9-23 – Manchester to London

It was time to leave our lovely house sit and move on to London. I stripped the beds, did the laundry and a final deep clean of the flat. It was really hard to leave our little charges because we’d grown so fond of them, but it was time. Our Uber driver brought us to Manchester Piccadilly Station with ample time to catch the 11:55 Avanti to London. We found our carriage and seats and settled in. Spoiling ourselves again, we booked a first class carriage – such a treat!

We were served lunch, Bruce had a beer or three, I had a prosecco. My favorite part was the gorgeous lemon shortbread for dessert. As I looked out the window, it occurred to me that when traveling by train in the US, the view out the window is often of the seedier side – the other side of the tracks, as it were.

But here in England, I’ve always found myself enchanted by the British countryside. Whether it’s the moors, the fells, chalk figures on hills or the waterways, I find it captivating.

The plan was to take only one carry-on to Africa for our two weeks there, so I found a place to check one of our bags through a website called Stasher. Our drop off spot was a hotel about a 5 minute walk from Paddington Station, or it’s supposed to be, when there isn’t construction. At this juncture I feel I need to confess that I’m no longer in love with cobbled streets and cobbled sidewalks. They look so beautiful, they ooze character and a sense of history, but they’re hell to drag a wheeled suitcase over. So, of course, our route took us over endless cobbled walkways. We made it to The Shakespeare Hotel, the drop off point, got our bag checked in and attempted to leave. That proved more difficult than expected because 18 members of a school music group from Germany, along with their chaperones had just arrived at the hotel and were filing in with their enormous suitcases, blocking the exit. From the size of their luggage, I had to assume they were here for at least a year, though I don’t think they were. Failing to find a vaulting pole, we had to wait until one of them let us pass. Back to Paddington with the remaining suitcase and onto the Elizabeth line to Hayes and Harlington. I sat down and after a while glanced over at the young woman sitting next to me. She was stunning and I fear I embarrassed her terribly when I said, “Excuse me, I’m a total stranger and this is probably wildly inappropriate, but you are absolutely beautiful.” She was bit embarrassed but took it well, and we started a conversation. She asked where I was traveling to and I told her we were in London for a day then off on safari. It turns out she’s from Ethiopia and has travelled to Kenya and Tanzania so we talked about places she visited and things we’ll be seeing so my time on the train flew by. We said our farewells and Bruce and I transferred from the train to the very crowded H98 bus toward Hounslow.

We exited about a block away from our hotel, the Moxy. We stayed there last year the night before we flew home. The rooms are very basic. Beds, a small shelf, 2 hangers on a hook and a tiny bathroom. And cheap. So I booked us in for the 23rd because we were flying out on the 24th. Except we weren’t. Naturally, I chose the low nonrefundable rate, so when I discovered my error, I extended our stay for a second night. We got checked in, relaxed for a bit, then headed out for something to eat. The area around Heathrow isn’t the sort of place one goes for a nice night out. The only things nearby are a Kentucky Fried Chicken, a Starbucks and a Kebab House, so we walked a mile and a half or so, to the Pheasant Inn.

It’s apparently where a lot of the flight crews go to eat and drink. And drink. And did I mention drink? There were four twenty-somethings who were airline employees at the table next to us and the decibel level approached the pain threshold. (Don't I sound like an old lady?)

I ordered a shepherd’s pie. I was aghast when it arrived,

because it probably could have fed a family of four. It also came with a side dish of 4 new potatoes, a jug of gravy and broccoli and carrots. The cashier on the way out said, “Oh, nobody ever finishes their meals. They’re too big.” Indeed.

We walked home, hoping to burn off some of what we’d eaten, then headed to the room for some telly and to bed.