Monthly Archives: November 2011

As excited as I was to find bikes for hire in London, I wheeled my little Brompton foldie out of the shop with a bit of trepidation. After two full days in London, I still wasn’t comfortable with the left-hand driving traffic, even as a pedestrian. Even with the thoughtful “Look Left” and “Look Right” markings to warn continental Europeans and Americans, I was on alert each time I stepped into the roadway.

So there we stood with bikes in the bustling West End shopping district at twilight, 5 kilometers from our hotel in South Kensington. Since the Velorution bike shop was only a few blocks from the Oxford Circus station, we considered taking the underground, but once we got rolling we didn’t want to stop. With a set of left turns around the block to avoid a difficult right turn we were rolling down Oxford Street surrounded by double-decker buses and black cabs. Too bad I didn’t have my GoPro helmet camera to capture the excitement.

First stop the next day was the Tower of London. Since we got a late start, we carried the bikes on the underground and parked them on the street while we took a dramatic and gore-filled tour with a Beefeater guide, then walked up and down the endless stairs in the tower filled with armor, weapons and memorabilia of the long line of kings. We were dazzled by the exquisite crown jewels collection and amazed at the excessive decadence of items. My favorite was a gold tureen with a capacity of 144 wine bottles.

From the tower we began our 10 kilometer history tour of the city, viewing the iconic Tower Bridge (often mistaken for the London Bridge), then crossing the actual London Bridge (a completely ordinary bridge) over to the south bank of the river. There we rolled down cobbled lanes past Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre and the replica of the Golden Hind, the sailing ship of Sir Francis Drake. For my San Francisco Bay Area friends, that’s the explorer and the ship that claimed our area for the British crown in 1579 as “New Albion.” It didn’t stick.

After a late lunch at a surprisingly tasty burger joint near The Clink (yes, it’s a prison), we rode back across the Thames on Westminster Bridge in the fading light, stopping on its wide sidewalk to admire Big Ben, the Parliament buildings and the London Eye. Probably our best view of London at the perfect time of day.

The early 4 o’clock sunset meant that yet again we rode back to the hotel in the dark: braving a roundabout (yet again), getting disoriented in Hyde Park (yet again), and missing a turn onto the street that turns into Gloucester Road (yet again). In London, street names seem to change every quarter mile.

The next morning we headed out for more: a quick jaunt through Kensington Gardens, through Paddington and up to St Johns Wood in a pilgrimage to Abbey Road. While you need a map to find Abbey Road (aka Grove End Road aka Lisson Road), you don’t need a sign to find its famous crosswalk. The small crowd of tourists dodging traffic to recreate the photo from the Beatles’ album cover gives it away. Given that London drivers are not keen to stop for pedestrians, even in a crosswalk, getting a good photo requires careful timing.

Then it was another 5 kilometer tour across town through yet another park to return the bikes. Total cycling distance: 30 kilometers or 18.5 miles. Not high mileage, but enough to see a lot more of the city than we would walking or on the underground. We also got a good feel for how these little folding bikes perform, but that’s a post for another day.

Have you ever driven or cycled on the “wrong” side of the road? What was the hardest part for you?

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Tradition is a curious thing. Some cling to it with all their might, others feel compelled to break free. Unlike other European countries, England has held on to its royalty even as it gradually became a democracy. There was no equivalent of the storming of the Bastille. No royal heads rolled here and the Royal Family is still beloved by the British and their goings-on make the news worldwide.

Before we arrived, my Scottish co-worker Heather suggested a traditional English pub, the Grenadier. She said it would be hard to find, and my Google maps agreed, but we took on the challenge anyway. Heather was right. But we kept calm and carried on until we happened upon the little alley tucked behind the Luxembourg embassy, not far from Buckingham Palace. The Grenadier was indeed a find.

Built in 1720 as the Officers Mess for the first Royal Regiment of foot guards, also known as Grenadiers, it was frequented by the Duke of Wellington and King George the IV. For those not up on history (like me), the Duke of Wellington was the General who defeated Napoleon. What else I did not know was that the pub was haunted. Apparently, a young Grenadier was caught cheating at cards and the other soldiers gave him a such a severe beating that he died after seeking refuge in the pub’s cellar.

I’m happy to say our meals were fine, the beers were traditional English brews and there were no ghost sightings or other paranormal incidents. No “solemn, silent spectres were seen moving slowly across the low-ceilinged rooms” or “unseen hands rattle tables and chairs” or “low sighing moans heard emanating from the depths of the cellar.” I’m glad I didn’t know about the ghosts until after we left.

The next day we visited Buckingham Palace for the Changing of the Guards, along with several hundred other visitors. Much of the ceremony was over my head, but the pomp and circumstance–bearskin caps and plumed metal helmets and the marching regimental band–was intriguing, but IMHO a bit overrated. A lot of standing around for a minimal view.

We didn’t realize that the ceremony was dragging on longer than advertised because the Queen was heading out for a state meeting, interrupting the ceremony. The bobby stationed next to us gave us a quick warning “this would be good time for your camera” and out rolled the Queen in her Bentley with her entourage of motorcycle police. Even though she rolled right past me, I would never have known except for the noise from the crowd of women, which bore a striking resemblance to Angry Birds. If there was a royal wave, I missed it.

Where do you stand on tradition? Are queens and foot guards and elaborate ceremonies still meaningful for you? Or are they ghosts of a bygone era?

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Dick’s colossal flight delays left him with just a single day to see Paris before we had to catch the train to London. Fortunately, the Vélib bikeshare system made it easy to see the sights much faster than taking the Metro. Dick had two must-see items: the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower, but we packed in more thanks to Vélib.

10:00 am Riding along the Seine. We picked up our first pair of Vélib bikes just outside our hotel near the Eiffel Tower. Dick raised the saddle up to its max, I put mine in the middle and we were off. We crossed the Seine and rode the cyclepath along the river toward the Louvre. The air was brisk, but it felt really good to have the wind in our faces since the day before was spent in airplanes (Dick) or subways (me). As we rode past the Place de la Concorde I shuddered, remembering how Michelle and I had accidentally gotten caught in the center of this grand traffic circle on bikes–after dark.

11:00 am The Louvre. After a quick photo opp in the main courtyard we turned in our bikes at a nearby Vélib station just outside the gates, and then entered the Louvre through the Pyramid. The Louvre has an expansive collection and we had little time, so we focused on statuary. I love the grand marble statues in the light and airy courtyards. Since most statues were made to decorate gardens it only seems fitting that the museum has created an outdoor feel in an indoor setting. Strolling the statue gardens was most relaxing, even though the guards had to clear one courtyard when an unattended bag was found. A quick jolt back to the 21st century.

3:00 pm Notre Dame & the Latin Quarter. After the Louvre we made a quick duty free shopping stop and then grabbed another pair of bikes. We pedaled over the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge crossing the Seine, to the Île de la Cité, the island in the middle that is the original village of Paris and home to Notre Dame Cathedral. We made a quick stop to gaze at Notre Dame, then crossed over to the Latin Quarter where we cruised this historic neighborhood’s narrow one-way streets. One way for cars, that is, not bikes.

6:00 pm Eiffel Tower From there we pedaled fast down the left bank of the Seine to reach the Eiffel Tower before the sun set. We dropped off the bikes at the Vélib station and then sat underneath the tower, snacking on sandwiches parisiens from the snack bar as darkness fell and saw the tower’s stellar lights come on. By the time we ascended the tower, the city was fully lit up and sparking, with gentle wisps of fog blowing by.

9:00 pm Dinner at La Fontaine de Mars Finding a restaurant for dinner proved to be a challenge since most restaurants aren’t open on Sundays. But we found one about a kilometer away–certainly walking distance. But given we were tired, we grabbed our third pair of Vélib bikes and pedaled to dinner at La Fontaine de Mars, which specializes in cuisine of the Southwest region of France. That means one thing only to me–Cassoulet–and I was lucky to find it on the specials menu. We shared a Tarte Tatin for dessert then grabbed our fourth pair of Vélib bikes for the quick ride back to the hotel, where we slept very well from our busy day.

If you only had one day in Paris, would would be on your must-see list?

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Poor Dick! He was scheduled to meet me in Paris on Friday morning. But between mechanical failures, bad weather and careless airline processes, he didn’t arrive until Saturday afternoon, a full 33 hours late.

As I listened to him fume about his daily travel delays at a dollar a minute, I didn’t dare tell him of the fabulous time I was having while he was waiting in the terminal for hours on end, eating bad airport food and struggling to rebook his flight. I kept my guilty pleasures to myself.

When he called me to tell me his overseas flight was cancelled, he didn’t need to know I having a culinary high at Neva Cuisine. Or that while he was checking in at the airport hotel Michelle and I were riding Velib bikes around the city. Nor that I was in Nirvana at the Buddha Bar when he called to say he’d missed his connection and they couldn’t book him a flight until the next day.

But he kept pushing until he found someone competent enough to get him a flight that night, albeit with a stop at Heathrow, his third stop in a one stop flight. When he finally arrived at Charles de Gaulle he was tired, angry and wondering how unlucky he could be. The count: one cancelled flight due to mechanical problems, one wind storm in Chicago, one missing maintenance log and two instances of the gateway not being ready when the plane arrived. But all that mattered to me is that I could finally hug my sweetie.

What’s the longest you’ve ever been delayed on a flight?

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