London & London

Greetings from London. Quite the change from 30 years ago—it’s amazing what an American Express card can do for a girl.

And regular showers.

It was a bit of a comedy getting out of Paris—for some reason my hotel reception gave me a wake-up call at 0430.

They got the wrong room.

Well, couldn’t get to sleep after that, so at 0630 I just got up and got ready to get to the airport. At 0700 it took only about 25 minutes, which is pretty fast for central Paris to Charles de Gaulle.

I have to say that the flight, while far superior to the boat train I took in 1979, was something of a damp squib. I’d been thinking of the trips I used to take on BA on the LHR-CDG run. In this respect the Brits had it all over Air France.

Of course, that could have changed, too—last time I took BA was in 2001.

Once here it was a bit of a struggle—although I had a first class ticket for the Heathrow Express, the first class coaches were locked and I couldn’t get in to them. Interesting marketing ploy.

Then, the cabbie didn’t appear interested in helping me get my three bags into the cab—what’s up with that?

I’m staying at the Park Lane Hilton—a far cry indeed from 30 years ago when I shared a room at a cheap flop (WC down the hall) with an American woman returning from Greece whom I met on the ferry. She and I took a ride on a double-decker bus as our entertainment that evening, and were both aghast at the fact that it cost 50p (about $1 then).

(I’m not actually paying Park Lane prices for this—I used some of my Amex points that I couldn’t use for the air fare for this. Not that I have to apologize, but it’s just such a contrast to that very first stay.)

Back then I was waiting for my bike to catch up with me, checking constantly at the Victoria Station baggage office. I was very worried about how long my money would hold out (no credit cards, remember). When it finally came in (minus a few tools out of the panniers), I went to a removals company to get a carton for it, and then to Woolworth’s to get a wrench (one of the tools that had disappeared) and went to work right there to get the bike into the carton.

Then out to Gatwick, where I spent the night right there, waiting for the next day’s Laker flight to LA. (Lying across some seats at the airport is cheaper than even the cheapest student share; probably not markedly more uncomfortable, either.) My splurge was a paperback copy of The Long Goodbye, which turned out to be my favorite Raymond Chandler book.

One final discovery on that trip.

I’m off now, to have a stomp through some of the places I liked when I lived here, and then dinner tonight with a friend. Another good way to end a trip.

(Posted at 0957 on Tuesday 2 December, London W1.)