Going to London

Dr. Johnson said, “He who is tired of London is tired of life.”

I returned to London several times and each time found new and interesting things to do. And always left wishing I had more time to see some of the things I missed.

The first time I went to England, my Texas friends, Margaret and Jack Cinque, were living in London. I wrote them that I was coming. They not only welcomed me into their home, but also let me stay for two weeks, treated me like visiting royalty, and even invited me to come back again.

It was a schizophrenic experience. Here I was in a foreign country but staying with Americans. I would go sightseeing in the city, evoking history in Westminster Abby and the Tower of London, then ride the “tube” out to Highgate to enjoy an American dinner with the Cinques. One night Margaret cooked tacos.

Their house was not a typical London row house but a red brick house on a big lot, looking much like the two-story, four bedroom “Colonials” built in the 1960's and ‘70's in suburbs all over the U.S. Margaret was proud of her big “American” kitchen, with lots of cabinets and a huge refrigerator, while upstairs the bathrooms were English-style with a little room for the tub and a separate closet for the toilet.

Jack and Margaret were suburb hosts. Busy people, they went about their usual activities, while I went sightseeing on my own. They had lived in London long enough to advise me about how to get the best out of my London experience.

Margaret took me to lunch at the Tate Museum (now the “Old Tate”) where she introduced me to the whipped cream dessert the English call “trifle”. Afterwords we went to a play at the theater in Convent Garden where Liza Doolittle met Professor Higgins. Then it was home again, for a typical American dinner.

I was there in late November. The Brits do not celebrate Thanksgiving. For them it is just another work day. My hosts told me about a special service at St. Paul’s Cathedral. In that magnificent church where Charles and Diana were married, I sang American hymns (“God Bless America”) and heard our American ambassador address a congregation of ex-patriots.

That evening Margaret and Jack invited friends to come after work for a Thanksgiving dinner with turkey, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie, just like our fellow Americans were eating at that same hour back home in the U.S.

The Cinques alerted me to the day when Queen Elizabeth was to open Parliament. They told me exactly where to stand: in the park after the turn from the Mall. “Less crowded there.” I stood in front, just behind the barrier set up by the police, and saw the Queen, in coronet and little white ermine cape, drive by in her golden coach. She wore long, white gloves. She turned her head, looked at me, raised her right hand, and gave me one of those little royal waves.

When I travel, I don’t want to be “the ugly American”. Even in London, where they speak English, I was aware that many things were different. In foreign countries I am the foreigner. Still, on this first trip to London, having American friends to shelter me and advise me was extremely comforting.