Another Innocent Abroad part deux

Another Innocent Abroad part deux
June 27, 2008

Finally boarding the red-redeye out of JFK to London’s Heathrow at 12:35am, I found that my plan for sleeping onboard the aircraft didn’t change with my cancellation of plans for touring the city. I suppose that any long period of unfamiliar surroundings, hustle and bustle and waiting around will wear your ass out just as much as walking all day. I am awakened twice on the Delta bird by the flight attendant serving first dinner, then breakfast and I scarfed down both meals like a hungry dog. When she softly spoke to me the third time with an offer of coffee I realized that we were over England and about 30 minutes from Heathrow. This was, after a shaky start, the absolute best flight of my life! A solid touchdown on the runway and brief taxi to the terminal and I’d meet my dear friend Kimberly at the gate and a whole new world would be opening to me! Alas…it was to be much more than I bargained for!
The touchdown was okay, but there would be no taxiing to the gate as we had no gate. It seems that Heathrow is like all other airports in its desire to be bigger and better, so construction is the word of the decade. We pulled onto an out of the way tarmac and sat there waiting for the transport busses to take us to the international check in line…shit…another line! The busses were delayed (of course) and now I am three and a half hours late and counting for my rendezvous with Kim. Fortunately for me, her flight was delayed an hour or so and she only had to wait about an hour for me.
Stepping through the baggage claim gate, I see her and burst into a big smile! Since I haven’t seen her since last July, and have since shaved the face to match my bald head, she failed to recognize me and I thought that she was going to hit me when I approached her with arms out-stretched. We found my luggage and were off to the train that would sweep us to old London. Now, I was really excited!
The train station was a modern affair with all the trappings of a big city airport – kiosks selling newspapers and gum, shops with souvenir trinkets and London hats and t-shirts, and many, many people milling about. I encountered my first true, native British accent in country at the passport station and from that point on I found myself listening intently for that oh-so-sweet, proper accent anytime I heard people speaking. Then I started picking up regional dialects, the cockney, the proper Manchester dialect, the southern accent (not to be confused with the American southern accent), the northern, with its scottish-like brogue, accents from places around the world sprinkled with a british flavoring.The train ride into Saint Pancras station was excellent. The train was not very full and we obtained good seating from the start. After riding for about 25 minutes, gawking at the rooftops and chimneys of the old London flats, we arrived at this most beautiful station. Saint Pancras is an old railway station with a gigantic glass roof and acres of space. The Victorian era in London was an elegant time in history for this city. The scale of these old train stations and hotels and churches from this era is astounding, the detail fascinating. We disembarked with our luggage and trudged through the terminal to the exit, directly across the street from our hotel, The Northumberland Kings Cross Hotel, a grand palace if there ever was one!We squeezed through the front entrance and announced our arrival to the desk clerk, a middle eastern man of about 30 years of age, all smiles and helpfulness, who could guarantee procuring almost anything you could desire in ‘2 minutes’.While Kim checked us in, I decided to walk around the block and take in the neighborhood. Rounding the first corner a block up from the hotel, I came upon a sign in front of a block of rowhouses that read “Benjamin Franklin lived here from 1757-1775″. This discovery would set the pace for my entire visit to London, a city as old and timeless and full of history as any I had ever seen.Returning to the hotel, I climbed the narrow stairs to our second floor room. Entering, I found Kimberly checking the two single beds for stains or bugs or maybe DNA. The room was just large enough to fit the two beds with a small nightstand next to hers. My cot backed up against the radiator at the head of the bed and the door opened against the foot. Now I don’t want to make this a review of our initial lodgings in London as I was fine with the micro-room. I didn’t need a tv or radio or an in-room bathroom. I didn’t need a closet to hang my clothes. I didn’t need a stand for my luggage. I didn’t mind my feet hanging off the foot of the bed. One pillow would be sufficient and the bumps on my head from banging it on the radiator throughout the night would give me an opportunity to visit a real London apothecary for headache medicine. This was to be our home for four nights and I was cool with that. Kimberly voiced her dissatisfaction with the digs at first and then exhibited the ’stiff upper lip’ that she had picked up when she lived in this city. “Let’s go see London”, said she…and off we went!