My United Kingdom Come - A Journal, Part I

My goodness. Everyone who knows me wants a full accounting of our recent trip to the U.K. Well, maybe not everyone. Maybe only a few, but still I might as well tell the tale for all to see.

Diana and I had planned this trip for some time and when we reached the Madison airport and found our flights were not cancelled or otherwise delayed, we knew that we were in for a treat. The short hop in a regional jet to O'Hare in Chicago was uneventful, so we looked for more adventure on our overseas flight.

The plane, a 767, was much bigger although leg room was set for the last group of vacationing pygmies. Knowing that, I had upgraded to "Economy Plus" and got about 4-5 more inches of leg room. Being 6'4" tall, this was a blessing for a 7+ hour flight to London Heathrow.

On arrival and after numerous passport checks, I was to look for the Trafalgar reps who would whisk us to our hotel in Chelsea. After wandering and reading the placards held up by many other souls who had no idea who they were looking for, I stumbled on to two lovely ladies with clipboards. Luckily they were looking for us as well, and got us planted near the shuttle office to await our coach.

After the half-hour wait and the almost hour drive, we pulled up to the Copthorne Millennium Hotel at Chelsea Football Club. Long name, but would turn out to be consequential. We checked in and then not knowing anyone or anything I searched for the Trafalgar rep (another one) with no luck. The helpful concierge noted in his big notebook that the T-rep would be in the hotel tomorrow from 2:00 pm to 6:00 pm. How helpful. By 2: 00 pm tomorrow we should be in Plymouth, England looking at ruins or ships or pubs or something.

We settled in to our room and later found that the rep was indeed there and I was called to meet her in the bar. She apologized for the hotel not knowing where she was, and then gave me our needed times for the next day. Up at 6:00 am, luggage in the hall, by 6:15 am, breakfast by 7:00 am, and then meet our Tour Director (TD) and coach at 8 am. This was to be the schedule, give or take 15 minutes, for the rest of the trip. Very well organized but also very early.

By 8:00 am and group of people were milling outside, chatting as couples, and not mixing well with others. I astutely surmised that these were our fellow travellers, our coach mates, our quixotic partners in the Kingdom's lore. We all smiled at each other, no one wanting to be the first to speak, until we saw our TD walking toward us. He calls out, "Jansen's, where are the Jansen's?" I immediately freeze wondering what calamity could already have visited us.

"Your luggage has holes" said the strange and stern man who would be Phillip Rodney Anthony Horne, the Tour Director and our host, companion, and even friend for the next 11 days.

Diana looks worried until I say, "Holes, you mean the little pokes in the sides?"

"Yes, you have holes and I check this luggage carefully and don't want to be blamed for holes" said Philip.

"Those were there from many prior trips so you don't have to worry", I said trying not to appear embarrassed in front of 15 others in the group who no doubt had new designer luggage. "It's tough stuff", I offered further.

Philip smiled, harrumphed, and moved on to others.

After boarding our quite nice Trafalgar coach, we settled in when we found our that our group was only 19 (a pair if New Zealanders to be picked up at Park Lane). We could each have our own double seat and although no one claimed another seat at first, as the trip progress fewer couples troubled to sit together.

We roared into traffic in Chelsea heading westerly to begin our exciting journey across England, Wales, and Scotland. The day was sunny, our partners seemed jovial, and our TD lost a little of his gruffness within about 10 miles. It was a facade, of course. Start tough and ease up later.

Except when it comes to being on time. Philip's rules were short and succinct. "When we arrive at a stop, I will give you a time to be back on the bus. That is not a suggestion, it is the time to be back on the bus. This is not your personal tour, this is a group tour. If you think you are special and need a few more minutes than anyone else, we will wave at you as we go by. You can then arrange your own private tour. It is rude to be late and to waste the time of your fellow travelers, so I won't. I have had a few complaints from those I have left behind, but as you can see I am still working here."

None of us moved as we waited to hear if there were more rules, like not laughing, or not taking pictures, or maybe even not talking. Luckily for us, the rules were not that draconian; in fact most of us agreed with the time limits as we all had stories to tell about other "entitled" people who would arrive 10 or more minutes late with a giggle and a muttered excuse. For the next 11 days, not one person was late for anything. In fact, the rest of us would "tsk-tsk" at the last person back on the bus even when there was five minutes until the Phil Deadline.

Onward toward Plymouth, and the subject of the next post. Come back again to read about Stonehenge, Salisbury, the Mayflower folks, the British naval base, and the awful pub food we had to endure in Cornwall.

Ta ta for now (TTFN).