22/10/84

In the morning and after a shower which made Jim late for work, we headed back into London on our way to Acton to catch Richard. We had gotten quite good at deciphering the subway/metro/Underground system and found public transport much more appealing than chaotic drives. We wanted to go to Acton first to see if I could locate some travelers checks so we could buy some pounds (no sweat really with the 1st of Chicago Bank in town I could always get cash on my Visa). We located the checks found Richard & promptly headed back into London on the Underground. Richard was going to take us around and show us the sights. Once in London I called Keith Harvey, Jim Rutherford (to confirm a Sunday lunch date) and my sister's sister-in-law, Jennifer in Oxford to tell her who we were and that we would drop in for an overnight stay that evening (surprise!!) With business done, off we went.

I've got to say that Richard was probably the worst guide I've ever known. As a ‘Londoner’ I expected him to know what to see and how to get there, not so. in fact, as some old rumors prove to be true, the last person to use as a guide is someone who lives there. Find yourself a well-seasoned tourist to show you around. We did see all the major sites, but Richard wasn't interested in going inside or walking around them. Once seen, it was immediately off to the next. Belatedly he told us he wasn't much interested in museums and churches. He also wasn't much of a walker (as we, who had walked miles in Paris had no trouble with a small city like London) Richard was interested in finding a pub and after a beer he wanted to check out some ‘trendy’ shops in the area. Needless to say we were happy to get back on the Underground for the trip out and we vowed to return another day by ourselves. However, Richard did redeem himself by taking us to an excellent fish and chips place in Acton (run by a Chinese proprietor). Mollified by the meal we departed, amid the usual heavy traffic, to Oxford. 

The traffic thinned down and the M40 was actually a pleasant drive. We managed to call Jennifer and get directions to her home. We arrived to two well-strung-out children swinging on banisters and talking a mile a minute (usually welcome for guests). Sandy was at a German lesson and Jennifer was soon to leave to a PTA meeting. We volunteered to babysit, Jennifer said yes but thankfully put the kids down before she left.

Sandy returned to find me watching his TV and having a cup of coffee which must have been a bit disconcerting having never met (or heard perhaps) of Debbie and I. But we fell into quick conversation about he and Jennifer ending up at Oxford (he was a biochemist/cardiologist on a research sabbatical) and about Debbie and I ending up in St Vincent. Jennifer returned and Debbie came down from her shower and the conversation continued on the Peace Corps theme. We spent a long time trying to sort out a sensible life-after-Peace-Corps compromise. Finally too exhausted to delve deeper we went to bed. 

The next morning we had little time to talk. Sandy was off to work, the kids were off to school. Jennifer spent some time giving us directions around Oxford and gave us a few ideas about things to see in the surrounding countryside. Then we packed up, said our goodbyes and went down to Oxford. It is a beautiful place. I marveled at the architecture and history that surrounded the place. If the day hadn't been so miserable (cold, rainy and windy) it would have been a perfect visit. Well almost perfect. The one college I wanted to see Magdeline was closed. But CS Lewis and Sheldon Van Auken were very accurate in their descriptions of the place. I felt I had been there before.

From there we drove out into the countryside visiting and lunching in a place called Minster Lovell (of Dr Dolittle fame) and on from there to Avebury. Avebury is like Stonehenge in that someone, a long time ago, erected these massive stones in a large circle, with groups of smaller ones inside in circles, with a huge trench and mound encircling it all. I was almost scary as we visited it as the sun was setting. 

Checking around the area for lodgings we found nothing (that was open at least). Finally, trying to avoid the ‘Paris syndrome’ we stopped at a pub to ask. They recommended a farmhouse just across the way, and while we sat and had a beer, they called the owner. The farmhouse was beautiful. It was a big place that the owner-couple had decided to utilize more fully by having a bed and breakfast arrangement. It cost £8 per person. After settling in, we went back to the pub for a real English meal steak and kidney pie and a pint of bitter. I thought it was great. Deb said she could take it or leave it… back to our lodgings we spent some time talking with the owners, sitting in the living room, watching TV. Then it was up to bed. 

In the morning we had a wonderful breakfast and then headed back out to Avebury for a final look-see in better light. Then we pushed off for London again stopping in a town along the way so that Debbie could buy some shoes. We returned that evening to stay with Keith and Linda Harvey. This time Linda was home so we also got caught up with her on the latest runnings in her life and filled her in on St Vincent.

Next day was Sunday and we had been invited to Jim and Rocio's for lunch. Again much talk about St Vincent, development work & ‘re-adjusting’. Most of the day passed quietly and relaxed. That evening Jim followed us back to K&L's, had a few beers and then we went to a pub. A pleasant day. Monday was our reassault on London. We got in so late that almost the first thing we did was to go to the Dickens Inn for lunch. It was a quaint old place with good (but not great) overpriced food, but it was in a lovely setting. The Tower of London was nearby but we didn't go in because of crowds, cost and time. The tower bridge is marvelous, I had assumed it was the Tower of London (confused stateside publicity). From there we walked a stretch of what used to be the old London Wall stopping at shops and taking our time. Our destination, the London Museum was closed so we set out for St Paul's. It is a beautiful cathedral and huge but we were struck with the same feeling we had in other big beautiful churches throughout Europe: that this place of worship was now a tourist trap somehow, losing its holiness. I suppose that when empty, and sitting in private prayer, that Holiness would return (since church is a body not a building) but it was hard and in some cases angering to see racks of postcards and souvenirs, open vending of candles in assorted sizes and people talking as though they were in Grand Central Station. Somehow the scene of Jesus at the temple throwing out the money changers came to mind. 

From St Paul's we set out for the British Museum of which, we were assured, was open. However I ducked into a phone booth first, checking on the possibility of catching the afternoon matinee of “Cats”. A long shot at such short notice. The notice wasn't long enough. “Sir” the voice replied “we are booked solid until April, 1985”. I will off to the museum. 

The only disappointment with the British museum was that the visit was much too short. We arrived at 3:30, expecting to walk around until closing at 6:30. Unfortunately I had read the sign wrong, the museum closed at 5:00 catching us in the middle of a wonderful exhibition of German prints. We were hustled out onto the street, we made the decision to find a play to attend that evening, and set about finding one. We eventually settled on West Side Story which I had seen in movie and play but which Deb had never seen (Idaho isolation I guess). We had a reasonable Chinese meal near the theater then watched, cried and laughed all the way through the performance. It was wonderful and our smooth ride back to Croydon, passing by the beautifully lit Tower bridge, made the evening PERFECT.

In the morning, on our last day in England, we decided to make a mad dash for the Hygh Wycombe to see Judith's (Debbie's assistant in PT) aunt. We felt guilty because we had made many commitments to try to see people and friends of friends while in England and London but it was impossible to do it all. Actually, a little more planning on our part would have made things easier but…. we did get to Judith's aunt to chat and the drive was OK. But we could have seen more, I guess. We took Keith and Linda out to ‘dinner’ (using the last of my British pounds). And hit the sack ready for an early 6:00 a.m. drive out to the coast to catch the ferry back to France and on to Belgium. 

Easing ourselves out of bed, quietly packing up, and gently closing the door was our farewell to Keith and Linda. We cruised through the traffic-less (at last) countryside stopping once to purchase petrol. It was a hazy, almost foggy dawn and reminded me of descriptions I had heard of English mornings. We made it to Folkestone in good time, arriving just before needing to queue up for the loading procedure. Once loaded we stretched our legs a bit, did some final repacking and retired to the motorist lounge. We must have been spared the usual rough Channel crossings both ways because I was hardly disturbed by the rolling and pitching of the boat. Must have been well seasoned by our Bequia crossings. 

We set out across the French ocuntryside stopping once to change money at a closed bank and once again to buy a few provisions for lunch (no money). I was anxious to get to Brussels early enough to check our bags at the train station and drop the car off at the dealership. Amazingly enough, even though we got lost for a time in Brussels, we got through with everything with very few problems. The lady at the dealership even booked us into a hotel. Deb and I had a nice leisurely walk across town, doing a bit more sightseeing since the weather was so much better this time. We shopped for wine, packing tape and shampoo (odd items) and got settled in at the hotel. We had a last Belgium meal of bratwurst and french fries.

The next morning we walked over to the train station, collected our bags and caught a quick train to the airport. Here we ran into a few problems with our plane. First we had to find where to check in which since Nouvelle Frontier and Minerve aren’t listed as airlines, poses a problem. We finally found a ridiculously small booth with a Nouvelle Frontier logo above it. But there was no place to check your luggage. Figuring it was a mistake, I searched once more and found a flight to Fort de France with the same flight number as on my ticket under the TWA banner. So we lugged our baggage over to that counter and waited. About an hour later, there was some activity behind the counter and they began to check us in. To my horror, I was told I must have my ticket stamped in the other line before we could be processed. So with Debbie left to guard our bags at the head of the line, I went over to the other line and stood for 45 minutes to have a 15-second stamping procedure performed on our tickets. Finally, checked in and bags gone (plus 2 hours) we could finally relax. This time the plane was new, clean and we had OK seats. We were nearly home. 

Our layover in Martinique was not notable except for changing a lot of money into Francs so we could buy some stuff at the duty-free shop just to find out that the place was closed (we were there an hour before flight time!). It never did open. The Eastern flight was early and during the 15-minute flight to St Lucia I managed to con the stewardess out of two cans of TAB. In St Lucia disaster struck our trusty WINKINK link was canceled (mechanical difficulty) and we were stuck. Fortunately, the Eastern rep (the WINLINK crew had long ago departed) made the arrangements for us to stay at a nearby guest house reassuring us that we would be reimbursed by WINLINK. Unfortunately we had no money but using an unsuspecting WINLINK employee as collateral we managed to get beds, breakfast and taxi rides. 

We arrived at the airport in the morning in at a downpour. Our first order of business was to get WINLINK to pay for our lodging and transportation. The manager assured us that all would be taken care of. So we waited and waited as the WINLINK manager arranged our flight for us. The WINLINK plane was still out of commission so immediately a new round of negotiations began between Eastern, WINLINK and LIAT as to who would pay the difference of the airfare to St Vincent. Once that was settled, LIAT took us over. We checked out bags and waited for our 11:00 a.m. flight (originally it was 8:55 then 10:30). So we waited and waited. The only people besides us who had been there since 8:55 where airport / airplane personnel. The airport was growing more and more deserted. No Airline desks were open. The LIAT lady said she'd let us know when the flight came in. 11:00 a.m. passed, then 11:10 and 11:20. Finally at 11:25 a small IAS plane landed. There was no announcement for its arrival or departure. Nobody told us to clear customs and immigration. So we took matters into our own hands and walked past the security guard who at least asked us if that was our plane. We said “yes” and he feet up, chair leading against the wall, said “well you better get on it then”. So we did. Our 8-seater was half full and we had a quick but extremely noisy flight back to St Vincent.

It was nice to be home. Paul, deciphering WINLINK’s aborted schedule, was there to meet us. He took us to his home, he and Margaret fed us and finally we arrived home to our jungle house (no trimming while we were gone).