport Museum in Covent Garden, which itself is more than interesting. Resembling the French Market but much older and larger, Covent Garden encloses at least a dozen restaurants, most with tables on what the Italians would call a piazza. (English has only "public square" or "marketplace" for this, neither of which sing.) The area is filled with mimes, particularly the kind that pose motionless as statues. Some of these are truly astonishing. Also here are opera singers, yo-yo artists, comedians, and other performers. I get the impression that all of these just show up with their props and/or background music, and just begin their acts, without a by-your-leave to any sort of authority.
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Covent Garden, and one of the many restaurants there.[/caption]
The Transport Museum is about getting around London, starting with boats and ferries on the Thames, then getting into the above-ground roads and railways, and finally a close study of the original subway system--the Tube. That begins with coal-fired locomotives pulling their cars underground through their own smoke. It goes through the electrical era, with special features about how the cars functioned during the world wars.
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Inside an antique London subway car, with a guide (rear) in old Tube conductor duds. [/caption] Some of the older cars look almost identical to New Orleans streetcars. I am pleasantly surprised to see that our city is given credit for more or less creating the get-around-town streetcar. (The St. Charles Streetcar is, you probably know, the oldest street railway in the world.) We make our way through several floors of old railcars in between the many children who find this all fascinating.
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An old double-decker bus with an equally old invitation for Brits to visit New Orleans.[/caption]
We head outside to the "public square" and have a little snack of fries, juice, and coffee. Then the Marys run out of ideas, as things get colder and colder. ML tries to buy a jacket, but the stores either don't have her size, or they don't take American Express. MA continues to wince in pain from the inadequate shoes. Maybe she'll buy a pair of those rubber boots we saw yesterday.
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Rules, on the right, London's oldest restaurant. And Big Easy, on the left. [/caption]
At around fiveish, we head over to Rules, the restaurant where the Eat Club will gather in a loose way for dinner. Rules--the oldest restaurant in London, dating back to the 1700s--is a place I enjoyed twice in the past. I needed no reservation either time. But this time I arrive when when every major restaurant in town is full. The Eat Clubbers' reservations are scattered across the book from five until nine-thirty. Unfortunately, my reservation is for the latter time. I can't talk the maitre d' into any kind of accommodation.
None of this is of any concern to the Marys, who have written off Rules as the kind of ancient restaurant that I love but that they hate. They leave me at Rules and head out for dinner in Soho (not very good) and pub-hopping (without taking a draught).
I cab it back to the hotel, take a shower and a nap, don a suit, and return to Rules. As I get out of the cab I meet four Eat Clubbers--the ones with the five o'clock reservations--just as they are leaving. Indeed, they take the cab in which I just arrived.
Nobody else with our group is currently in residence at Rules. I go upstairs to the bar and have a gin and tonic. Three men at the next table are talking about hunting wild game. Wild game is the main stock in trade of Rules. These guys fit right in.
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The bar upstairs at Rules, the oldest restaurant in London. [/caption]
Nothing else much happens until, at eight-thirty, two groups of two Eat Clubbers each show up. One of them gets a table for four, and mentions that I may be on the premises somewhere. The waiter finds me and beckons me to the table. Hurrah! I will not have to dine alone after all.
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Lamb sweetbreads at Rules.[/caption]
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Duck two ways.[/caption]
These folks take full advantage of the game orientation of the restaurant. She has lamb sweetbreads (!) as entree. He has a roast duck that is perfectly done. I have a special lamb presentation of a lamb neck, a lamb shoulder, and a lamb saddle. The two men each have the soup of the day, a creamy potage made with smoked haddock. It needs some Tabasco, I say, crossing my fingers that they have the stuff in house. (They produce it immediately.) All of this is delicious, and the prices are fair enough. My check, with a cocktail and a glass of wine, is about £75.
The other couple is at a table that will hold only two. I pop over there a few times during the meal, as well as after the other couple finishes dinner and departs.
Turns out the deuce people are also staying at the Langham Hotel. So we share a cab back. Sort of. The gentleman is a convert to Uber, the New Age taxicab, relying heavily on the internet and smart phones. He has the app on his phone, and demonstrates how it works. After he links in (the Uber outfit already has his credit card number), it is three minutes before a Bangladeshi driver arrives with an ordinary car to pick us up. He follows the GPS to the hotel, and makes it there faster than either of the two black cabs did earlier today. (In fairness, I note that traffic was much worse then, and now it's almost midnight.)
I can see why the method of travel is so popular. But for the moment, I think I'm going to stick with the classic London black taxis.
[title type="h5"]Rules. London: 35 Maiden Lane, WC2E 7LB. www.rules.co.uk. +44 20 7836 5314.[/title]
