London

London, looking west from the top of St. Paul's

What began well ended with me carrying my daughter's vomit through the city . . . but more on that later.  Today's post recaps our recent trip to London.  Though we've lived in the UK for 2.5 years, this was our first trip to London since residing here.  We saw the town in 2006, before kids, and hit the highlights sufficiently then.  Seven years later, we returned with my mom, and had the following ambitious trip goals:
1) don't get mugged
2) find a way to get the kids to sleep through the night
3) don't lose the children (accidentally)
4) see something

Let's see how this turned out then.

Day 1

We opted to take the train down to London.  Our main fear on any public transportation is that the children will take the opportunity to riot and/or practice shrieking.  Thankfully, this time the ride was uneventful.  Arriving in the evening, we had time for only one thing;  we opted for Madame Tussauds Wax Museum.  Yes, it's expensive, touristy, and a bit cheesy, but it was actually rather nice to see.  My 'take-away' from it was that some famous people are rather short.

Patrick Stewart . . . he looks good even in wax.

 What came after the wax was highly anticipated- dinner at Chipotle.  London has a few of them, and we enjoyed our meal there.  Not quite the same as the ones in the States, but close enough. We couldn't help but notice that Chipotle was on Baker Street- the street where the fictional Sherlock Holmes lived.  We found the museum set up to celebrate him, as expected, at 221B Baker Street.  What we didn't expect was that 221B was wedged between 231 and 235 Baker Street.  Whatever.

Holmes!

After dinner, we went immediately to our hotel.  Nearby was a Sainsbury's Local- a small hybrid grocery/convenience store that was to prove invaluable (you'll see why in a moment).  The hotel was nice enough (meaning it was clean and had a working bathroom), and my daughter was overjoyed- the separate bedroom had bunk beds.  She slept on the top and, more importantly, slept through the night, as did our son, who slept in a travel crib at the foot of our bed.  Things were looking good indeed.

Day 2

The main unknowns in traveling are the weather and the kids.  One or the other can affect your plans in a big way.  With both in surprisingly good shape, we set off at 9am.  Our first destination was St. Paul's Cathedral.  I missed this last time- it was quite nice, though I spent most of the time shushing the children, who, sensing the peaceful atmosphere, elected to have a race in the south transept and squeal in delight at inopportune moments.

St. Paul's

St. Paul's

After St. Paul's, I hit Starbucks for my standard hot chocolate.  I mention this only because there are (apparently) 57,000 Starbucks in London, all within a square mile.  Seriously; there were times where they were located every 50-100 yards.  But I digress.

From St. Paul's, we walked to the Tower of London.  From the Tower, one gets a nice view of the Tower Bridge (often mistaken for the London Bridge).

The Tower Bridge

The Tower of London is great, and the kids got a chance to run around a bit.  You can spend hours there; I think we spent two.  The Tower is fun because it's generally associated with death, imprisonment, and torture; topics we all enjoy.

The White Tower

The Beauchamp Tower, where prisoners were kept (and inscribed impressive graffiti on the walls)

Henry VIII and his wives, most of whom he killed . . . and now you can hang them all on your Christmas tree

 My son, Luke, is obsessed with buttons at the moment- so you can imagine his delight when they had a voting kiosk of sorts in the Bloody Chamber (where the Princes in the Tower were kept), where you get to vote on who you thought killed the little dudes.  Sadly, my son, not understanding the concept of one vote only, voted about 150 times.  Thankfully, he gave each option about 50 tries, so I think the results were relatively unaffected.

Casting his vote . . . over and over and over

It was in the Tower that my daughter had to 'go potty.'  I took her, assuming adequate facilities were available.  The first men's room I tried had urinals only; the next was closed for repair.  Sensing emergency and doing what only experienced parents can do without blushing, I marched immediately into the women's room and assisted her in there.  It happens, people.  Deal with it.

After the Tower, the kids hit their threshold, so we headed back to rest in the hotel.  My daughter was done for the moment, but my son seemed in keen spirits, so he and I, along with my mom, went out again to Westminster Abbey.  I like the abbey, mainly because it has lots of famous dead people.  I particularly enjoyed the tombs of monarchs, and poet's corner.  It takes about 45 minutes to stroll around satisfactorily.  On the way home, we passed Big Ben and Parliament- great buildings.  Though we had the Oyster card for underground travel, we opted to walk- easily done, and more scenic.

Big Ben & Parliament

Westminster Abbey (well, part of it)

Double-Decker with Big B in the background

Dinner that day was Pizza Express.  This is where the fun started.  Both kids started nuclear meltdowns, and after a few outbursts, I started to get the starer.  Perhaps you parents know what I mean- that one guy who keeps looking at your table, murdering you with his eyes, every time the kids act up.  We do our best to control the kids, but modern child protection laws mean our hands are tied in certain respects.  In the end, we all left, the kids screaming, after half-eaten meals.  We were sad, but didn't realize something worse was coming.

Day 3

"Mommy, I don't feel well."  My daughter's first words of the day summarized it nicely.  She puked.  And then again.  And then again.  etc. etc. etc.  My wife wasn't well off either, experiencing a bout of the "Hershey Squirts," as those of use raised in PA say.  (As an aside, I think we went through 6 rolls of toilet paper that day.  SIX ROLLS).  Not knowing quite what to do, we eventually agreed that Beth and Natalie would remain at the hotel while three of us (me, Luke, and my mom, Verna) went out on the town, checking back frequently. 

It's at this point that I must digress briefly to highlight again the importance of the nearby Sainsbury's Local.  Not only was it our standard breakfast stop (croissants . . .mmmm), it was also our go-to for the emergency we were about to encounter.  Toilet paper.  Water.  Bread.  Anything else the situation demanded.  I ended up going there so frequently- sometimes, more than once an hour- that I was concerned that the staff was considering a restraining order.  Good thing it was open 24 hours . . . there are advantages to city life. 

Back to relevance.* After the sick ones were as comfortable as they were going to get, those remaining went out.  First up was Churchill War Rooms.  A great stop; highly recommend for history/WWII buffs.  We took 45 minutes to get through it all.  We were moving at a good clip, though, as my son was ornery, attempting to set off a fire extinguisher, and at one point trying to open up a water access point for a fire hose.  Fun times.

Is that middle guy supposed to be W?

Poster seen near the exit.  I couldn't agree more.

After the War Rooms, we strolled through St. James' Park, where my son expressed his delight at the nearby Pelicans by pointing to them and saying "buh," then laughing, about 100 times.  We walked on to Buckingham Palace, where we got to see guards in comical hats marching around. 

The birds that so enamored my son

Buckingham Palace

Man in funny hat

On the walk home, we passed through the South Bank Christmas Market.  For the unfamiliar, Christmas markets are where vendors come to set up stalls and sell kitsch, or 'junk', at obscene prices.  The food, however, is extremely good, and more than makes up for the rest of it. 

The food is good . . . the merchandise, not so much

Now it's dinner time.  What do we do?  The girls were still "poorly," as the Brits say, and the prior night's experience had further eroded our confidence.  We ended up spreading out a towel on our hotel floor, and sat on it eating shredded cheese, bread, and bananas- staples in my son's eyes.  Interestingly, we enjoyed this meal much more than we expected.  Maybe there's something to keeping it simple.

That night, Natalie had settled to the point where we thought she'd be okay, so Beth and I went out to see the Lion King musical (my review).   We found out the next morning that a nearby theatre had its roof collapse the very same night.  That was far from our mind, though, for as we returned to the room, we checked in on our daughter.  She (thankfully) had been fine while we were out, but the minute we got back, she started barfing again.  I did my best to avoid drawing conclusions from that.

Day 4

And now we reach the pinnacle of the journey.  Natalie's illness lasted throughout the night, and in the wee hours, her vomit took on a bright green hue.  Calling the NHS help line, we got a doctor's appointment for her at 7:20am at St. Pancras.  We were staying near Waterloo Train Station, so that meant a 40 minute journey up to the northern part of the city.  We decided that I should take her to the appointment; we had to check out of our hotel that morning, so my wife would pack up in the meantime.  

As I escorted my daughter through the hotel lobby, she kvetched again.  Now, I was prepared- I had a barf bag on me- and I caught everything.  Here's where the problem begins: I didn't have another bag.  I didn't want to risk throwing my only one away, so that left me one choice: I would carry her now-used barf bag with me to the doctor.  Not ideal, but what do you do?  So off we set, daddy carrying Natalie's vomit.

I was extremely worried about those on the underground getting an unexpected (and unwelcome) dose of Nat, but mercifully, my fears were unfounded- she didn't hurl the entire journey there.  When we arrived at King's Cross underground station, I noted that we were already late for our appointment.  Hailing the nearest taxi, I asked for directions to St. Pancras' hospital.  In keeping with my belief that Brits don't want to make money, the cabbie refused to take us, saying "it's just down the way."  Very well; I'd walk.

I found out that "just down the way" meant 0.7 miles.  Now, that's easy to do on my own.  But my daughter was tired, and so I carried all 45 lbs of her in one hand; her barf in the other.  That made 0.7 miles seem very long indeed.  We arrived about 20 minutes late, but they saw us anyway.

The doctor was a kindly Indian man with a wonderful bedside manner and horrible breath.  After doing some routine checks, he indicated that a urine sample was necessary.  That's fine; we can do this.  I took Nat to the bathroom and placed the small collection jar under her.  This was when my lack of knowledge of certain female functions became apparent.  I had assumed, never making a point of learning this for certain, that women peed "down" into the toilet.  Imagine my surprise when Nat peed "out" at me, hitting my hand instead of the jar.  I reacted appropriately, moving the jar to catch a sufficient amount.  Still, now I was covered in pee, while my daughter's barf stayed loyally by my side.  This day was getting better and better.

Returning to the doctor, a few quick tests indicated that my little girl would be fine; she had a 24-hour bug is all.  The doctor visit seemed to have a psychosomatic effect on her, if nothing else; afterwards, she felt fine, and her spirits noticeably improved.  The doctor told me that she should be carried, for a time, to avoid undue burden on her; so back I trekked to the station, with her in one arm, and barf in the other.

An uneventful journey back to the hotel, followed by some juice, made Natalie feel much better, and so off we went to "Winter Wonderland" in Hyde Park; our last stop before our journey home.  It was a Christmas market on steroids, featuring some of the biggest "temporary" rides I'd ever seen, and more kitsch than you could handle.  It was also extremely expensive.  Rides cost £2-3 each . . . yowza.  Still, it was a nice way to end the day.  Nat continued to recover, to the point that she even rode some of the more bland rides.  Amazing what a Winter Wonderland can do.

One entrance

How long did this take to set up, I wonder?

mmm. . . Viking blood

the festive atmosphere

After the Wonderland, it was time to take the train home.  We thought we were out of the woods . . . but not quite.

Our train home was precisely planned; we were to arrive back in our home town at 5pm- dinner time for the kiddos.  On the train from London to Leeds, though, we couldn't help but notice we were going rather slowly.  The train was losing power, and so we had to switch at Doncaster.  We ended up losing over an hour.  That's not bad for adults, but for kids, it can (and did) get ugly.  We had to eat fast food garbage in Leeds, and then continued on home with screaming children.  We must be so popular.  At last, we arrived safe, but exhausted.

When I walked in the door, I asked Natalie what she enjoyed the most.  Do you know what she said?  The bunk beds.  Just goes to show you- doesn't take much to impress the little ones.  I think we can all learn something from that.  There is joy in small things . . . though I'd rather not pay exorbitant London room rates to experience them. 

In conclusion, we enjoyed our time in London, though it wasn't without stress.  Interestingly, do you know what I enjoyed most?  Taking my daughter (and her barf) to the doctor.  Yes, it was gross, and hard, and horrible.  But she's my little girl, and I'll do anything in my power to protect, help, and heal her.  Parenting isn't always fun, but it's in those hard times that you really get what love is.  I love you, little one . . . but don't ever pee on me again.

*Well, sort of.