Trip to London for 2018 New Year’s with Barb and Allie, staying with Ada.
Wednesday, Dec. 27, 2017
For the third year in a row, we ventured to London for a New Year’s break with Ada. Allie arrived home from Boston on Friday evening, Dec. 22, and we had a nice quiet Christmas together. On this getaway day, we drove down to Mary and John’s in Reston to park, and Mary very graciously drove us over to Dulles. We were at the gate very early and had time for food (PeiWei…and it’s a good thing we did).
Our British Airways flight to London was, for once, eventful. There was an autistic child on the flight who had an attack about an hour into the flight and needed to be restrained. I didn’t have much sense of it happening other than seeing flight attendants scurry down the aisles. The pilot eventually announced that we would be diverting to Boston to let the family deplane. There must have been some trepidation from other passengers, perhaps because the day before a plan had skidded off the runway at Logan Airport, and we were in a 747 that doesn’t typically land at Logan. The flight crew announced about 5 times that the Logan runway would be safe for us and there was nothing to worry about. That’s what worried us. The bigger inconvenience came when the crew stopped the meal service, even though it was another 45 minutes or so to get to Logan. Not that we couldn’t afford to skip an airline meal, but I for one had kind of been looking forward to it.
The landing in Boston ended up being fine, even though the crew felt the need to warn us it would be louder than usual because the runway was short and we would be using air brakes. No worries. Once on the ground, they had to refuel and get the family’s bags off the plane, but we didn’t deplane. After an hour or so we were back in the air and on our way, but there was not going to be any hot meal service, only the salad and dessert. We survived. Altogether the incident added about four hours to our flight time. The captain had originally said we would be getting to Heathrow before the 6am opening, but as it became around 10am we had to circle south of London quite a few times before getting a landing slot. It gave us some nice views of the city. I tried each time to find the Wimbledon grounds and stadiums, but never did, and I never have. Someday. It is surprising that with the prevailing wind the main flight path into Heathrow is straight up the Thames over the center of London. It’s rather like the approach to Reagan National in DC right down the Potomac, but with jumbo jets. One would think it is quite annoying to the residents below.
Thursday, Dec. 28
Ada was not in town yet, so we’d reserved a hotel for two nights, the Doubletree London – Chelsea, partly using Hilton points. I’d chosen the hotel because we could use points for one night, the price for the second night was not too bad, and it was near the Thames in Chelsea, an area I didn’t know well. We took an £80 cab ride from Heathrow and arrived at the hotel around 11am. We were able to check into our room, which turned out to be barely big enough to hold its double and single bed. It was pretty clear we wouldn’t be spending a whole lot of time together in the room. But it was serviceable and clean. The hotel itself was a renovated building across the street from a new development called Chelsea Pier. The area had the feel of recent gentrification, very much like the South Boston Pier area where Kristen had worked as a waitress.
We decided to have lunch at one of the nearest places, The Waterside in Chelsea, though the reviews were less than stellar. We were pretty much the only ones there at 11:30 on a Thursday. It seemed like businesses were closed for the holidays as the area was mostly deserted. We had our pick of tables in the restaurant and chose one overlooking the river. I had a burger and beer (had to quickly choose between bitter vs lager, without really knowing which was which…I made a good choice with bitter). Barb had fish and chips, and Allie ordered a full English breakfast platter which she actually ate most of. The food was decent and the waiter was friendly, even if we had to go hunt him down from time to time. 
After lunch we took a walk along the Thames boardwalk westward. The sun was out but the day was brisk. It was good to get a little exercise but I was happy to get back to the hotel room to warm up and get a little rest.
We all took jet lag naps at hotel from 2-4pm, then headed to our traditional dinner of steak frites at Le Relais de Venise L’Entrecote. We took a cab to the vicinity of Selfridge’s with the intent of seeing the lights and window shopping on Oxford Street until dinner time. Somehow Barb didn’t quite get that signal and she started plowing through the crowds to get us to the restaurant so we could get in line. We got there just at 6pm when internet says the place opens, only to be reminded that during Holiday hours it opens at 6:30. We’ve done this before; my hope is that by writing it down this time we might not make the same error. 
We at least had the distinction of being first in line, just ahead of another group of tourists. The wait went by reasonably quickly, made a little easier when they turned on the outside heater. Dinner, as always, was fine. We love our steak frites. Still the best we’ve found most anywhere, though it’s hard to beat the original in Paris.
After dinner we walked back to Oxford street and did our window shopping and some actual shopping. I was in the market for a wool scarf, while the ladies were interested in gloves and maybe a hat. We checked out Selfridge’s and a couple of other stores before stopping in Primark where the gloves and a hat were found, on sale. No scarf for me, though. Then we walked over to Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. Evidently Allie deeply resented that the year before Barb, Ada and I went there after we dropped Allie off at her Babson winter course hotel. She felt she had missed out on something (cue story of gondolas in Venice), so now we made amends. 
We got there and walked around without having much desire to partake of any of the amusements, much as Barb, Ada and I had done the year before. There are lots of rides and arcades that might be fun for a little kid, and some food stands that might be more interesting if we hadn’t just had dinner. Allie decided on getting a crepe, but that was about all we could stand. I think we’ve now done Winter Wonderland sufficiently. We taxied back to the hotel and settled in the room by 10. Harry Potter movies were on tv. That’s all we needed. Everyone was asleep by 11. Not a bad first day.
Friday, Dec. 29
I slept til 5am, stayed quiet in bed til 6:30, then fell asleep again until 8. The girls more successfully combated jet lag and slept straight through. We got ourselves together to go to the Victoria & Albert Museum by 10am. We had breakfast croissants in the Courtyard cafe outside the entrance, then the first thing the docents said once we’re in the front door is that we should head to the famous V&A Garden cafe inside the museum. While the Garden cafe is famous for its rooms (the original museum cafe in the world, they say), the truth is the food is pretty much same so we didn’t really miss much other than ambiance. Still, I feel like I should have done that little bit more research to have remembered them ahead of time. We had, after all, been to the V&A a few years before. Also, there’s a Victorian Sunday Tea that hadn’t been on my radar for the girls. More reasons to write things down.
We wander the V&A hallways for a bit each trying to remember our previous visit. Slowly it came together, particularly in the main Sculpture Hall. There was one small sculpture in particular of the face of a young woman that I recalled from the first time; I found her again and she haunts me somehow, but I didn’t take a picture and now I can’t find her in the extensive V&A or Google image catalogs. Will keep searching.
We’d reserved tickets to see a special exhibit on Winnie the Pooh. The exhibit turned out to be rather small and focused mostly on the artwork in the books. I guess I was hoping for more background on A.A. Milne and more of an adult perspective on the books, but the exhibit seemed more tuned to kids and the story of the drawings by E.H. Shepard. Still, it was fun to see little kids (and parents) interacting, especially on a re-creation of the Pooh Sticks Bridge. After the Pooh exhibit, we took an hour to each wander the V&A on our own. I spent most of my time in the Japan and South Asia collections, especially enjoying the wonderful Japanese lacquer pieces and the South Asian dancing Vishnu figures.
We had some time to kill before the girls’ reservation for tea. Rather than stay at the V&A, the consensus was to head over to that other museum of modern culture, Harrods. We gawked at the jewelry and the food hall, and looked a little further for a scarf for me but no luck. Allie checked out the Diana and Dodi statue which we didn’t know was to be removed just weeks later, so Allie can claim to be one of the last visitors.
It turned out to be a long walk to tea beside Hyde Park along a very busy Knightsbridge Road. The road is also listed on Google Maps as the A315 and it felt more like a highway. Some roads are better suited for walking; this one is for driving. I suppose we should have gone into Hyde Park to walk, but it was cold and weren’t in the mood to meander. Tea for girls was at the Park Terrace Hotel and they reportedly had a very nice time. I was on my own for lunch and wanted to try Maggie Jones’s Restaurant which is well-reviewed and “legendary” but it was closed. I settled on the nearby Prince of Wales pub for an adequate steak and ale pie and a couple of pints (more bitters!). After lunch I walked to Kensington Palace along the very nice row of embassies and residences on Palace Avenue, and a bit in Hyde Park before heading back to the warm Park Terrace lobby.
After tea, around 4pm, we taxied back to the hotel and took another short nap before Allie and I headed off to Leicester Square for a West End play, Ink, at Duke of York Theatre. Allie had chosen this rendering of the Rupert Murdoch story and founding of The Sun as a Murdoch tabloid. It is set in 1969 into the early 70’s though the whole sensibility, wardrobe and cultural references feel at least 5 years earlier. The play focuses on the Sun’s editor, Larry Lamb, more than Murdoch, and while it was interesting, I didn’t really get a sense of why (or whether) this moment became a key turning point in journalistic or social direction. It seems to skirt around questions of Murdoch’s character and how powerful he would become. I enjoyed it but didn’t leave feeling much more informed or educated than I’d gone in. I did learn that it’s not a great idea to try to get a drink from the bar at intermission in London, and that the folks in the know seemed to order ahead of time or simply got an ice cream.
After the play, Allie and I took a walk around the West End, noticing a new play based on Bob Dylan songs, Girl from the North Country, and over to the Thames to see the lights. We walked about halfway out the Golden Jubilee pedestrian bridge for a good view of the London Eye. I thought we’d see more preparations for New Year’s Eve, but didn’t, really. Sufficiently chilled, we then caught a cab back to the hotel and were in bed by midnight.
Saturday, Dec. 30
I woke at 7am to the sound of jets rolling into Heathrow every 90 seconds. Barb had left window open a crack which let the sound in more readily. It was a little like the roar of the ocean, but it wasn’t particularly gentle. I think it must be particularly annoying to a large section of London population that has to put up with it nearly every day, and it’s probably one reason why this section of London from Chelsea to the west is maybe not especially prime real estate.
Listening to the planes rolling in and thinking of the hundreds of “foreigners” on each, it occurred to me how so many English jumped at the Brexit vote as a spasmodic “leave us alone” statement. It may be that London has become the center of a globalized economy but I can imagine the British losing their sense of Britishness. London is not “theirs” anymore, it’s the world’s. I got the sense of being an English (white guy) “minority” when riding the subway or walking the city streets. I’m very happy to be in a multicultural environment, but I can see how others are not. London today is the epitome of a multicultural world city. What will it become after Brexit and how much of a change will there really be?
Before too long it was time to get the girls up for breakfast before heading to Ada’s and then to Bletchley Park. We had a quick tea, Coke and cheese sandwich at Harris+Hoole across from the hotel and wished we had gone there the day before. Loaded our stuff into a taxi to Ada’s place where we unloaded quickly then took the Tube to Euston Station to catch a train to Bletchley. Public transport in London is mostly a delight and I’m glad that we’re becoming more comfortable navigating it. After about an hour on the train we arrived at Bletchley station, just a short walk from Bletchley Park , “The Home of the Codebreakers” (Wikipedia link).
There were several reasons we decided to visit Bletchley, none terribly deep or academic. Barb and I were fans of The Bletchley Circle mystery series on PBS and The Imitation Game movie about Alan Turing. More recently, Ada had been there and recommended it as a good outing (and was willing to go again). In an effort to get up to speed, I’d brought the book, The Secret War: Spies, Ciphers, and Guerrillas, 1939-1945, by Max Hastings but was still struggling through the early chapters by the time we visited.
We signed up for an afternoon guided tour of the grounds, which gave us about an hour or so in the opening museum part of the compound. They did an excellent job explaining the complexity of the undertaking to break enemy codes. First there was the matter of capturing relevant Morse code signals through dozens and eventually hundreds of listening stations, sending transcribed messages to Bletchley Park, trying to break the ciphers of the Enigma and other machines which changed daily or weekly, decoding the cipher messages into German, translating the German or other language messages into English, and interpreting the messages into usable intelligence, and then finally determining whether any of the intelligence was actionable, including whether to trust it or sit on it. The complexity of the tasks and the daily volume of messages are overwhelming to contemplate. That they were able to catch and translate any messages at all is a wonder; that they became good enough to produce any actionable intelligence in something close to real time borders on the miraculous. Bletchley Park became an actual factory for intelligence, eventually employing thousands of workers in different disciplines, most of them women, all working under very tight secrecy. The museum emphasizes it was a long, intense process with many setbacks along the way.
I spent a good 20 minutes or so watching a detailed demonstration of a recreated Bombe machine which Turing helped develop to crack codes. The demo highlighted the reliance on intuitive leaps to suss out likely messages to try to decode (like watching for a 6am weather bulletin), searching for likely words or phrases (“Heil Hitler!”) to form a crib to test against, then mechanically working through the rest of the alphabet to recreate the settings for the day’s Enigma code. Only then could the codebreakers start to translate other more useful messages using reverse-engineered Enigma machines. I started to understand it a little bit during the demo, but now just reading the Wikipedia description of the Bombe leaves me mystified. As the Hastings book points out, Churchill was particularly enamored of receiving the results of this Signals Intelligence, holding it in far higher esteem than human intelligence during the way. But even then, it was a game to decide which messages to trust and react to, lest the British give away the secret that they were successfully breaking any codes. The multilevel complexity involved in WWII codebreaking and analysis are mind blowing. Fast forward to today’s computerized, Internet-enabled world and the dark magic that happens down the road at Ft. Meade and the NSA goes far beyond my imagination.
There was far more to read at all the museum exhibits at Bletchley Park than we gave ourselves time for, and my head, for one, was spinning by the time our walking tour began. The Park has a number of separate buildings surrounding the original manor house. The guide gave us an overview, then we were invited to explore more of the buildings on our own. In one, we discovered our favorite room dedicated to Pigeons in War. By this point we were overwhelmed and exhausted and it was a relief to watch a few video stories of intrepid pigeons and their exploits. God bless the British and their earnestness that makes Monty Python possible.
We didn’t even make it to the Museum of Computing, home of Colossus, the first electronic computer. We’ll have to save that for another trip when we want our minds expanded. As Bletchley Park closed at 4pm, we headed back to the train and dozed our way into London and back to Ada’s. After unpacking and a short rest, we headed up the road toward Hampstead for dinner with Ada, choosing a little Italian place, Piccola that was pleasant and decent. We stopped for a few groceries on the way home and called it a night.
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