Parting Glances

Back to the story line. After the Fashion Museum on Friday, with a lovely exhibit featuring two sisters, Susan Collier and Sarah Campbell, we walked on to the Tate Museum and strolled through an exhibit of J.M.W. Turner paintings. I’m about as familiar with his work as the average educated person, but was surprised by his tip toward abstraction painting storms, snow and sea—all before 1851! He deeply influenced later artists like Mark Rothko who quipped, “Turner learned a lot from me!” Rothko was born 50 years after Turner died! 

 

Ate dinner at Paddington Station (our favorite Underground Stop), a little indoor Food Court with the dreaded pounding disco, but good food options (fish tacos/ Indonesian Mee Goreng) that we could thankfully take outside away from the hammering beat. Home to our place far away at Hayes and Harlington, a neighborhood with a wide range of ethnicities and feeling somewhat home to be amongst them. 

 

The next day, the insistent rain continued, so I bought a little umbrella and the first chance I tried to use it, it turned inside out and just about broke. A $9.00 purchase for 9 seconds of use. Hmm. Met my Turkish friends Betul and Mert (cross-reference with my time in London last June if you’re so inclined), for a sumptuous late-afternoon lunch at the remarkable Dishoon Indian restaurant. We had hoped to take in a show later, but missed the cheaper prices, so the new plan was to look for a yarn store for Karen, a bookstore for me and maybe find a Jazz Club. 

 

During our 8-mile walk around many neighborhoods yesterday, we had kept our eyes open for books and yarn, to no avail. Then Karen looked online and found one a 20-minute walk from the restaurant, but it was marked as closed. So imagine our surprise when we walked out of the restaurant, turned right and the store next door sold yarn! And had just what Karen needed.

 

Thinking the gods were with us, we strolled down to the canal to a charming bookstore on a boat in the water with a pixie-‘ish man at the cash register. I was determined to find a book by Wilkie Collins (contemporary of Dickens) titled No Name. Seems if I could find it anywhere, it would be in London! But not so. They had one copy of his book The Moonstone that I had read too recently. Browsed a bit on the boat, first time I ever shopped for books getting a little seasick. No inspiration, off we went walking along the canal to searach for another bookstore. 

 

These canals in London are really the best kept secret of the city. Nobody seems to talk about them, but they’re absolutely charming. The first one we “discovered” last year was near Paddington Station and this was much closer to King’s Cross. They just seem to go on and on and are thoroughly delightful for a city stroll. 

 

At King’s Cross, decided to take a bus to Islington, where there was a larger Waterstone’s Bookstore. Surely they would have the Collins book! And they did have one—The Woman in White, which I had also read too recently. But I did find an Anthony Horowitz version of Sherlock Holmes titled House of Silk, so though we were leaving the UK the next day, it was close enough to matching the book I’m reading with the place I’m exploring.

 

Now we just needed a little café and after striking out twice in bars with that disco beat form hell, found a simple café with coffee and tea and no music throbbing—and the owners were Turkish! In the course of conversation, Betul and I sang (well, I hummed the melody) a few Turkish songs and the waiter came over and joined in! Great fun!

 

By now, it was 9:30 at night, so we gave up on the Jazz Club and parted ways to begin the long Underground Trek back to our hotel. The Northern Line to Hammersmith and City to Elizabeth line, then one more bus, which we boarded. But turned out to be the wrong bus, taking us 20 minutes out of the way in the wrong direction! With the help of two bus drivers, we finally re-navigated back to the right place, getting back by midnight.

 

And now, here we are at Luton Airport. I was steeled for bureaucratic horror joined with outrageous addition charges from Ryan Airlines (trying to check in with them the other night was one of the things that brought me close to calling Suicide Prevention). Imagine my surprise and delight when we walked right up to the counter, checked our bags without fuss or extra charges, were handed our paper tickets and we were done. Went through Security without a hitch, no passport control at this end (not sure why) and now awaiting the gate number for our flight to Venice. A whole new adventure awaits. 

 

PS Below one of the Campbell Collier pieces in the exhibit, a Turner painting and the bookstore on the canal.