Drøbak to London (which was still swingin')

For various reasons, which may or may not be revealed in the fullness of time, I was not able to jump back into blogging when I arrived home on May 23. I really wanted to capture my last day in Drøbak and last day and a half in London, too. Fortunately, I made notes, if you can dignify my slovenly cramped scrawl on the front and back of a business card with that name.

Since my London flight did not leave Oslo until around 2000, I had almost the whole day to spend with family in Drøbak. Joe and Lise and the kids and I went downtown in mid morning, partly so I could shop for a little gift or two and partly just to have an outing. Ice cream was involved. And believe me when I tell you that the vanilla ice cream from the Narvesen kiosk (they're on every corner in Olso and environs) is out of this world. Emphasis on the cream. Yep, I know I said the same thing in an earlier post, but it does bear repeating. It was worth every calorie. If I recall correctly, we walked down the hill to town, but it probably wasn't enough to make up the difference.

Such a lovely town and that much better if you're hanging out in it with the people you love. There was also time later in the day. to hang out on Per and Britt's patio, enjoying the wind and the light. Big hugs goodbye all around -- it is best to get that part over quickly -- and then off to the airport.

I only started fretting about getting into London fairly late on a Sunday night after the flight was delayed about an hour. Suddenly I realized that by the time I cleared passport control it would be past 2300. Getting back into Earl's Court and walking to the hotel was one thing, but my main worry was how late the Picadilly Line ran from Terminal 4 on Sundays.

Late enough, as it turned out. Just. I think there might have been one more train after the one I hopped onto at 2320 or so. After that, no worries. Plenty of other travelers in the same boat. Then coming up out of the station at Earls Court just after midnight I was amazed to see shops and restaurants still open and full of people. Couldn't have felt safer, really. And the Mayflower had saved me a nice quiet room on the tippy top floor, not surprising I suppose since I'd called from Oslo to say I'd be late and remind them to do so.

Monday morning and my last day in London arrived in no time. I decided to to a little shopping (and the exchange rate argued for very little). I know there are no bargains, but I do love Mayfair and Piccadilly for shopping. It's nice to walk along Bond Street and Regent Street, but I couldn't afford a bean in those locales. Whereas Floris, Charbonnel et Walker, Fortnum & Mason and Hatchards all yield up affordable, portable treats.

On one of my last trips I discovered (thanks to City Secrets) the cafe bar on the top floor of Waterstone's flagship store, which used to be a department store called Simpson. The art deco building's got tons of style as well as acres of books and the cafe has a nice view of the spires of the Houses of Parliament even on a gray day. You can buy a stack of books and go up, take a load off your feet, have a nice cold drink and leaf through all your purchases. Or in my case, you can have a yummy lunch of couscous salad and page through a copy of the Independent filched from another table. Very enjoyable, either way.

It was a bit rainy on this last Monday, so I opted for the lunchtime recital at St. James Piccadilly rather than more walking. The pianist, Samantha Ward, has won all kinds of student awards and is one hopes off to a brilliant career. She played Scarlatti and some Beethoven and then I thought I ought to skedaddle so I could get organized before my next engagement, so unfortunately I missed the Schumann.

Later in the afternoon, I met up for a drink with a colleague from home and his wife. Our visits only overlapped the one day, so I was delighted they were kind enough to come over to my neighborhood. We went to The Blackbird, a handsome pub in Earls Court Road. What little time we had just flew as we drank a pint and traded stories. They too were having a fine trip (they got to spend two days in Greenwich, not that I'm jealous) and were heading home in a couple more days, as soon as they got to the Chelsea Flower Show, an extravaganza I once had the pleasure of taking in (a feast for the eyeballs, a challenge to the feet as I recall). They were off to dinner and I was off to a bite to eat myself, and one last West End play.

Yes, indeedy, I did eat at Wagamama again, this time the one in the Haymarket. Sat down the table from the Northern Irish actor Adrian Dunbar, who seemed to be involved in an intense discussion of an historical/political discussion with his two companions. One of them was an actor I was sure I've seen but could not place or name. Well, that added interest to the meal.

The cherry on top for my last evening was the brilliantly funny comedy Boeing Boeing. The play is a classic French farce and I suppose a bit of a chestnut, but with new life breathed into it by Roger Allam, Patricia Hodge, and especially Mark Rylance, who is heartbreakingly wistful and screamingly, cluelessly funny. (After the fact, I learned that the previously mentioned Adrian Dunbar has taken over as Bernard from Roger Allam and identified his fellow diner as Neil Stuke, who took over Mark Rylance's role. Small world, eh? They like politics and Wagamama.)

The three women who played the "air hostesses" were all quite good as well. By the way, if you recognize the name Patricia Hodge, it may well be from her Rumpole of the Bailey days -- you know, the "Portia of our chambers" and all that (aka Phyllida Erskine-Browne). She was playing against type as the decidedly unglamorous and droll housekeeper. I enjoyed her, too, but I imagine that Frances De La Tour, whom Hodge recently replaced, would have been a revelation. Ah well.

There was just time the next morning to nip over to the Wallace Collection and say hello to the portrait miniatures and some of the other lovely pictures before taking the trusty Tube (I found it generally so this trip) back to Heathrow and home.