I’m in London. I’m long overdue with a travel email but have been too busy soaking up the humidity and Paris. I took the Chunnel (the train that goes via the tunnel under the English Channel) here Monday. People had warned me that it can be a bit claustrophobic for the 20 minutes that you are in the tunnel, in the water. However, I was so tired from my Parisian adventures I just slept through it. I must say that it was the most pleasant crossing of the English Channel I have experienced. Having really lousy sea legs, the memories of my crossing by boat have been most unpleasant. 

 

I’m staying with Sarah, Zack and baby Beatrice in St. Johns Wood. I swear, all the names of places in London remind me of Rolling Stones songs. I read a map and just sing away to myself (luckily for those nearby). Sarah went to the London Business School and Zack’s been working in the financial world here, putting his PhD in Engineering to work on investing the big bucks for the big guys. Baby Beatrice arrived in November. I swear, Beatrice is the happiest baby I’ve ever met, so charming and so social (which warms my heart).

 

I took a taxi (most are still the wonderful old curvy shape as before, but now they come in all colors and with advertising on the sides!) to their house from the Waterloo (I know, Abba song) train station and we drove by  the changing of the guards at the Buckingham Palace. It looked like the Rose Parade with layers of spectators lined up, straining to catch a glimpse. 

 

S,Z&B have a great flat on the third floor (with no elevator). We saw lots of horses (that had something to do with the Queen’s birthday celebration) marching down the street with the military riders in their English uniforms that haven’t changed style in years. Boy, you just DON’T get this sense of history in California. 

 

This trip to Europe began when I arrived in Paris on Monday the 4th to visit my friend Fahda. She lives just a couple of blocks from the Eiffel Tower with her son and daughter. It’s a fantastic location, near the River Seine. The first night I arrived she took me across the river to sip Champagne and enjoy the sight of the Eiffel Tower at dusk. Not only were we soaking up the vision of the EF but also a replica of the flame from the Statue of Liberty - which is right above the underpass where Princess Diana was killed. This has become a tribute to Diana. It features graffiti that gets removed periodically and lots of sweet messages from her fans who come to pay homage. There’s also a photo-snapping visitor who swings by every few minutes, yours truly included. (see photo)

 

In 1972-73 lived in the Paris area for four – five months and I haven’t been back since. It’s interesting to note what’s changed and what hasn’t. The biggest change to me is in the look and style of the people. The French are still TRES chic, but the kids don’t look so terribly different from the American kids today. (I know the French would be horrified by this observation but I don’t notice such a HUGE difference in their clothes.) There are lots of new buildings but the main Parisian architecture is from days LONG gone and it’s terribly impressive with the creamy-white walls and bluish mansard roofs. Many of the buildings feature balconies and windows with wrought iron work that you see in the French Quarter in New Orleans. 

 

The streets in are very old, with lots of cobblestones, many HUGE dips, holes and danger lurking in them. I managed to twist my ankle and fell the second night I was there. We were walking back from a delightful fish restaurant where we’d dined and I walked and hobbled around the next day or two feeling like Walter Brennen limping about. The day apres le fall Fahda took me to a pharmacy where they gave me some iboprophin jell and an ace-type bandage for my ankle. It helped me tremendously. In France when you go to the pharmacy, you describe your problem and the worker there accesses what you need and sells you the product. It’s quite a different experience from the US. 

 

The pharmacy was right next to a school of design and things in the area just seemed more arty to me. I asked Fahda if the outline of a dog that I saw painted on the side walk (with an arrow pointing to the gutter) was from the art students. She replied “No! That image shows you where your dog is supposed to poop!” 

 

I spent some time walking around the Eiffel Tower and it offered an interesting mix of people. First I saw lots of lovers sprawled about on the grass. It made me think of the Joni Mitchell song In France They Kiss on Main Street; Amour Baby not Cheap Display. Then three military guys walked passed me toting guns but wearing very casual outfits. At first I wondered if they were really military. Then I saw some police hanging out by the ice cream stand, and some on bikes. They had navy shirts with “POLICE” written on them so I knew they were really police.

 

As a new tourist lure there is a temporary diving pool in front of the tower where divers are teaching scuba diving. Flocks of tourists descend from double decker buses and suddenly a group of gypsies materialized and swooped into the crowd. Fahda had warned me about the gypsies and told me keep my purse well guarded. However, I didn’t expect them to dress looking like such obvious gypsies. Heck, they didn’t need to write “GYPSY” on their clothes for me to figure it out... Fahda’s daughter (she's in the photo with me at the ET) told me that she and some friends were hanging out there one night after the tourists had gone, and one of her friends REALLY had to pee so went into the bushes nearby. Suddenly a large group of gypsies appeared - fleeing from the bushes.

 

I’m off to explore the tributes to Diana in London. 

Cheerio!