How to Spend Money You Didn't Know You Had, In London in 48 Hours Or Less

Question: If you've got about 48 hours of awake time in London and want to see things you read about in guidebooks, shop at the special stores available only there, taste the meals of amazing and reknowned chefs, all the while traipsing tourist pathways and staying in a perfect little boutique hotel... how do you do it? How do you do it... all?

Answer:  Don't invite me.

I cannot make or stick to a plan for tourism in a foreign city. It is alien to my nature. I can only wander, get lost, delight in getting found again, get lucky with a particular lunch or art house or shop, get unlucky later, wonder miserably what I ever thought I was doing coming here on my own, turn around in place multiple times (for that true "lost tourist" look), and take bizarre series of unconnected photographs. But if that, instead, is what you're looking for, why, come on along!


Christmas decorations were in full swing, colorful and overblown and lovely. And people were out in droves.

I went to a silly play called The 39 Steps, loosely modeled on a Hitchcock play but made goofy by four British actors playing a hundred or so parts. Sometimes the wardrobe changes were so frequent and fast that the players did them right there on the stage, going from voice to voice and character to character by flipping on a different hat or dropping a lacy robe over their police uniform.

I found an adorable hotel - one of those "get lucky" moments - and I won't tell you its name, for fear there won't be any space in it next time I go to London. It was 89 pounds a night but I had a whole loft apartment to myself, with espresso maker and views of the newly remodeled St Pancras station:

The view out of the window to the left is...

...this incredible building that stretches in every direction.

This is the hotel, but you'll not find it's name here. Ha ha!!!

And speaking of secrets... not a very good one if you've got it on a chalkboard, eh?

And with a telephone number??

I don't think it's a great sign that I found this little car, which I love and want to own, in the fancy shopping district Notting Hill. But isn't it just the cutest? I think it looks like a soap bubble. Dad said he'd get me one, didn't you, Dad?

Last were two things I didn't even hope to find. First I was really late in looking for a "traditional Sunday Roast", which I had been seeing all day on pub menus as I walked around town. By the time I got back to the hotel late Sunday night, I didn't hold much hope I'd be able to find one. In fact, I found one at my hotel, in an adorable "foodie" restaurant with just-a-bit-hip-but-not-so-far-as-to-be-aloof feel to it, and the meal pictured below. Cavolo nero (which is the kale thing in the little cup) competed with the Orzo Gratin for Best Dish of the Night. Mmmmm.

And the reason I got back so late is that I found the place at right - a bar with twenty or so ping pong tables, called Bounce. If there's a heaven, it must look like this. People were playing ping pong in every direction; cheering, jeering, trash talking; balls bouncing and flying everywhere and a little bucket of them at each table so you didn't have to chase one as it caromed off the other guests. I wheedled my way into playing with three gents who were playing a round robin between them. (Yes, I beat them all. Fortunately they still let me play.)

Christmas in... DC?

DC is kind of empty for the holidays - at least, that's how it seemed to me. It's such a transient city - many of the people you meet are not from here, so they go elsewhere for family events like Christmas. I certainly do.

But not this year. This was Kyna's first Christmas in DC so Dad decided to come as well, and arrived in time for Kyna's birthday celebration. A friend directed me to Black Salt, an upscale eatery in an upscale neighborhood of DC (where I had NEVER been, despite living here 13 years or something ridiculous like that. Ask me if I've been to X, Y or Z scummy part of town, sure, yeah... but Palisades? Where's that?)

Anyway, here we are at dinner.

I ate a whole fish called... what was it called? Let's name it Llewellyn, for lack of memory. Kyna had an halibut, quite obviously called Eric. And Dad ate this dish of stuff that had legs and tentacles and heads poking out of it like an undersea genetic experiment, and he had to beat all these little critters into submission before eating them and putting their luminescent exoskeletons on a plate right... in... front... of... me. Fantastic.

He did good on the gift though. Dad usually gives us a check for the number of years old we are, or somewhere near abouts, in case he has the year wrong. Well, imagine Kyna's surprise when he pulled out a little, black, velvet jewelry box. She tilted her head at it, scrunched up her eyes, put the back of her hand on Dad's forehead (checking for fever), and then opened it to find diamond earrings. Had I wanted to I could have knocked her over with a wee bittie feather just then.

Blowing out the candle on her trio of creme brulee, I wonder what she wished for?

 

We spent a fair amount of time cooking during the time Dad was here. Not traditional Christmas geese or turkeys, oh no. Here you can see me putting cheese on a cutting board! (Don't try this at home, kids.) The jar in my hand contains fig chutney, with which one is to dress one's brie before eating. I know, this is pretty advanced cookery. Don't be upset if yours doesn't come out as good, I mean, I'm practically a professional.

One night Kyna created a beef stew that was fantastic. Shane took one look at it and asked about the provenance of our Dinty Moore. Kyna is still going to get him back for this.

One terribly blustery day we found ourselves in the U.S. Botanical Garden, an indoor respite from the winds that threatened to carry us back to Kansas. Inside it was warm and the sun was coming in through the greenhouse roof. The air felt humid and was full of mist as the plants were watered. There was a fern that seemed to have its eye on Kyna. It had leaves that were the size of volkswagons and it could easily have eaten her whole. Fortunately we escaped unscathed, but it was a rough moment walking back out into that cold. 

On Christmas Day we coaxed Dad into a somewhat nontraditional meal, more like what we'd have eaten in Pakistan. Lamb and eggplant in curry sauce with mint and coriander; Chicken Tikka Masala; dumplings with fig in a cashew sauce; spinach and cheese stew. It was nearly impossible to stop eating. The waitstaff were humbled by our thoroughness; in some cases we even ate the toothpicks.

Then we rolled out of there, dropped Kyna at home so she could rest up for work the next day, and Dad and I went to feed Shadi (Ali and Shane's cat, who was under my charge this week.) She asked for the "kitty bag" from the restaurant but I lied and told here there weren't any leftovers.

Dad and I went downtown to check out the White House Christmas Tree, and my long-held belief that Washington was empty on Christmas was shattered for good. The traffic was incredible, and all Christmas goodwill was long gone for these tourists, scrambling over the battered husks of other, weaker people to get a photo of the ugliest tree I'd ever seen. We gave up trying to get closer to it, and instead took a tour of Christmas lights - including the tree at the U.S. Capitol. No one was waiting to see it, but it was much better anyway.

Trip home to St. Louis

Kyle came up with the idea - we'd all go to St. Louis to attend Pat's daughter's wedding. Pat and Kyle were best friends growing up, and Pat's family and our family were the closest of neighbors. So... we made our plans.

Kyle arguably had the best night of all of us, dancing with his S.O., Maureen and getting together with his old friends. But Dad also seemed to be really enjoying the dancing...

Like in this photo with Gina, Kyna's best friend growing up...

 And here with Maureen! Lauren was having fun with the party favors from the princess theme...

 ...while Pat and his daughter shared their traditional dance. Dad, Kyna and Gina appear to be engaged in a really funny story here, but when I asked what they were talking about they told me I'd understand when I was older.

We also took some time to visit old haunts, like Kyle's favorite, Pelican Island. The river here is wide and slow, and made for some nice photos on a sunny, chilly day.

Kyle and Lauren spent some time sand-combing, looking for rocks and bird poop and arrowheads and feathers and stuff, as they are wont to do. Dad, Kyna and I retired to Alton Illinois for lunch and pie.

While it's difficult to find something we all want to do, among this diverse and bizarre group of blood-related people, it's not impossible. We played a rousing game of par three golf on another sunny, gorgeous fall day.

Kyna  proved herself a dead-eye shot on every hole - sometimes long, sometimes short, but never off the mark, and sometimes beating par. Another of her talents... but somehow I never knew she could do this!

Kyle was a very capable caddy. We like making him carry heavy things. Dad's looking onto the green, because he got on every single hole.

And then there's Lauren, natural athlete, even more natural goofball. I'm not entirely sure why she's loping along while Maureen takes her shot, but it reminds me a lot of the day. She was consistently goofy and fun!

I don't have any pictures of myself playing golf, for obvious reasons.

End of summer travels

After a blistering period of work through spring and summer, I began to make plans to take some time off. I was still in Kabul, finishing up a final project report there and also another one being turned in back in Washington. It was grueling, so I allowed myself breaks to poke around on the web and look for someplace fun to visit. SPAIN, I thought, my head spinning with how fantastic that sounded, compared to being shrouded physically, emotionally and occupationally in Afghanistan. Through strange fortune, a very dear friend was going to be visiting her inlaws in Spain, so I figured fate was sending me there.

I told my colleagues at work in Kabul what I was planning. "Oooh..." they cautioned. "Be careful! Spain has had some protests lately..." I decided I'd brave it despite their well-meaning warnings.

Getting to the airport in Kabul, I felt an unspooling begin to happen - I had been so tied up with work that I thought my neck would snap under the weight. After landing in Madrid (after overnight flights with multi-connections, the only way I seem to know how to fly) I boarded one more flight to Oviedo, in Asturias, along the north coast.

Mireya and her family picked me up and showed me around their region, invited me to the baptism of the newest little one in the clan, and kept me singing till three in the morning. Seriously - this is one singing family.

We took excursions to the area's sites, shopped, ate and drank...

 Mireya and her family invited me in like one of their own! But when I go back, I resolve to know the lyrics to more old Spanish songs!



Then I flew to Seville. I was sitting on stone steps in the historic center, listening to a busker play classical guitar, when these folks went past. This pic makes it look like these tourists are getting the ride of their lives, but actually it's just the low light setting. What a lovely night.

Then I went for tapas and found a trio of Sevillan friends who invited me to join them. We went around the city together - on a Tuesday night, mind - and saw a flamenco singer in a cave-turned-bar:

From there I went on to Granada to see the Alhambra - a fortress dating back about a millennium. It's too magnificent to capture in one picture, even the following few don't do it justice.

Around every corner there was another lovely view, a detailed mosaic, a fountain surrounded by gardens. And about ten million tourists. Including me.