If you’re a tourist you’ll want to sit up front atop the second floor buses of London. The views are delightfully entertaining, as if a low level flight through the winding streets. When there is traffic the buses will squeeze through the gaps setting your nerves on edge. We got used to it quickly, but getting used to the cold will take some time.
We step off the bus in front of Westminster Cathedral and take a gander at its Byzantine beauty. We then trot down the street beside modern storefronts until we behold Westminster Abbey and Big Ben towering behind her. It’s cold, but the sun is casting down brilliantly. We’re not exactly sinking our teeth into this experience, but rather moving quickly with camera in hand. We’re not savoring each and every subtle nuance, but simply stand aghast while snapping photos.
We entered the Anglican church of St. Margaret and are soothed by the sound of an organ resonating through the pews. We were still jetlagged and considered taking a nap there, but we were too excited so we kept going. We strolled along the side of the Palace of Westminster trying to avoid bumping into the mob of fellow tourists. We say hi to the statue of Oliver Cromwell and next we’re in Victoria Park at the south of the palace.
We head toward the Thames and spot a familiar bus-boat similar to the one we rode in while in Pittsburgh. Uncannily enough it was also called a “Ducky Tour”. A grinning gentleman standing by the park bench beside us looked toward us and said in a muddled cockney accent, “That’s a bus.” Joanna tells him we had rode in one before in the states and how surprised she was to see it. We nod at him cordially and he says something that sounded like, “Warziboot?” After we had turned to go along our merry way we realized he had been asking where we had seen the bus-boat in the states. Oh well, Joanna asked if we should go back and tell him, but I said “No, he’s having a lovely day”.
We cross the Thames and find a crowded public space next to a strange shopping and entertainment center. We take a glimpse through the door of a horror show, but we weren’t tempted to enter by the absurd skeleton sculpture at the entrance. The air smells of “Wonder Waffles” and hotdogs. We dream of getting into the giant Ferris wheel to get a higher view, but we’re drawn to a group of street performers instead.
A few African acrobats seem to be performing their own version of the Cirque Du Soleil. (We wanted to see the actual Cirque which was in town, but we hadn’t the time.) Seeing them perform was a delight. The shortest one was continually throwing his legs behind his head and crawling around on his hands. For the finale he squeezes himself into a pan with his butt sticking up in the air and his friends carried him above their heads while marching in circles.
We cross the Thames again to Trafalgar Square where we’re surrounded by 360 degrees of structural bliss (you just got to see it to believe it). We hop on another bus, but my oyster card ran out, but thankfully the bus driver let us both on. We go and grab a bite to eat at a popular healthly fast food joint called, “Prêt a Manger” (not exactly French food, but nourishing crap when you’re in a hurry). We met with a transportation information attendant who explained the oyster cards thoroughly and we reload them to head over to Buckingham Palace. Traffic had gotten thick and we spent way too much time on the bus, but listening to the sea of foreign languages and bizarre accents felt reassuring. I’m sure our accent was as equally as bizarre to many of them. Lastly we met with the Queen for a night-cap and headed back to our B&B where we snuggled to get warm, finally falling asleep.
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