Friday 23 August 2019

Big, big day - long, long post

With thanks to Silversea for this cruise
Despite still suffering (it's official: proper flu, resulting in bronchitis), I was up early this morning. Pre-dawn early, in order to score a pozzy in the Observation Lounge as we glided up the Thames towards - yay! this time! - Tower Bridge. So I was able to observe, in comfort, the reddening sky behind the giant container cranes and windmills of Tilbury, which made this functional bit of the city look positively arty for once. 
The sky lightened, and more people appeared, and I scriggled my way [thanks to E F Benson's Mapp & Lucia for that verb: combination of squeeze and wriggle. I'm an unashamed expert] to the railing above the bow of the Silver Wind to watch as we approached the Thames Barrier at 6.45am, dead on schedule.
The gap between the barriers is the same as the width of Tower Bridge, not accidentally, and it was instructive to see how snug the fit was as we slid through. I had done this before, on a Greenwich boat trip, but that vessel was considerably smaller and we'd looked up at, not down on, the barriers. 
We were now into the city proper, and the buildings clustered ever more closely, and taller, along the banks. Some were monstrosities, but others historic, or stylish glass; then came the folly of the Emirates gondola (rarely used by anyone) and, round the next bend, the spiky dome of the O2 Arena.
The sights came thick and fast now: the Old Royal Naval College at Greenwich, stately and symmetrical, then the Cutty Sark trapped in its glass pond. We could see the Shard ahead, left, right and left again, and St Paul's, as we wound past the Isle of Dogs and Canary Wharf. 
We rounded the last bend and there, straight ahead, was Tower Bridge, its bascules raised, traffic backed up each side already, even at 7.30am. Everyone was out on deck, Rule Britannia and other patriotic tunes were playing over the PA system, people were watching us from the bases of the towers, and we slid through under the walkways, with what felt like little more than a metre clearance on each side of the ship. It was glorious.
We moored with no fuss right alongside the HMS Belfast, dwarfing it and making an absurd contrast, it grey and functional and bristling with guns, and Silver Wind glamorously white and wide and fully focused on comfort and play. It was unreal, to look around and see, right there, so close, classic London sights at every angle: the Belfast, the Shard, London Bridge, St Paul's, the Great Fire monument, the Tower of London, Tower Bridge, and so much more. What a brilliant experience! How lucky and special! Thank you, Silversea.
And thank you, too, for not chucking everyone off as soon as we moored. The final generous touch from Silversea was to give us the whole day and night on board, with disembarkation not scheduled till the following day. So we could luxuriate in our being right in the centre of this great city, comfortably at home still on the Silver Wind, with everything right there at our convenience.
My choice was to go to Buckingham Palace to explore the State Apartments, which are open to the public for six weeks in the summer while the Queen is on holiday at Balmoral. It was easy to get there on the Tube - you can even use a WiFi-enabled credit or debit card at the gates these days, no need to fuss about tickets or an Oyster card - and I emerged at St James's Park to see crowds already gathering for the Changing of the Guard. The friendly policewoman I spoke to shook her head in weary amazement: "They always gather so early, I've no idea why. Nothing will be happening for at least an hour." It was heaving all along the railings and around the Victoria Memorial, and the road was coned off ready. It all looked splendid in the bright sunshine, everything clean and shiny and the gardens neat and colourful, and I regretted that when I booked my ticket time for the tour, I'd quite forgotten about the ceremony. But I had seen it before, several times, so I headed off to the Palace.
Now, dear regular 😃 reader, this was not my first time inside Buckingham Palace. Way back in 1982, you will recall, I scored, through no personal merit whatsoever, a ticket to one of that summer's several official garden parties at the Palace, hosted by the Queen herself. Then, we walked across the courtyard inside the railings, through the archway past the guards in their red uniforms and bearskin hats, and over the inner courtyard to the main entrance to the Palace itself. From there we went straight through the entrance hall into a room above the terrace, and down the steps into the gardens where there were bands, tea tents and roped-off walkways where, a bit later, we watched the Queen pass right by us. In the Palace we got glimpses of red and gold, marble and polished wood, huge flower arrangements and looming portraits, stairs and chandeliers - but only a glimpse, there was no lingering allowed.
This time, it was all about the lingering. We entered the inner courtyard from the side, walking to the main entrance and then, what a treat, went up the stairs I'd barely glanced at last time, and through a range of rooms filled with portraits, famous paintings, porcelain, elaborate clocks, huge gilded - possibly gold - ornaments, sculptures and huge sparkling chandeliers. It was all impossibly OTT, but splendidly so, and quite breath-taking to follow the footsteps of so many great names. The audio guide was helpful in emphasising how special everything was that we were looking at; and, though I was sorry, I quite understood the prohibition of photos. You'd never stop.
After about 90 minutes, we emerged onto the terrace and wandered off through the gardens (sprinklers going trying to resurrect bare patches on the lawn where Trump's helicopters had burnt the grass), some stopping for tea and cakes, others tempted by stuffed corgis in the shop. It was all amazingly relaxed - lots of staff around, but no pressure to rush, no forceful security, just smiles and friendly answers to any questions you might have. Great job.
Back outside, the crowds had dispersed a bit (I'd heard the music of the guard ceremony while I was inside) but by now it was lunchtime and there were people everywhere lying on the grass in St James's Park, feeding the swans and ducks (there was a sign forbidding feeding the pelicans, which was mysterious and unexpected) and eating their lunches.
I just wandered, along to Horse Guards Parade, past the Cenotaph, past 10 Downing Street (plenty of security here - hard to imagine now, that when I first arrived in 1977, you could wander along and stand right opposite the door) and then back towards Big Ben, currently totally unrecognisable inside a cloak of scaffolding.
I carried along the Embankment, past the London Eye on the other side, past the RAF monuments (I am an airman's daughter), and through the pretty green space of Whitehall Gardens. I was tired by then, so I took the Tube again and emerged at the Great Fire Monument which, on impulse, I went up. Just the 311 steps in an unbroken spiral to the top, people. But the views of course were magnificent - and there, front and centre, was Silver Wind, white and sparkling in the glorious sunshine as smaller boats buzzed back and forth.
It took a while to get back there, though - I crossed London Bridge and walked along that bank, past summer bars full of chattering people, and others thronging the river's edge watching Tower Bridge open (again!) to let a yacht through. Though they have to book ahead, there's no charge for boats to go under, by the way - just as well, as I'd only just got to the other side when the same boat headed back down the river. I trailed along past the walls of the Tower to the tender, and finally got back on board to get my poor, tired feet up for a while, sipping complimentary Heidsieck champers on the veranda looking past the Belfast's guns to the Shard right behind it. I even took a token dip in the pool, just to experience wallowing in such surroundings - but the water was too warm to be really enjoyable. Tch.
We ate dinner with a couple from London (who just caught a taxi to and from the ship!) and another from New Mexico, and it was jolly, relaxed and fun. Which it wasn't at all when we got back to our suite and had to pack our suitcases and put them out for collection during the night. Definitely a downer ending to a wonderful, if very long, day.

5 comments:

the queen said...

Well you are a trouper! That’s a lost of exercise for someone sick. Did the ship’s doctor give you a steroid inhaler or pseudo-ephedrine or something? W

TravelSkite said...

The OH was naturally worse affected, and he had the steroids by nebuliser, and antibiotics. I did buy myself some pseudo-ephedrine - all excited because it's been banned in NZ for years because the druggies use it to make P/meth - but it didn't have any effect, sadly. Maybe I needed the genuine ephedrine...

the queen said...

Hilarious! I would have the worst time with Gary when he was sick until we realized pseudo-ephedrine makes him evil.

TravelSkite said...

Interesting idea. I wonder if it's one of the OH's many medications that makes him less fun to live with these days? Or maybe it's just age?

the queen said...

https://melmagazine.com/en-us/story/does-getting-older-really-turn-you-into-a-cantankerous-asshole

I know my brother had to get doses of testosterone, but it made him crankier.

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