Sunday, January 14th
It all started when my mother decided that she would like to see the DaVinci exhibition at the National Gallery in London. She decided that at the beginning of December 2011.
It all started when my mother decided that she would like to see the DaVinci exhibition at the National Gallery in London. She decided that at the beginning of December 2011.
By that time all pre-bookable tickets were long gone and the internet told me that people were queuing at the National Gallery at 8 in the morning to get tickets for the day.
However, it's not like us to be discouraged so easily, so we decided to go to London at the end of January for a total of three days. She would fly in and I would come up from East Sussex.
I knew that I would have to get up early to get tickets for the second day, ideally. So I looked for decent but not too pricey hotels in the vicinity, which is a bit of a mission impossible. We are talking central London after all and the hotels were already starting to adjust the prices to the Olympic level or so it seemed.
After some to-and-fro, we settled for a handsome little boutique hotel in Mayfair - the Flemings.
After some to-and-fro, we settled for a handsome little boutique hotel in Mayfair - the Flemings.
I start checking the queuing times which seem to become crazier the closer the end of the exhibition gets.
It is January and not a pleasant one at that. Do I look forward to standing in line in winter for 5 hours? Not really. But who does? And it is for my mom. She gave me life. Standing in the cold for some time will not kill me. It will make her happy and that is what counts.
The deal is that I will queue and my mom will have breakfast and get ready in her own time. She is a little older and needs a little more time in the mornings for the various restoration and paint jobs.
It is January and not a pleasant one at that. Do I look forward to standing in line in winter for 5 hours? Not really. But who does? And it is for my mom. She gave me life. Standing in the cold for some time will not kill me. It will make her happy and that is what counts.
The deal is that I will queue and my mom will have breakfast and get ready in her own time. She is a little older and needs a little more time in the mornings for the various restoration and paint jobs.
Tuesday, January 24th
I took the afternoon off and head up to London to meet my mother at Tottenham Hale. The plan is to check into the hotel and spend a quiet evening since I will have to get up very early the next day. Queuing times are now insane. Apparently, the first people show up at 5 in the morning and people who arrive at 7 usually do not end up getting a ticket... once the ticket desks open at 10.
The National Gallery has extended the opening hours to accommodate the demand. My mother and I are aware that we may not get the chance to see the exhibition.
The National Gallery has extended the opening hours to accommodate the demand. My mother and I are aware that we may not get the chance to see the exhibition.
I quickly check where the hotel is, test the bus connection to the National Gallery, which proves to be more than just satisfactory. I enter the National Gallery and ask one of the staff how early I would have to be there the next day to get two tickets. He tells me that I should not be there any later than 5. And then he adds that there are still a few tickets for today's last slot. I thank him. Check my watch. My mother is up in the air. No chance of getting hold of her. I ponder for 2 minutes. She will be knackered after the flight. But if we rush to the hotel, she could take a half hour nap and we should be good.
I walk to the ticket desks, wait about 42 seconds and it is my turn. 2 minutes later and £32 lighter, I am holding two precious tickets for the 20:30 slot. I go back to the man and thank him profusely.
Time to be off to Tottenham Hale. I am eagerly waiting for my mother to arrive on the train from Stansted. I try to call her about 237 times to tell her that she needs to hurry up a little. 230 times, I am immediately connected to the mailbox. 7 times, her phone rings but she does not pick up.
My mother and mobile phones... clearly not a step that was ever considered in the history of evolution.
My mother and mobile phones... clearly not a step that was ever considered in the history of evolution.
It is almost 6 when my mother is stepping off the train. I tell her that I have good news and bad news. She asks for the bad news first. I tell that she still has a fairly long evening ahead of her, but that it was closely related to the good news because... * I pull out the tickets * I have tickets to the exhibition.
Under those circumstances, she is more than happy to face a long evening. We head straight to the hotel to check in. My mom smiles as the hotel's doorman - in full distinguished attire - opens the door for us and greets us with a "Good afternoon, ladies."
The lift is quite something, it looks like a library. We grin at each other. We are shown our room. All looks very good indeed, it is a twin room but the two separate beds are at least small doubles, which is great, because I do not like single beds much.
We unpack and my mom rests a little. Then we head off to have delicious TexMex dinner at the Texas Embassy next to the Gallery.
It is five past eight as we approach the staff member at the gallery and ask, if we can go in already. He looks at our tickets that clearly state 20:30 but he is not bothered and waves us straight through. Two times lucky in one day. The gods must be with us.
Under those circumstances, she is more than happy to face a long evening. We head straight to the hotel to check in. My mom smiles as the hotel's doorman - in full distinguished attire - opens the door for us and greets us with a "Good afternoon, ladies."
The lift is quite something, it looks like a library. We grin at each other. We are shown our room. All looks very good indeed, it is a twin room but the two separate beds are at least small doubles, which is great, because I do not like single beds much.
We unpack and my mom rests a little. Then we head off to have delicious TexMex dinner at the Texas Embassy next to the Gallery.
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| The much coveted ticket |
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| Dinner at the Texas Embassy |
The first part of the exhibition is great... albeit a little stuffy and crowded with people who seem to want to clamber into the sketches and paintings. Some of them a truly fascinating, others are ok. Yes, I still think that his man was a genius, but he was a human being and a minority of his sketches is just "ok". (That may sound heretic, but trust me, chances are that Leonardo's shit did stink as much as yours - and that was a figure of speech. Take 10 seconds to ponder its meaning before wildly typing rude comments.)
It's almost 10 and we have seen it all - even the second part of the exhibition in the other part of the museum. We slowly walk to the exit, sometimes sitting down on the benches of the otherwise empty museum, just soak up the atmosphere and the paintings, while all the other people do not seem to want to take the opportunity to have the accessible parts of the museum to themselves.
At a quarter to eleven we open the door to our hotel room, both knackered. We're both asleep before the witching hour.
Wednesday, January 25th
We wake up fairly early and get dressed. The second day was meant for the exhibition, but since we already ticked that box, we have the time to do whatever we please.
A full English breakfast at the hotel is unreasonably priced at £21.00 per person. I run a quick Google search and come up with a cheaper, more interesting/cheaper option which happens to hide almost around the corner: "Katies of Mayfair", full Monty for a fiver.
My mom's d'accord, so we head off.
The place is interesting. A bulk of the seating is outside - with heaters to keep the punters warm on this chilly January morning. It's busy, cheap, casual, slightly weird. Men dressed in suits and ties, tourists, builders all side by side in this greasy spoon place in posh Mayfair. The breakfast is alright - the fiver is reasonable.
We head off towards the second destination. The M&M store in Leicester Square. My sister is a huge fan and she requested some things.
My mother is hovering between fascination and disgust. It's loud, colourful, American and yet cheerful. We spend a small fortune on souvenirs.
My mom needs a break. We walk straight into the next "Pret", because my mom needs something fresh and I need something fizzy. Once restored, we make our way back and I show her the delights of Fortnun & Mason. This is clearly more to her liking. It's distinguished and quiet. Alas, it is also not exactly on the cheap side. Time for more souvenirs. I show my mom some Christmas baubles and Christmas Cracker leftovers which are now on sale. She thinks that £25 for one bauble or £650 for luxury Christmas crackers is a tad bit over the top. She may have a point.
We head back to the hotel. Stop at a small market on the way. And at Costas for a coffee. Then it is time for my mom to take a small afternoon nap. While my mom is taking 45 winks, I am browsing through the brochures the hotel has kindly put into our rooms. One section is dedicated to properties in London's much coveted central-western corner. Harrods property seems to have put one up on Foxtons property and lounge/bar service. There are some nice properties - and by that I mean reasonably large and modern for the hefty price tag - but honestly, if I had 10 to 25 million to blow, chances are that I would not spend it on a property in London. And since I have significantly less than that in petty cash, I prefer to book a hotel room if I really want to spend the night in the capital. Come to think of it, every German would probably balk at the thought of spending 250k on fifty square metres of cramped living space, century-old brick which is held together by dirt and mould that has been covered with a thin layer of cheap paint in a half-hearted-DIY-slap-dash-fashion to squeeze another 30k out of the next buyer.
Some 45 minutes later, my mom's back among the living. To wake her up properly, I show her the properties and the prices. She shakes her head and says that surely there are better ways to spend an indecent amount of money. My mind rewinds back to the Christmas baubles. I nod.
We decide to go back out and walk around a bit, it's only 5 and too early to stay in. We go and have a coffee and a lemonade at Nero's opposite the Mahiki, take a stroll through the Burlington Arcade, before we take a turn and walk through the small alleys of Mayfair.
We are both hungry. After 15 minutes of undecidedness, we pick Le Boudin Blanc because it strikes us as the most interesting restaurant. The restaurant is french to the T, the food is very good - the onion soup in particular. After the starter and the main, we're too full to cram in a desert, so I settle for a brandy, while my mom settles the bill.
After a digestive stroll through the alleys - and past the Royal Embassy of Saudi Arabia - which looks like a nouveau riche mansion in the heart of London, we head back to the hotel to have a drink at the bar.
The cocktail bar is nice, dark and hip. Unfortunately, the bar man is a little full of himself and the cocktail prices are a little over the top. My mom and I just have a short drink and head back upstairs, which is just as well. We are both reluctant to admit that we are knackered. The lights go out at 22:12.
A full English breakfast at the hotel is unreasonably priced at £21.00 per person. I run a quick Google search and come up with a cheaper, more interesting/cheaper option which happens to hide almost around the corner: "Katies of Mayfair", full Monty for a fiver.
My mom's d'accord, so we head off.
The place is interesting. A bulk of the seating is outside - with heaters to keep the punters warm on this chilly January morning. It's busy, cheap, casual, slightly weird. Men dressed in suits and ties, tourists, builders all side by side in this greasy spoon place in posh Mayfair. The breakfast is alright - the fiver is reasonable.
We head off towards the second destination. The M&M store in Leicester Square. My sister is a huge fan and she requested some things.
My mother is hovering between fascination and disgust. It's loud, colourful, American and yet cheerful. We spend a small fortune on souvenirs.
My mom needs a break. We walk straight into the next "Pret", because my mom needs something fresh and I need something fizzy. Once restored, we make our way back and I show her the delights of Fortnun & Mason. This is clearly more to her liking. It's distinguished and quiet. Alas, it is also not exactly on the cheap side. Time for more souvenirs. I show my mom some Christmas baubles and Christmas Cracker leftovers which are now on sale. She thinks that £25 for one bauble or £650 for luxury Christmas crackers is a tad bit over the top. She may have a point.
We head back to the hotel. Stop at a small market on the way. And at Costas for a coffee. Then it is time for my mom to take a small afternoon nap. While my mom is taking 45 winks, I am browsing through the brochures the hotel has kindly put into our rooms. One section is dedicated to properties in London's much coveted central-western corner. Harrods property seems to have put one up on Foxtons property and lounge/bar service. There are some nice properties - and by that I mean reasonably large and modern for the hefty price tag - but honestly, if I had 10 to 25 million to blow, chances are that I would not spend it on a property in London. And since I have significantly less than that in petty cash, I prefer to book a hotel room if I really want to spend the night in the capital. Come to think of it, every German would probably balk at the thought of spending 250k on fifty square metres of cramped living space, century-old brick which is held together by dirt and mould that has been covered with a thin layer of cheap paint in a half-hearted-DIY-slap-dash-fashion to squeeze another 30k out of the next buyer.
Some 45 minutes later, my mom's back among the living. To wake her up properly, I show her the properties and the prices. She shakes her head and says that surely there are better ways to spend an indecent amount of money. My mind rewinds back to the Christmas baubles. I nod.
We decide to go back out and walk around a bit, it's only 5 and too early to stay in. We go and have a coffee and a lemonade at Nero's opposite the Mahiki, take a stroll through the Burlington Arcade, before we take a turn and walk through the small alleys of Mayfair.
We are both hungry. After 15 minutes of undecidedness, we pick Le Boudin Blanc because it strikes us as the most interesting restaurant. The restaurant is french to the T, the food is very good - the onion soup in particular. After the starter and the main, we're too full to cram in a desert, so I settle for a brandy, while my mom settles the bill.
After a digestive stroll through the alleys - and past the Royal Embassy of Saudi Arabia - which looks like a nouveau riche mansion in the heart of London, we head back to the hotel to have a drink at the bar.
The cocktail bar is nice, dark and hip. Unfortunately, the bar man is a little full of himself and the cocktail prices are a little over the top. My mom and I just have a short drink and head back upstairs, which is just as well. We are both reluctant to admit that we are knackered. The lights go out at 22:12.
Thursday, January 27th
The last few hours of our stay in London have started. We are both a little sad, but we decide to make the most of it. We take showers, pack our things an check out.
My mom wants a simple breakfast. I am suggesting the Pret shop right around the corner. The sun is shining and my mom contently eats a small baguette with butter and jam while I ordered porridge and a croissant. We have plenty of time, so we eat leisurely and stay put for a bit to chat about how well everything turned out.
Rather than taking the Tube, we make the best of the weather and take the bus to Victoria where we take the train to Gatwick. We have a quick lunch at giraffe before I take her to the gate. The next plans are already laid out. My mom will come to visit me for her birthday in May.
The last few hours of our stay in London have started. We are both a little sad, but we decide to make the most of it. We take showers, pack our things an check out.
My mom wants a simple breakfast. I am suggesting the Pret shop right around the corner. The sun is shining and my mom contently eats a small baguette with butter and jam while I ordered porridge and a croissant. We have plenty of time, so we eat leisurely and stay put for a bit to chat about how well everything turned out.
Rather than taking the Tube, we make the best of the weather and take the bus to Victoria where we take the train to Gatwick. We have a quick lunch at giraffe before I take her to the gate. The next plans are already laid out. My mom will come to visit me for her birthday in May.
