Kimberly Emerson

DAY FOUR

My earliest morning yet: out of the hotel by 10:20.  It helped that I knew checkout time was 11:00.  Today was my last day in London before catching an evening flight out for Dublin, so I tried to cram in a few more things.  The Victoria and Albert Museum first, to see the collection of ballgowns.  The blasted museum was right down the street from my hotel.  There was no way I could not go see it, however briefly.

Not my shot, unfortunately. Got home to find I didn’t get one of the V&A, so this one is borrowed from the internet.

Admission to the museum is free, but since the gowns were a special exhibit, admission to the section displaying them was not.  I pondered whether to bother, since I was short on time, but finally decided to go ahead.  I liked it, but on the whole I enjoyed their permanent exhibit of fashions – the free part – more.  Around the outside of the round exhibit hall, they had glass cases with outfits typical of each period, dating back to the 17th century.  The outer circle was arranged chronologically, and it fascinated me to see the styles change as I moved through time.  The special exhibit – “British Glamour since 1950” – was housed in an enclosed section comprising two floors in the center of the room.  Some of the gowns exuded style, and some just shrugged and said, “I don’t know what they were thinking either.”  My favorite gowns were in the permanent collection, the exhibits from the 1930s.  Years back I played Elsa Schrader (the Other Woman) in The Sound of Music, and one of my acting teachers remarked that the ’30s were a good era for me.  Paul was right.  I’m not skinny enough for the 1920s, and not curvy enough for the 40s.  The 30s work.

Me and Leslie at the pub. Some people are worth hanging onto for several decades.

Once I exited the museum, I realized I was running late to meet my friend Leslie for lunch.  Leslie and I have known each other for twenty years now (yes, my friend, it really has been that long), ever since I answered an ad to rent a room in her house.  I rented a room from her for three years, and have been blessed with her friendship since the day I moved in.  She’s always been a tremendously reassuring presence in my life, quietly capable and continually supportive.  She works the kind of job where she travels a lot, and I knew that she routinely made trips to London, so when I decided to go, my first call was to her, to find out if we might be able to have our schedules overlap.  Not only did we work out a day to spend together in London, she managed to get a seat on the same Virgin Atlantic flight back to LAX that I would be taking.  After the armrest hog, it was a relief to know I’d be in better company on the way home.

I had done pretty well on my own for this vacation, but it was a pleasure to see a friendly face so far from home.  We ate at a nearby pub, and then took a walk – a really long walk, as it turned out – through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park.  Together, they make up some 600 acres.  Not as big as the grounds attached to Knole House, but still quite enough room to stretch your legs in the middle of the city.  (This, in addition to Green Park and St. James’ Park.  The English value their open spaces.)  In a word, Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park are gorgeous.  Manicured lawns, lanes of flowers, and enthusiastic squirrels willing to climb up on your shin to get the food that you are specifically forbidden to feed them.  (By the behavior, I’m guessing lots of people must flout this regulation, a decidedly un-English thing to do.)  Don’t worry, no squirrels were harmed in the making of this blog.  (Whether they bit it at the hands of the many dogs in the park, I can’t say.)

The Albert Memorial

We wandered through the Serpentine Gallery, a small museum of modern art in the middle of the park.  Not my thing or Leslie’s.  Someone will have to explain to me why drawing a red clown nose on George Washington’s face makes a dollar bill suitable for framing, let alone for selling at £667.67 ($1,077.49).  (It is not, incidentally, a limited edition.  Evidently you may pay £667.67 as many times as you wish.)

The ostentatious Albert Memorial popped up along the way, so we stopped to investigate and photograph.  While I didn’t find the memorial asthetically pleasing, it seemed appropriate as a monument to Queen Victoria’s borderline pathological grief for her husband.

We strolled along the banks of the Serpentine and took advantage of the many photo ops.

The scenery around here just begs to be photographed, and some of the locals don’t mind if you snap a picture of them, too.

Finally, after getting pleasantly lost a time or two, we made our way to our initial goal, the Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain. Completely different than I expected.  I had envisioned some grand piece of sculpture, possibly modeled on ancient Greek figures or Renaissance glory.  Instead, we found a granite circle some 150 feet in diameter, channeling water around green grass, low to the ground and only cascading water in one unassuming section of about fifteen feet.   Unlike most fountains, visitors are welcome to dip their feet into this one.  The architect, an American named Kathryn Gustafson, said she wanted to reflect Diana’s “inclusive” personality.  Never having met the Princess, I can only speculate, but I think it would have appealed to her.  She always had a special love for children.  She’d have a liked a monument that, instead of telling them to be on their best behavior, invited them to get their feet wet and splash around for a while.

Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain.  It invites you to sit down & relax.

After finally finding our way out of the park and re-orienting ourselves to the streets – we somehow exited the area a few blocks away from where we entered it – we ended the afternoon in a joint effort to find me a watch.  My cell stopped working somewhere over the Atlantic, and I frequently found myself at a loss to know what time it was.  Not recognizing the area, the phone picked a time 3 1/2 hours behind Greenwich Time and stayed there.

Leslie finally spotted a watch in a souvenir shop, and I handed over £10 for it.  Unfortunately, as I walked out of the store I discovered it didn’t actually keep time.  This being rather necessary, I took it back and got my money back.

After the relaxing afternoon, it was time to bid Leslie a temporary farewell and get myself off to Gatwick Airport.  Great service – a quick ride on the Tube took me to Victoria Station, which has an express train nonstop to Gatwick.  Thirty minutes and you’re there.  En route, an attendant even comes through to sell you a snack if you want it.

At the airport, the duty-free shop had a plethora of watches.  £20.00, but it was worth it – this one told the time.

My last meal on English soil was at a place called The Beehive.  Yummy selection of meat pies.  (In England, you  have to be careful what you’re getting when you order pie.  It probably isn’t dessert.)  I had the sampler, with three mini-pies, and couldn’t finish it.  Beef and ale pie is quiet tasty, by the way.  The picture is for my mom, a big time pot pie lover.

Flew Aer Lingus over to Dublin.  I was impressed by the airline, but in full disclosure I may have been swayed by the fact that I only had to be on the plane for an hour.  They checked my large bag for free, the seat was cushy, and I could swear the ceiling of the plane was higher than it is on other planes.  Again, this could be an illusion, because I had three seats to myself and I can’t remember the last time that happened.

It occurred to me the previous evening that I wasn’t sure how to get to my hotel from the airport in Dublin, so I sent an email to the manager at 10:30pm.  By 10:45 he answered, explaining that I could take a shuttle for €8.00 or a taxi for €25.00.  I pondered this until I got to the airport and realized, it’s dark and it’s raining and I don’t know anything about this city.  I could end up walking the wrong direction and end up cold, drenched, and lost.  Taxi, please.

Good call.  I got the friendliest cab driver ever.  “Are you Irish at all?” he asked.  No, I told him that as far as I know my family is almost entirely English.  “Ah, well, we’ll forgive you for that.”

When I joked about laying on my Southern California accent really thick (fer sher, dude, totally) he seemed worried and said all the anti-English sentiment was behind them now, the Queen had been here last year and gotten a very friendly reception.  It was sweet – he wanted very much to make sure I got a good impression of his homeland.

Entering Ireland. Start practicing your Gaelic – they just call it Irish.

When we landed in Ireland, and right up to after I was tucked in my adorable hotel room (more about that tomorrow), it was raining.  The world is right side up again.

The desk clerk carried my big bag up the stairs for me, which reminded me that in Victoria Station, a total stranger offered to carry my bag up the stairs for me.  I said no, and thinking about it, I couldn’t remember why. Sometimes I am too independent for my own good.  One thing about traveling alone, you have to rely on the kindness of strangers more often, and this is a good thing.  It reminds me that for every idiot that makes me wonder what the world is coming to, there are at least a dozen truly wonderful people out there, ready to help make my life a little easier if they can.  I could stand to remember that.

Tomorrow: the Full Irish Breakfast, and then some.

• Kimberly’s Can’t Miss Moment:

Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park: lush expanses of green that fade into one another, inviting you to go for a ramble.  A haven of serenity in the midst of a major metropolis.  Wander about for awhile.  By the time you’re done, your feet may be heavy, but your heart will be light.

Kimberly finds long walks soothing, which is a good thing, since she finds eating soothing, too.

Tags: Albert Memorial, British Glamour, Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain, dresses, Gaelic, gowns, Hyde Park, Ireland, Irish, Kathryn Gustafson, Kensington Gardens, pies, Princess Diana, squirrels, Victoria and Albert Museum