A Friday in London

Holiday Day Five

Covent Garden and bears

Our basement room at the Drury Lane Travelodge wasn’t as bad as it might sound. It was a large-ish room with a decent bathroom, a comfortable bed and a view of the pylons holding up the building above in what I first thought was an underground car park – but we weren’t there for the vista. The best thing was, there was no door on the wardrobe, an intended design feature which meant we weren’t going to leave any jackets behind. It was also very quiet.

The next day we hit the streets early in the morning, which was bright and chilly. While in town, I wanted to take a few shots of buildings featured in my Victorian mysteries series. So I dragged Neil over to the Royal Opera House, Bow Street police station, the Garrick Club, the National Gallery, and later, the Ivy.

We started the day, though, around Covent Garden where we stumbled upon the Paddington shop, and of course, the bear wanted to meet everyone and have a look around. We rescued a travelling companion for him, ‘Padders’ or ‘Paddette’ or ‘Honestly, Neil, really?’ or whatever we called him, and he joined us for an orange juice at Tuttons on the piazza to settle in before accompanying us on the rest of the trip. Or it might have been the Dirty Martini Bar attached to Tuttons, either way, we sat outside, and they had lovely restrooms.

Tuttons was established and named in the 1970s, and is on the site of Russel Chambers, a much earlier building which burned down in a fire and was reopened in 1887 as a hotel. Covent Garden was laid out by Inigo Jones in 1631, and famous for its fruit and veg market of My Fair Lady fame. In the mid to late 19^th century, one of the Covent Garden buildings had metal columns supporting the apex roof, and at the base of these hollow columns, there were holes. These were used by homeless children and teenagers who would squeeze through the holes and climb the columns to live and sleep safely beneath the roof. They were known locally as ‘The Holes’, for obvious reasons. I came across that snippet in my Clearwater research, and have used it in my soon to be released Clearwater prequel. But back to the story…

A posh lunch

We wandered for most of the day, from Covent Garden to Soho to Oxford Street via the backstreets, had a roam around and back again for a freshen-up. We had, months previously, booked seats to see Blithe Spirit at the Duke of York’s theatre, and our Symi friend Ann was due to join us. We’d also booked a table at Brasserie Zedel for a late lunch before heading to see the play. However, the advice at the time was for the over somethings (can’t remember if it was over 60 or over 70 or over the hill) to stay at home. Thus, Ann had to cancel her afternoon and evening with us. We found a replacement for the show ticket but not the lunch, in the form of an old school friend of mine we’ll meet later.

We’d never been to Zedel’s, but knew we ought to dress for the occasion so we didn’t feel out of place among the grandeur as it’s a posh bistro. While having a pre-late-lunch drink upstairs, I heard back from another old school friend of mine who was vaguely invited to join us for a reunion on Sunday (we’re on Friday now, btw). He, another Neil, was probably not going to make it, but, it transpired, sent me the message from the theatre seat he was currently occupying, waiting for a matinee to start. The fun fact here is, he was seeing a preview of Pretty Woman at the Piccadilly Theatre which was (still is) about ten yards away from Zedel’s. I could see it through the window. Sadly, his interval didn’t coincide with our being so close, so we never caught up with that dodgy tale from the past.

Another oddment. The bar is decorated with old cabaret posters as the brasserie is also a cabaret venue. This led me to reminisce about a godmother who had been an opera singer and chorus girl back in the sepia days. The Dowager Lady Alvingham (Auntie Dolly to us), was a friend of Piaf and also Mistinguett, and as we rounded the corner to go down to the dining room, who should be watching over us but…

An Evening at the Theatre

After grappling with a menu entirely in French and with no pictures, lunch was done, and the bank account depleted as much as we were repleted. We wandered back to St Martin’s Lane to exchange our E-tickets at the theatre and meet the mad old school friend, Sally. Sally’s arrival anywhere always takes the edge of any concerns one has about lack of conversation or laughter, and as soon as she popped up out of the crowd, we picked up on a conversation we’d been having ten years previously; or at least, that’s how it felt. Avoiding as many people as we could, we did the pre-show G&T thing, admired the Chinese ladies wearing masks and thought nothing of it as that’s quite common, but were, by then carrying hand-san and doing the don’t touch the bannisters thing. The neat thing here is, Sally’s husband is the chief virologist at a top London hospital (and she is a very experienced nurse in that dept.), and we were given all the info on the virus and what was likely to happen. As they say, it’s not what you know but who, and so far, his predictions have come true.

Blithe Spirit and Old Mrs Plummet

Blithe Spirit and I have some connections in rather odd ways. For a start, Noel Coward was a friend of the people that once owned a house I grew up in, and he used to visit there, long before our time of course. Then, he had a house overlooking Romney Marsh, and I used to cycle by it regularly going up Lympne Hill. He had a house in St Margaret’s Bay, and I lived on the cliffs above.

I appeared as Charles in an am-dram version of Blithe Spirit when I was 18 which was odd as I was playing the 40-something-year-old Charles (the Noel Coward part if you like), my second wife, Ruth, was 45 and my dead wife, Elvira, was 17. Madam Arcarti couldn’t learn lines, I had something like 54 pages of dialogue out of 58, which I managed, but ended up having to adlib around hers in several scenes.

On one locally famous occasion, we performed the play in the old folks’ home in New Romney. In the séance scene, Madam Arcarti has a line (allegedly in our production), ‘Are you old Mrs Plummet?’ to which there is no answer. Except, in our case, there happened to be a slightly deaf Mrs Plummet at the back of the room who voiced her reply with, ‘Yes, dear?’ The scene continued, only to be interrupted again by ‘Yes, dear?’ which developed into a confusion of ‘I heard my name,’ and ‘Is it time for my pills?’ I think she’d been led away by the time Elvira appeared, I don’t know, I was too busy trying not to laugh.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I’m pleased to say that despite the heckling, I gained good reviews from the local press. You know the kind of thing, ‘Young Mr Cowlings (59) shows great comedic timing…‘ That kind of thing. Oh, I also lived around the corner from where Noel Coward was born, and he died on the night of my 10^th birthday. There, the similarities end.

The last production of Blithe Spirit I’d seen was in 1986 at the Vaudeville Theatre, where the cast included Simon Cadel as Charles (Hi Di Hi), Marcia Warren as Madam Arcarti, Jane Asher as Ruth, and Joanna Lumley as Elvira. Fitting then, that the production we saw that night starred Jenifer Saunders as Madam Arcarti. I have to say, it was the best production I’ve ever seen (our own am-dram hit aside). Directed by Richard Ayre and with a stunning set and cast, it included all manner of stage trickery but was also presented in a raw, real voice. Hard to explain, but even the lesser characters had background stories that somehow came out in their reactions and interactions, and the play had more depth than even the Oscar-winning film.

It was a great show and worth the £125.00 per ticket for the front of the circle. How much?! I know, I found it hard to swallow, except I fully support the theatre and, lets’ face it, hadn’t spent money on a show for about 18 years. When I saw it in 1986 it probably cost a fiver or something, and when we did it in a church hall/Nissan hut in 1981, tickets only cost 75p with concessions for OAPS and a cup of tea thrown in. Except for that rowdy old bird, Mrs Plummet. She was banned.

 

Being an Ab Fab groupie

After the show, we said goodbye to Sal as we were seeing her again in two days, and one can only take so much laughter in one night, and set out being a groupie for the first time in our lives. Ever. Honest. We wanted to get Ms Saunders’ autograph in our programme as a present for Jenine, and hung about the stage door with a couple of lasses from Glasgow who’d come down for the night to see the show, had more laughs and finally, had an audience with Madam Arcarti over a barrier in St Martin’s Lane. Well, Neil did, I was in charge of taking dodgy photos. After that thrill, it was back to the dungeon via the hotel bar, for a good night’s sleep. It was needed. Saturday would bring a day of walking for miles, flash mob dancing, top hats, phantoms and a decent West End punch-up, all of which will be discussed tomorrow.

And a bonus photo of some old show a friend of mine was in 100 years ago.

 

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Holiday Day four

A morning in Central Athens

Day four of our trip was one of those ‘hanging around waiting for a plane’ days. We’d booked a Welcome Pickups very welcome pickup for after lunch, and being the early-bird kind of folk we are, had done the breakfast thing and were ready to head out by eight in the morning. It was a sunny day, and although early March, warm. We were to be blessed with (mainly) good weather for the next three weeks, but we didn’t know that at the time.

What we did know all to well was that the hotel we were staying at had lift music. Just like you see in comedy films, we’d press the button, wait for the whir and clunk, the doors would open, and we’d be greeted by a clanging rendition of The Girl From Ipanema and suchlike. It got to the point of having to cover our ears purely to remain sane or opting for the stairs, but it made us laugh because otherwise, you’d go mad. Lifts were also to play a major part in the days to come, and we’ll be returning to the subject in due course.

Syntagma Square

The first stop of the day was just around the corner and Syntagma Square to admire its emptiness at that time of day.

[Syntagma Square is the central square of Athens. The square is named after the Constitution that Otto, the first King of Greece, was obliged to grant after a popular and military uprising on 3 September 1843. It is located in front of the 19th century Old Royal Palace, housing the Greek Parliament since 1934.]

By the way, these snippets of info are from Wikipedia, so if they are not accurate, you can blame the worldwide know-it-all population who keep the pages updated. For us, it was a case of killing time while doing something of interest, so we watched the Evzonoi at the Parliament building for a while.

[The Evzones or Evzonoi were several historical elite light infantry and mountain units of the Greek Army. Today, they are the members of the Presidential Guard, a ceremonial unit that guards the Greek Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the Presidential Mansion in Athens.]

The National Garden

Okay, so square and Evzones ticked off the list, and onto the National Gardens, or rather, into them. I shan’t bother you with the basic Wiki definition of the… Okay then, I will, as it’s easier than writing it again. The National Garden is a public park of 15.5 hectares in the center of the Greek capital, Athens. It is located between the districts of Kolonaki and Pangrati, directly behind the Greek Parliament.

I’ve always found it a place of surprising tranquillity considering it’s bordered by wide roads and, at times, heavy traffic. It was still early morning by Greece standards, and there were only a few joggers, bird-feeders and yoga classes to disturb as we showed Paddington palm trees and parakeets, the petting zoo and the pond. We must have walked every path and seen every bush, which are labelled so you can read what they are, before we wandered past the Presidential Palace (more Evzones), and back around to Syntagma.

Coffee was taken at the quirky café whose name I can’t remember, but which offers all manner of delights, including a pavement-side view of a spat about parking. This entertainment, between a lorry driver and a fierce lady, included dialogue such as ‘why should you want to get that f*****g thing around that corner anyway, mal**a!’ which was very enjoyable and helped pass 15 minutes. (There was a lot of storming off and coming back, shouting at those trying to mediate and walking off again.) I didn’t dare take any photos.

To the airport

Back to the hotel to double-check the packing and make sure we’d not left jackets in wardrobes, that we had passports, tickets, money, bears, and that everything was paid for and we were free to go. Our taxi arrived ten minutes early, as they tend to do with that company, and we were whisked off to the airport. The usual Greek taxi interrogation ensued; where from, where going, what do you do, why Symi, how much do you earn, what’s the name of your first-born, and was it arrivals or departures? I can’t remember the cost, but it wasn’t much compared to lugging cases across the city. Mind you, I’ve been from Syntagma to the airport by bus before, and it’s not expensive and only takes about an hour or less, depending on traffic, and there’s always the underground for €10.00, but as I’ve said, it was one of those holidays.

Athens Airport has been voted one of the best in Europe, and I’ve always found it easy to handle and comfortable to wait in. It even has a museum to browse. As usual, we were there several hours before it was necessary, and had plenty of time to wander shops we’d wandered before, sit at cafés we knew, and generally poke around once our bags were checked in. It was an Aegean flight, so everything was on time and well organised, but we were checking the news as there was increasing talk of this virus thing that was spreading through Italy. Images of Rome deserted didn’t help our concerns that we might find London in the same state, but then it was still only ‘wash hands and try not to touch surfaces.’ Paddington, being a well-travelled bear, took further precautions.

He had a seat to himself on the flight, which was comfortable and on a new airbus that had a facility where you could track your journey, which I found fascinating.

We’d organised another taxi at the other end, though not through the same company, and it took a while to find the chap who was, allegedly waiting for us in a very quiet arrivals hall. We did meet in the end, though, and he whisked us off at incredible speed from Heathrow to the Covent Garden Travelodge which I’d used before. Except I hadn’t as it was a different one. Then it turned out to be the same one but another part of it, and once I’d seen the street sign for Drury Lane, I knew where I was, and Neil was happy. We were given a room in the basement which, at first, we approached with trepidation, but which in fact, turned out to be perfect. But more about that tomorrow.

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A Day in Athens

Holiday Day three

This day started with a discovery of something that wasn’t there if you can discover such a thing. The thing that wasn’t there was Neil’s jacket, which he’d not needed since Symi. We searched but decided that it was either still hanging on the back of a chair at the café by the quay in Symi, or was enjoying a sailing in the cabin wardrobe aboard the Blue Star Xios. When leaving a café or restaurant, I’m the kind of chap who checks that we’ve taken everything (furniture and fittings excepted), and I didn’t remember seeing it on the back of the chair in Symi. So, we assumed it was still on a voyage somewhere, never to be seen again. Never mind, there are plenty of shops in Athens, and we could pick up another one outside of our daily spending allowance because this was, after all, a one-off holiday.

Meanwhile, someone was more than happy to lie in bed and watch us hunt through the suitcases and check the cupboards for the fifth time in case it had magically reappeared.

 

This day was our only full day without arriving or departing, and after breakfast, we set off to take a wander around and see some sights we’d not seen before. If there’s a checklist to tick off, then we’d previously done things like the Acropolis and museum, National Park, Syntagma Square, Evzones, Ermu, Thissio market, Monistiraki and so on. Today, it was the turn of the Archaeological Museum which we found thanks to online maps and Jenine (who you can see photobombing this photo).

Central Municipal Market

From the hotel to the museum was a steady 2 Km walk past the new Omonia Square development (then, still behind boards), and the Central Municipal Market where we called in to look around and ‘enjoy’ the smell of fresh fish and dead animals. It reminded me of Billingsgate and Smithfield rolled into one. A far cry from our small fish market on the bridge on Symi and our ‘Super Markets’ which I’ve always thought of as absolutely super supermarkets so no need to split the word – but that’s what we do here in Greece. (Even the current track-and-trace system gives you the option to dial for permission to visit the super market, but that’s just me being pedantic.) Anyway, the market…

Along the route, we stopped for the obligatory frappe and Paddington joined us to rest his legs, and take a break in that most traditional of Greek male rituals…

Onwards, the trek took us via a leather shop for a new jacket for Neil and on to Plaza Kotzia. [Kotzia Square is a square in central Athens, Greece. The square retains several characteristics of 19th-century local neoclassical architecture, such as the City Hall of the Municipality of Athens and the National Bank of Greece Cultural Center. It is named after Konstantinos Kotzias, former Mayor of Athens.] And lots of pigeons.

Archaeological Museum

Paddington was more interested in the pigeons, but we dragged him away and made it to the Archaeological Museum for a good, foot-aching, walk around. It was a school day, and there were a few parties of younger children on a tour with a teacher, gawping at the massive naked statues, giggling at each one left ‘in tact’ and being told by Teach that it was perfectly artistic, and also rather rare. Apparently, Pope Pius IX (r. 1846 to 1878) was responsible for de-manning many ancient statues, taking Pope Clement XIII’s fetish for covering ‘bits’ with fig leaves one slip of the chisel further. But that may not be what happened to these Greek statues, and besides, many in this museum are still pene integrum, much to the delight of class 4b.

I digress. We saw plenty of other interesting sights, including this collection of busts which was, believe it or not, indoors.

In the evening

After a foot rest and an orange juice, we wandered back to Centrum, and, on the spur of the moment, booked a session with the barber around the corner where I had my first proper haircut in about 15 years, and Neil had a shave and trim, making us both feel more human and slightly pampered.

To celebrate, that evening we went to Ciel in Mitropoleos Square. That’s the square we were in last night where playetes were smashed in Summer, but rather than being on the ground, we were several storeys up in the air, as suggested by the name of the venue. Popular with the young (and us), this café, bar, restaurant has wonderful views towards the nearby Acropolis, though my phone camera and night shots don’t go hand in hand so well. It reminded me of when I was young(er) and used to go the Roof Gardens on top of what was Derry & Toms and, later, the Biba building in Kensington.

I’ll close the day with a slightly better shot, probably from Neil’s camera. Tomorrow, we have a morning in Athens before an afternoon flight to London and the second stage of the journey to, and back from, Canada.

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First day in Athens

Day two – Athens

Day two of our trip dawned peacefully and chilly while passing by Siros, Kithnos and Kea on the way to Piraeus. The good thing about the evening ferry from Symi is that you have time for dinner, and, in the morning, a decent breakfast, if you’re on one of the ferries that serve it. Unlike arriving at Symi from Athens, which tends to be early in the morning, you have time aboard the boat to watch some islands go past; the rest happen during the night. We were up and about early on our second day, catching the sunrise before enjoying a calm sailing into the sprawling mass of Piraeus.

Taxis

One thing I’ve started doing of late is organising transport before I leave home. Previously, I’d get the courtesy bus from the ferry to the dock gates (a 45-minute walk otherwise), cross the road and take the train into the city centre. It’s quick and cheap, but this time, as this was a special holiday, taxis were to be the thing. I used Welcome Pickups, a brilliant pre-book service that operates in various major cities. You do it online, state your arrival time and place, send some details including your photo, and pay in advance. (The prices compare well to other firms, and they track your flight or boat in case of delays.) Nearer the time, they send you the name, phone number and a photo of your driver who is invariably waiting for you when you arrive. That’s great for people travelling alone because you know who to expect, you’re not going to get ripped off, and you’ve already paid. They give you a bottle of water, maps and if you want, a good chat about things to do and see. Anyway… Our guy was waiting for us and whisked us off to the hotel.

Eating

We were staying at the Best Western next to the Plaka, a few minutes walk from Syntagma Square, and not far from Monistiraki, all our favourite places to visit. The day was mainly about getting a haircut, but the place we’d used before, Sir Barber just off Syntagma, was booked up, so we let that idea go and wandered Monistiraki and the surrounding area.

Needless to say, the holiday eating tour started well. We visited a place I’d been to with my mother the previous year (can’t recall the name right now). Then, in September, it was busy with tourists but also with locals drawn to the nightly live music and reasonable prices, considering it is right next to the cathedral. It was quieter in early March, and one of the attractions was the hostess who enlivens the guests by promising that ‘Later we dance Zorba. After, we smash playetes…’ in a drawling Australian-Greek mix. Great fun though there was no dancing or plate smashing when we were there. We also took a look around our locality and spied a barbers’ shop just up the road, closed at that time of night, and put it on the to-do list for another day.

Our main day in Athens was to be the following day when we had no travelling to worry about, and that turned out to be a walk and a half. More about that tomorrow.

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Let’s go on holiday (Day one)

I’m not going to have much to talk about over the next few weeks because we’re lockdown again here on Symi. We can only go out for a few essential reasons and only then with permission, so I shan’t have any new photos. If I hear of anything suitable for the blog, I’ll put it up, but otherwise, I thought it high time I took you on holiday. Over the next however-long, we’ll be travelling from Symi to Athens, London, Canada and back on a journey that began in early March before the world changed. Basically, I’m going to tell you what we did on our last holiday and share some of our photos with you, and it might take a couple of weeks to get through, but hopefully, it will see us through our lockdown, and take you away from the pressures of your own.

Background

Last year, Neil and I, decided we would take that ‘trip of a lifetime’ and journey across Canada by train, something we’d always wanted to do. We were booked to leave Symi at the beginning of March, and when the time came, were faced with a dilemma. If we cancelled, we would lose a substantial sum of money because everything was, more or less, open, and there were no travel restrictions. If we went, we might find ourselves having to turn around and come back. Our insurance and travel companies were not paying out for cancellations at that point because things weren’t so bad, and the countries we were visiting were operating as usual, but under the ‘wash hands and be careful’ guidelines. Airports were open, nothing was cancelled, it was all going to pass us by as long as we were nowhere near Italy, and there were no cases in Greece, the UK or Canada. Things didn’t look too bad.

Day one

The first day of the much planned and anticipated trip started at the new dock on Symi waiting for the Blue Star to Athens. The ferry is much our preferred way of travel to the mainland (rather than flying), and we had booked a berth on the Xios for the 17-hour, overnight journey. The boat was very quiet, as it often is in the out of season months, but operating normally. We found our berth, dumped our bags and headed to the stern to wave goodbye to Jenine and Harry who had come down to see us off, and when the tailgate lifted, the adventure was underway.

The itinerary was set. Two days in Athens, a long weekend in London to see a couple of shows and catch up with some old school friends and family before meeting our tour at Heathrow. We then had 10 days in Canada including Toronto, Niagara Falls, five days on the train, and Vancouver. The journey home was to include another two days in London to see the Tutankhamen exhibition, and two nights in Athens to chill out before the boat back. All in all, about three weeks of travelling.

We were not travelling alone, of course, and you’ll see more of this chap as we go…

The first stop, after dinner, was Tilos, as this was a Friday night sailing. After that, we were up and about long enough to see the docks at Nissiros in the dark, and then Kos, but were asleep in our forward cabin by the time we reached Kalymnos. I have difficulty sleeping when on the move but managed a couple of hours in my bunk before waking up, creeping around and out so as not to wake himself, and watch the sun rise over day two. Which we will get to tomorrow.

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