Mr. G. Goes To England: Day 1

Looking for Big Ben out the plane window.

Mr. G. and I rarely get on an airplane together. Why fly when you can load up the car and take the dog with you? At least that's always my argument.

Last year, though, we went to London for our 10th wedding anniversary. We also went to York (or, as Glenn says it, Yawwwwk). We had such a good time so I thought I'd blog about it!

Plus, we don't have children to bore with our travel stories. And Bailey's really bored with London since she had to stay home.

But back to England. We went for a few reasons. One, it was our 10th wedding anniversary. Second, there's a direct flight between New Orleans and London. Third, we're not getting any younger. It's time to see the world instead of just talking about it.

The flight is long, but alcohol is free on international flights. Mr. G. shared this knowledge on the flight back with everyone around us. Some of them didn't know. He was voted MVP (most valuable passenger).

I skipped alcohol and food for as long as I could. I really didn't want to have to use the facilities. Then I couldn't fall asleep. I'd brilliantly chosen seats that didn't have any behind them so we wouldn't be kicked the entire way to London. They also happened to be next to the toilets. All I heard, all night long, was the bang of the bathroom door and the flush of the toilet. After yet another bang as someone wrestled with the door, I looked over at the guy across the aisle. He was snoring. The pocket in the airplane seat in front of him bulged with empty wine bottles (not the full size version, thank goodness). I buzzed for the flight attendant and asked if I could have a glass of white wine.

"Of course you can!!" the flight attendant exclaimed and patted me on the shoulder before sprinting down the aisle to fetch my wine. Really, British Airways is awesome. We also got hot tea like it was running water.

London!!! It seemed to rain at least once a day.

When he wasn't napping, Mr. G. tracked our progress on an electronic map on the back of his plane seat. As we approached London, he kept peering out the window for Big Ben. He thought it would be like when you're in the pirate ship flying over London in the Peter Pan's Flight ride at Walt Disney World.

Our first day in London was a half day. What we should have done was go to Notting Hill, visit Portobello Road (street where the ancients of ages are stored) and then done a pub crawl before hitting the Tate Modern.

Instead, we set off to find the Charles Dickens Museum, which no one in the entire city of London knows exists. No one - not a cop, not a store clerk, not even one of bicyclists who were everywhere because of a race. We got very, very lost and found it after the last tour had gone. The tea shop still was open, and Mr. G. soon was happy with a scone and a cup of tea while I wept into my guidebook.

Glenn insisted that we sneak upstairs to take a peek at the rooms. We were quickly discovered and nicely told to return downstairs. You can't take us anywhere.

So we went to the Tate Modern, purely because it was open late. And it was free!

The entrance to the Tate Modern. 

I'm not much for modern art. I'm not really much for art at all. I don't understand what makes one piece great and another piece Elvis on velvet. Still, I enjoy looking at art and finding something that catches my eye.

The Tate Modern was a madhouse. There were people everywhere. We were searched at the door, something to which we were getting accustomed. The queen probably gets searched when she turns up at Windsor.

We wandered aimlessly for a bit before deciding we needed a battle plan. There were so many floors and so many people. London in July is nuts.

In the cafe, we grabbed a seat, admired The Shard visible through the window in between the pelting rain and perused the guide. Once I saw the names "Picasso" and "Andy Warhol," my plan was set. Glenn would have been fine with going back to the hotel or finding a pub, but I wanted to see the sights! Darn it.

Andy Warhol's Marilyn!

To make a long story short, we never found the Picassos. That museum is big as I've mentioned. We did find the Andy Warhols. Then we wandered from room to room. My good friend Cynthia Faulkner - a world traveler - once told me that the way to visit an art museum is to walk into a room, stop, look around and see what grabs you. I've followed that advice ever since.

We saw a lot that we didn't like at the Tate. We saw a lot that had us questioning how it was deemed art. Then we turned the corner and stepped into a room that was completely dark except for a glowing tower of radios.

I don't how stacking radios into a tower constitutes art, but it grabbed us. We had so much fun going in circles around the tower and craning our necks to study radios from every era. In all, 800 radios make up the tower.

Our favorite exhibit at the Tate Modern.

The exhibit's official name is Babel 2001. I gather it's designed to mimic the Tower of Babel. Every radio talks at you in a different language. We just had fun spotting radios from our parents' days and our own teen-age years.