Burritos and donuts and detectives . . . Oh my!

      Because the weather in Geneva was so perfect, we decided to head somewhere where we could experience a different kind of spring. And what could be more different from perfect (weather-wise) than London in the spring? Actually, we were blessed with more decent than usual weather . . . the sun shone a bit and when it rained, it was more of a drizzle than a downpour. We bundled up and walked our usual distances, logging at least 20 miles (not kilometers in England!) and taking in nearly every park London offered.

Probably Kensington Park

Hyde Park? Maybe still Kensington

Regents Park (after the Sherlock Homes Museum, as you can deduce from the pipe)

James? Green? All the parks run together in my mind. They were all beautiful, though!

      To make sure we didn't become too fit after all that walking, we also enjoyed some of our favorite junk-food restaurants.

Johanna and the Alien at Krispy Kreme

Lucas really is happy about the donuts; he's just too cool to smile . . .

. . . and Drew is too busy eating.

We had not eaten good old American-Mexican for seven months! Drew was in burrito heaven.

      The language helped, for sure. When our flight from Geneva was delayed two and a half hours, that meant we'd also miss our reservations for the EasyBus at Gatwick Airport. I spent a good five minutes trying to figure out how to explain this to the EasyBus people in French before I realized that I would be able to speak English to them. The relief at not having to plan out every sentence and possible response was nearly overwhelming. Of course, British English is not American English. Interestingly, London English is not really British English. We were looking forward to some great accents -- and we got them -- but most of the people we met didn't talk any more like James Bond than we did. We talked to people from all over the world at restaurants, in trains, and in parks. Our first "English" accent, however, didn't come until we arrived in Weybridge, where we stayed for two days with friends from Cincinnati just finishing their stint with P&G in the U.K.

After waking up at 4:30 and rushing to the airport, we had to wait two and a half hours for our flight, which was delayed because the French air traffic controllers were (surprise) on strike. Lucas used his time wisely.

      Weybridge (as it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out) is home to the River Wey, featured in the MHA fourth-grade read-aloud, Adam of the Road (a chapter is entitled "Adam Swims the Wey"). Other literary highlights of the trip included tours of Shakespeare's Globe Theater (not the original -- which burned down in Shakespeare's own time -- but enough like it to make me happy), the Sherlock Holmes Museum at 221B Baker Street, and muttered renditions of the A.A. Milne poem "They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace . . . . " and Lewis Carroll's, "The Lion and the Unicorn." We didn't make it to the Charles Dickens House or even to Chancery Lane of Bleak House fame, but did see Piccadilly, the address of fictional detective Lord Peter Wimsey. We also went to a performance of Wicked in the West End. This was a pleasant surprise for Drew, especially. He had been unaccountably grouchy about going to the theater -- unaccountably because he, like the rest of us, usually loves a good play. The gloom lasted until we exited the Victoria Underground and came within sight of the theater marquis. Drew turned to me in astonishment: "We're seeing Wicked? All this time, I thought you were taking me to some stupid play called Wicket." Presumably the latter is about the thrills and romance surrounding the world of professional croquet. The World of Oz was far preferable.

Watson and Holmes

The museum proved inspirational to many family members.

The new Globe Theater

      As a contrast to the laissez-faire French, the Londoners seemed very concerned for our safety while we visited their town.  At each street crossing, helpful signs painted on the road reminded us to "Look Left!" or "Look Right!" to avoid being crushed by oncoming traffic coming on from a direction not imprinted in our street-crossing instincts. On the train, both signs and frequent verbal reminders cautioned us to "mind the gap" when debarking. Swimming in the Thames was discouraged as dangerous, and the doors on the London Eye bore a sign telling us not to push against them while our pod was in motion (I confess that the thought that the warning might be necessary made me a bit nervous).  

     As a contrast to the verbally efficient Americans, the Londoners seemed (on notices, anyway) extra polite and formal. Rather than "pick up after your dog" a sign took great pains to inform us that people who allow their pets to soil public property are inconsiderate, unsanitary, in violation of specific public statutes, and liable to prosecution. A sign on a riverside construction project loquaciously apologized for the inconvenience and noise, explaining in detail the need for the disturbance. Are Brits more literate than Americans -- or just more verbose? Do people (besides me) really stop to read all those words? We also enjoyed such proper-sounding phrases as "Do not alight here" near the train tracks and "Please keep seat belt fastened whilst seated" on the airplane. 

      Despite minor differences of locution, our overwhelming impression of London was one of familiarity. It's not an American city, but it's not any more different from Cincinnati than, say, Los Angeles, Charleston, or Boston might be. After seven months of the delightful but exhausting experience of being foreigners, I'd like to say "Cheers" to London for making us feel at home.