BigWeather's Blog

We awoke shortly after 6a, got a quick (and delicious — other than some quite cold eggs) Hotel Phileas breakfast.  Once back in our room we hastily packed and headed downstairs whereupon a taxi was summoned for us about 8:30a.  The drive to Paris Gare du Nord was around twenty minutes despite being only a mile away.  The city fairly glowed in the morning light and was quite extraordinary.  I don’t think the driver spoke much English so we exchanged the briefest of “ca va?” “ca va bien” pleasantries.

Gare du Nord was a hive of activity but we were isolated from it by having to go through the Eurostar boarding process.  First we had to stand in line and scan our tickets, pass our luggage through a scanner, go through a metal detector, then talk with the UK Border Force after handing them our customs landing cards.  I didn’t get to fully fill them both out and got some heat for that, especially when I moved around to the other side of Michelle to try and write and he was like “I don’t know why you’re going over there, sir, I certainly didn’t ask you to do that.”  He also grilled me about my profession and wanted to ensure that I didn’t do any work with defense contractors as that must be disclosed (I don’t, and answered thus).

Once through that we were discharged into a waiting area with shops and seats.  We talked a bit with a guy from New York who was thoroughly happy to be leaving France and returning to the UK.  We talked a bit about Florence, North Carolina, and it turns out he was a frequent visitor to Murphy.  At last our train was ready to board and, lo and behold, we were facing backwards again!  Grrrrr…  We left a little later than scheduled, about 10:30a.  The train fairly zipped along, first through the Paris suburbs then past farms and quaint villages on the way to Calais.  The train actually made a loop from south to east to north to west around the town of Lille, less than two miles from Belgium at one point.  So close!  Though it wouldn’t have counted even if we entered Belgium as it would’ve just been in transit.  Gotta eat, shop, or sleep for it to count!

Just before Calais I was getting excited about entering the Chunnel.  Would would it be like?  Maybe it was because we were facing backwards but it was decidedly underwhelming.  One second it was light and the pleasant countryside was passing by, the next it was pitch dark.  Yeah, don’t know what I expected in hindsight!  For twenty minutes we cruised through the tunnel and then full daylight again.  Not much was different on this side, near Folkstone, other than everyone was driving on the wrong side of the road.  Another forty-five minutes or so later we had arrived at London St. Pancras, grabbed our luggage, and entered the main part of the station.  While each of us used the restroom the other guarded the bags and listened to random travelers step up and play music on a piano.  First was an older guy playing classical (Genetta would know what it was, we didn’t) then a teenager playing Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now”.

We got a London Black Cab to our hotel, taking almost forty-five minutes.  We were separated from the driver by a Plexiglas partition but could talk to each other via an intercom system.  He was a really chatty Londoner of Indian descent.  We talked about sports (cricket and tennis, mainly) and holiday travel (he shares my obsession with trying to be early when traveling — is this foreshadowing?).  He remarked that the warm and sunny weather London was experiencing was very unusual.  After paying him via credit card we stepped into the lobby of the Lidos Hotel.

There was an older gentleman and a younger lady waiting and we were checked in very quickly.  We headed up to our room and quickly freshened up, exiting again around 1:30p.  By this time Michelle and I needed food badly.  We stopped by a pub called the Prince of Wales where Michelle had a BLT (without T) and I a shepherd’s pie with a side of peas.  We also got two comically small ginger ales.  The BLT wasn’t great but between it and the side of fries she was able to hold off the hunger a bit.  My shepherd’s pie was great and I tolerated the peas.  The bartender was a friendly lady and there were a few locals (including one with a hacking cough) in even at this mid-afternoon hour.

We made our way to Victoria Underground station and bought two off-peak day passes (at almost 13 pounds each!), then took the Victoria Line to Oxford Circus and the Bakerloo line to Paddington.  The PA system kept mentioning a strike that would affect the Picadilly line — hopefully we wouldn’t be needing that.  We got to Paddington just before 3p with the next train departing at 3:22p.  As our tickets were for 4p I confirmed with the GWR (Great Western Railway) representative what the time to Oxford would be — thirty minutes.

Uhhhh, no.  After a fairly pleasant ride with a parade of comers and goers sitting across from us (including a distinctly British couple where the gentleman groused about everything including how his friends would be sorry they are living in Birmingham as they’d surely get robbed) and stops at Slough and Reading and Oxford only a few miles away the train slowed to a crawl.  We ended up getting into Oxford slightly past 4:15p, nowhere near the 3:52p we expected!  Still, I clung to hope and hailed us a taxi (this driver not nearly as friendly as the one earlier).  Got dropped off (in not quite the correct place) and walked up to the exhibition…

…only to be barred admission by the guard as it was closing in five minutes.  To say I wasn’t happy is an understatement.  It wasn’t his fault, of course.  Things just didn’t work out.  We went to the exhibition’s gift shop and bought something (but not a magnet — those weren’t in stock, as were several other things).  Funny that the exhibition closed so promptly but they’d let the store stay open longer for the almighty pound.

We took some pictures of the Sheldonian Theater (with a surprise appearance by a red hot air balloon) and of the Bodleian Library then went off in search of a bathroom, finding one at Blackwell’s Bookshop, an immense bookstore sprawling over four stories.

Afterwards we shared a water at their cafe then headed out for dinner.  Along the way we passed several stores all cashing in on Harry Potter (I guess being a university town?) but they were thankfully (for my wallet) closed.

We then turned up St. Giles street and headed past the small St. Mary Magdalen Anglican church and its small cemetery and the impressive Martyrs Memorial before stopping before St. Benet’s Hall.

St. Benet’s Hall didn’t appear (from the outside, at least) much changed from my month’s stay there in July 1991.  I could make out the great dining hall on the ground floor and the small classroom above with its comfy chairs and couches (on which I learned about Britain’s involvement in World War II for history credit).  Apparently, though, part of the building was now a B&B so no idea if it was still thriving.  It was always one of the smallest colleges of Oxford University.

Just down the street from St. Benet’s was The Eagle and Child or, as it is known to the locals and literature fans, The Bird and Babe.  Famous as a gathering place for J. R. R. Tolkien (Hobbit, Lord of the Rings) and C. S. Lewis (Chronicles of Narnia) it is crazy the literary history that happened within.  Today I’m sure it has lost some of its cred (run by a conglomerate of pubs as many in England now are, poked at by the movie “The World’s End”) but it was still neat to visit.  A bit of a winding route through connected rooms (with a few side rooms), comfy benches, pillows, art on the walls.  As it was packed when we arrived we sat in the farthest back room which unfortunately was a bit warm.  Michelle had the Nicholson’s Hunter Chicken, a chicken fillet with barbecue sauce with a side of fries, salad, and onion rings (which I inherited) and I had applewood macaroni and cheese with bacon (as they were out of what I really wanted — steak, mushroom, and ale pie).  Michelle’s was OK, mine a bit better than that.  At least the drink was free since we just used the complimentary pitchers in the hall leading to our dining room to get tap water.

Headed back out into the night, past a food truck and the Ashmolean Museum, and turned west through western Oxford and over Castle Mill Stream on Hythe Bridge Street.  We passed the spot where The King’s House once stood — the place where both King Richard I and King John (yeah, the Robin Hood kings) were born in 1157 and 1167, respectively.  Amazing.  We arrived at Oxford’s rail station shortly before 8p whereupon Michelle bought some water and we waited for a train to London.  The 8:06p was delayed (amusingly) after the 8:22p one — which we ended up taking.

It was a largely uneventful ride back (except Michelle “discovering” that the water she bought was actually fizzy water when it shot all over the place upon opening, drenching her), putting us in London just shy of 9:30p (so, it is SUPPOSED to be an hour — wish that guy had been up-front, would’ve saved us the 58 pounds we shelled out to go to Oxford).  We rode the Bakerloo to Oxford Circle, the Victoria to Pimlico, and walked the quarter mile or so up Belgrave to our hotel where we collapsed, somewhat defeated.