You can't get there from here.

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Geo: 51.5002, -0.126236

I did not get enough sleep last night. Breakfast was fairly subdued as we all realized that it was our last breakfast together. Not that we were exactly all together, mind you; the breakfast room was super-teeny, so we were instructed to essentially eat it and beat it. Still, at least I was able to say goodbye to a few people.

I left my room at 9:30 and stored my bags with reception. Sandy and Shiree and ... I can't think who else were still in the breakfast room talking to Reid, so I got to say goodbye to all of them. Reid even gave me a hug, and all I could think was, “Damn. He's a lot skinnier than he looks.”

I walked over to Napoleon's Tomb and watched a couple of soldiers in ceremonial dress take pictures of each other in front of the ginormous gilded doors. And then Jesse and Kelly showed up, Jesse looking like an American tourist in an Izod shirt and shorts. So many people on the Rick Steves Helpline (myself included) are worried about what to wear in Europe so that they blend in or at least don't stick out. So you've got to hand it to someone who's completely unapologetic about being American and dressing like one. Even the ones who are trying to blend in are easy to spot: 90% of us seem to have clothing made of fabric that washes well in the sink and dries in five minutes, as well as those zip-off pants. Kelly blended in pretty well. All she needed was a scarf and a gigantic purse.

We went to a cafe near the Rodin Museum and sat outside drinking cappuccino. At the tables next to us were a bunch of those ceremonially dressed soldiers. With swords. You know, it takes a real man to wear a uniform that involves a hat with a plume on it. Later, a friendly labrador came by to have his tail scratched and beg a treat from the cafe staff.

We finished our drinks and walked around to the front of Les Invalides, down the esplanade and across the Pont Alexandre. Kelly made fun of the way Jesse veers all over the place when he walks, usually stepping right in front of her. Then we walked (and veered) along the Seine till we got to the bridge that crosses over to the Eiffel Tower. Along the way, I tried to give them the guided tour (“That's the Grand Palais ...” “That's where Princess Diana's crash was ...”😉, but I still don't think I would want to be a tour guide. Far too much responsibility.

The grounds under the Eiffel Tower were absolutely jam-packed with people. Even the line for people who had reserved was long. J & K decided they'd give the Tower a miss for today and try to book online. I had to get back to the hotel, so they walked with me and we separated at rue Cler. I picked up my bags at the hotel and said goodbye yet again to a bunch of fellow tour members (several were staying extra days at the hotel, and they had congregated in the lobby so they could all go out to Versailles together) and then headed to the Metro. And who did I run into along the way? Jesse and Kelly, of course. I'm wondering if they hit the wall around 2:00 p.m. like I predicted.

I got to the Eurostar lounge at around 1:00 for my 2:13 train. Taking the Eurostar is a lot like taking an airplane. First, I had to validate my ticket and fill out a landing card. Then I had to present my passport to French border control, who stamped me out of the country, and then present it again ten feet later to British border control, who stamped me again. Then there's
the X-ray conveyor belt and security screen. At least I didn't have to take off my shoes or pull out my laptop.

I got a ham and cheese baguette in one of the cafes in the lounge and actually got a table as well. By the time I had finished that and found the loo, it was time to board the train. “Take the Eurostar,” I thought. “It will be so much quicker than a plane,” I thought. My 2:13 train left Gare du Nord 103 minutes late. Apparently, there was an “incident” on the line about 80 miles out of Paris. Once we got close to that section, we had to reduce speed to only 30 km per hour. In the end, we were 2 hours and 20 minutes late getting to St. Pancras. The one nice thing was that I was able to buy an Oyster Card (London's transit pass) on board and so didn't have to stand in a ticket line when we got to London.

I found the Tube and was planning to take the Hammersmith & City line directly to Paddington. However, a sign says that I can't do that because of works on the line, but that I can take a train to Baker Street and transfer to the Bakerloo line, which also goes to Paddington. So I do. But the train stops at the station prior to Baker Street and a voice says that everybody has to get off and change trains because something something “the football.” Sigh .... So I get the next train to Baker Street, change to the Bakerloo line, and the train is absolutely packed. Meantime, I've got my rolly bag, my purse, and that new Longchamp knockoff I bought in Paris, and I'm taking up all kinds of room on the train. And this whole time, I'm getting anxious because I'm supposed to meet Alan at Covent Garden Tube station at 7:00, and it's going past 6:30.

Finally arrive at Paddington and walk to my hotel, which is about seven minutes away (The Darlington Hotel in Sussex Gardens). Thank heaven the Russian lady at the front desk was nice. I had booked a single room, but they upgraded me to a double. But I barely had time to appreciate it because the first thing I did was turn on my netbook and go to my e-mail so that I could get Alan's cell phone number. By this time, it's 6:50. But the way Alan gave me his cell number was as if I would be calling from outside the UK. I got the lady at the front desk to help me (I needed to dial a zero in front of the number), and I got in touch with Alan and we agreed to meet at 7:30.

So I walk down to Lancaster Gate, use my Oyster Card, change lines at Holborn, and make it to Covent Garden at 7:40. Phew! What a slog! To top it off, it's about 75 degrees out. Met Alan right outside the Tube station, and I recognized him straight off, even though he's certainly older than he was the last time I saw him (in 1998) and he's got less hair.

We went to a swishy pizza place called (if I remember right) Fire and Stone. I had a Leffe and a margarita with olives, and he had a strawberry cider (!) and a veggie pizza. It was really loud in there, but we managed to talk about politics and television, and he promised not to tell me what was happening on Lost. He had brought three photos of when Didi and I met up with him in July 1998; we both looked so young! I mentioned that I was still 29 at the time, and he said, “I'm 29 now!” Eucch. I feel so old. (Actually, Jesse made me feel old earlier in the day. He said that he'd seen signs saying that it was the 25th anniversary of Les Miserables, which he had originally seen when he was seven. Sigh ....)

After pizza, we went to The Nags Head (no apostrophe ... grrr!) and stood outside with our incredibly large bottle of cider (him) and pint of shandy (me). There were loads of people out. Alan said it was the first really nice day London has had and, of course, everyone goes nuts and gets outdoors when that happens. There were people drinking and smoking and laughing and talking, and we saw several hen parties and lots of people dressed either in orange or purple (something to do with “the football,” though I swear the purple shirts said “rugby”😉.

We walked through Leicester Square (again, simply tons of people out) to Piccadilly Circus and into HMV. I got the new Eurovision album, the new Keane album, the new a-ha album, and they were doing a two-for-ten deal, so I got a John Barrowman compilation and the Noisettes. Turns out, Alan went to school with the lead singer. He now wishes he'd kept in touch with her.

We parted outside Piccadilly Circus Tube station (“This is ... Piccadilly Circus. Change here for ... the Piccadilly line.”😉 and I went down to get the Bakerloo line back to Paddington. There was a train in the station, so I hopped on only to find that the train had been stood there for several minutes, and it wasn't going anywhere. Another train had gotten stuck up ahead, and the announcements said that there was no telling how long my train would be held in the station. So I re-routed myself and ended up taking a train back to Covent Garden (where Alan and I started out) and then transferring to the Central line to get back to Lancaster Gate. The trains were pretty full and absolutely stifling. I was so glad to get back above-ground, even though I then realized that I wasn't completely sure about retracing my steps to the hotel in the dark. But I made it.

My room is nice, and I've got free wi-fi. And the lighting in the bathroom doesn't suck. At every hotel on this trip, the bathrooms have had this weird indirect lighting that makes it impossible to tell if you've put on too much powder and eyeliner. I've probably been walking around Europe looking like Norma Desmond, but I sure wouldn't know it from the bathroom mirror!

Off to bed now. It's very quiet here ... maybe a little too quiet. But I do occasionally hear a faraway rumbling, which I suppose is a Tube train running somewhere deep beneath the hotel.

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Photos

Men in Hats
At Napoleon's Tomb

Napoleon's Tomb
Actually, the Eglise du Dome, but Napoleon's tomb is inside.