Closing the loop

Posted on June 12, 2014 by admin

I’m picking up again on the missing pieces of last year’s summer vacation (my goal is to finish these stories before this year’s summer vacation … which is in 2 1/2 weeks, so I wouldn’t count on it). The next major part of our trip was our time in Ireland (including one of my favorite days ever in my life so far), but there are two little pieces of the trip in England that I’ve missed, so I’ll share them here. (Looking back, I realize that there are actually LOTS of little pieces that I missed — the day we spent in England getting lost on purpose, dipping our feet in a lake and wandering through an unfenced field of free range sheep; the sheer entertainment of literally not being able to understand anything a native Glasgowian said at full speed; the pleasant afternoon we spent wandering around Fort William in Scotland and shopping for Scottish shortbread. I’m sure there are more. I’m a little horrified at how many little moments never made it to the blog, and which now probably won’t because I’m already struggling to catch up on this trip . . . 10 months after we took it. I think I’m going to have to rethink this idea of not blogging on vacation.)

I don’t know how I missed writing about these particular moments. (Chronologically, this piece goes between here and here, more or less.) Our first time in the Lake District, we had an unfortunately early end to a drive we were taking when we got a flat tire. We’d been in the process of driving a long loop through parts of the less crowded north and west of the Lake District (the route came from Rick Steves’ UK guidebook). I really wanted to continue and finish the tour, since we’d loved the first part (pre-flat) so much. The landscape was just beautiful, and we’d had great fun making an impromptu stop along a lake. So on this second trip, we bravely set off again. This time, instead of stopping for a wade in a lake, we stopped for a quick hike at the top of the Newlands Pass. We worked our way up the narrow track until it became too muddy and slippery, and we had to turn back. The boys were impressively enthusiastic about it, though — I think they would have climbed to the top of the waterfall if we’d let them! We continued our drive around the loop, passing (with crossed fingers) the scene of our flat tire last time, and found ourselves a little place to stop for lunch, with a yard full of toys for the kids. It was one of the few times I can ever think of that we’ve been able to sit outside in the shade and enjoy a meal while the kids played mostly independently. The boys stopped by every so often for a quick bite of a sandwich, and then were off again to play some more.

After lunch, we diverted from the path to try and find a river swimming/wading/splashing spot recommended by our innkeepers. We did find it, eventually, after driving down a muddy and rutted path that may not have been intended for cars and which was well marked with “no trespassing” (the problem was that once we started down, there was nothing to do but continue), and at whose end Benjamin refused to leave the car (Liam and Dan did enjoy a bit of splashing time, though). After that, though, we were all very worn out, so rather than finish the loop, we returned by the direct route to the inn for a nap, some tea, and a walk to feed the resident donkeys (which ended in a sprint home to beat the impending rain storm).

If at all possible, though, I really wanted to finish the loop, because we’d so enjoyed all the pieces we’d explored so far. But, we were fast running out of time in England. On our last full day in England before we drove north to Scotland, it was rainy and chilly and kind of dreary. In the morning, we’d been to the Castlerigg Stone Circle (so, chronologically, this bit should go between here and here). But it was still early in the day and we wanted to explore a bit more. So, we drove out and again picked up the loop roughly where we had left off, and continued our exploration. We took a side trip up the “hill” (they have impressive hills in this part of the world) away from the lake. It was a steep and narrow journey which first brought us to a tiny stone bridge over a roaring creek and then, suddenly, around a corner to an amazing view of the lake (Derwent Water) below. That vista alone was well worth the journey.

We continued on to the surprisingly remote and tiny town of Watendlath, high up in the hills, but with a lake of its own. After our journey up into the hills and then back down to the lakeside, we did, finally, finish the loop we’d been working on over two summers. We finally finished the whole “hour-long” drive. It only took us a year.

The Wild, Hairy Haggises and the Hogwarts Express

Posted on May 9, 2014 by admin

And now another installment in my much overdue recounting of our vacation to the UK last summer . . .

Our first day through Scotland last August was a little insane. We took a 2-3 hour drive and made it into an 8 hour drive. We drove through or stopped by at least a half dozen places I’d like to go back and see again. But we were only just beginning.

My main reason for wanting to come to that particular piece of Scotland, both on this trip and on our previous one (where it didn’t work out) was Harry Potter. Or, more specifically, the Hogwarts Express. Harry’s journey to Hogwarts in the movies was mostly filmed along an actual train line in western Scotland. It’s possible to actually ride a steam train along the route they used for filming, but we knew we’d want to explore along the way, so we drove the (theoretical) hour each way. (Of course, it took us much longer, and we thoroughly enjoyed it!)

We started our day with a trip to the grocery store to pick out a picnic lunch. (Wherever in the world we are, grocery shopping is always an adventure.) Once we had managed that, we got on our way. From the very beginning of the journey, we’d catch snips of views and vistas that were familiar from the movies, but a lot of the scenery was obscured by trees. No worries, it was still beautiful. Our first real stop along the way was one of the most iconic images from the movies — the Glenfinnan Viaduct. It was pretty cool to stop and see it, and a nice piece of our ongoing collection of visits to Harry Potter places.

We walked around a bit, and the boys really wanted to cross the road to check out the loch across the way. While Dan and the kids began their explorations, I explored the gift shop. I’d been looking for something small, kid-friendly and iconic to get them as souvenirs, and I found exactly what I was looking for: the “Wild, Hairy Haggis“.

Most people have heard of the traditional Scottish dish called haggis (which Dan tried on this trip and which I tasted … REALLY not my thing) but the Haggis creature is not as well known (mostly because it’s entirely made up). They are sweet little stuffed animals with a cute story, so I got one for each of the boys. It was love at first sight, and our new Haggises were excellent companions for the rest of our trip, immediately befriending Ignis, who was also journeying with us. (Dragons feel very much at home in Scotland, as it turns out.)

I am so glad that the boys were dying to play at the loch, because it would up being not only one of the most beautiful spots we visited in all of Scotland (which is truly saying something) but also another staple from the Harry Potter movies — this lake, Loch Shiel, across from Glenfinnan Viaduct, is known as the Black Lake at the foot of Hogwarts Castle in the movies. And it was absolutely stunning. (I love Scotland.)

As we trekked on, we again found many places worth stopping for a look. (Did I mention that I love Scotland?) And we caught many views of the train line we were following. The further north we got, the more rugged, and the more coastal, things became. We eventually started looking for a place to picnic, and found a beach on a river that looked public and promising. We ate our sandwiches and played in the sand. B bravely waded into the frigid (even in August) water. We watched people play with their dogs and saw a big group of kayakers arrive along the beach. We got a bit chilled and very sandy, but it was a great picnic.

We continued on to our “destination” (pretty much as far as you can go in that direction without catching the ferry to the Isle of Skye, which, incidentally, I wish we’d done) — Mallaig, a tiny fishing town, and the farthest north I’ve ever been in my life. We stopped for an ice cream and then turned around to repeat the beautiful journey back in the other direction. It was another amazing, beautiful day in a stunningly gorgeous place. We chose this place to see where the Hogwarts Express made its trip, but that had almost nothing to do with how much we loved our time there.

Never to be seen again

Posted on April 30, 2014 by admin

A few weeks ago, I said I was going to spend a day each week catching up on old things I meant to write but never did. I haven’t. But today I shall! I have a ton of notes and memories jotted down from our summer trip to the UK last year. Already, some of the details are starting to fade, which makes writing about it daunting … but I also know that my memory is only going to get worse as time goes on, so I’d better get on with it!

When last I wrote about our trip to England, I was explaining about how welcome we all feel when we visit our favorite place in the Lake District. It’s beautiful and charming with gracious hosts, fantastic food and stunning views. Plus, it’s in at least one of Beatrix Potter’s stories, so it’s a definite win across the board. (Go there and stay. Eat scones. You’re welcome.)

After a few days, though, our lovely time in the Lake District was at and end. We took a short journey up to the unintelligible city of Glasgow (seriously, I had no idea what anyone was saying — I do better in Austria). Glasgow was just an overnight stop on our way further into Scotland, though.

On our last trip, the Scotland piece of our journey got seriously truncated because first B, and then Liam, got sick. So last time, instead of venturing up into the Highlands, we stopped at Lockerbie (which I think may actually be the first exit off the highway upon entering Scotland) and, from there only got as far as Edinburgh, once we were all (mostly) feeling better. This time, I was absolutely set on seeing more of Scotland … and I was in no way disappointed.

Our plan for that first day was to journey from Glasgow up to Fort William in the Western Highlands. It SHOULD have been a 2-3 hour drive plus stops for lunch, leg stretching and appreciating the scenery. It took us over 8. Scotland is amazing and beautiful and we could not resist stopping constantly and taking tons of “optional” detours.

We played at a playground next to Loch Lomond. We stopped and got suddenly and thoroughly drenched at the “Rest and Be Thankful” pass (we had hot chocolate there, too). We drove alongside the ocean to Inveraray where we had lunch and played on the slippery shore of the sea (take a look at a map … it was NOT at all “on the way”). We spent 10 miles driving through beautiful and rugged Scottish countryside along a raging whitewater river on a single lane gravel road. (The GPS sent us that way, and every time we had to pass another car I was sure we were about to end up IN the raging river. I was also absolutely sure we were going to end up as one of those apocryphal stories about “the dumb and fatal things people do because their SatNav says to”. But we didn’t and it was beautiful. I’m glad Dan made the decision to continue on that way . . . against my objections. It sure beat the motorway!) We took an essential potty break (a new, but important part of travel for us — on our last road trip, it was just the adults using the bathrooms, so there were many fewer bathroom stops) at the Glencoe Mountain Resort, which feels like it actually might be on another planet, at the top of the world, or perhaps straight from the Hobbit.

Scotland — you are beautiful. The parts of Scotland that we saw (and this was all just our first day!) were stunning, vast, and wildly beautiful. I don’t know exactly what I expected Scotland to be like, but it wasn’t whatever I expected. It’s really … big … open … mountainous … and it’s also mostly by the sea. It is not just like Ireland, nor like England. It is wonderful in its own right.

And that is why it took us almost 4 times as long as it was supposed to — because we fell in love and could not tear ourselves away. August 3, 2013 was the day I fell in love with Scotland. It was worth every single minute of that 8 hour “2 hour drive”, and I would do it all again, anytime. (Though maybe not in the winter, because those roads were treacherous enough in summer!)

The shortest day ever

Posted on March 21, 2014 by admin

I have this habit of leaving off pieces of the adventures we take when I recount the stories. Ever since I stopped writing the blog WHILE I was traveling (to allow it to feel like more of a vacation) I’ve found that I get back, start to write about it, and then life happens and I get caught up writing about something new that is happening at that moment, which means that I often don’t quite finish telling the stories of our travels.

I want to get caught up, so I’m going to plan to spend at least a day each week catching up on old stories that have yet to be told.

The snowstorm that came at the end of our trip home to the US for Christmas was a ton of fun for the kids (and I’m extra glad they got to experience it since we barely got any snow this year in Vienna). But the other result was that our return flight ended up significantly delayed, which made for kind of a crazy day all around.

I have to give Air France a ton of credit for how well they kept us informed about the developments with our flight. I woke up the morning of our departure with both a text and an email waiting for me about the initial rescheduling of our flight. Because we had nearly 12 hours notice, we were able to relax, enjoy an extra few hours with family and let the kids play in the snow a bit more. They also seamlessly took care of rearranging our connection each of the several times the flight was pushed back a little later, which let us spend our last day packing and enjoying instead of stressing (overly much) about how we were going to get home.

Late that night, we finally headed to the airport (with much gratitude and sad goodbyes to so much of our family who drove us over there) to wait for a while longer in an effectively closed airport. When we’d first planned the flight, a 7 pm departure seemed perfect. Take off, have dinner, and then everyone sleeps (in theory). My boys generally do well on overnight flights, so I was more worried about the flight over than I was about the flight back.

But with the departure moved back to just after 2 am, I didn’t know what to expect. Waiting at the gate was hard. We put the boys in their pajamas (because, realistically, it was after midnight, and sleep was likely). Liam fell asleep. B tried to sleep on the floor (unsuccessfully) after seeing several other people try it. He eventually gave up and wandered over to watch a video over the shoulder of a little French girl who then invited him to come and share her seat. (That was one of my favorite moments of the journey. I was really proud to see B be brave enough to make a friend — and extra points because they did not share a common language. I count this confidence as one of the many good things that have come of this adventure.)

We finally got on the plane and got underway. The airline dutifully served dinner (at about 3 am) and then got us all ready for “nighttime” just as the first rays of the sun were becoming visible on the horizon (they requested that everyone keep their window shades down so that everyone could sleep if they chose to). They turned the lights on and served breakfast at about noon (that’s CET — it was then about 6 pm where we had departed, Eastern time). By the time we landed, it was evening in Paris, the middle of the night in Maryland, and the kids, who had slept in short bursts throughout the flight, were confused and alarmed that the sun was setting just after breakfast. (“Why is the sun setting ALREADY?!? That was the shortest day ever!” We effectively spent 30+ hours in the dark, which created some of the worst jet lag I’ve ever experienced.)

We were exhausted, we were disoriented, we missed the rest of our family already, but we were home (again).

Our only snow of the winter

Posted on March 11, 2014 by admin

It isn’t impossible that we will still get a big snow storm (we got snow in May last year, and frankly, if posting this jinxes us, I’d welcome it). But the birds are singing, the crocuses and paper whites have bloomed, and it’s light out when we wake up and when Dan gets home from work. Spring has unofficially come early to Vienna, and winter never really brought us snow this year.

We had a two small snows of 1-2 inches or less, and many days with snow showers or flurries. But the kids never got to go sledding, and the “Dachlawine!” signs never had to come out for the melting. We had, as always, plenty of cold and lots of gray skies, but, disappointingly, very little snow.

The only snow my boys really got to enjoy this year was a big snow we got in the US when we were home for Christmas (which inconveniently came the night before we were supposed to leave and resulted in an 8+ hour delay for our return flight home). At the time, I debated whether to let the boys go out and play in the snow — I was worried by how much laundry and packing of wet clothes I would be required to do afterwards. But I’m so glad I allowed the more fun part of my mind to rule. I’m so glad that they got two days of digging and playing in the snow, of snow angels and of shoveling the walk “to help the neighbors”. I’m glad they got to catch snowflakes on their tongues and toss snowballs at each other (and at us). If it was to be their only opportunity to play and enjoy the snow this winter, I am so very grateful that I didn’t allow worries over damp socks and soggy hats get in the way.

Skiing at Hohe Wand

Posted on February 13, 2014 by admin

Last year, we spent 3 beautiful and arduous days in the Austrian Alps, ostensibly skiing. There was, however, a lot less skiing than there was dragging a ton of equipment and two tired kids all around the hills of Alpbach.

But even though B got worn out, tired of walking and more than a little grouchy about the whole endeavor, he came away excited about skiing and enthusiastic for more. (Liam, who we never actually got up on skis, remained neutral to the idea, which was really as much as we could have hoped for. I consider it good fortune that we don’t all break out in hives every time we hear the word “ski”.)

B has been asking to ski again. I’ve been theoretically enthusiastic but practically daunted by the idea of taking something like that on again. With a week off of school and work, though, it felt like the right time.

I was not going to sign up for three days of the kind of effort (and expense) it took for us to not go skiing last time, so I looked into day trip options. Vienna = Austria = Alps … right? The rest of the world might think so, but it’s not really like that. Vienna is IN Austria and many of the Alps are also IN Austria, but Vienna, and the surrounding area, isn’t particularly mountainous. But I did find one promising-looking option: Hohe Wand, which is just outside of Vienna.

So I did my research, we packed up our snow pants, took two U-Bahns and a bus, and an hour later we were there. As it turns out, it is a “high hill”, indeed — just one, though, with a single drag lift and one big (relatively steep) slope down. The snow was man-made (which we expected — Vienna has gotten almost none this year) and it very nearly covered the hill.

They have a nice looking ski school for children, but, being the school holidays, it had been booked up since October, so we were on our own in terms of teaching the kids. Undaunted (and, after last year, fully expecting a day of skiing to be a ton of work) we fueled up with some schnitzel (really), rented skis, boots and helmets for the boys, and got suited up.

We found a quiet and reasonably flat-ish section near the bottom of the hill, off to one side, and began our practice. We pushed the boys up the hill, and then ran back down the little slope with them, over and over, for an hour and a half.

It was the best workout I’d had in a long while. Shortly after we started, B was back in the groove, and he was able to go down quite well on his own. Liam, frustrated that we couldn’t take the lift to the top, took several snowball-making breaks. By the time we (Dan & I) got worn out, though, both boys had made many trips down completely on their own (though often with an impressive, self-induced crash to finish … because it’s FUN). Mission accomplished —

the boys got to ski, and they had a great time. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as tough as what we attempted last year. Dan & I didn’t manage any skiing of our own, but I imagine that’ll come in future years.

B is already asking to go back. Next time, we’ll sign B up for ski school before we go (they only take kids over 4), and maybe Dan & I can take turns pushing Liam up the hill. It wasn’t ideal, but it was close, easy, and relatively inexpensive. With this place in mind, I’m much more optimistic about our future attempts at skiing.

Something cinnamony

Posted on January 29, 2014 by admin

(I think everything is going to be out of sequence for a while — since I still have things to post from our *last* UK trip back in September, everything is obviously out of order — so, for now, back to Christmas!)

There are some insights you just can’t have about your own culture until you’ve stepped outside of it. Being home for Christmas was wonderful. Spending the holiday with family and getting to see a few friends was incredibly special. I was so happy to be home.

But, it’s also uncomfortable to feel like a stranger in my own country, to feel awkward and out of place in my hometown (especially because I spend all of my time in my new culture feeling awkward and out of place, too). But that’s the reality. I’ve forgotten how to do things in the US. Grocery shopping feels weird. I can’t exist normally in a coffee shop (I glare at the other patrons and feel compelled to greet and say farewell to the employees . . . at least I don’t do it in German) and I didn’t even attempt to drive. I look like I should fit, it seems like I should fit, but I just don’t. It’s ok — it comes with the territory.

This feeling extended to my social interactions — even those with my closest friends. On one occasion, I was making plans with a friend for a playdate. Our plans were coming together at the last minute — late on Saturday evening for early Sunday morning. As we finalized everything, I asked if I could bring anything along the next day, and when she responded, “Something cinnamony”, I panicked a little. I panicked because I was still in an Austrian mentality — and my first instinct was that since it was late on a Saturday and we didn’t have anything “cinnamony” in the house, that I wouldn’t be able to acquire anything. I instantly started thinking of what I could cobble together. I’m so accustomed to the Austrian shopping schedule, where the shops close at 6 on Saturday and don’t open until Monday morning. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to accommodate such a specific request.

After realizing that I was in the US, and that the shops are open all the time, I realized that getting something “cinnamony” (or anything else) would be a simple task. Regardless of how specific the request was, I’d probably have been able to manage it.

But then I started to wonder what I should get. What the right “cinnamony” thing would be. Whether this or that particular confection would be the best choice. And I started to freak out again, because the pressure of getting it right started to mount immediately. And although I *know* that it’s silly — this is one of my best and oldest friends, and I know that her enjoyment of our visit would have absolutely nothing to do with whether I brought the *right* thing to breakfast — I went from 0 to perfectionism in about 1 minute.

Because, since basically all the stores are open, all the time, there comes a kind of obligation. Since the stores ARE open, and since I COULD get just the right thing . . . shouldn’t I? Isn’t that the “right” thing to do? I felt a near-immediate return to so many of my perfectionist tendencies that I’ve worked so hard to let go of.

In Austria, things work differently. Because the availability of commerce is more limited (shops close down by 6 in the evening, and are closed on Sundays . . . some have very limited hours on Saturdays, too) the pressure to purchase the “right” thing is so much less, at least in part because it might not be possible. If I was going to a Sunday morning playdate, and my host requested “something cinnamony”, I’d either have something like that already in my house, or I wouldn’t. And if I did, it would likely be a partial package of cinnamon graham crackers, which I would happily bring along. And that would be completely ok.

But in the US, the opportunity to find just the right thing leads, I think, to an obligation to find just the right thing. Because the stores are open, we can use them, and therefore we should. And I think it creates a higher expectation all around.

The truth is, I’m sure my friend couldn’t have cared less. Just as I couldn’t have cared less whether she would have coffee for us when we arrived. But, just as I instantly snapped into a sense of perfectionism and obligation, I wondered (and worried) that she might, too. Since we were coming over, did they feel obligated to run out to the store (at 9:00 on a Saturday night) to make sure they had the things in the house that we might like to have when we arrived on Sunday morning? I certainly hoped they didn’t. It hadn’t been at all my intention to create any sense of pressure or obligation, but I knew, since I had just experienced it myself, that it might.

The interesting thing to me is that I’m not sure I would ever have had the awareness of the pressure I felt to provide the perfect thing if I had never lived without it. Or, at least, I never would have questioned it. Living in a culture with fewer hours of access to shopping inevitably lowers the bar when it comes to these kinds of expectations — sometimes the “perfect” thing isn’t available, so you have to make do with what’s convenient, and that’s completely acceptable. While in the States, I feel like I existed in a space where the availability of resources created an obligation to use them . . . and I wasn’t even aware of it.

I started thinking about other ways that this pressure exists in the US. Since the gym is always open, don’t we feel like we have no excuse if we don’t work out? Since the mall is open late and on the weekends, don’t we feel an obligation to purchase a perfect gift? Since the activities for the kids run all evening and all weekend, don’t we feel obligated to take advantage of them? I don’t think the availability of shopping creates this pressure on its own . . . the incredibly long store hours may instead be a reflection of the cultural requirement to have the perfect thing and to fit ALL THE STUFF into every 24 hours. I wonder if we haven’t convenienced ourselves into insanity.

What I know is that this pressure does not exist here. The feelings of “good enough” instead of “perfect”, of “making do” instead of “making it right”, are much more comfortable to me. Thinking of things in the “you CAN so you MUST” way makes me go a little crazy. I like that I can see it, because it allows me to opt out. I hope I can hold onto this perspective — it’s something I’d like to carry with me when we come home again.

(As it turns out, we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for cinnamon donuts to take to my friend’s house . . . and chocolate donuts . . . and coffee . . . all at 8:00 in the morning, which was pretty fantastic.)

The end of the weekend

Posted on January 28, 2014 by admin

Even though I had an absolutely amazing weekend exploring London and generally being a geeky fangirl, I was excited enough to get home to my guys to not mind getting up at 4 a.m. (Not too much, anyway).

I had a great time on the girls’ weekend. I was shocked at how long it took me to unwind, to turn off the ultra-aware, persistently vigilant Mommy brain and remember how to just relax and enjoy myself. I think this time away was overdue. I think it’s something I could use to do more often than once every 5 years.

And we couldn’t have picked a better spot for it. I love London. I would live there. I don’t feel that way about very many places, but I would absolutely live there (and probably spend way too much going to the “theatre” at every opportunity).

The morning of my departure, it was far too early for me to contemplate things like trains, so I opted for the vastly easier (but much more expensive) option of a cab. I had a nice chat with the driver on our way out to Heathrow — he’s the dad to one daughter, now all grown up, and insisted that mom having a weekend away from dad and the kids truly is good for everyone.

Heathrow is intense, even at 5 in the morning. Coming up to the airport, I was surprised to already see the line of plane lights in the sky, stretching off into the distance. (What time do those flights depart wherever they’re coming from?!?) I was also please to see how efficient Heathrow was — I was able to check myself in, print my own luggage tags and easily make my way to the gate (where, as a slightly odd security measure, I had to show my passport again to enter the gate area) to wait for my flight home.

I had a pleasant and comfortable flight home (British Airways is as good as Air France was on our recent trip home) and I spent part of the time contemplating people.

I think people are great. I love how we help each other. How we’re basically kind. The cabbie, the check-in people, the other assorted staff at the airport. No one has to be nice to each other, but most people generally are. I love how we build and invent things, like air planes, like London. I love how creative human beings are — theater, movies, storytelling. It’s amazing what we do and who we are. I love people.

And, on that note, it was time to return home to the people I love very most of all.

Taking the Harry Potter tour

Posted on January 27, 2014 by admin

Just in case out first day in London wasn’t touristy (and geeky) enough, we followed it up with a trip out of London to take the Making of Harry Potter tour where they demonstrate, in great detail, a tremendous amount of what went into making the Harry Potter movies. As huge Harry Potter fans, it was an excellent choice for Pam & I (although I admit I felt a bit sheepish for choosing a movie set tour over the many more significant cultural opportunities London offers . . . but not enough to change our plans). But, we also did expect to be able to fit in some kind of sightseeing in the evening — although the tour is over an hour outside of London, we planned to be back in town by late afternoon.

When I was planning the trip, I debated the best way to get out to the tour site (at Leavesden) and back. The train was the economical choice, but would have required 2 Tube lines, a transfer to an overground train and then catching a shuttle bus, and with all of that, ensuring we’d make it out there by our 11:00 tour time. The direct bus from central London, though much more expensive and equally time consuming, had the attraction of being stress and effort free — all we had to do was show up on time, and someone else would take care of getting us there. In the end, I opted for the bus, and after my frustrating experience with the trains between Gatwick Airport and London, I’m glad I did — I think the train would have been fine, but I’d learned we couldn’t necessarily count on it being punctual enough.

The bus was as easy as we’d imagined, and the tour company booked us on a return trip just over 3 hours after the start time of our tour, which confirmed our expectation of being back in London well ahead of evening.

We actually arrived a fair bit before our tour time, so we made the logical first stop — the gift shop — where we went a little crazy. Very cleverly, the coat check was happy to hold all of our purchases for free while we were on the tour, so we were able to shop without worrying about the volume! (So many cool things … )

After our excessive shopping, we got in line and started the self-guided tour. There was so much to see — original sets (the Great Hall, the cupboard under the stairs, the boys’ dormitory, several classrooms and offices, the Gryffindor common room, the Burrow, Hagrid’s Hut), original costumes, and so very many props. There were videos explaining myriad details of movie magic (I was truly shocked by the vast number of things I had assumed were CGI effects that were actually practical, mechanical special effects — like the dishes that washed themselves!) and others detailing everything from casting to animal training to making snow. We saw the Knight Bus, tried Butterbeer, explored Diagon Alley and stood transfixed, staring at *the* model of Hogwarts, it all its intricate and impeccable glory (the pictures do not do it justice). Not only was it truly magical to get to see so many pieces of the Harry Potter world up close, but I’m amazed at how much I learned, as well.

It took us a long time to wander through (and, though we didn’t rush, I think we could have taken even longer). I have no idea how anyone manages the tour in 3 hours. It took us over 5.

We had, by then, of course missed our bus, but we simply took a later one, and made our way, tired but very satisfied, back to London. It was an excellent way to spend a day — in fact, I’d happily go back again one day.

On with the show!

Posted on January 24, 2014 by admin

For literally the first time in 5 1/2 years, last Saturday I had a true opportunity to sleep in. I was in London, on my own, with no obligations and a schedule that didn’t kick in until around lunchtime. But, of course, I DIDN’T sleep in … because I was on my own, with no obligations and a schedule that didn’t kick in until around lunchtime … and I had all of London to enjoy.

After getting up and surprising myself with how little time it required to get just myself ready and out the door, I got some breakfast and some coffee, and reintroduced myself to London’s Tube system, meeting several helpful Londoners along the way. Navigating the Tube was much easier than I remembered (i.e., without a stroller), and I easily made my way to the first of the stops on my to-do list for the weekend — Sherlock’s house.

(It’s probably worth mentioning that I really like TV, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Most of my favorite TV comes from Britain, so there was more than one piece of this grand adventure that was initially inspired by British television. More on that later.)

My destination was, in particular, the place where they film the exterior of Sherlock’s residence in the current BBC incarnation of the story (not at the iconic 221B Baker Street, but instead nearby on Gower Street). I wanted to see it in person after having watched it so many times on screen. It was fun to be there. It didn’t look quite the same (of course) and I got another visiting fan — a young woman who was so excited to be there that she said she thought she might cry — to take my picture. Neat! And then, it was back to Westminster for more typical touristy stuff.

My next stop was to fulfill Benjamin’s request for some pictures with his own camera (which I brought along just for that) — primarily he wanted pictures of Big Ben. I managed to get a few, plus some with my phone, and even managed a doubly impressive Big-Ben-and-red-double-decker-bus-in-the-same-picture shot. If I was going to go away to London for the weekend, it was really the least I could do.

Shortly after my Benjamin-inspired photo shoot, Pam arrived and we set out together to explore the city. We wandered to and through Parliament Square, and then over the Thames to the South Bank for a stroll. We walked for quite a ways, along the South Bank and back across the river, through Trafalgar Square and over to Buckingham Palace, and then back through St. James’ Park (where we saw some very unseasonable looking Cherry Blossoms). It was great fun to explore London with an old friend (Pam and I have known each other since we were 10 and 11, respectively). It was amazing to me how much ground we were able to cover and how many hours we were able to walk — I’m used to my walking excursions being severely limited by the energy and patience of a 5 year old (while Liam, on the other hand, pretty much never tires of walking, but hiking is more to his liking). After years of European exploration with the kids, I’m completely unused to a grown up sightseeing schedule.

And then, in the evening, it was time to prepare for one of the main events of the weekend (and one of the initial motivations for the whole trip) — seeing Richard II at the Barbican Theater. I’ll admit that my initial interest in the show came from having a bit of an embarrassing crush on its star (who I first watched on British TV), but even if my inspiration for going to see the play might have been a little silly, the experience of seeing it was decidedly not.

To needlessly state the obvious, seeing Shakespeare done by the Royal Shakespeare Company in London is incredibly special. I don’t think anything can emotionally manipulate an audience like Shakespeare brought to life by talented, experienced artists. Everything from the sets to the lighting to the music was just perfect, and the level of skill displayed by every single one of the actors was impressive even to my ignorant eye. I am so grateful to have had that experience. It was a night to remember, and I will take any future opportunity to experience anything like it. I’ve been completely won over.

It was a great day. I missed my family, but my desire to be with them didn’t ruin my time (nor did it inspire me to try to fly home early). As Pam and I opted for an early night rather than going out after the show, it occurred to me that my concept of a good “girls’ weekend” has certainly changed a lot in the past decade, but I wouldn’t have changed a single thing about this day.

A Mommy Abroad

Our big adventure, as a family of three.

Category Archives: Destinations