I'm So Tired (London)

Hello dear reader. Today's title is another Beatles classic, I'm so tired from the celebrated The Beatles album, popularly referred to as the White Album. The explanation later. For the song, not why the album is not called by its name.

First, I have a confession to make. Suddenly I feel like a character in a sitcom or a B grade movie. You know the storyline, where the two characters despise each other and suddenly realise there is an attraction to the other. Cue the inevitable sexual tension and growing awkwardness of the situation. So here am I not hating London so much. It is an unsettling feeling. Perhaps being squired around town and being provided with an insider's view is what I needed all along. Perhaps.

Greenwich

Breakfast today was in Greenwich. We ditched the Borough market and will explore it tomorrow morning. There are multiple ways to get to Greenwich. The Uber ferry being the most expensive and various iterations of the Underground and Light Rail being more acceptable options. As usual the day began with a walk. Today, across the London Bridge to Bank Station to catch the light rail to Cutty Sark station which, in reality, is Greenwich.

The trip was uneventful and we were at the Greenwich Market searching for food about 30 minutes after opening time. Alleged opening time. Much like Shoreditch yesterday there was a lot of space to erect stalls and the Antique Market down the road was not open at all.

Being peckish, we made our way to the very limited food offerings, none of them appealing. Back out onto Church Street in search of a place that offered good food, passable coffee and warmth. There were numerous options but Peyton & Byrne, the modern British Bakery, was the winner. No dabbling with potentially weak coffee today - it was double espresso. An excellent choice. Accompanied by a three cheese toasty to warm the soul.

Not much to look at from the outside.

Body restored, we ventured back out into the cold and popped into the nearest church. Come now dear reader. You know me better than that, it's a local attraction. St Alfege's - King Henry VIII was baptised here. I don't think it influenced his later behaviour. Then again ... 

The church itself has quite a history, collapsing on itself after a decision to allow the crypt to be open for all burials, thus undermining the foundations. It was also destroyed, desecrated was the term used, by the "enemy" during WWII. The latest iteration sports a massive organ. Now dear reader, don't be like that, a pipe organ. There is also the obligatory stained glass window and unusually, a chandelier.

Leaving the church, we saw the antique market was completely closed, gated and padlocked. Disappointing. So it was back to the markets. More shops and stalls had opened but it was clearly a shadow of what it would be on weekends. Still, the crocheted flowers grabbed my attention. In 2024 do we really need crocheted flowers? I think not.

What visionary came up with this concept?

From the markets, we walked a short way to where the Cutty Sark sits atop a wooden frame a long way from the water. Curious behaviour to spend £25M to restore a ship and then encase it in plastic and glass. It would have been a better attraction floating in the Thames. No, we did not venture inside.

Looks longingly towards the Thames.

Following the Thames is the Greenwich Walk, a 1 mile (1.6 km) path that traverses the Old Royal Naval College, a rather impressive looking building with expansive grounds. The first statue I came across was Sir Walter Raleigh. He gets a mention in the song of today's post,

"I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset

Although I'm so tired, I'll have another cigarette

And curse Sir Walter Raleigh

He was such a stupid git"

Spare a cigarette?

Raleigh of course introduced tobacco to England in 1586. Its effect still lingers today given the number of smokers encountered. Have they missed the health messages over here? Obviously in 1968, John Lennon wasn't thrilled about it either. We shall return to Sir Walter later.

Do they serve flag ale? Yeah, a joke from the '70s.

The path continued past an interesting pub, The Trafalgar, that had adorned itself and the neighbouring area with the Union Jack and maritime signal flags.

Well placed bins for a photo opportunity.

A wall of street art. No Banksy.

It ended as abruptly as a bike path in Sydney, at a point of no particular interest, another pub, the Cutty Sark Inn. We turned and strolled back to the light rail station, passing the same route but out on the street rather than along the river path. This took us past the Queen's House, the Royal Observatory, Greenwich University and the Naval Museum.

The Queen's House. Really? How many does she need? She's not even alive.

The Naval Museum.

Had we explored the multiple museums in Greenwich, we would have been there for days. Instead we jumped the light rail for a more problematic return journey due to disruptions on the line. This was exacerbated by the pathetic signage at Canary Wharf while transiting from the light rail to the underground. The navigation skills of Sir Walter were required, not to mention fortitude to fight our way through the lunchtime crowds where no quarter is given. We were back at the hotel mid afternoon to enjoy our complimentary drink and chat with some of the staff. It was a slow day in the bar.

So, controversial, but extremely funny.

Pizza

Yes pizza, my dear reader. In my quest to be disappointed around the world, I make every attempt to sample pizza in each country I visit. Armed with two recommendations, Pizza Pilgrims and Giuseppe's Ristorante Italiano and Pizzeria, there was a choice to be made. Giuseppe's was the winner because it is a restaurant and offers a variety of food. Not that I was eating anything but pizza.

Giuseppe's is about a 10 minute walk from the hotel and directly opposite the Borough Markets. Through an old archway on the main street there is a non-descript door that opens on to a landing and another door and down the stairs to the restaurant. It is like entering a dungeon. The restaurant itself is quite cosy, tables are very close, but today, we were the only customers. It was mid-afternoon and we hadn't booked, getting a table wasn't a problem but would the pizza oven be hot enough?

The answer to that question is, not quite. The garlic bread was very good as was the pizza. It would have benefited from a slightly hotter oven to char the dough a little more. Otherwise, no complaints. I could be a regular if I lived here.

Back to the hotel for a nightcap and some blogging before bed.

Borough Market

A bit obvious.

Our breakfast destination today is the Borough Market. After a quick catch up with one of the children and two of the grandchildren this morning, we wrapped ourselves in scarves and coats, walked out into the grey 7° morning and turned towards the market. Unlike Shoreditch and Greenwich, Borough was fully operational and pumping.

That is a mountain of comté.

This place is just amazing. If I lived in the area, I doubt I would ever cook. No that's wrong, I would cook because of all the fresh produce available. Had we been staying in an AirBnB we would have been purchasing all our food requirements here. Cheeses, fruit, vegetables, breads, pastries, meat, seafood, pasta, cured meats, spices, olive oils, pies, the list and the stalls go on. There were also restaurants surrounding the markets and an area out the back where stalls served hot food from a variety of cuisines.

The picture does not do this justice. OMG!

Bread Ahead provided our croissant, pain au chocolat and spinach feta pastry for sustenance and Colombia Coffee provided the liquid gold. No pretending this morning, espresso and double espresso. The only downside is that there are not a lot of casual seating options. What is available serves a purpose, but a few café style areas with heaters would be excellent.

Turkish delight anyone? So much choice.

After several traverses of the market, we went to explore Southwark Cathedral. On the way, a short deviation from the market to the cathedral found us outside the renowned dark blue front door of Bridget Jones (of diary fame). Sadly no Colin Firth (says Jayne) loitering around so after the photo of the house front façade, we headed around the corner to take a tour of the Cathedral.

Another great pun.

Southwark Cathedral

The Cathedral is surrounded by the markets, London high rise offices and a school. To gain entrance we had to almost circumnavigate the building. In doing so, we discovered a small viewing area that looked across the Thames. Inscribed on the wall was a quote from Sir Walter Raleigh. No, it wasn't "spark up boys, let's hear it for big tobacco". It was, "There are two things scarce matched in the universe, the sun in heaven and the Thames on earth". And that from an explorer.  Perhaps he explored the wrong areas. Perhaps he had a boy look. Perhaps he had no imagination. Perhaps Lennon was right, he really is a "stupid git". The Thames is just a larger version of the Yarra in Melbourne, or the Brisbane in, you guessed it, Brisbane. A boiling mass of brown water. Unattractive and uninviting. Although the colour suits the grey of London.

The Thames on earth. Um, yeah, why not.

Another confession, dear reader. While I struggle with the excess of religion and its wanton waste, I am fascinated by the beauty of the churches that were built and adorned while people died of starvation and plague. Of course the historical aspect is always a drawcard too.

They love a big organ. Who doesn't?

Given the age of the Cathedral, there were many tombstones embedded in the floor but many were almost smooth from passing foot traffic. There was also a memorial to Shakespeare inside the Cathedral and a statue in the grounds. Apparently he was a local parishioner back in the day.

The Shakespeare memorial.

The garden outside, where Will was sitting on a bench contemplating life, revealed a robin not far away. That was exciting for a bird nerd, although I'm not sure you could call the breast red. 

Orange?

There was also a cheeky fox who cared not a jot that there were people around. He garnered much excitement from within the garden area and without. Cameras were thrust through the iron fence to capture its image. Meanwhile the mangy creature sat and scratched at his fleas, totally unconcerned.

A bit too comfortable for mine.

The Cathedral also has a cat, Doorkins Magnificat (mark 2 - the original having met his maker in 2020), that may or may not have been responsible for the dead rat in the garden. We spotted him lying comfortably behind the baptismal font. The cat, not the rat. His importance to the Cathedral community is made abundantly clear from both the tour guide brochure and also the vast array of cat themed merch that adorns the ubiquitous gift shop on the way out. Indeed, two other visitors asked the guides where Doorkins might be found. We happily assisted them.

Will watches it all and records it for later.

It is apparent, in London at least, that when school is in, it is actually out. We came across school groups in Greenwich yesterday. Today there were school groups at the markets. Not just one, but many and also inside the Cathedral.

The Southwark Tavern

On our last day on the ground in London we thought we would eat at an old school London pub. The Southwark fit the bill. It was 10 minutes walk from the hotel, had original stained glass windows, served 'traditional fish and chips' (which we didn't eat) and had Guinness on tap (which we did drink).

In the early part of this century when we first visited London, the menu at the pub was fish and chips, chicken tikka and butter chicken. How the world has changed. No chicken tikka or butter chicken on the menu anywhere I looked. Pubs now consider themselves 'gastro'. This apparently is a good thing and not related to gastroenteritis which is not a good thing comes from eating bad food.

We had a Guinness and breaded halloumi chips while we decided what to eat for the main meal of the day. How have I not experienced breaded halloumi chips before? Amazing.

The food was good. The wine list was smaller than Peter Dutton's popularity rating, although unlike Dutton's rating, it was adequate. The only drawback was the intimate nature of the space. This is normally a good thing. Unless there are people who feel the need to talk at the TOP OF THEIR VOICES. Everytime they contribute to a conversation. And it is always (generalised statement) young women. When she was participating in the talk at her table I couldn't hear the music.

Another box ticked. It was back to the hotel.

And that's enough for now. The next post will be from the Viking Venus. I'm so tired.

Until then.

The Ballad of John and Yoko (London)

We're still here, and will be for a few more days, dear reader. Of course that provides an opportunity to expand on my love affair with London. For those of you who don't know me well, that was sarcasm.

Salman Rushdie in his brilliant, if controversial and incomprehensible novel Satanic Verses, speculated that the gloomy, morose mood of Londoners was due, not to their inherent nature, but to the weather. He described London as a cheerful, happy place once the cold, grey, dreary, sun starved weather was replaced by that found in the long languid days of sunshine in the tropics. The long black overcoats (now puffer jackets or gilet as they are called here) were replaced by colourful, relaxed styles of clothing.

Interesting. In a discussion with one of the bar staff at the hotel he said pretty much the same thing. Sunshine and warmth bring colour and happiness.

I'm just here to break up the text.

I commented on the train en route from Heathrow that so many people had RBF (resting bitch face). There were complaints about the lack of seats - at least 2 other underground lines were closed for trackwork; and bags and suitcases in the aisle - the train originated at Heathrow. There was a constant stream of people who passed us with faces of stone, RBF. That to me is London.

If London was a movie it would be Mean Girls. Or some male equivalent. Saltburn? Is that too much?

Service

Way back in 2015 when we were last here, I commented on the dreadful service we received, ironically at a tourist information centre. Unfortunately things haven't changed. 

Zoë came to see us in the afternoon on the day of our arrival and we embarked on a brief excursion around the local area. There will be more on this later. The last stop for the day was an upmarket pub, The Folly (love the irony in this country). It was Sunday evening and not crowded, but it was warm, out of the wind and trendy. 

Statue near the Tate. "Don't applaud throw money".

The bar in this split level establishment would have been 20 metres long. I was the only person standing at said bar, waiting for to be served. Behind the bar were 2 workers. Neither was vaguely interested in serving me and both knew I was there. One continued to prepare his ingredients for cocktails that he clearly would not be making until tomorrow. The other was putting glasses away. They conversed with each other as they continued to ignore my existence. It was like being 12 again, waiting to be picked to join a team in the school playground. The guy putting the glasses away, stood in front of me at one point and said how difficult bar work was and how busy the day had been. Then he wandered off.

Finally, dear reader, a third person arrived and asked the magic question, "Have you been served?" The Folly was that we visited this trendy, up-market, over-priced version of an ironically named pub.

Australians have long been duped into thinking that they are not good workers, take too much time off work and do not understand workplace hospitality. Having experienced poor service in Hungary - the customer is there for them; and Austria - they are still getting over the collapse of the empire; and Spain - let's not go there; and England, I could continue. Instead, I just call bullshit.

Disclaimer: service was not like this everywhere, but also it was not an uncommon experience.

Out and about

Just down the road is the Borough Market. It is an undercover marvel. Wheels of cheese as big as car tyres. Amazing fresh food, bread, pastries, coffee, wine, craft beer. We are going back later when we have more time to explore.

Next door to the market is an Italian restaurant, no pizza, just pasta. Padella is one of those places where you can't book. So you register, are given a time to return and then head into the markets for a glass of wine and a wander around. The hour estimate we were given was out by about 45 minutes and we were seated in the restaurant, perusing the menu while still drinking the wine we had purchased at the market.

Such an attractive river. Almost as beautiful as the Yarra.

Dinner was delightfully simple and totally delicious. The pasta was fresh and hand made. We didn't have to wait, but if we had, it would have been worth every minute of standing in the cold wind.

Following dinner, we crossed the bridge and had drinks at the trendy, ironically named pub.

Monday didn't dawn so much as it was blown in by arctic gales. Undeterred we braved the conditions to have breakfast at Lantana, all of 5 minutes walk from the hotel. It sells itself as the original Australian brunch. Whatever. The only Australian influence I could see was "smashed avo" and that is nothing to be proud about. The coffee was passable, or by UK standards: WOW, excellent. Not enough to bring me back.

Shopping

Yes dear reader, shopping. You know I love it to balance Jayne's dislike. It's a yin and yang thing. Balance.

Not this trip. We needed to purchase items for our visit to the Arctic circle and decided London was probably a better place to do this. Sydney doesn't really get cold. I would argue we only have three seasons and none of them is winter.

Not really attractive the Tate.

Anyway, we set sail for Mountain Warehouse in Covent Garden. About a 30 minute walk. Depending on wind direction and strength. The wind chill factor was extreme. I resorted to a beanie. Gloves were a dream.

Along the way we passed the Tate Gallery where they are hosting a Yoko Ono exhibition. Hence today's title. The story of an artist who fell in love and married, or the story of an artist who fell in love and married well. You can decide who is who in that relationship. Listen here.

Apparently there was a Hello Kitty exhibition in Somerset House.

We entered the store, desperate to find the last of the equipment necessary for our visit to the Arctic Circle. We left, confident that we could match Nanook of the North. In between, we had coerced an assistant to remove the Goldilocks size 40 snow boots off the mannikin she had just wrestled into position on the store window ledge. The other boots were either too small or too big for Jayne's dainty feet.

Wandering London

Post shopping frenzy, Zoë arrived and we left to find a perch from which to view London. In doing so we checked out Shoreditch's uber cool laneways and streetscape all suitably decorated with street art. 

Harry Potter was also a discussion point as we entered 'Diagon Alley'. There were two separate 'Harry Potter' tours happening.

Recognise it? Maybe you had to be there. Diagon Alley.

Out into the open again, we walked to the Shoreditch Markets. I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt dear reader, because it was late in the afternoon. However, the number of markets I've attended based on their published operation has left me disappointed. Today was no different.

Despite the market let down, there were a number of sculptures in the area. Elephants figured prominently.

I have no idea. But, hey, they have a unicorn on the coat of arms.

Unlike the skyline in Sydney, London has at least attempted to tart things up architecturally. There is a curiously shaped building nicknamed the gherkin. So, it wasn't the first name I thought of, nor the last and gherkin was not one them. Snigger. Smirk. There is a notice at the base of the gherkin, "batteries not included".

Um, yeah, gherkin. Sure.

In the sky

It was time for a bird's eye view of London. The forecourt of the 'Walkie Talkie' building was quite crowded with people milling around aimlessly. A brief chat with 'security' ensued and they confirmed that the viewing area was closed to due a "protest". None of us was sure what that meant, except we couldn't go up there.

We did not get inside this building.

Next stop was the newly constructed Horizon 22, Bishop's Gate. Our first attempt was met with a 'no booking no experience' style comment, despite the advertised information to simply turn up. Just around the corner of the same building, was another entrance. Free of charge. Staff literally welcomed us with open arms so up we went to the 58th floor.

Ok, I enhanced the colour.

The view was, of course, amazing. The double glazed windows made it difficult to take a picture without some sort of shadow but you could see forever. Well, a long way. Certainly further than you would have been able to see on the famous London Eye, for the princely sum of £30 per person!

Down and out, not George Orwell style, we charted our course for a late lunch. Or an early dinner. 

Ottolenghi

From Bishop's Gate on to Spitalfields. I am not sure what that means. Is it a journey? It could be an insult. Today it was part of our London experience, because we were navigating our way, slowly but surely to the master, Ottolenghi.

No need for food porn. Oh, alright.

Where to start?

Yes dear reader, we made it. And it was everything I thought it would it be. Minus the Master himself. Still, his minions did him proud. We sat at the bar and enjoyed the day's offering. One hot dish and two salads. They looked small, but were extremely filling. Not to mention tasty.

Lamb and pumpkin and carrots.

Street Art

I love a bit of street art. Sanctioned or otherwise. Shoreditch has all varieties. Not just painting or grafitti, but installation style as well. It was quite an interesting walk through the area. Brick Lane is quite famous and anarchic, but it is just the beginning. 

Classy stuff. Why not for the girls too?

There were works as social comment. There were some that were graffiti. Others that were obscure in purpose and meaning. At least to me. Some just decorated a drab building.

Loved this. The hair is left over Christmas tree and decorations.

The area is well worth a slow stroll. Quite fascinating.

This literally glowed in the afternoon sun.

Eataly

By now we had walked over 12 kilometres and it was time to rest. We stopped at Eataly to have a recuperative drink and chat and watch the sun set over London.

Eataly doesn't really need an explanation does it, my dear reader? We visited the one in New York in 2015. While the London version is smaller, it is no less authentic. It is a place where you can buy Italian produce, eat Italian food and drink Italian wine and beer.

Vandals? No. It was really windy.

Some observations

We walked home amidst the rush of workers attempting to do the same in the shortest time period. Do not step in their way. Unlike New York, you won't get abused; in London, they will just mow you down as if you weren't there.

There were some interesting sights today - the best was probably the guy walking down The Strand with a cat on his shoulder. I'm not sure what sort of pirate that makes him, but I'd back a cat in a fight with Long John Silver's parrot.

Another observation: I've always believed that if a nation drives on the left then as a pedestrian you walk on left and vice versa. Not in London. Generally it is the reverse. Generally. Then again, perhaps it's just anarchy on the footpath. The common rule is do what you want. Wear black, hold your phone in front of you, head down and everyone will give you a wide berth.

We made it home. Safely. After a great day in London which included precisely none of the big ticket tourist draw cards.

Until next time.

London Calling (Sydney, Australia and the search for the northern lights)

Have you missed me dear reader? Certainly I have missed travelling and it was quite unusual for me to shelter at home during the humid months. I detest Sydney in February, you can break into a sweat just getting out of bed. Now the the time has arrived for us to chase a cooler clime. It's off to the northern hemisphere, this time in search of those elusive northern lights, followed by a meandering wander through Scandinavia, Germany, Czechia, Austria and finally France. Yes, yes I know we've been to France on multiple occasions, but Paris. Swoon. We love it.

Sorry, there are no photos of interest in this post, but I promise to make amends as our journey unfolds.

The more intricate details of where we are going will be revealed as the blog posts are published. Suffice to say this journey begins in earnest in ... wait for it ... London. Ah, the city I most love to hate. I have tried to like it, really I have, but it's just ... without. Without what you ask? Lots of things really. It's just a passive aggressive version of Melbourne with worse weather (the forecast is for rain every day we are there). We begin in London because there was no choice. More on that later.

Qantas

Let's talk flights. My relationship with Qantas has soured and the resentment lingers. It's like a teenage love affair and being dropped by the person you love. Well, so I've been told. I've been stood up but never dropped. As I was putting together this trip, the airfares Qantas wanted for 2 return Business Class seats was well north of $20K. Even my bad back couldn't stomach (see what I did there?) Business Class at those prices.

Not to be deterred, I phoned; as a platinum frequent flyer, I thought I'd request the release of the required seats. After all, they were being discounted for sale on their website. The response, "Sorry sir, we are not releasing any seats on the requested flights." "But, they are on sale," say I. Same response. Cheers Qantas. So what is the point of being a Qantas FF with the lauded platinum status? Three parts of bugger all, I would suggest.

Once again I resorted to Fly Business For Less as I did some years back. Their service is first class. The result is outbound flights with Vietnam Air into my 'beloved' London and inbound with Qatar from Paris - largely to avoid the ridiculous charges applied at Heathrow. And because of London. The price? Around half what Qantas was asking for seats at the pointy end of the aircraft. We have flown internationally with both airlines before without issue, so this was really a no brainer.

Grudgingly. I admit that I will miss the Qantas first class lounge in Sydney. It is unlikely that we will see it again because my platinum status will dissolve at my next anniversary, largely because I've flown with every other airline but them. It is like being a teenager again and I'm just seeing what is out there. On the plus side, our last two international trips will have netted savings around $14k because we chose not to fly with Qantas. That buys a lot of fancy meals and champagne and we still have lounge access with the other airlines.

Packing

Ah, the perennial issue, compounded by the fact that we are cruising with Viking, chasing the northern lights and then travelling by train across Scandinavia and Europe. Space is a premium. We don't want to be lugging huge bags around the train stations. One remedy was to purchase a vacuum pump and a couple of bags to try and reduce bulk. Our -20°c parkas are, unsurprisingly, extremely bulky. This has proven to be quite effective.

It doesn't look like much, but then it's not all there yet. A mixture of packing cells and vacuum bags to make the best use of space. Despite my best effort, another suitcase was required, although it is carry-on size. For two months of travel from the frozen Arctic to Paris in Spring, we have managed to contain all our clothes in one large suitcase, 2 carry-on cases and our backpacks. Pretty happy with that.

My vacuum packed snow jacket. Gloves for size comparison.

All ready to go.

Chasing the lights

The northern lights or Aurora Borealis have been on my list for quite some time. The quandary was how to see them? We spoke with some Swedes we met in Budapest a few years back and they recommended a place in Sweden, naturally. The concept of hanging around the frozen wastelands of anywhere for an indeterminate length of time did not set my heart a flutter. And the cold is most definitely not on Jayne's list of things to get excited about.

Then my travel agent (yes, dear reader, I do use one sporadically) suggested a Viking cruise up the coast of Norway. I had already checked out Hurtigruten but the level of comfort and cabin space did not live up to Jayne's exacting standards. So Viking it is. Tragically, the cruise leaves from London. Hence the title, that 1980 classic from the Clash. You can relive your memories here. The only plus side to this is that we get spend to spend some time with Zoë before we sail away on our quest.

Traps for young players

Ok, Ok, I'm not young, nor am I an inexperienced traveller, but that didn't stop me making a rookie error. Accommodation, as you will discover in subsequent posts, is a mixture of hotel and AirBnB. In London I opted for a hotel that was in proximity to Fenchurch Street Station because that is where we board the train for Tilbury which is where the ship departs.

Ever mindful that London is ridiculously expensive, I decided to use some accrued Accor points to defray the cost of our stay. There is a Novotel within walking distance of Fenchurch Street Station. Excellent. I had multiple tabs open in my attempt to find the best accommodation. I jumped from maps to the hotel sites to the Accor site to make the booking. No Booking.Com problems for this traveller.

Hotel booked. The spreadsheet that covers the trip, our accommodation, mode of travel, places of interest has been slowly populated over the months preceding our departure. As February 24 drew closer, I explored how to get from the despised Heathrow to our hotel. And that is when I discovered it.

The Novotel near Fenchurch Street Station is Novotel London Tower Bridge and the hotel I booked is the Novotel London Bridge. What's in a word? About 2km in distance, 20 minutes on a bus or 30 minutes on foot and a river crossing. The names are so similar. Ah well. We still have a bed.

Sydney to London

The usual quandary of how to get to the airport was solved when Uber sent me a 50% off your next ride voucher. Pick up booked for 11:30am, for a 3:15pm flight. From our door to the SkyTeam Lounge in a under an hour.

We arrived at our hotel in London after over 30 hours in transit. Vietnam Airlines weren't faultless, but they were very good. The staff were lovely and attentive, the food was excellent, the flights were on time and (as a tier 2 airline as I've seen them described) Business still comes with a lie flat bed. The down side? Well, first world problems. The Lounge in Sydney is pretty average, the one in Hà Nôi is better. There is a limited selection of wine available in the lounge or on the aircraft. And the staff don't offer re-fills as attentively as say Singapore or Qantas. A small price to pay for a flat bed that allows me to walk pain-free after a long flight.

Heathrow. Really what is there to say? If you know, you know. It's like covid. Best avoided. The disembarkation process and baggage collection went quickly and smoothly. Surprisingly. No doubt the e-passports have streamlined the process. The baggage collection area was a seething, heaving mass of humanity. And their over-sized bags and squealing, crying children. All that was required to create hell was the sound of leaf blower in the background. 

The signage to get to the train was inadequate, at one point we were directed into a blank wall. The staff, posted at regular intervals to be of assistance, weren't really. Unless you cornered them. Despite it all we made the train.

And then London. The city I love to hate. Where to start today? In an attempt to make us feel at home, there was track work on the Underground and the line we had decided to use to get to the hotel was closed. It wasn't a huge inconvenience except to use the Elizabeth line cost almost 3 times as much. Almost £14 compared to just over £5. The benefit? None really. It's 10 minutes faster than the Piccadilly line. However, it does beat the estimated $400 + for a cab! Does anyone actually catch A cab to London from Heathrow?

The good bit? It's not raining so the 10 minute walk to the hotel from the tube was easily negotiated. We had arranged for an early check-in at the hotel because we landed at 7:30am. However, the hotel has a midday check-out time and was fully booked. Why would you offer an early check-in, for a fee, if you can't deliver?

The result: we are sitting in the hotel bar drinking very bad coffee, well it is London, charging our phones, sorting the e-sim and finishing this blog before we finally get to shower, change and go hang with Zoë.

And so we are back. I will blog frequently but I'm not guaranteeing a daily dose.

Until next time.