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.
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