Look Out London!

Life back in Vancouver is a tad wet and a whole lot of melancholic. Reflections on my fabulous three weeks abroad:

Hours on a plane: ~20.

Trips to the bathroom while on said planes: ~25.

Places visited: countless (London, Windsor, Bath, Salisbury, Kent, Canterbury, Dover, Warwick, Stratford-Upon-Avon, Oxford, Paris ... )

Tube and/or Metro subway trips: countless (Yes, I do know the whole Piccadilly Line by heart).

Pictures and/or videos taken: 5758 (don't judge me!).

Flash drives needed to bring home 12Gb of media: 3.

Number of camera battery recharges: 2 full batteries daily.

Calories consumed: about 120,000, give or take 1 or 2 (but I think that, in Euros, it's only about 500).

Miles walked: ~100.

$$ taken: 550 BP + credit cards.

$$ spent: 300 BP + 110 Euros + 35 BP on credit + 90 Euros on credit (not bad!). Oh, and there is that small matter of $245CAD spent at Harrods (damn them and their currency converting cash registers!!!).

$$ brought back: 150 BP .

Items purchased/brought back:

• Jewellery: 1 ring, 3 necklaces, 2 bracelets (thank you, James)

• Clothes: 2 jackets, 1 cardigan, 1 pair of socks.

• Purses: 2.

• Knapsacks: 1.

• Shortbread, toffee, fudge, candies, chocolate: endless.

Hours spent walking, talking, and laughing with James: not enough.

Amount I miss him: to the moon and back (x Pi + a gajillion).

Gratitude I feel for all the wonderful people in my life: constant and limitless.

Well, I'm leaving on a jet plane tomorrow at 11:50am. I think the packing is under control.

It's hard to believe that three weeks have come and gone so fast--I was waiting so long to actually get here, and now I'm already leaving. *sniff* It seems we are always saying goodbye, but I know it's only a short farewell until next time. And, soon, there won't be any more goodbyes.

Thank you, sweetie, for three amazing weeks in London and Paris. I could not have asked for more. You welcomed me into your home and your family with open arms and did so much--much more than I ever expected. I will never forget this trip or all our wonderful memories. Walking, talking, and laughing with you has been one of the highlights of my life.

I love you very much. xoxox

So, what does a girl do on her second-to-last day in London? Why, shop. Duh.

That, and maybe picnic in Hyde Park ... with her shopping bags, of course.

Off to Harrods at Knightsbridge via Sudbury Hill ... my new home station!

Now, let's do some real damage:

Time to get out the plastic!

Oh, I guess a plastic *bag* doesn't cut it. I probably need some real plastic for this one. Time to get out the Big Guns--the Platinum Card. It's never good when the cashier asks you if you would "like that in Canadian dollars." Even they know I'm probably not good for it!

Not much in this world is tackier than a King Tut ... escalator.

Oh wait ... spoke too soon. The "tribute" to Diana and Dodi Fayed probably takes the cake. *eyeroll*

So, off to nosh on baguettes in Hyde Park ... by way of Harvey Nichols.

Awwww, cute pigeons.

Hyde Park, baguette, pigeons, and Harrods bags. What else is there in life?

The day eventually turned wet and dreary, but it started out great at Warwick Castle, billed as "Britain's Ultimate Castle." It dates back to 914AD and has seen many a king and queen, including William the Conquerer.

First, the requisite date stamps:

Then, arrival at Warwick:

Then, on to Stratford-Upon-Avon and Shakespeare's House. Pictures were not allowed inside (although I did sneak a couple), but we got some lovely shots of the grounds and surrounding neighbourhood:

Next, we travelled through the Cotswolds--an area of lush, green, rolling hills between Stratford and Oxford formed by ancient deposits of limestone. In Oxford, we made our way to the University, first to Christ Church, then through some of the academic buildings (including the Great Hall, where so much of Harry Potter was filed), and then back to the High Street:

Attempts at staying dry had their advantages:

What a great day! We were up and at it early once more, out the door by 7am.

Soon, we were at Leeds Castle, where we were heartily greeted with a taste of old English mead--just like Henry VIII used to get down with! It was surprisingly sweet. We bought a bottle for James's mum and may just have to imbibe tomorrow at dinner! We also bought an amazing door-stopper of a fruit cake ... ummmm ... yum?

The castle itself was almost as amazing as the fruit cake--a castle you could actually live in. It's much smaller than those we've seen so far (Windsor Castle, those in and around London, etc.), set in the countryside of Kent away from almost everything and everyone. Rolling hills, lush green lawns, and aging brick enclose swarms of sheep, swans, ducks, and peacocks. Inside, the various owners have each left a personal stamp, as the numerous parlors, galleries, drawing rooms, libraries, bedrooms, and great halls combine for a rather eclectic decorative styling.

Soon, we were off to Cantebury, by way of the fields that saw the Battle of Britain overhead. Cantebury the township is small and quaint, and one can at least imaginatively see through the Starbucks and Marks & Spencers to envision Thomas Becket et al. rambling about on the cobbled streets.

The Cathedral is, of course, the town's crowning glory--stunningly long, endlessly buttressed, and obviously quite gothic. We explored several floors and the rather creepy downstairs crypt, lined in and out with several tombs, some saintly, some not so much. Outside, the Chapter House and surrounding lawns were quiet and serene. The sun began to beat down on us as we took one last stroll around ... capped off with the requisite trip to the ... gift shop. One can never have too many plastic Jesuses or Cantebury Cathedral All Day Suckers. I regret not shelling out £5 for the All Time Greatest Saints Finger Puppets, but one can only carry so much.

Then, on to Dover and the famous White Cliffs. I was surprised at just how beach-y Dover is. It's quite the little resort town and marina now. The cliffs are still there, still famous, and still chalky white. They protrude out over the shoreline, out in front of Dover Castle and pointing the way to France, which can be seen quite clearly only 20 miles away across the English Channel.

Our stop there was brief--really just a photo-op--so on we went to Greenwich Marina and our cruise along the Thames River. It was so cool passing all of the sites we had just seen two days before--the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, London Bridge, Millennium Bridge, HMS Belfast, Golden Hinde, The Globe, the Tate Modern, and St. Paul's--as well as all the things we saw on one of my first days here--Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, and Westminster Bridge. It reminded me of what a full few weeks it's been.

And, finally, home once more ...

I'll be really sad to see it all come to a close this Saturday. *sniff*

We took the day off after Paris. Why, you ask? No museums to attend to? No monuments to view? No buildings to study? While the "J+J London/Paris 2009 Travel To-Do List" (ok, who are we kidding, it's a 3-layer spreadsheet) remains unchecked with many a site still to see, I managed to sneak back on to the Eurostar a one-of-a-kind French souvenir ... a torn tendon. Seems that our 30 miles of walking did in my left foot. Apparently, Christy Brown isn't the only person in the British Isles with a My Left Foot, now is he?

So, after much contemplating, hand wringing, and general fussing about, we decided to "take it easy" with a "short" trip to the Tower of London, over Tower Bridge, toward The Globe, and across to St. Paul's. Then home where much Sore Foot Sympathy was promised.

Um, yeah.

We started out around 10am, heading to Tower Hill station via South Kensington.

Our FIVE HOURS at the Tower of London included every tower, fortress, garden, walkway, dungeon, and flying buttress the eyes could see. Highlights included The White Tower (now home to the Henry VIII 500th Anniversary Dressed to Kill exhibit), the Bloody Tower, the Crown Jewels (no pics allowed in there), the Tower Green (where queens were routinely beheaded in public view), Ralegh's Walk, and of course, the torture chambers, complete with racks and bone crushers!

Perhaps the highest of the high highlights was learning that the Tower of London is the reigning "Loo of the Year" champion! Who knew? Now, for London, given the sad state of public bathrooms, this really is quite an honour. Just saying.

We made our way over Tower Bridge (I'm still laughing at the Americans who thought they were buying Tower Bridge, but actually bought London Bridge, a decidedly boring brick bridge of no real excitement, moving it brick by brick to that most English of states ... Arizona), along Queen's Walk (by way of some fresh chips!), past the HMS Belfast, London Bridge, Southwark Cathedral (where Shakespeare's brother is purportedly buried), the Golden Hinde, Pickford's Wharf, the Clink, and the Anchor Pub.

Soon, we were at The Rose and The Globe, home to Shakespeare's theatre which, while newly reconstructed, nonetheless gives you a sense of what those wacky Elizabethans would have enjoyed back in the day.

Crossing over the Millennium foot bridge toward St. Paul's, we passed the Tate Modern gallery which, I must say, is quite ... unmodern.

St. Paul's Cathedral was closed to the public and undergoing much restoration/renovation (like half of London, it seems ... hello 2012 Olympics!), but we were able to listen to the organ music emanating from inside while chilling in the churchyard gardens.

At this point, when we had originally intended to head home, James suggested that we "check off another thing on our list" and head to Covent Garden. Apparently, my constant whining throughout the day about my sore foot made absolutely no impact. Foolishly, I agreed, but this was likely due to really wanting to garner some sympathy and possibly a free meal. *shrugs*

So, up Fleet Street we went, past the major courts and on to Covent Garden, which while in the midst of making the switch from day-selling vendor to night-performing busker mode, was nonetheless hopping and bopping. I was magnetically drawn into Thornton's, where of course I had to avail myself of the "4 chocolate bars for £2.50" deal. So what if 2 of them were for me? I have no shame. And no waist line.

You'd think that, at this point, given the sheer volume of my whingeing, James would not have suggested Leicester Square, The Strand, and Piccadilly Circus. OK, two of those were my idea, BUT STILL. The pain in my foot necessitates that I continue to blame him. Along the way, many theatre-goers, gaudy T-shirts, and drunkards were witnessed, but alas, we managed to make it home in one piece.

First, the wacky T-shirts:

Next, the revelers:

But ... my foot STILL really really really really hurts. AND NO I DON'T CARE THAT YOU MISSED THAT LAST STEP AND THAT YOUR FOOT ALSO HURTS NOW. MINE HURT FIRST, AND IT HURTS MORE. NOW AND ALWAYS. DEAL WITH IT.

Oh ... James did buy me a really really really really pretty bracelet at The Globe, but inspired by The Rose theatre. It's made from real flowers (at least in part), and is very pretty. What a sweetie. I got him a nice leather wallet from the Tower of London. Hope it's not made from prisoners or something.

One time ... at band camp ...

No, seriously, one time, in Whistler, James managed to get a red souvenir shopping bag into just about every picture. On the gondola? Shopping bag. On the summit? Shopping bag. In front of Black Tusk? Shopping bag. In Whistler Village? Shopping bag.

Apparently, this is a trend. Witness his latest acquisition as we wandered the streets of Paris: up and down the Eiffel Tower, along the Seine, and everywhere in between.

Freud would have a field day.

Yes, these are three separate photos:

Being that we had to catch the Eurostar back to London at 9pm, we decided to stick relatively close to home, choosing to explore in more detail the Bastille area in and around our hotel. Of course, typical of us, this involved yet another 10-mile day.

It began innocently as it always does *eyeroll* with a big buffet breakfast. Despite my promises not to, I managed once again to eat too much eggs, sausage, cereal, croissant (plain and chocolate!), French bread, preserves, cream cheese, and Petit Cakes! My half PhD means I had the brains to pocket about 10 Petit Cakes before leaving the dining room! My Mama didn't raise no fool.

We backtracked onto our steps from the night before to check out once more both Avenue de la Roquette and Rue de Lappe, which at night were absolutely hopping. But, then again, what isn't hopping every night of the week in Paris? In the daytime, it was decidedly subdued, as the bright lights and music had given way to more civilized terraces and cafes.

Awwwwwwww, then I was really missing Barney:

We learned of a weekly open-air market just steps from the Bastille along Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. There, we strolled amongst the vendors selling everything from jewellery, to bags, to clothing, to fruit, to flowers, and even fish. James bought me some beautiful necklaces and a really pretty bracelet (more on that later).

Turns out we were only a hop-skip-and-a-jump from Victor Hugo's home, so we took off down Rue Saint-Antoine towared Place des Vosges and Square Louis XIII. The square encompasses a beautiful park, fountains, and cute footpaths and is bordered on all sides by stunning apartments, one of which was home to Hugo for most of his life. Inside, we explored his many art works, writings, and parlors. His decor was decidedly eclectic, to say the least--dark, but surprisingly colourful and whimsical.

Awwwww, I was missing Barney even more!

From there, we trekked toward Promenade Plantee (or "coulee verte"), a mile-long walk that stretches from the Bastille to the Bois de Vincennes along Avenue Daumesnil. A successfion of viaducts and footbridges create a picturesque walkway that is home to artisans, designers, and carpenters. At the Promenade's terminus, we stopped for a light lunch, of course with more decadent desserts!

Leaving our bistro's terrace, we made our way up Rue de Chareton to Marche D'Aligre at the Place D'Aligre, another open market full of meat, fish, cheese, fruit, bread, and olive vendors. Along the way, we happened upon a collection of graffitied trucks that litter the side streets of Paris, where urban art seems to have a life of its own.

Up on Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Antoine, I revelled in the sheer abundance of boulangeries and patisseries and finally succumbed. My culprit? A fresh Fraisier--a light sponge cake with custard, whipped strawberries, and cream. Un-by-god-believable. Of course, the day was not complete without the requisite purchase of breads--regular French baguettes, and of course, some chocolate brioches too ... dark and white, mais oui! We brought them back on the Eurostar, and between me and James's mom, they were gone by the next day! (Not to mention those damn Petit Cakes!)

We rested a bit before heading back to the Bastille station, then Gare du Nord, and eventually onto the Eurostar. A slight drama ensued: half way from our hotel to the Bastille station, I realized that I had lost my new bracelet. We looked at our watches, knowing we had a schedule to stick to. Taking a chance, we backtracked a few blocks to the corner market where we'd bought drinks for the road. Amazingly, the shop owner had found my bracelet on the floor and kept it behind the register. I couldn't believe it. It was broken, but James fixed it for me right away when we got home. I'm afraid to wear it now! It is only a street purchase, but it means the world to me now.

James had a good chuckle when he happened upon this trifecta in the Gare du Nord souvenir shop:

I'm not sure what his point was/is. *glares*

Soon, we were fast asleep with only sweet memories to guide us home.

Day Two in Paris would prove to be even more ambitious than Day One! After a hearty breakfast (read: as much French bread and preserves as one can stomach), we set out back to the Eiffel Tower. We originally thought of walking up and back the Left Bank, but soon thought it wiser to metro it up there and walk back (smart decision, it turned out).

Back at the Trocadero/Musee de L'Homme/Mussee de la Marine, we once again drank in the Tower--this time in the daylight--eventually making our way across Pont d'Iena and to the Tower's base. There, James convinced me to make the long trek up to the top, first via the second level, then all the way to the summit.

This, of course, necessitated the drinking of more Coke Zero, which naturally meant I fell asleep in the loooooong line up to board the elevators.

Once up top (after a pit stop on the second level), we were treated to a truly amazing 360-degree view, whereupon I managed to take the same photos over, and over, and over, and over again.

We spent probably two hours at the top, eventually descending via elevator to the second level. We decided to walk down from there, whereupon we were quite relieved that we did not walk up to the second level as originally intended.

Back at the base, we sauntered into the Parc du Champ-de-Mars, the massive park/garden that extends southeast from the Tower. There, we rested on the grass and took in what can only be described as the strange surreality of opening your eyes and finding the Eiffel Tower immediately overhead.

As we strolled across the Parc, one Perfect French Family after another passed by. It's uncanny how together everyone manages to look, even while schlepping children through serious heat.

We stopped at the far end of the Parc, at Place Joffre and Ecole Militaire, for the requisite photo-ops, and of course, I made a quick call to Dal--priorities, and all that.

Meandering back toward the river (by way of many a patisserie and city bike exchange point), we happened upon Place des Invalides, with the Hotel des Invalides/Musee de l'Armee on the one side, and Esplanade des Invalides on the other. The Hotel/Musee was built under Louis XIV as a hospital for wounded soldiers, and today, in addition to housing a military museum, its church of St. Louis and golden dome can be seen for miles and contains Napoleon's tomb.

Back on the Seine, we ventured along Quai D'Orsay, soon to be Quai Anatole-France, then Quai Voltaire, then Quai Malaquais, then Quai de Conti, then Quai des Grands Augustins, then Quai St.-Michel, then Quai de Montebello, then Quai de la Tournelle.

Along the way, we lost count of the endless palaces, museums, churches, temples, schools, universities, bridges, gardens, bistros, and terraces. We passed, among many other things, Palais-Bourbon, Palais de la Legion d'Honneur, Musee d'Orsay, Ecole des Beaux Arts, Institut de France, Hotel des Monnaies, Place St.-Michel, and Palais de Justice, and on the Ile de la Cite, Sainte-Chapelle, Prefecture de Police, Hotel Dieu, and of course, the spectacular Notre Dame (the gods smiled on us and put us there right at twilight).

As the sun began to set, we cut across Ile Saint-Louis on the Boulevard Henri-IV, which took us straight back to Place de Bastille. There, we had our first proper Paris dinner from a romantic, candlelit terrace in full view of the Bastille. Also uncanny? How many people in Paris smoke--especially the women! If you want to sit on the terrace, you must put up with the smoke. We didn't care. It was all so lovely and very very special.

What more could a girl ask for?

As we took to our bed, we looked at each other in amazement for what we'd seen in just over 24 hours. That, and our increasingly sore feet/legs/bodies lulled us off to sleep with thoughts of Day Three.

What can you say about the City of Love that hasn't already been said a million times by every writer, singer, poet, and hopeless romantic? A truly remarkable city, where every turn yields one majestic cityscape, landscape, and seascape after another--palaces, museums, theatres, monuments, boulevards, bridges, parks, promenades, squares, ponds, lakes, rivers ... the list goes on and on.

Our day began early, as they all do. Up at 6am, out the door by 7am, on to Kings Cross/St. Pancras Station to catch the Eurostar. Most pathetically, rather than the much more appropriate espresso or caffe au lait, my day also started with a very uncivilized Coke Zero. I swear I'm going into rehab/detox when I get back to Vancouver.

The Eurostar is amazingly smooth and quick--the chunnel itself is only 20 mins of a 2h15m journey. Before we knew it, we were at Gare du Nord, only about five metro stations from where we were staying near Place de Bastille. Our cute little hotel was on Rue de Charonne, a quaint street full of bistros, boulangeries, patisseries, and fruit stands. The Hotel Bastille Charonne is basic but completely satisfactory for a few days' stay. Like almost all Paris hotels, the rooms are stunningly small, so one must be prepared to stub one's toe at a moment's notice, and moving across the room by pole vaulting over the bed becomes perfectly normal after about five minutes. We had a great daily breakfast buffet that was surprisingly abundant, with a multitude of cereals, breads, fruits, meats, eggs, lattes, espressos, and enough Petit Cakes to fill one's day pack to the brim! *cough cough* The most hilarious part of the hotel? Don't expect to get two people and luggage into the elevator--there's barely enough room to stand up once inside! We stayed on the hotel's top floor, so the stairs gave us a daily workout.

After a quick rest, we set out around 3pm for what we thought would be a quick stroll around the Bastille area, but what instead turned out to be a marathon walk along the Rive Droite--the right bank of the Seine River. Our eyes were drawn in all directions--first to the river itself, with its endless procession of cruisers, then to the endless newstands, florists, and bric-a-brac stalls, then the stunning architecture at every turn. Ile de la Cite to our left gave us our first glimpse of Notre Dame, Hotel Dieu, and Sainte-Chapelle, which we would properly revisit the next day. Soon, Quai Henri-IV gave way to Quai des Celestins, then Quai de L'Hotel-de-Ville, then Quai de Gesvres, then Quai de la Megisserie, then Quai du Louvre, then Quai des Tuileries, and eventually Avenue des Champs-Elysees.

Only in Paris could you "stumble" upon the anniversary (65th) of the Liberation of Paris. The Hotel de Ville was packed with French, British, Canadian, and American troops, as military processions filed by and anthems rang out. Before we knew it, we were at the Palais du Louvre, which, owing to its vastness, we mistakenly thought was the Palais-Royal. It stretches for what must be five or six square city blocks, eventually opening up into the Musee du Louvre. The Palais is bordered on its west side by the Arc De Triomphe du Carrousel, which in turn bookends the east end of the amazing Jardins des Touileries, an expansive garden that continues westward to the Place de la Concorde. At Touileries, we sat by the western most pond, enjoying a gelato and a quick drink (and, for James, a quick nap!). Venturing out across the Place de Concorde, we navigated our way around the massive roundabout, bordered by Napoleon's royal columns and centered by the rather phallic Luxor Obelisque (presented by the viceroy of Egypt in 1836) and then eventually giving way to Avenues des Champs-Elysees. We expected the Champs-Elysees to continue on as the beautiful, tree-lined gardenway it begins as, but in fact, it soon became High End Shopping Central, with every store, bistro, and terrace imaginable!

Eventually, we did make our way to the Arc de Triomphe, which was beautifully lit against the by-then night sky. Once more jostling our way across about six different veins all feeding into the Arc roundabout, we managed rather painlessly to find Avenue Kleber (i.e., James knows how to read a map), which would take us straight down to the Musee de L'Homme, Musee de La Marine, and the Trocadero--or, perhaps the best spot in all of Paris to see la Tour Eiffel at night.

There, we spent probably an hour to an hour and a half, just marveling at the truly mesmerizing lights. On the hour, the Tower sparkles like a Christmas tree, and people can be seen kissing at every turn. Reluctantly, we departed and made our way back to the Bastille area from the Trocadero metro station, only a 15-minute journey. Heads down, we closed our eyes on a truly memorable--and unexpectedly eventful!--first day.

Tomorrow: Rive Gauche!!

After leaving the Imperial War Museum, I thought I best drop Lizzie another line, just to make sure she knew I was coming ... in case she wanted to bake me a cake or throw together some cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

Seems she was STILL having her toes done (doesn't she have work to do?), or maybe she was busy keeping Prince Phillip in line.

In any case, it gave me a chance to check out Downing Street, the Calvery Museum, and a few of the Queen's stiffest-upper-lipped guards.

On to The Mall and the gates to Buckingham Palace (Admiralty Arch to be exact):

Of course, first was St. James' Park, where we stopped to listen to a band. OK, in truth, I was in need of a foot rub, and luckily, J. was willing to oblige.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

We cut over this cute lake bridge, and lo and behold, there was the London Eye right behind us:

Finally, the actual gates at Buckingham Palace:

I tried to convince them to change the guards, especially for me, but apparently, Lizzie hadn't passed on the proper orders. *eyeroll* I had to settle for watching this guy walk back and forth:

Tomorrow? Off to Paris for three days! I'll be offline until we get back. Until then, au revoir, mes amis!

I've never been much of a museum person, but it's hard not to be interested in something like the Imperial War Museum. I knew it would be good, but I had no idea it was six floors and so extensive, detailed, and engaging. We began on the ground floor--home to the major exhibits/pieces--then descended to the lower ground floor for massive showings on WWI and WWII (including an interactive Blitz Experience, complete with bombs!). We also took in various wars by sea, submarine exhibits, and an art gallery. Our last stop was the permanent Holocaust exhibit, which is harrowing at best, overwhelmingly upsetting at worst. No pictures on that floor, of course. The museum cafe is one of the best I've seen with the most glorious baked goods and fresh fruit! We picnicked outside afterward, munching down on our own sandwiches and fruit salad (ok, ok, we were really feeding the birds), before taking off for Buckingham Palace. Along the way, we stumbled upon the cutest little church.

The day began like all others ... blah blah blah ... front of the house log photo blah blah blah ...

Then off to Lambeth North station, right near the museum.

It's a huge, majestic building with beautiful surrounding grounds and gardens:

Once inside, it's a myriad of tanks, jeeps, planes, bombs, subs, and artillery:

The food rationing exhibit was really interesting. I wonder how far one can make Uncle Joe's Mint Balls go?

I'm appalled!

This tin pie plate wouldn't stop a pebble, let alone a bomb, but hey, I look cute:

I would have made a good war-time teacher, no doubt:

Into the trenches:

You cannot believe how bad it smelled in there. Imagine the real thing!

My first English scone ... in England. Fresh, with jam and cream! Mmmmmm.

Back outside and on to Buckingham Palace, by way of the sweetest church:

After my trip to Grandma's House (no Big Bad Wolves emerged, thankfully), we headed off to Hyde Park. We checked out Wellington Arch and some WWI and WWII monuments before heading through the main gate near Hyde Park Corner. The grounds are absolutely beautiful, more than making good on the reputation for lush greenery that marks so much of England. Lots of roses, weeping willows, and birds. After I waited 45 minutes to go to the bathroom (!!), we strolled around Serpentine Lake, checked out the row boats, took in Kensington Garden Fountain (next to Diana's home at Kensington Palace), the Diana memorial fountain (more of a water park, if you ask me ... not to mention lawsuit waiting to happen), and then dined on a lovely salad and baguette at the Lido restaurant on the side of the Serpentine. Of course, there was much Bench Sitting, Heavy Resting, and General Relaxing. As twilight beckoned, we made our way back to the main entrance, then home on the tube once more.

Once I knew I was definitely coming to England, J. started researching what would have been my paternal Grandma's house. My dad was born in Winnipeg, and as far as he knew, his mother in Brighton, England. Turns out she was actually born in Acton (in Brentford District, not Brighton city!), a mere 5 tube stops from J.'s house! J. located the 1901 Census report, which contained the hand-written census-taker's log of Grandma's house: 83 Mill Hill Road, Acton, in the borough of Ealing. J. mapped it out, and voila! We had our task for the day.

Of course, no adventure would be complete without the Requisite Wrong Turn when existing the tube station. Had we turned to our right, we'd have been only steps from our destination. Alas, we turned left. So, we had a nice amble through a lovely Tudor'ish neighbourhood. After a couple of miles, it dawned on us that perhaps we were not going the right way, and a helpful Irish lady, her son, and their King Charles Spaniel redirected us. Good thing one of us isn't afraid of Asking For Directions!!! *cough cough*

Fortunately, in England, no neighbourhood in any given town is more than a few blocks away (is there any other place in the world where a whole new town starts every 50 feet or so? Good Lord, Ethel). We easily found Mill Hill Road, and there, at number 83, stands Grandma's House. Now, much debate has ensued since then about whether or not this is the original home. The two homes on either side are undoubtedly original/older, and clearly of a different/older design. The house at 83 (now sub-divided into 83 and 83A) has been at a minimum updated/renovated/restored, with now two suites/homes, new garage doors, new window panes (unlike the sash windows you see in most houses of the pre-century era), etc. However, the brick is clearly old/original, and the roof is quite old too. There's also a noticeable difference in the brick as the front facade blends into the side, as older bricks give way to newer bricks. J. was certain that the house, including renovations, is at heart the original, but J.'s mum says no, not original. I was somewhere in the middle, convinced that the original structure is there somewhere, with renovations/restoration making up the new, sub-divided homes (obviously, some rebuilding would have taken place to sub-divide, install garages, etc.). It seems settled now, thanks to J.'s brother-in-law, a contractor/builder who immediately recognized the actual type of English bricks used. He's certain that the bricks are original, and thus, the house conforms to the typical English standard of rebuilding bombed-out or fallen-down homes with the remaining bricks/rubble. So, looks like a part of Grandma's House is still at 83 Mill Hill Road, if not the exact structure she was born in.

Nonetheless, we had a ball walking around Acton Town Square, now home to a predominantly West Indian community, including a local weekend outdoor marketplace, a few churches, a small park, and adjoining neighbourhood streets.

It was really strange walking some of the beat-up streets my Grandma would have walked as a young girl/woman. She was quite the lady, and I'm so glad I got to know her better as I grew up. She was born in 1900 and came to Canada in 1925, settling in Winnipeg where she met my grandfather and had kids. They eventually moved out to Vancouver when my dad was about 10 or 12. She once won the Bravest Girl in the World contest for being shot out of a cannon (!), and at 39, definitely won the Trooper of the Year Award for having twin boys! I so admired her attitude toward life, which my family and I term "Everything in Moderation, Duckie." She was always one for a witty comment or comeback, and you have to love a woman whose only Christmas gift request is bottles of sherry ... lots of them. She was a master bridge player, a wonderful painter, and she lived until a spry, thriving 94 years.

RIP, Grandma. Love you.

Of course, the day begins like all others: a snuggle with Barney, and the Daily Photo Log in front of the house.

Then, off to Acton!

I wonder if Grandma hung out at this cute pub just at the end of her street:

Alas, Grandma's House!

I really am Little White Riding Hood!

A jaunt through Grandma's neighbourhood: