Of all the history. All the sights. All the culture that London dangled before us as we got off the plane at City Airport and boarded the Tube for downtown, the siren song that most rang in the heads of the girls was that of Starbucks. And when we climbed out of the subway tunnel onto the street near Kings Cross station and there before us, like a beacon of international consumer desire, was the green Starbucks logo, I supposed it made a bit of sense. On close inspection, the logo does seem to have a siren-inspired mermaid on it. Advertising 1. Coes 0.
We dodged traffic (not an easy thing when they come screaming at you from the other bloody side of the road in this country) and made our way headlong into the throngs of customers waiting for a famed pumpkin spice latte. The holiday cup was on the shelf and for a moment the girls got a little melancholy about all things American and holidays and friends. Then the barista called out "Lindy" and the caffeinated goodness erased all bits of longing. And so it was that we started our weekend escape in London.
After dropping bags at our hotel, we were off on a mission. We were in the heart of it all. A quick walk to Westminster Abbey and Trafalgar Square and the trendy shops of Covent Gardens. Big Ben and the River Thames were also close at hand, as was London Bridge and, a bit farther on, the Tower of London, which not only held the queen's jewels, but featured the amazing ceramic poppy installation to commemorate the start of WWI. But none of that mattered. Because according to Google Maps, which the kids wielded like a gastrointestinal geiger counter, there was a Chipotle less than a mile from where we now stood. So, off we went to add a naked burrito bowl to our London memories.
London is an amazing city, and while I admit I have never been much drawn to it, once we arrived we founded it amazing. It was refreshing to be back among the English speaking where we could actually order from a menu without bastardizing the local tongue. And, while most everyone seems to take things quite seriously, it has a silliness to it that no one seems to acknowledge. For example, near our hotel was a rather stately school called Goodenough College. Imagine telling your folks that is, in fact, your aspiration for higher learning? We walked past quaint little pubs with names like The Drunken Duck, the Bunch of Carrots and, my favorite, the Slug and Lettuce. And the way they fawn over the Queen is something to behold.
Once we had satiated the longing for Americana, we got down to business. We spent a fast 48 hours riding double-decker sightseeing buses past castles and cathedrals, marveling at the architecture and the opulence. We did a 30-minute circumnavigation in the Eye for a rooftop view of the city. We shopped the tony stores of Oxford Street. And found our way past waterloo station to a highly rated little fish-n-chips spot for some flakey cod and mushy peas. We had tea and savory drinking chocolate and Indian food. Lindsay even paid a woman with a mohawk to poke a hole in her nose at a place called Extreme Tattoo and Piercings. On Sunday, we made our way to the Tower of London to see the poppies, which was quite sobering. 880,000 ceramic poppies had been inserted into the moat running around the tower, in an endless sea of red, one for every British soldier lost in WWI. And we went to an Asian fusion restaurant where the table was turned into a giant digital tableau operated by your hand movements like a touch screen. You could scroll through menu items, look at pictures, place your order, call the waitress, pay your bill and even play Battleship. Seriously. It was quite a technological innovation that seems ripe for the US market. A few hours later, my credit card and battleship both duly sunk, we headed to the hotel to pack.
Soon enough it was time to leave all the proper English efficiency and head back to casual, comfortable Italy, where AlItalia promptly lost every single one of our suitcases. At nearly midnight, I stood at the lost of found window in Florence trying to explain in broken Italian how, should our bags actually be discovered, a driver might find our villa in the countryside down miles of gravel roads near a village the woman had never heard of. We did a quick mental inventory of what we had packed, said a silent goodbye to our things, and headed home, worried more about how we would replace our suitcases as we did the dirty clothes they held. Still, on Tuesday morning, to my surprise, I looked out the window of the living room and there was a man standing in our garden, peering back at me. I went outside and he was thrilled to find that I was, in fact, named Coey and that I recognized the bags in his trunk.