An American Thanksgiving in England

I celebrated American Thanksgiving last November by eating a full English breakfast.  I even ate some of the mushrooms.  My family will know how amazing it was that I even let a mushroom touch my lips (the mushrooms were somewhere between meh and all right; I still don't really care for them).

On the train to London

After breakfast, I packed my bags, did some last-minute wandering and shopping (souvenirs and Christmas; killed two birds with one stone) and hopped on a train bound for Paddington Station.  My time in Bath had been refreshing, a good stop-over as I acclimated to the time and vacation mind-set.  I look forward to going back and maybe spending a few days in the archives at the Fashion Museum or taking a picnic lunch on the full Skyline walk.  I'd be happy just to wander the streets again.

But, onward to London!  I had booked a "cheap and cheerful" (translation: budget) studio flat just north of Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park.  The flat was located on the fourth floor of a rather ugly modern building with a narrow closet of a lift.  I have vague memories of getting momentarily stuck in a lift the same size while in Rome.  I chose to take the stairs.   Besides, since I didn't bring my running gear, I had to get my exercise in somehow.

The flat itself was cozy and simply decorated.  There was a kitchenette if I wanted to make my own meals although I'll admit, other than cheese sandwiches for picnic lunches and cereal in the mornings, I didn't do any cooking.  The bathroom was small but not as small as some I've seen and it had a nice deep tub.  All in all, the flat was nice enough that I was comfortable and felt safe on my own but not so nice that I felt obligated to spend more time in the flat to get my money's worth.

Passing under the Carriage Drive
on the Hyde Park side.

It was mid-afternoon when I arrived but at that latitude, the sun was already low in the sky.  I had nothing planned for the evening so I just decided to go for a stroll through the Park and see where my feet led me.  They led me through Hyde Park, under the Carriage Drive, along the Long Water, with ducks and geese and swans and birds I don't know the names of galore.  I walked through the Winter Wonderland fair (heard a lot of Bing Crosby crooning over crowds) and past a beautiful steam engine on display.

My family has a thing for trains and though I may not know all the details about how a steam engine works, I still find them beautiful.  So, when I saw this beauty, I took a couple of pictures.  I didn't know why it was on display, if it was a permanent exhibit or part of the Winter Wonderland.  It was my dad who actually Googled the engine number later and found that it had a long history, built in the 1930s but gained stardom in the last decade as none other than the "Hogwarts Express".  That's right, even without meaning to, I visited a Harry Potter artifact.  I only wish that I had known what it was at the time. 

All aboard the Hogwarts Express!

By the time I exited the Park, the sun had set and  it was beginning to get dark.  My feet continued down Constitution Hill, past Buckingham Palace (hello, your majesty) and onward to Westminster and that iconic landmark, Big Ben.

Not the clock,
Nor the tower,
But the bell that tolls the hour.

Standing on Westminster Bridge

So the rhyme goes.  I didn't hear it toll that night as I was getting hungry (a full English breakfast will last you a long time but eventually, you do get hungry again) and I didn't stick around long enough to hear the bell toll.  I did mug for my camera in front of the famed clock tower and was asked to take someone's photo with their camera.  I chickened out on asking anyone to take mine.  Good thing I have long arms; I ended up taking most of my pictures of me myself.  I really need to work on that whole asking thing for my next trip.

I followed Whitehall to Trafalgar Square with the idea of finding someplace to eat.  I settled on the Cafe in the Crypt at St. Martin in the Fields where I had more non-traditional Thanksgiving fare in a very non-traditional setting.   Porkchops and veggies, cream of broccoli soup and apple crumble with custard (Porkchops, huh?), eaten over someone's gravestone.  It's not called Cafe in the Crypt for nothing. 

Have to say, it was both cool and disconcerting.  I felt disrespectful scooting my chair in as it scraped across a stone set in the floor (pardon me, so-and-so, didn't see your gravestone there).  At the same time, it intrigued me and I wondered about the nameless people (the names and dates were almost completely illegible due to time and wear) who were buried below me.  I wondered what their stories were; this was the closest thing to a monument they got.  It's a puzzlement.

OK, off-topic confession: I seriously fell in love with the apple crumble and custard.  More than once, I went to the Cafe during the week, just to have the custard.  Don't ask me why; I wouldn't be able to tell you.  Something about the sweet custardy-goodness over crispy crumbley crust and apples... yum.

Not a bad view, even if it was a choral concert
 and not an organ recital.

As I had entered the Cafe, I had seen adverts for a performance for that evening of Mozart's Requiem at St. Martin in the Fields and after stuffing myself silly, I went to the ticket counter to inquire about tickets.  They still had tickets available, though only for seats with obstructed views and/or no views.  My response? I don't need to see as long as I can hear.  And boy, did I hear.  It was a perfect way to end my first night in London, listening to the beautiful choral strains of Mozart.