A Friend, Her Daughter, Their Friend, and More London

More of London: April 2, 2009

Trekking through London for a couple more days before heading to Brussels, I start out on April 2 hoping to find Harrod's, though I do not find it until after getting disoriented and then nearly disinterested in the whole thing. I am continually perplexed by my inability to orient and synchronize my eyes and feet to my map and compass, and my excursion requires much more time and walking than I think it should. In the hotel room this morning everything appeared so simple, so navigable.

Perhaps, though, my lack of sleep last night contributed to a similar lack of clear thinking. Deciding yesterday afternoon that a couple of t-shirts needed a bit of cleansing to get the smell of me out of them, I washed them in the small sink, wrung them up, then hung them in the shower to drip dry. Several times during the night I awoke to the sound of water dripping, a sound that was much louder than I reasoned any two t-shirts hung to dry should make. Finally frustrated enough to examine things, I stepped across the room to the shower, where I felt the shirts and discovered they were not dripping anything--they were damp, but just so. Still hearing water dropping from somewhere, I opened the door to my room and found that water was, in fact, dropping from the ceiling to the carpet. Actually, it was dropping quite freely. Remembering my navy training, I shrieked, did the Curly Shuffle, and dropped to my knees in prayer.

No. I didn't do those things. Rather, I put on my shoes and ventured downstairs to the manager's desk, where of course there was no manager. Creeping back up the 2 flights of stairs, I looked up to the ceiling, then went back into my room and did what any level-headed person would do: I packed everything I had, which included putting the 2 shirts in a plastic bag, and lay down on the bed to await the inevitable general alarm of "Flooding! Flooding! Flooding on the third floor." When the alarm didn't sound, though, I fell asleep with thoughts that this was only some kind of prank, some sort of false water-torture technique the Brits employed to get their American guests to spill the beans about, well, whatever beans needed to be spilled about.

Shortly after sunrise, after I had contorted my way into and out of the shower once again, I headed down to breakfast, passing the manager on the way. He was, apparently, aware of the potential flood and had already called in the Calvary. And, after breakfast with giggling Italian school girls, I started for Harrod's and points beyond. I purchased nothing in Harrod's, though I came close to buying chocolate from 2 Sirens who sang to me about how good their chocolate was, and how part of the money went to some charity or another. After taking a free sample of said chocolate, I told them I would pass by again, and if they saw me I would indeed trade money for sweets. I then dashed out of the store and out to the street, exiting through a door that must have been half a mile away from the one I'd entered through.

Leaving Harrod's behind, I retraced most of my steps and found my way to Hyde Park, and after several hours of walking found a park bench on which to rest and recover from the day's harrowing experiences. Then, taking the Underground toward Tower of London, mill about but for the second time in 2 visits balk at paying the nearly $40 admission fee. I instead cross the Tower Bridge, which looks like this from a distance:


And it looks like this if you're walking across it:

On the other side of the bridge is a pub in which I am supposed to meet a co-worker, her daughter, and their friend. The pub looks like this, with the Tower Bridge in the background.


My co-worker and her party arrived in London today, and they will be headed to Madrid in just a couple of days. I eat fish & chips of marginal quality, and we compare flights and hotels. Then, they go back to their hotel, and I head across the Tower of Bridge again, which looks like this at night:


Back in my hotel room, the water is still dripping. The carpet outside my room is very wet, and the ceiling above that carpeting looks as though it could collapse at any moment. I leave my bag pack and huddle in the corner of my bed, waiting for morning.

Next time: No more Cornflakes!