London is grand, our granddaughters are grand, and we’re bringing them together! We’re off to London, completing our grandchild trips to our favorite city (we visited with Andrew, Emily, Nathaniel, and Alex in 2023). This will be the third year in a row that we’ve spent a long weekend in November. Some people relax at the beach, we relax by going somewhere we love and know well. And this year has the unbeatable benefit of introducing Viv and Ingrid to the many charms of London.
It looks like we’re going to have some pretty temperate weather, if not a lot of sun.
We arrived at the airport early and met Sarah and the girls. We had anticipated crowds and log waits, but EWR was as empty as I’ve seen it. We breezed through security and headed for the United Club..a first for the girls! They were fascinated. Ingrid: “You mean everything is free?” We managed to control their sugar intake and relax before time for our flight (10 PM, boarding at 9:20).
But this is United, after all: what was initially announced as a 20-minute delay turned into 90, most of which was spent standing in the boarding line as the app assured us that we were “boarding soon.”
It was an old plane, with uncomfortable seats, but we all managed to sleep to various degrees.
We landed, activated our eSim’s, and heard the news we had been dreading. Donald Trump would serve a second term as the President of the United States of America. That sentence alone is sufficient inditement of our country and its electorate.
After the usual visit to the Heathrow fitness center–the two mile hike from gate through border security and on to the trains–we stepped aboard the Elizabeth Line, which whisked us to Farringdon, where we transferred to the Thames Link light rail. That was a bit of a glitch, with signal problems delaying us by ten minutes or so. But from the City Thames Link station, it was a five minute stroll up Ludgate Hill to St. Paul’s and down an alleyway to our hotel, the Leonardo Royal St. Paul’s. We had chosen it because it is one of the few hotels in London that accommodates families at a (relatively) reasonable rate. It proved to be a great choice: a stylish modern hotel built around a great atrium, with spacious and comfortable rooms. And the location is terrific: three minutes to St. Paul’s and the stream of buses running deeper into the city or down the Strand to Trafalgar, and five minute to the Millennium Bridge, with its direct access to the Globe and Tate Modern.
After dropping our bags at the hotel, we walked to the South Bank for a small bite. It was a perfect London day, if your London ideal includes fog. Here are a couple of shots from the Millennium Bridge. The first one shows the Shard disappearing into the atmosphere, the second some of the largest buildings in the City of London reduced to more human proportions.
The murky weather does make for some nice colors, though.
Here’s looking at you, kid.
And right back at you, G-Pa.
The girls had been real troopers: no complaints despite little sleep and the relatively long trip from gate to hotel, and they were interested in everything. The were hungry, though, so we ran past an interesting installation in the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern; Open Wound by Mire Lee.
That’s an actual turbine hanging from the ceiling, and when it turns, its wind animates the haunting skins hanging from long metal chains.
The food at the Tate is consistently good and interesting. We ate at the Cafe facing the river:
I had red pepper hummus on flatbread, Sue a Cheshire cheese scramble on a bun.
Then back to the hotel for a surprisingly short but refreshing snooze.
We rode a red bus down Ludgate Hill and Fleet Street to the Courts of Justice; fittingly, we got the prestige seats at the front of the top deck for the girls’ first ride! London is glorious at night, with its soft light and stunning mixture of the old and the new. We gave them a first taste of shopping at Covent Garden covered market before heading to dinner. Ingrid was cooked by this time, so we treated ourselves to a black cab to the restaurant.
Our second visit to St. John Marylebone was even better than the first; unlike the original restaurant in Smithfield, the smaller, less formal Marylebone branch is oriented toward sharing; the dishes are placed in the middle, and everyone digs in. We ordered far too much food: a splendid potted pork (a confit of pork on toasted bread with cornichons), their signature Deep Fried Rarebit (to die for), a sublime celeriac soup, succulent braised fallow deer with a swede (rutabaga) mash, and Braised Turbot with leeks and Laverbread, a seaweed found in Wales. Although we were stuffed, the five of us finished up by polishing off an order of chocolate and pistachio terrine. The food was perfect: simple with deep and often unusual flavors. And we love the restaurant, with its elegant simplicity, coziness, and above all warm and welcoming staff.
Our waiter hailed from Manchester; he is clearly deep into the world of food and an aspiring chef (with an M.A. in the History of Design and a body of sculpture behind him). We also learned a bit about the history of the St. John restaurants. Fergus Henderson, the chef and owner, suffers from Parkinson’s and hasn’t cooked for many years. But he sits down once a month with the chefs of the three restaurants and they make menu choices. Our waiter agreed that his first restaurant, The French House, is one of the best in London.
I couldn’t resist the title, although our ladies are anything but mean.
We got a surprisingly early start: everyone had slept well. When we were ready to leave the hotel, we started looking for Dan, who said he was there and looking for us! Unfortunately, after getting off the plane rather groggily at 6:30 AM, he had gone to the wrong Leonardo Royal; he was at the Tower, we were at St. Paul’s. He urged us to go ahead and he would catch up, which is what we did. Breakfast was at Paul, the St. Paul’s branch of the bakery chain. Their pastries are pretty good: fresh and warm.
The location is interesting: the arch just to the left of the cafe is the original city gate–the Ludgate–that stood at Temple Bar. When the street was widened, they moved the gate, lock, stock, and marble, to this site across the courtyard from the cathedral.
It was a very short walk down to the Blackfriars Pier, where we hopped aboard an Uber Boat headed for Greenwich. Here are a couple of crew members.
It’s always a treat seeing the city from the river, even in the fog.
The Tower, though now dwarfed by the new structures in the City, still dominates the river.
Some of us were glad not to be entering through the Traitor’s Gate.
Once in Greenwich, Sarah and the girls toured the Cutty Sark, one of the last Tea Clippers built for the China trade.
That’s them, the specks to the left in the bow.
On to the Old Royal Naval college, built between 1696-1712 by Christopher Wren; the main quandrangle, seen below, was described by UNESCO as the “finest and most dramatically sited architectural and landscape ensemble in the British Isles.” The ensemble served as a hospital for naval pensioners until 1889.
The complex has two spectacular spaces open to the public. The first is called the Painted Hall, designed by Wren in the early 18th century and painted by Sir James Thornill.
The ceiling in the lower hall is a piece of extraordinary Baroque propaganda.
The theme is peace and prosperity. William and Mary, coregents, sit at the center. If you look closely, you’ll see that William’s foot rests on the neck of a figure with a broken sword. This is a thinly veiled portrait of King Louis IV of France. So much for peace!
A tunnel through the undercroft of the complex leads to the chapel. Along the way lies a skittles court, constructed as recreation for the pensioners. Viv asked the guard if the girls could try it…and sure enough, they were soon launching balls (originally practice cannon balls) merrily toward the pins (originally belaying pins from the masts and sails).
As we entered the chapel, we were greeted by an extraordinary baritone voice in the middle of a Verdi aria: a student from the University of Greenwich Conservatory singing for his teacher. The chapel dates from a later time; destroyed by fire, it was redone after 1779 by James “Athenian” Stuart in Neo-classical style.
The town of Greenwich is almost as nice as the Old Naval College. The girls never saw a market they didn’t like, and the Greenwich Market certainly fit the bill.
After dragging them out of the shops, we had a nice lunch at the Coach and Horses, one of the many pubs in the center.
Docklands Light Rail and the Tube brought us back to the West End. We walked through Leicester Square, with a slight detour into the Lego Store. Here is James Bond behind the wheel of her Aston Martin DB5.
And here are two extraordinary queens posing together.
A young man treated us to some impressive magic tricks.
After walking through the Christmas Market in the Square, we strolled past the National Portrait Galley and into St. Martin’s in the Fields (no music, alas). Dan had popped into the Portrait Gallery for a quick introduction while we explored Trafalgar Square at dusk.
We saw the last of the light at Piccadilly Circus. We were of course now in prime shopping territory, and progress was slow.
We worked out way down Piccadilly, making one essential stop. In Hatchard’s, along with Fortnum and Mason one of the street’s two oldest establishments, dating form 1801. The interior retains much of its nineteenth century character, but they have made way for things besides books. Namely, a find selection of Paddington Bears. Ingrid made a find choice, a Paddington with his suitcase already packed to accompany us on our travels. Here he is the next day atop the London eye.
Needless to say, Paddington joined us on all our subsequent adventures.
And here is the motley crew outside Hatchard’s.
We then made an obligatory tea stop at Fortnum’s, which was crowded with pre-Christmas shoppers.
Back up Piccadilly, and left into Regent Street, and…the Christmas Lights were hanging but not yet alight. Viv found a couple of shops that matched her style, and popped in without finding that perfect thing. That brought us to Hamley’s, London’s best known toy store. You pay only a 50% surcharge for each item, all for the knowledge that it came from Hamley’s!
But the demonstrations are always fun. A young man treated us to some pretty impressive magic tricks.
And the dancing elves are always a hit with the younger set.
When we emerged from the phantasmagoria of toy capitalism, the Christmas Lights were ablaze on Regent Street!
Then you step into a glowing, vibrating space, the brasserie proper.
The huge space–they can do 200 covers at a sitting–is ablaze with elegant lights, marble, and gilding (they allegedly spent 275,000 pounds on 23k gold). And the food just about matches the space: good versions of French brasserie fare. We shared some rabbit rillettes; Dan had a hachis parmentière (a kind of French shepherd’s pie so that Iggles could eat the mashed potatoes), Sue some nice sardines, Sarah boeuf bourguignon, Viv a steak with a bordelais sauce, and I a fabulous choucroute with every kind of pork imaginable. Our waitress was absolutely lovely. I would say that this is a great stop for anyone with kids.
We returned on the tube, tired but happy; here is the night view from St. Paul’s onto Millennium Bridge, with the Tate Modern a murky presence in the background.
We started with the Monument, took in the London Eye, and visited the loftiest of royal houses; quite the elevated day!
Our day started with a walking tour of “Hidden London.” We took the girls on the bus to the Bank and then, meeting Sarah and Dan there, walked to the start of the tour.
The tour led by an exceedingly amiable former actor named Shaughan. The tour mixed historical introduction with humorous anecdotes and some gratifying anti-capitalism! Here he is in front of a guild hall; you can just see Dan on the far right.
We started at the Monument, London’s memorial to the great fire of 1666. The fire, which burned for days, totally destroyed the City of London, leveling some 13,200–13,500 houses, 86 or 87 parish churches, 44 Guild Halls, along with the Royal Exchange, the Custom House, St Paul’s Cathedral, and all three western city gates. The monument is 202 feet tall, exactly the distance from its center to the spot where the fire started in Pudding Lane.
Needless to say, the sky is far too blue for that to be my picture. The clouds have remained very low, with nary a hint of blue sky–but also not a drop of rain.
Interesting side note: on our last morning, as we trooped to the Elizabeth Line station at Farringdon, we passed the “Golden Boy of Pye Corner,” a memorial that marks the very spot where the fire stopped.
Although the main purpose of the memorial was to mark the point where the Great Fire of London ended, it was also meant as a warning to Londoners that their gluttonous vices had been the cause of the fire. Why? Because the fire began in ‘Pudding’ Lane and ended at ‘Pye’ (or Pie) Corner! As the inscription on the memorial states:
This Boy is in Memory put up for the late Fire of London Occasion’d by the Sin of Gluttony.
We walked downhill to St. Magnus the Martyr, one of the fifty one churches for which Christopher Wren received a commission after the fire. The church is sited very near the northern end of the old London Bridge and retains a remarkable scale model of the bridge as it stood in the 17th century. The pilfered image below gives a real sense of the mixture of old and new in the City.
Next stop was another Wren church, St. Mary Abchurch.
Although the entire interior has the harmony of proportion so typical of Wren, its true glory is in the carving of the high altar and choir stalls by Wren’s Dutch collaborator Grinling Gibbons.
Much of the rest of the walk concerned the many companies, or guilds, that dominated trade in the city for centuries. I managed to snap a couple of images that try to show the new and old city.
In the city, all paths lead to St. Paul’s. Sarah said, and I fully agree, that staying so close to this magnificent structure and seeing it several times a day and in different lights…well, that’s as good as it gets.
Shaughan pointed out an interesting feature that we had walked right by. What seems to be a typical contemporary abstract structure is also a mirror that yields a St. Paul’s in miniature…and a very small cameraman.
We were now in “our” neighborhood, and we learned a great deal about the ruined monastery of the Black Friars that gave the area its name. Although it is mostly known for its rail station, the quarter is dominated by small lanes and surprising finds around corners. Sarah discovered a lovely wine bar, The Hungry Grape, to which we hope to return. And it of course has its share of iconic pubs, like The Cockpit, below.
The tour ended, fittingly, at the house where Dr. Johnson lived, something hidden down a side alley off of Fleet Street.
We grabbed a quick lunch at a little Vietnamese place, which turned out to be excellent: Bahn Mi and Pho done really well.
Dan had to run back to the hotel for a work emergency, while we tubed it to Westminster. The crowds on Westminster Bridge were staggering! But I was able to work my way to the edges without trampling on anyone. The views are splendid, but now so familiar as to be trite.
The girls had been looking forward to a ride on the London Eye, and who were we to deny them? Dan took them up for the views across London.
Sue, Sarah, and I took our time, strolling back across the bridge, along the Houses of Parliament, and, making a slight wrong turn, to the site of the original Palace of Westminster. This is the Jewel Tower; that and the wall to the left is about all that remains of one of the two main medieval palaces.
We had hoped to go into St. Margarets, the lovely late gothic church on the grounds of Westminster Abbey, but it was closed, alas. The church was rebuilt under the patronage of Henry VIII between 1486 and 1523.
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Here are a couple of notational images to show that we walked by Big Ben and Westminster Abbey!
After a quick espresso at the corner of St. James Park, we walked along the eastern edge of the park.
We had passed this charming cottage numerous times without its arousing our curiosity; this time was different and I now know that it is Duck Island Cottage, built in 1840 as the lodge for the Royal Bird Keeper whose task it was to care for the extraordinary aviary on St. James waters. Not just the famous pelicans (the original pelicans were a gift of the Russian Ambassador in 1664)but swans both white and black and some technicolor ducks.
We did manage to tear ourselves away from the birds and reconnect with the London Eye party on the Blue Bridge, the site of many family portraits.
Please note the halo on Sarah’s head…formed by the London Eye.
A red bus took us down Whitehall, through Trafalgar Square, and onto the Strand, from which it was an Ingrid hop, skip, and jump to Covent Garden. The girls had loved the shops and merry shoppers and wanted another taste.
Here, at the London Transport Museum, we of course thought immediately of Nathaniel and Alex, those intrepid if youthful partakers of the joys of London!
Photo Credit: Vivian Steele Hafetz.
Call it what you will: garish, tacky, even phantasmagoric, but the finally fitting adjective for the Covent Garden area is: fun.
From Covent Garden we retraced our steps to the edges of Soho north of Piccadilly to another perennial Jennings favorite, Dishoom. Here is a totally fanciful, because uncrowded, image of the Carnaby location.
Loud, bustling, even frenzied, the place knows how to cater to a crowd, giving them superb food while still turning the tables. We feasted on samosas, chaat, daal, paratha, roti, and a slew of main dishes: the house special lamb curry, Goan monkfish curry, mutton pepper fry, and a chicken makhani for the girls that was spicier than they were used to but which they devoured. Everything is wonderful, but the daal in particular is to dream of.
We wanted to ride a red bus through the Christmas lights, and indeed snagged one, but it was jam-packed, filled mostly with women in Birkas heading to the Arab communities west of the Edgeware Road. We gave up just past Marble Arch and winged it home on the tube.
The girls were navigating jet lag like seasoned pros. And they couldn’t imagine being in a hotel with a pool without taking advantage. So Sue and Sarah took them for a late night dip.
In which we are joined by a distinguished prosecutor from the International Criminal Court in The Hague.
Our plan was to make it to the Horse Guards in order to see the Inspection of the troop. Thing got a bit more complicated when we went downstairs to find a marching band playing in the hotel restaurant.
Among the onlookers were lots of people in odd costumes. It turned out it was the day of the investiture of the Lord Mayor of London. Like many things in Jolly Old England, this can be a bit confusing. The Lord Mayor of London presides only over the City of London, that famous square mile around the Bank and St. Paul’s. The current Lord Mayor, Alistair King, is an international ambassador for the UK’s financial and professional services sector with its base in the City. The mayor of greater London is Sadiq Khan.
At any rate, we found ourselves in the middle of the annual Lord Mayor’s Show, a procession from the City to the Royal Courts of Justice, where the Lord Mayor swears allegiance to the crown. It is thought to have begun in 1215. We didn’t stay around for the parade, which this year included over 7,000 people, 250 horses, and 150 floats–although we did see a number of carriages on their way to the parade.
We were affected by the coming parade, though: Sue and I had to walk about a half mile out of our way to cross to St. Paul’s because the bobbies wouldn’t let us cross the barriers erected for the parade–although it wouldn’t start for 2 1/2 hours! We did finally join the girls at Paul for breakfast.
We took the tube from Temple to Embankment and walked up to Whitehall, emerging right across from Horse Guards.
We had done so well on time that the inspection wouldn’t take place for 45 minutes, so we opted to walk through Horse Guards Parade and St. James Park to Buckingham Palace and to decide there whether to come back.
On the way I encountered a new level of bird love.
And while we’re on the subject of birds, I’ve heard of getting your ducks in a row…but pigeons?
We were soon weaving our way through the crowds at Buckingham Palace. Sarah remarked several times on how crowded central London felt; she had spent academic year 2002-2003 at University College London, and she felt that the city was much busier that it had been twenty years previously. Here, at any rate, is the partially happy crew in front of Chuck and Camilla’s digs.
The bright lights of Oxford Street had beckoned to our junior shoppers, and they were perhaps not the most patient fellow tourists at this moment!
We walked down the Mall and passed by the side of St. James Palace on our way to our next stop, Berry Bros. & Rudd, which opened in 1698 (as a coffee and tea merchant–they switched to wine and spirits in the 18th century). Here’s the storefront looking back to St. James Palace. Note the sign in the upper left: a coffee grinder, not a wine bottle! I mourn the days when I could buy a bottle of whisky and toss it in my carry-on!
We were headed for Bond Street, where we hoped to meet Dan’s brother Josh, who had flown over from the Netherlands. Josh is the above-mentioned prosecutor at the International Criminal Court in The Hague and an all around good guy. First, though, we showed the girls a proto-shopping mall from the 19th century, the Burlington Arcade. The arcades, glass-roofed passages between buildings that were lined with luxury shops, had sprung up all over Western Europe in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. This one had opened in 1819.
Not all the shoppers are clutching their Paddington’s, just ours.
We did pop into a couple of the luxury boutiques on Bond Street, but we were soon at Oxford Street, and Dan appeared with Josh.
After the girls did a preliminary reconnaissance of Zara, we struck out in search of a bit of lunch. The pubs north of Oxford street were either nasty or crowded, so we ended up at the ever-reliable Pret. We then split up: four girls to Oxford Street for shopping, Dan and Josh to a pub, and Mike to the nearby Leica gallery for some viewing and shoptalk. Were the girls happy with Oxford Street? You be the judge.
We had considered three options for our last afternoon: the museums in Kensington (V&A, Science, and Natural History), the Tower of London, and the British Museum. Given the latish hour and the proximity of Bloomsbury to our dinner reservation in Islington, we opted for the British Museum. The crowds were frighteningly large outside, but this huge hulk of imperial plunder can absorb many, many gawkers like us.
Viv is studying Mesopotamia in school, so we started there. Here is the full, newly augmented Hafetz / Jennings clan.
The museum has a remarkable collection, focusing on the development of writing, the systematization of knowledge in libraries, and the emergence of a centralized state that depended on inscription and records.
The artifacts gathered from Babylon are particularly striking. This tile mosaic is from the famous Ishtar Gate (now reconstructed in the Pergamon Museum in Berlin).
The girls, though, were on their latest legs after four very active days (we reckoned that we walked about 40 miles in four days), and we opted to show them the Parthenon marbles and call it a day. Looking at these magnificent things cannot help but be accompanied by mixed feelings: remorse that they aren’t in Athens, joy that one can see them here.
And then there’s the young and the very old.
It wasn’t just the girls whose legs were aching! We retreated to a very nice, funky wine bar called Amelie’s Wine House for a drop (and some bread and olives for the girls). We had the first of three really outstanding wines of the evening, a 2020 Chianti Classico from Fontodi. Rich, perfumed, deep, really lovely. By the way, Amelie also supplies pretty classy crossing guards.
A longish bus ride took us to the Angel stop in Islington, from where it is a five minute walk to our gastropub, The Pig and the Butcher. I had been here before with one of my former doctoral advisees, and had loved it. And it lived up to my hopes!
We started with scotch eggs and halibut croquettes for the table; Sarah and Ingrid had gnocchi, Sue and Josh Hake, and Dan and I split a 45-day aged cote de boeuf with cottage fries and beef dripping gravy.
We had a mouthful of Picpoul with the appetizers, but got serious with the mains: a 2017 Cornas Granit 60 from Vincent Paris and a 2018 Hermitage Selection by J.L. Chave. The Cornas was inkier and brawnier, lovely for its depth and energy; the Hermitage, as I had hoped by springing for something from one of the great winemakers, more elegant, nuanced, but still a powerhouse of a wine. We finished with the best Sticky Toffee Pudding ever!
Back in our neighborhood, we gather for one last nighttime shot, illuminated by a remarkable set of magic lights that Ingrid had mastered with astonishing speed.
After a bit of a scramble (a misplaced Gerbil) and a mixup (Mike didn’t know that the ThamesLink doesn’t run on Sunday, we made our way to the Elizabeth Line and thence to Heathrow. It wasn’t too busy, and we sailed through security, grabbed breakfast at Pret, and were boarding before we knew it. A nice lady swapped seats with Dan, and we were able to take up two middle rows.
Several movies later, we were on the ground in Newark and saying our tearful goodbyes–Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow–after a memorable trip. One’s own joy pales in comparison to that one derives from seeing the joy of the first time visitor. And their parents aren’t bad either.
We were home before 5 PM, not exhausted, still feeling some of the high of the trip.
