Travel Vignettes, part 2
stories from London
I had Board meetings last week in London, and when I saw that it would cost literally half as much to fly in early, I opted to arrive Tuesday morning for Thursday meetings. My first trip to London was on a family vacation in middle school, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been since then. It’s a city I love to visit and where I feel very comfortable wandering around on my own. I scoped out a few hidden gems I hoped to see in the 48 hours before meetings started and boarded the overnight flight.
I always wear a mask on airplanes (I know the air is supposed to be cleaner than anywhere else I usually breathe1, but have you ever been on a flight that didn’t have multiple people sneezing and coughing?), but somewhere between Grand Rapids and London Heathrow, the germs got me anyway. I barely slept and by the time I landed, my head was full of gunk and my throat was scratchy. I got some breakfast at a Café Nero and took the Elizabeth Line into Paddington Station. There is a crazy little hotel2 that I’ve stayed in before and by some miracle, my room was ready when I got there at 10 AM. I slept for an hour, then showered and headed out, determined to make the most of the day.
It was cold and rainy—not unusual for London in January, but also not very pleasant for meandering. My first stop was Leadenhall Market, a covered market dating back to the 14th century. It’s also the site of Diagon Alley for Harry Potter fans, but I planned to wander the boutiques and shops promised on the website. While the architecture was stunning, most of the covered market is eateries, not shops suitable for wandering. So after a mediocre bowl of Korean bibimbap, I headed back out into the rain—with several hours left before I could go to bed in good conscience.
I found my way to St. Dunstan in the East Church Garden, which I’ve long wanted to see. It was originally built around 1100 but had several additions and renovations, including a complete rebuild in 1817. It was almost totally destroyed in the Second World War and is now maintained as a public garden. Even in the rain, it had a bit of mystical air, and had the weather been more cooperative, I would have sat and stayed a while. But since it did not, I headed indoors to the Tate Modern. I’ve never been, and now that I have, I don’t feel the need to go back. I’m glad there are people who create and appreciate modern art…I’m just not one of them, and I’ve decided to be OK with that.
By this point in the day, it was late afternoon and I admitted that I was miserable. I headed back to the hotel with some food from the Sainsbury Local in the train station and gave up for the night. I was disappointed in the day as a whole, and also feeling a bit sorry for myself, sick in my tiny hotel room. Have I mentioned before how much I hate it when reality falls short of my expectations?
Wednesday morning was cold but sunny, so I bundled up and headed out. I started at the Churchill War Rooms, having read that it’s best to do those first thing before the crowds. I’m not a war buff or even a history buff, but I am glad I went (and it was, in fact, quite crowded by the time I left two hours later). The recordings from the people who actually worked there made the stories come alive. It really did feel like everyone walked out the door yesterday and left everything as it was—one of the staff members even left his sugar rations on the desk, now replaced with a plastic replica for obvious reasons. It reminded me a bit of the bunkers in Albania, but much less creepy (probably because Churchill was not the megalomanic communist dictator that Hoxha was).
As I wandered and read and watched all of the video clips, it struck me how much the Wars are part of the psyche of London. There are monuments and memorials everywhere, and so many of the buildings have a story. There are still plenty of people living there who remember the Blitz and the air raids and the daily terror. It is part of the communal consciousness in a way that we don’t know in America. We sent troops, but our cities, our streets, our schools, our infrastructure were spared. I couldn’t help but wonder how our current political climate might be different if war felt more real here.
From the War Rooms, I headed over to the small Courtauld Gallery at Somerset House. In the space of an hour, I was able to see several of my favorite Impressionists, including Manet, Monet, Degas, Renoir, and Seurat. As much as I can appreciate somewhere like the Louvre, I actually prefer a small collection where I can linger and truly appreciate a few pieces, and this one was perfect.
We’ve accidentally developed a family tradition of seeking out Georgian restaurants everywhere we travel. There were several to choose from in the greater London area, but only one of them opened before 6 PM. Theater tickets at 7:30 made the choice for me and I headed into a part of the city I’ve never visited before. I walked out of the tube station onto what felt like a street somewhere in India. The sidewalk was crowded with vendors selling beautiful saris, jewelry of all kinds and prices, fresh produce, home appliances and just about anything else you might need. People bartered and haggled all around me and not a word of it was in English. I kept walking down some slightly dodgy side streets and finally found the tiny Georgian restaurant. No more than ten tables, and I was the only one there at that early hour. The staff was attentive and the khinkali were some of the best I’ve had (I had to skip the khachapuri, since I can’t eat a whole one on my own). One benefit of only paying for only one dinner is that I can order wine and dessert, and both were delicious.
One of my favorite things to do in London is a show, of course, especially with the discounted same day tickets. The Lion King was the most reasonable option this time. I’ve not seen it anywhere in its twenty-plus year run, and to be honest, I didn’t really want to. I just couldn’t imagine how the animated animals could possibly translate to the stage. The life-sized elephant and stately giraffes that walked in during the swelling opening anthem let me know just how wrong I was. I had no idea the puppetry and pageantry involved and was enthralled by the entire performance. I consider it a gift when an experience so thoroughly exceeds my expectations and reminds me to keep an open mind. I opted for the bus instead of the tube so I could enjoy the night scenes on the way back to the hotel.
I did not set an alarm before turning off the light for the night. When I next saw the clock at 10:15 Thursday morning, I realized I had missed breakfast and didn’t have much time before heading out to Woking for the meetings that were my reason for being there. I checked out of my room, grabbed a tea and pastry from Sainsbury and made a quick detour to the London Postal Museum. What a delightful gem! My children would have loved it ten years ago, and I loved watching the moms there with their children enjoying the very hands-on exhibits. Once again, the impact of the Wars featured prominently in the exhibits, and I appreciated reading several family stories told through the letters they wrote. But the best part of the museum by far was riding the Mail Rail: the narrow gauge underground driverless train system that ran from 1927 until 2003. It was designed to bypass London street traffic and move mail around the city more efficiently. At its height, it carried 4 million pieces of post a day, including freshly hunted game, as long as it had a neck label and “no liquid was likely to exude.” As with art museums, I love a small well-curated museum, and this one was well worth the detour. My only critique is that the gift shop did not carry any t-shirts, which my train-obsessed third-born would have loved.
I then hopped on the tube to Waterloo and transferred to a train out to Woking. I love a lot of things about London, but the public transit system is at the top of the list. I know that people living in the UK will say it’s not all roses and that getting around the country can be challenging, but the system in the greater London area is excellent. The train was smooth, quiet, and fast, and I find people on the trains to be generally courteous and appropriately stand-offish.
The UK has several Christian retreat centers that are unlike anything I’ve found elsewhere. They aren’t monasteries or convents, but are usually run by Christian organizations for the purposes of small gatherings or retreats. The ones where I have stayed are clean and simple, and I find them preferable to meeting in hotel conference rooms. This one was very ecumenical, seen in the day events advertised and the art throughout the building. It was a perfect place for our Board, which included people from ten countries this time.
I’ve written before about how the best part of my job is the interaction with people from all over the world, and these meetings were no exception. We talked about very academic things like making sure diplomas from every member school show how credits equate on a global rubric. We also talked about how we work to ensure that our global events are accessible across economic, gender, and professional spheres. We laughed together and prayed together and reminded each other that we do what we do because we care about the global church and being part of the work God is doing. I know that it is a privilege to sit around the table with these people, and I hope I never take it for granted. The chance to travel feels like a perk, but these relationships are gift beyond measure.
Yes, the walls in the rooms really are silver, and the showers are too small to turn around to rinse your back. But the breakfast is amazing, the location can’t be beat, and the prices are very reasonable.