Day 1

Boring travel details:

We had the pleasure of leaving for London, Heathrow Airport the day after twenty-one men were arrested for plotting to blow up planes bound for America. We weren’t so much nervous about the flying itself – as Laura Anne pointed out in an e-mail headed “Breathe,” it was probably the safest time to travel, with security beefed up to ludicrous levels. It was the waiting we worried about. Pete was thrilled to no end by the thought of traveling with the “two least patient people he knows.” While I have no idea who he was talking about, Ty and I weren’t looking forward to it either.

With the press unwilling to let go of the fear mongering any sooner than absolutely necessary, the news was still reporting hours of delays, missed flights and the whole nine yards. We got to the airport with what should have been almost four hours to spare, which turned into five when we discovered our flight would be an hour late.

I’ll fast-forward over the new security screening at the gate itself, which consisted of a lot of people in badges walking up to other people with badges, shaking hands, chatting and walking purposefully away while everyone waiting to board stood as we’d been told…and stood…and stood…until they finally started boarding about ten minutes before we were scheduled to leave. Needless to say, we left even later than intended.

On to the mating dance of the six-year-old, which bears a striking resemblance to the mating dance of the five-year-old. It involves hitting yourself in the head and making your eyes roll around comically, falling down if space allows and making strange noises. Note: if you’re too cute for your own good, this will charm all women in the vicinity, especially since you have a captive audience and are the funniest thing to happen in six hours of flight. Plus, the in-flight movie has been turned off in preparation for unloading.

We took the express train from Heathrow to Paddington Station, which looks a lot like the Frankfurt Hauptbanhof, so I felt at home. From there we took a taxi ride with a wonderful cabbie who pointed out the sights and told us a bit about them as we passed. (We discovered later that though this was the way we were instructed to travel by the woman who arranged the trip, it was neither the most direct nor least expensive way to get from Heathrow to our hotel.)

Still Day 1 – Actually in London, not so boring!
Our hotel was on the River Thames, right beside the London Eye, a huge sightseeing Ferris wheel that I was crushed – crushed, I say – that the boys decided wasn’t worth the long lines and price of admission. Instead we walked along the river, over the Thames, the sky spitting at us occasionally, to see the breathtaking views of Big Ben and Parliament. (Apparently, we brought the rain with us, as it had been a warm, overly-dry, generally beautiful summer up until then.)

Ty has inherited my morbid fascination for cemeteries and the like and insisted on the self-guided tour of Westminster Abbey. Once inside, we were glad he did. Tombs of Mary, Queen of Scots, Edwards I & II, Queens Mary and Elizabeth, Henry the V, Jane Seymour, etc. Ty wanted to know who was buried in many of the ornate tombs and the stories behind them – Readers’ Digest versions. There was a whole section dedicated to memorials (and even some actual gravestones) of literary greats like Shakespeare, Byron, the Brontes, Chaucer, the whole hit parade. It was pretty stunning. Plus, hey, my five years of Latin were good for about one in seven of the words on the eulogies written that way. Go me! (I decided on the glass-is-one-seventh-full approach rather than the six-sevenths empty.)

After that we were wiped out from jet lag and lack of sleep and returned to the hotel to eat and plan our next day. Ty has insisted that he’ll be just fine on the Jack the Ripper/Terror Cruise of the Thames/Dinner with Sherlock Holmes tour tomorrow. Given his bravery at the Haunted Mansion where Pete and I met and the Haunted Cemetery tour last year in Edinburgh, we’re going to give it a shot. Wish us luck and don’t call child services!

(The only time Ty’s ever had nightmares was after Van Helsing – and really, who can blame him?)