Is it possible to become tired of London?

Here is Samuel Johnson's cat, Hodge.

And here is his house.

I can't imagine tiring of life, if I lived in London. There's something interesting around every corner.

Religion in London

This morning we woke up in London to a glorious blue sky. We took the tube to the London Bridge station, where we met Syvart, and ambled over to Broughton Market.  We were disappointed to find it closed, but we enjoyed walking through the deserted aisles.  It was an oddly calm space in an otherwise noisy, crowded city.

We eventually found a small coffee/tea/cacao shop within the market where we had our morning scone and drink.

On the way way out of the shop, we stumbled across a parade of worshippers going into the deserted market for a Palm Sunday mass: choir robes, music, incense, palm fronds..............it was all there.

After enjoying a little incense and song, we continued strolling through the city.  We crossed the Thames on London Bridge, took a peek at Shakespeare's Globe Theater and the Tate Modern. We crossed back over the river on the pedestrian Millennium Bridge.  We passed through Fleet Street, and many alleys, and secret courtyards including St Bride's Church which is hidden in one of the the courtyards.  We had lunch in the Salisbury Pub near Covent Garden and then we found more religion.

Fortnum & Mason - this is the temple of all things wonderful on earth.

Nothing prepared me for this experience.  Because I was with two of the main men in my life, I kept my visit brief.  I only saw the first floor. It is the ultimate shopping venue for teas, preserves, jams, marmalade, honey, candy, tea cups and much, much more.  Everything exemplifies exquisite taste and luxury.

This palace is a different kind of religious experience.

Amen

Post publication comment from the author:  I discovered that the Queen shops at Fortnum & Mason.  No wonder it is what it is.

London Bread Pudding

I have always been a lover of bread pudding.  This is actually surprising, because I rarely like it.  I order it when I see it on menus, and I have probably liked it once or twice.  I keep ordering it because I feel it has so much potential. I continue to be disappointed.

Last night at a pub in London, Taylor noticed bread pudding on the menu.  He wanted a little sweet to conclude our meal, so he talked me into ordering it.

The recipe was entirely new to me:  A  puddle of pudding with a few slices of bread plopped on top.

I wonder if I should quit ordering bread pudding?

Music and Religion in Bath

The Henry House, in Bath, is located in a block of houses built cheek to jowl, that line one full block.  In the center of the block are a jumble of private gardens, accessible only through individual houses. 

Early in the morning, I was awakened from a sound sleep, by a beautiful acapella male voice.  I was befuddled with sleep, and thought at first that it was a clock radio in our room.  Not seeing one glowing on either bedside table, I eventually concluded that the source of the song was outside.  The music continued.  It crescendoed, and eventually softened, and I thought I heard it moving down the street.  Eventually I fell back asleep.

When I went down to breakfast I asked our host Colin about the source of the early morning serenade.  He laughed, and said, "Oh, you heard it?"  He went on to explain that Bath doesn't allow building mosques in the city limits, so there was a mosque in a tent in one of the gardens behind the Henry House.  I had wakened to the call to prayer.  

Sure enough, on the way back upstairs, I looked out the window and saw the tent in one of the back gardens.

The Bath Mosque - in the tent.

As we left the Henry House after breakfast, to walk to the Bath Abbey, I looked down and found this sign.  Colin, was right, the tent in the  garden behind our guest house is a mosque.

The mosque may be in a tent, but it has an official sign.

We strolled through the Bath Abbey as our last experience of this old town, built upon Roman ruins.  The Abbey really is lovely, with very large windows, which make it lighter and brighter than many European churches.  As I was enjoying the light and the architecture, the organist began to practice.  Like the early morning call to prayer, this magical moment was almost enough to make me find religion.

Welcome to Tangier Gran Tour

After Aziz joined Mohammad, Taylor and me, the tour really began.  We drove through suburbs where the king of Morocco has a home, as well as other rich and famous people from the Arab world.  We drove along the coast looking at both the Atlantic and the Mediterranean beaches.  We went into the Cave of Hercules, which is opposite the Rock of Gibraltar in Spain.

Either the Atlantic, or the Mediterranean Oceans are behind us.  I'm holding mimosa flowers.

Looking out from the Cave of Hercules.  The shape resembles the outline of Africa, in reverse.

After driving through the areas surrounding Tangier, Aziz took us to a restaurant in the Grand Socco for lunch where we had our first Moroccan meal.  Afterwards we toured the market, which is held on Thursdays and Sundays.

These are sheep horns which will be turned into combs.

The same man who was selling the sheep horns was roasting cow legs.  Azziz told me they would be eaten.

 Berber women come from the surrounding countryside to sell the vegetables that they grow  Their clothing is distinctive as they always wear red and white skirts, and the hats which are adorned with braided yarn and pom poms. They do not like to have the pictures taken, hence the sneaky back views.

 Spices.

The seafood all looked so good I wished I had cooking facilities.

There are so many kinds of olives.

The vegetables were so appealing.

This is where men advertise that they are available for work.  The bucket on the left is for a painter, to the right of the paint bucket is for a plumber, and the display on the right is for an electrician.  If you need their services you find their little display and negotiate a price.

This man is working at the community oven.  You bring whatever you want baked to him and he slides it right into the oven.  When we were there he was roasting nuts, but everyone brings their daily bread to him as well.

Our tour of the market was one of many highlights in Morocco.

Driving in the Cotswolds

Lower Slaughter

• Good news: After two days of driving through innumerable roundabouts, there is help for Taylor's traumatized heart.
• Bad news: He doesn't have the proper change.

Travel Transitions

March 30, 2014

When travelling, the transitions are challenging.

Our flight to Heathrow Airport, via Madrid, is scheduled to depart Tangier at 11:35, or 12:35 depending on which airline correspondence we read.  Since we like to be early, to deal with any challenges, we told our host, Aziz, that we would like to arrive at the airport at 9:00.  He arranged to have Mohammad pick us up at La Maison Blanche at 8:30.  Since 8:30 is earlier than Aziz feeds his guests, we arranged to have coffee, mint tea and orange juice instead of the full breakfast.  We don’t need food.  We would have plenty of time at the airport to get a snack.  Of course, we forgot that we had traded all our Moroccan money for euros.  We left La Maison Blanche with 31 MAD cents (Moroccan money).

Mohammad got us to the airport without any hitches.  We have now been at the Tangier Airport for about two hours.  We just now got to the gate.  Taylor has been a bundle of nerves, and I have been a bundle of snot.  I have used more Kleenex in the last two weeks with my ongoing allergy attack than I have used in the last 5 years.

Why did it take us two hours to get to the gate?  Well…………………I don’t know.  There are no reader boards here to tell us our gate number, or what time any flights depart.  All the airlines use the same 10 or 12 check in desks, and they change the signs according to which airline has a flight.  We were unable to check in online last night, so we didn’t have seat assignments or boarding passes.  No one speaks English.  This is enough to challenge any one prone to nervous tics, or sneezes.

Given that we knew nothing, we just sat – or rather, Taylor paced and I sneezed.  Finally, about an hour before departure three lovely young women took their boxes of papers and tickets up to three of the check in desks, put up their Iberia signs and started checking people in.  We were first in line, naturally, but the woman we were lined up in front of, ignored us.  Finally, I got in a different line leaving Taylor in front of the woman ignoring us. We eventually got checked in from my line.  By the time Taylor deserted our original line, the woman immediately took the next customer.  I guess she didn’t like Taylor.

After all that, we easily made it through customs and immigration.  We sent our bags through the xray machine and I enjoyed a thorough pat down – they didn’t put a hand on Taylor despite the fact he set off the alarm.  

We are at the gates.  There are three gates and we don’t know which one is ours.  Three planes depart at 5 minutes intervals, and there are no planes.  And we’re hungry.

With our 31 MAD, Taylor was able to buy two croissants and a Snickers bar.  We’ve now had breakfast.  More people are arriving.  There are still no planes. Insallah, our plane will arrive and I will next be writing from England.