England and Scotland for Dad's 70th
Day 3 - Saturday -
England
It's a gloriously sunny Saturday morning, and at
last Francesca is off from work and can play with us!
Dad had
travelling to Brighton on his list of priorities, which would wipe out
an entire day, and I was concerned about the best day to go,
tourist-crowd-wise and stuff. Saturday would be crowded, but I
was afraid the shops would be closed on Sunday. On the
stuff-to-do-in-England scale, it didn't score as high as Greenwich or
Stratford-Upon-Avon, and Francesca, who sour-faced me on Brighton,
suggested Hampton Court as a lovely alternative (although she would
happily go with us wherever we chose). Dad said he mainly wanted
to go because I had spent 4 weeks there for grad school and he'd heard
so much about
it. I said, it's nice, but I had a lot more fun in London and
everywhere else. He said then let's strike it off the list.
I realized that Dad had seen and would see castles,
but no palaces were on our list and he hasn't seen one good garden (he
was snapping some pictures of flower beds like crazy while Buckingham
Palace was
100 yards away), so perhaps Hampton Court (a home of Henry VIII and
some following kings) would be the better choice. Plus I'd never
been there, and Francesca said it was a must see. And, if we'd
like, we could catch a boat down the Thames River.
So we take a train to Richmond to catch a
boat.
During this train ride, an older English lady
sitting next to me comments that my shoes look really comfortable and
she's thinking of getting pair for herself if she knew the best place
to shop (it takes me a couple of days before I realize we had a Forrest
Gump conversation -- "Those look like comfortable shoes..."). She
also said she was going to Kew Gardens to
see the blue bells (some woodsy flowers an English L.A. friend told me
I'd have to see if I was going to be in England in May, which I was
sorry we wouldn't have time to see).
We arrive in Richmond and walk and walk down the
cute little town to the river, where we see some docks and some ducks,
but no real hope for a boat. Francesca is convinced that some
pile of boards in the water is the dock we're supposed to go to, but we
give up and walk back to the train station to catch a bus, passing many
buses along the way. At the station, we catch one of the many
buses we had passed and ride through neighborhoods to Hampton
Court. At least Dad's getting to see a little English suburbia,
which he assures us he's really enjoying.
And Hampton Court is well worth the travel. As
the posters in the train stations say, "Enjoy walking through 6 acres
of luxury, then step outside." I take a picture of Dad and
Francesca in front of the palace, which is Tudor in design, and later
Francesca takes a picture of me and Dad in the back of the palace,
which is Georgian in design. We have lunch in the Tudor kitchen
("egg mayonnaise"/egg salad sandwiches and bottled "still" water, as
opposed to sparkling water), and take two tours - one on tape of the
modern state rooms built by a King George, and a guided tour by a Tudor
lady dressed in costume, explaining the King Henry portion of the
estate.
We go out into the gardens, admiring the beautiful
flora and fauna -- especially the swans, which Francesca tells us
belong to the Queen (it is a felony throughout the country for anyone
to keep a swan in captivity, except one family and I forget why).
We're exhausted, and Francesca suggests Dad and I attempt "the maze"
while she rests. (She all ready defeated it.)
So Dad and I, after taking a quick peek at the
indoor tennis court, attempt the maze, and I'm giving up before I go
in. I can hardly figure out mazes while I'm looking at them from
above with a pencil, much less walking blindly through hedges.
Fifteen minutes of walking into the same people ("That's a bad sign," I
tell Dad), passing the dead plant that may be the same dead plant you
had passed before or a dead plant put there to make you think it's the
same dead plant you had passed before, and finally reading a sign on a
door that stated in case of emergency we can call to be let out
("That's another bad sign," I tell Dad), we finally ganged up on the
door with several other tourists and were let out. Francesca was
horribly unimpressed.
Then we bought some ice cream and went to the gift
shop, which was seconds from closing. I came thiiiiiiiiis close
to buying a jar of "Dragon's Breath Mustard" but didn't.
On our way back, we hopped on a boat and road down
the Thames to some town where we caught a bus to the train (where Dad
pointed out at the Concorde flying out of the trees) and got back to
London for a nice dinner in one of Francesca's favorite French
restaurants. Dad had splendid chicken, while Francesca and I
enjoyed tasty crab cakes, all followed by dessert. While waiting
for the bill, the waiter would walk by the table, Dad and I would look
at him expectedly, Francesca would look at Dad expectedly, and finally
she
told Dad he'd have to ask for the bill, the waiter won't interrupt us
to offer. Oh! That explains why it took us so long to get
out of dinner last night!
So we take the Underground back to Knightsbridge,
and Francesca walks us back another way, past fashionable shop windows
and warm homey pubs, to her flat.
England and
Scotland for Dad's 70th
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