The Magic Begins

 We arrive in London exhausted and  crabby.  Since I am with Bill,  Mr. Public Transportation,  taking a taxi or an Uber to our hotel from the airport is out of the question.  After what seems like an eternity, we finally get to our hotel by train and tube with  significant help from several kind English people who must perceive us as old and tired.  Our room is not ready even though it is 4 P.M.  We are offered coffee or tea while we wait. I chose a cappuccino which could be the best one of my life. Not sure if it's the jet lag or reality that makes me think so.   Our room becomes available shortly. We gratefully collapse on the bed, even more grateful for the powerful air conditioning. We might never leave the room except we are starving. I find an Indian restaurant close by.  Tomorrow we are meeting a dear family friend for lunch. I put my head on my pillow and look forward to seeing him again.

Next day, back on public transportation which is starting to seem less charming and offers of help less forthcoming without our suitcases, we get to Kensington without too much trouble.  Waking through Kensington Gardens, we spot comfy looking sling back chairs calling our names.  We still have a couple of hours before we meet our friend, so why not sit down and relax?  The answer comes in the form of a woman with a security vest and a  clip board. If we want to sit in these chairs, we must pay four pounds per person per chair. What?????  Normally,  we would have vacated those chairs immediately, but we are still so travel weary, we actually agree. So out comes the credit card. For four pounds, we get to sit for an hour. Bill spends the time happily reading a book. I play a word game on my phone. The time passes quickly. We stroll through the park. According to our phones, the restaurant looks close by. It takes  us an hour to find it. i Our GPS is as lost as we are.  We enjoy lunch with our friend and decide to head back to our hotel.

Again, it looks like another easy walk from the train station.  Well, it isn't. Bill is getting so stressed out that he is walking way ahead of me. My feet are killing me, and I desperately need to lie down in my powerfully air conditioned hotel room.  In annoyance, I demand that Bill hold my hand to prevent him from stress walking ahead. A man in a pink shirt seems to be staring at us. What now? Does it cost  4 pounds to cross this street?  He approaches us quietly. "Excuse me. It is so rare to see couples like you (older couples) holding hands. It is really wonderful."  He sure picked the wrong moment to make that comment. "Actually, I say. I am ready to strangle him.  We have been married for 44 years." The man says that his wife wants to strangle him all the time too. He has been married almost as long as us.Then off he goes without even offering to help us find our way.

That encounter lightens our mood.  It seems both miraculous for its timing and irony. At last, we make it back to our powerfully air conditioned room.  Below is a picture of a special lady taken in Kensington Gardens. 

Queen Victoria