Thursday & Friday: The Adventure Begins!

The departure for the UK 2011 mission began with spring temps pushing 50 and a group primed for its invasion of the mother country. We were undeterred by the fact that we were flying to Newark via Cleveland (??). The trip to Cleveland went off without a hitch, and we caught our connection to Newark after a brief wait, touching down in NJ around 6:00PM.



Our flight to London Heathrow was set to depart at 9:15PM, but we noticed upon arrival in Newark that the gate had changed. Everyone set out to sample the airport cuisine after establishing gate C96 as our meeting point. We gathered at the gate for boarding but noticed that two of our party were mysteriously absent... Mr. Northrup ran through the airport to track down the two wayward travelers, who were some 2.6 miles away in another concourse, the latest gate change having eluded them. We all got on the flight and left on time.

I was psyched that the plane featured headrests showing the flight's progress, which helped the 6 1/2 hour flight time slow to a crawl as I watched the 3600 miles peel away 12 at a time. Fortunately I was cozy since I was in the middle seat between Lincoln and some sasquatch-looking guy who was around 6 foot 7. Still, the flight arrived to London on time and I managed around an hour and a half of sleep.

After we landed, cleared customs and retrieved our baggage, we met our tour guide slash nemesis: WARREN. Warren was a bit gruff but proved himself as a bottomless wellspring of knowledge. Did you know that duplex houses are called "semi-detached"? Or that yards are called gardens, and that people park in them? Warren led us on a tour of various sights which he pointed out from his microphone which he wielded like a sword of vengeance as we struggled, sleep-deprived, to remain conscious. In mid-morning, we disembarked at Buckingham Palace to stretch our legs and behold the Queen's residence.





We reboarded the "motorcoach" (piloted by a gentleman named "Carl") and continued our tour around London. The ride led us through Piccadilly Circus (the Times Square of London), and when Warren muttered the word "Lillywhites" I fell into a deep unconsciousness. I emerged a short while later and found us near St. Paul's Cathedral, where we were stopping for a lunch break.
After a sensational fish & chips experience near St. Paul's, we headed in the bus for Westminster Abbey, site of coronations, weddings, and innumerable burials. The floor of the Abbey is littered with stones marking the life spans of important Brits, and various anterooms housing crypts and statues. The sheer number and variety of commemorative stones and statues prompted the sage observation from Mr. Northrup that Westminster Abbey is "the House of Guitars of churches"--an insightful comparison.

Warren bristled several times at my efforts to supplement his informed observations:
Warren: "Does anyone know what Richard III famously exclaimed when he was killed by Henry VII??"
Me: "Ouch."
Warren: "Bloody Americans"
(The correct answer, of course: 'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.' I was just testing him.)



We left Westminster Abbey and took the bus to the Ibis Earls Court, located near Kensington, and checked into our rooms. Not a bad hotel! We convened for dinner and decided that on our first night we would go for a stroll in the Fulham/Earls Court area. I believe firmly that a stroll of undetermined length and destination is often the best way to see an unfamiliar area, and the walk south to Fulham Broadway revealed numerous wagering parlors and bodegas but ultimately revealed a colorful neighborhood. We stopped at the Fulham Broadway tube station and did some shopping before pressing on towards Stamford Bridge stadium, the home of Chelsea FC, one of the top soccer teams in the world.



We took a few pictures around the stadium before I asked a guard the best route back to our hotel. He directed us to a shortcut through Blackgate Cemetery before taunting that I was probably too frightened to go that way. He was right but we headed that direction anyway. Fortunately the cemetery gate was locked and we were forced to trudge another mile or so back to the hotel just in time for bed check. After our travels and Warren's relentless provision of information sleep came easily.

Saturday: The Tower, The Globe, CAFC, and Piccadilly Circus... innit??

We awoke on Saturday to what would become a familiar weather pattern: gray & drizzly. It is a testament to our group's character that no one seemed particularly bothered by it, nor did I hear anyone complain. Not unless you count Mr. Lincoln's hysterical sobbing each morning of course, but he got past that with a spot of tea and a biscuit.

On Friday after breakfast, we bounded down the stairs of the hotel and greeted Warren with huge bear hugs and exclamations of affection. He told us to grab our "brollies" (UKish for "umbrella") if we had them, and we set out for the Tower of London. The Thames River lazed along on our right as Warren's voice droned narcotically over the PA system, including an entirely uncalled-for description of what it means to be drawn & quartered (breakfast, anyone??). It was around this time that Warren unleashed another salvo in his fierce marketing siege by reminding us that we could buy his book for 10 quid and also that he couldn't reveal any information about Jack the Ripper unless we booked his East End walking tour on the subject. He did illuminate a bit of British slang that would become a linguistic focal point for the group throughout the trip, pointing out with disgust that young Brits tack the phrase "innit" onto the ends of all of their sentences for no particular reason. Needless to say we embraced this instance of language degeneration and employed it constantly, innit.



We arrived at the Tower and were treated to further WAW ("world according to Warren") elocutions, except this time they were delivered in a steady rain, which--for me at least--made them even more enjoyable. We proceeded into the Tower and among the features inside was an exhibit with the "crown jewels"--various swords, scepters, maces and crowns featuring more bling than you could shake a bloody stick at. We spent a few minutes at a nearby souvenir stand after the Tower of London and boarded the bus for the Globe Theatre across the Thames. At the Globe, we bid a fond adieu to our leader, our homeboy, our British brotha from anotha motha, Warren.

The Globe Theatre is a faithful replica of the version in which so many of Billy Shakespeare's plays were performed back in the day. We browsed an exhibition with various costumes, props, and information about the Globe's history before an excellent guided tour of the theatre itself, where we were able to watch a rehearsal for Macbeth (the scene immediately following Banquo's murder: 'never shake thy gory locks at me!'). So, that was fantastic.



After the Globe we met Carl the bus driver and set out for Charlton Athletic FC, where we had tickets to see the CAFC Addicks vs. Exeter City. Entering the stadium was like walking into a cathedral of sorts for me--awesome! As soon as we emerged from the tunnel a giant flag was passed over our heads bearing the team's logo. The air thrummed with the sound of singing fans and beating drums, and the air crackled with excitement.


We proceeded to our seats, which--unbeknownst to me--were in the first and second rows. You could smell the soil and the grassy pitch. Brilliant, innit. While the game was a 0-0 draw at halftime, Exeter struck midway through the 2nd half and emerged with a 3-1 win over the hosts, but we could sum up our experience there in one word: WIN



We found Carl parked nearby after the game and embarked on the convoluted crawl back to Earls Court. Met for a quick dinner at the hotel, and then it was off to navigate the tube system and bring the group down to Piccadilly Circus, the Times Square of London (although, to the untrained eye, at least, free from the rampant prostitution and drug traffic of its Big Apple counterpart). We roamed around different shops and cafes, and just absorbed the atmosphere of the heart of London on a bustling Saturday night. At 11:00 we regrouped and took the tube back to Earls Court and it was off to bed in preparation for the next day's trip to Dover and Canterbury!



The video below is a group of (French?) students having some kind of sing-down... I was baffled of course, but as I have reviewed the footage several times, it has nudged me to the brink of PSYCHOSIS. Watch at your own risk. And let me know if you can interpret the meaning of the lyrics, innit.

Sunday: The Wax Museum, Dover, and Canterbury

On Sunday we awoke and met our new tour guide: Angie. She did not register a flicker of recognition when I asked her, "When will those clouds all disappear?" Perhaps she's not a Stones fan innit. We attempted to establish some new ground rules with Angie, chief among them that she exercise more restraint with the bus microphone than her predecessor Warren. After breakfast, we loaded our gear and set out for Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum in London.



They do some fine work at the wax museum, although maybe the best work was done in a series of interpretive, interactive photos by our own Jim Schanck. We spent an hour and a half exploring exhibits featuring film stars, athletes, musicians, and statesmen. The MT Wax experience also featured an optional dungeon promenade in which we plodded through a labyrinth in near darkness looking at waxy torture and murder victims while various people bolted out from the shadows to scream into our faces. Mr. Manilla may have soiled his britches but that has not been confirmed.

We left the Madame and boarded the coach for Dover on the Southeast coast. It was going to be a long trip, but we were encouraged by the presence of our new bus driver: Terry! Terry dominated. The two hour drive featured heavy napping, made more possible by Angie's apparent rejection of our arrangement about the microphone.



We arrived in Dover, disembarked, and threw a few stones in the direction of France, but due to the conditions we could not see across the channel.


We proceeded to Canterbury, a voyage punctuated by Terry's ability to back the motorcoach a half mile down a narrow, winding alley. We all cheered heartily and dropped our bags at the hotel (the ABode, a terrific hotel, by the way).



Then it was on to Canterbury Cathedral, which we toured independently for around an hour before we enjoyed an afternoon of free time in Canterbury.


And for the record, this guy fired up crepes on a griddle in his cart and served them with nutella--the result was frighteningly good. Canterbury is a quaint, charming British town with lots of shops, cafes, restaurants, etc. I loved it there.


An hour or two after check-in at the hotel, the fire alarm went off. British fire alarms, unlike their US counterparts, feature the exceedingly calm voice of a British bloke requesting immediate departure from the building. The group gathered in the adjacent alley, and much to our amusement Jimmy & Pat emerged wearing his & her bathrobes. Good comedy.



We walked down the road to the Falstaff Hotel for a group dinner. The Falstaff was not as posh as the ABode, but retained a rustic charm. We were shepherded into a back room for dinner, at the conclusion of which we celebrated Alyssa's 18th birthday with cake and song. As we finished our cake, in the shadowy recesses of the Falstaff courtyard, there skulked a broad figure who would be our entertainment for the evening: John Hippsley, the guide for the Canterbury Ghost Tour.



John's puzzling stroll through Canterbury's suitably creepy alleys had enormous potential but resembled more of a tired comedic rant aimed to offend just about any individual or group in existence. The result was occasional amusement punctuated by periods of extreme awkwardness. I can't be entirely sure I heard him correctly, but I think he might have even taken shots at Ernest Hemingway, Gandhi, and the Chicago Cubs. He ended the evening with an impromptu seance and punctuated it by scaring the daylights out of us by slamming his cane against a hollow iron door.



For the rest of the night, the group commandeered the Cathedral room in the hotel, a lounge with several couches and oversized chairs. I skyped Mrs. Gillett to make sure she didn't have a baby or anything. We were slated to depart the next morning at 8:30 to set out for Stratford-upon-Avon.

Monday: Stratford-upon-Avon

We rose a bit late on Monday morning, not leaving Canterbury until close to 10 o'clock when all was said and done, and incurring the wrath of Angie in the process. The drive to Stratford was about 2 and a half hours. We arrived in Stratford at Trinity Church, the site of Shakespeare's tomb.



Trinity was simpler than Westminster Abbey and Canterbury in its construction but equally beautiful, and had far fewer visitors.



We left Trinity Church and proceeded to Anne Hathaway's Cottage (AH is better known as Bill Shakespeare's wife). The cottage was thatched roof with huge wooden beams supporting the walls and ceilings--we were forbidden from taking pictures in it hence no images. Captain Northridge was in all his glory and purchased a Shakespare ball cap that I imagine you will see him wearing in school until June.


After the cottage we proceeded to our hotel, the Legacy Falcon, to drop our luggage. We noticed, on our bus travels, a muddy soccer pitch near the hotel and the idea was hatched to go there late at night and stage a proper British football match. More on that later. We moved on to Shakespeare's birthplace, which featured an exhibition and also a visit to the house in which he grew up, which has been quite carefully restored. Again, no pics were allowed. Do camera flashes actually melt old statues?? Just checking. The afternoon was set aside for free time to explore Stratford, with dinner arranged for 7PM.

At dinner the battle lines were drawn between the three teams that would compete in the evening's scavenger hunt: my team, Disaster FC; Captain Northridge's side, Sucktown United; and, Mr. Lincoln's group, Team Awesome. Rules were discussed, answer sheets were distributed, and teams were sent out on staggered starts to unravel mysterious questions such as "Freddie Mercury might have visited" (Queens Head); "What former PM Margaret was called by her friends" (Old Thatch); "Solitary Deciduous" (One Elm). Teams had to identify the correct answer and then have their pictures taken next to it, in addition to memorizing quotes from two statues.
Somehow, against insurmountable odds, Disaster FC prevailed with 280 total points (runners up Team Awesome had 247, and Sucktown Utd. lived up to their moniker with 227). Still, we're all winners here! By now it was around 10:30PM, and it was time to make good on our earlier plan to play football. We departed the hotel in an unruly horde shuffling through Stratford's quiet streets, and returned to the pitch we had seen earlier in the day only to discover that it was surrounded by a six foot brick wall with metal spikes on it. ??? Evidently the Brits treat their muddy soccer pitches to rigorous protection.

We eventually made our way to an open green next to the newly renovated Royal Shakespeare Company Theatre, on the banks of the Avon river. After a brief negotiation with the mystified night watchman, it was on! The ball immediately went into the river, but after a couple of skillful retrievals we were able to complete a match for the ages.
The boys vs. girls matchups left the gents at a numbers disadvantage, but the real difference was the relentless savagery with which the ladies attacked and defended. Whenever the ball was at my feet there were ponytails flying out of the darkness, and the pressure proved too much for the guys in a 5-4 defeat. About halfway through the match, the aforementioned night watchman and another security guard began watching in bafflement and fascination. When the match ended and we approached one of them to thank him for allowing us to play, he invited the group--after swearing us to secrecy--into the theatre, where Queen Elizabeth, Judi Dench, and Patrick Stewart would be visiting to see the premiere of King Lear only a few days hence. An extraordinarily cool gesture, especially considering our various states of muddy undress, innit.

Sadly, the countdown had begun to the end of the trip and our return to the states. One more day awaited--a return to London.

Tuesday: Back to London

On Tuesday we awoke and boarded the bus for the return trip to London (about 1 1/2 hours). We headed for the Notting Hill neighborhood and Portobello Road, an area with numerous boutiques, restaurants, and antique stores, for some lunch and shopping. Then it was off to the London Eye. We arrived to discover that the Eye was closed for maintenance. ???? Fortunately, just when we were looking to take a swim in the Thames instead, it reopened. We had our own private pod--brilliant.



By the end of the Eye experience, everyone was relatively comfortable and we all captured some images of London from above despite the continued grim weather pattern.


After the Eye, we took the bus back for re-check-in at the Ibis Earls Court and to change for the evening's festivities. We took the bus to Covent Garden, arriving around 4:30PM. Covent Garden might best be described as the London version of Quincy Market: a sprawling, indoor-outdoor shopping area with shops, restaurants, and street performers in the London theatre district.

It was here that half of our group bid farewell to Angie and Terry, since 13 of us attended the show Chicago at the Cambridge Theatre and would take the tube back to the hotel afterwards. The other half of the group rejoined Terry and Angie at 5:30 at the motorcoach to head towards Shepherd's Bush to attend a second football match. Since I was part of group two, the narrative henceforth is a bit incomplete.

We arrived in the Shepherd's Bush area and wandered around looking for somewhere to eat as we headed in the direction of Loftus Road, the home stadium for the Queens Park Rangers football club, a team that has been around since 1882. We arrived at the park to find that the layout seemingly forced all 17,000 fans to enter the ground through the same turnstile. Eventually we got into our seats (5th row!) and joined the home crowd in urging the "hoops" to victory.
This time, the home side rewarded the crowd with a 2-0 victory over the visitors from Ipswich Town (their nickname is the "tractor boys"--??!). The crowd was fired up after the second goal, and the video also shows their joy in taunting the opposing fans:



When the match ended, we hung around to take a few pictures before heading out of the stadium and toward the underground.
The trip back to Earls Court was short and simple, but a smaller contingent decided that, with only a few scant hours left in London, they would be remiss if they didn't try to find track 9 3/4 at the Kings Cross train station and fly away to Hogwarts. Some disembarked from the tube at this point, while a group of others pressed on towards Kings Cross (a :30 tube ride?), where after some poking around and asking the always-friendly Londoners for assistance, they found the portal they were looking for.


We were back to the hotel before midnight, and it was time to pack and get a few hours of sleep before Wednesday's 6:30AM wake-up call.

Wednesday: The End.

On Wednesday we arose and the weather may have been at its most frightful--wet, dark, rainy. And though my images of this visit to the UK might be correspondingly dreary in respect to the weather, I believe it illustrates what was so excellent about our group: everyone was positive and looked for the best in the experience and in each other.

I know I speak for all of the chaperones when I say it was a privilege traveling with you guys and that I'm going to remember the fun we had together, more than the churches, the palaces, the football matches, or the deep bonds I cultivated with Warren and Angie. I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as we did.