Sunday Story--Get on the Bus

The bus was really nice, seriously--plush, comfy. I liked it. Our driver, Riemond, was an Austrian who I believe was driving in the womb. He was able to maneuver our giant tour bus like an agile Ferrarri in the winding streets and steep narrow roads that led our travels through the Alps. It really was beautiful.

In order to be fair, we moved back a seat after every stop so everyone would have a chance at the front, the back, the left, the right. I didn't mind too much. We had only moved about three times at this point.

At our next stop, Mike, I and our our couple friends, Brian and Tracy, chattered with the young grandson from Australia. He ws annoyed.

"Grandma getting on your nerves?" Mike asked him as we waited for our coffee (they do no serve coffee in to-go cups so we were in a bit of hurry to get our caffeine fix before we had to move on).

The young boy shook his head. "No, I love Grandmum. It's that old bag behind me."

"What's wrong with her?" I kind of giggled, trying to figure out which 'old bag' he was referring.

"Is she annoying?" Mike asked.

We had an annoying man behind us. He was obsessed with pointing out each and every cow we saw--because cows are so rare in the States.

"No. She just pisses in her seat and then I get to sit in it."

The four of us almost spat out our just arrived coffee.

Brian's eyes widened, "No way. Which one?"

"Is it the one with the black cane?"

"The one with the bluish hair?"

"Is it that lady in the big hat?"

Yes, we were berating him with questions as we wanted to make very sure we did not ever sit anywhere near her on the bus.

"It's her," he looked down at his shoes and pointed to his right.

Like a curious group of high school boys gawking at girls, all of us turned and stared.  It was the older woman with the limp but no cane. I tried to record every detail of her to make sure we stayed, away, far, away.

*****************

The next morning as we were walking to the bus, I noticed the young grandson already on the bus. He was actually the first one there.

"I plan on getting a good seat, "he smiled when he saw us.

As we were getting on the bus, we saw our friend with the bladder issues. And we noticed her 'issue' had become common knowledge as people scattered (as fast as the elder can scatter) when she sat down. The grandson and his grandmum sat right behind the old lady. Since we moved back, he would not have to ever sit in pee. He might have to smell it but at least he would never sit in her seat.

As the bus started, Lars our tour guide began to tell us about our next destination, Munich. "Oh and for a change of pace, "he added. "We will be moving forward a seat rather than back after each stop."

The poor boy shoved his face in his hands and I think I may have heard sobs.

Sunday Story--A couple of Whipper Snappers

So all in all, London was perfect, amazing and everything else :) We did as many touristy things as we could. Riding the top of the double decker tour bus, visiting the Tower, Big Ben, Scotland Yard, Harods and a dozen other things.

And then it was time to move on to our tour. Before we got married, Mike and I met with a travel agent that convinced us joining a tour was the way to go for our first (and so far only) European adventure. We wanted to see the castles, specifically the castles of King Ludwig. There was a tour that featured the castles and visited Munich during Oktoberfest. We thought this would be perfect.

We landed in Zurich, Switzerland and immediately noticed a distinct difference no other city could compare. It was clean and by clean, I mean you could lick the trash cans clean. Even the toilets were spotless; after you flushed a mechanical arm attached to the seat and cleaned it. I was a very relaxed germaphob.

The hotel was nothing too special. It was incredibly modern with a giant life size chess board at the entrance (yes, we did play a game!).  We looked around the hotel and then waited on the rest of the tour group.

I was a bit nervous. The hotel was almost empty, save a few older people with canes and us. 

"What do you think the tour group will be like?" I asked Mike over a traditional fondue meal.

"I'm guessing honeymooners like us. Maybe some just married couples," Mike shrugged his shoulders and cracked some fresh pepper over the cheese pot. 

I popped some bread covered in cheese in my mouth and nodded.

"Yeah, I bet it will be fun."

"I wonder if all of Europe is this clean?" Mike mumbled.

*********************

The next morning, we packed up and got ready to visit our tour group in the clean, sleek , lobby. As we got out of the elevator, we noticed a sharp contrast to the modern surroundings. Approximately 35 'older' people we congregated on the sofas and chairs. Was this our tour group?

I scanned to crowd and noticed a younger than high school boy calling a woman next to hime grandmum and then a younger couple with the buttons given to us in the tour guide. Were we supposed to wear those?

Naturally, we went beside the younger couple. 

"Are you with the INSIGHT  tour?" the girl from the couple asked us.

We nodded and introduced ourselves.

"Thank God, you're here," began Scott, the boy from the couple. "Everyone here is OLD. I mean dinosaur old." 

Tracy, the girl, nodded. "If we didn't put on these stupid buttons, we would have left."

"It can't be that bad, hee, hee" I giggled looking around knowing it could be that bad.

Suddenly a younger, like in his thirties, man stood up and spoke. His name was Lars from Norway and he would be our tour guide. He briefly discussed the tour and then asked if anyone would need handicap assistance. Half the group rose their hands.

Mike and I slowly began to realize we would be spending the majority of our honeymoon on a giant bus with people almost four times our age.

I turned to our new friends. Our best friends for the next two weeks.

"Want to get a drink before we get on the bus?"

Sunday Story--Beyond the Velvet Rope

Martin Miller greeted us at the door. Inside, we saw a small yet tastefully decorated hall. A young girl appeared out of of nowhere and offered to get our bags. 

"Welcome," began the girl. "I'm afraid our suites are taken so you will need to stay at the Byron room.  It's right on the second level."

I was holding tight to Mike's hand. The out of the way bed and breakfast without a sign was small and looked more like a humble home than a place that provided accommedations for strangers.

Martin broke in, "We have cocktails in the main room tonight at seven."

We glanced to out left and saw the main room and pretty much gasped. I am not sure how I would describe this room. It was like looking at a well preserved room from the seventeenth century in a museum but without the velvet rope to keep you out. It turned out Martin Miller was involved in the world of beautiful antiques. My fear of being robbed or kidnapped was quickly replaced with the fear of breaking a hundred year old vase.

Martin quickly disappeared as the young girl checked us and filled us with the details of the bed and breakfast. She also asked how we found the bed and breakfast--we mentioned Captain Bucko, and we climbed the tiny stairs to our room.

The Byron room was yellow and blue and once again, tiny. The difference, just about every item in the room was a lovely antique. Even the giant quilt on the bed looked different. The one weird thing--the bathtub was also antique. Clawfooted and stand-alone, the tub was beautiful  but I was more concerned as to how I was going to shower--dragging bags through the Tube is a workout, trust me.

When the girl left the room, we began to unload our bags.

"See, "Mike grinned. "I told you."

"Yeah, yeah," I smiled and gave him a kiss.

After finding a way to clean up in the tub, we got dressed and decided to check out the cocktails downstairs. We were expecting one or two people, but let me tell you the place was packed. And these folks were dressed. We walked in and were handed wine. Really, really really, good French wine. 

My ever social new husband began to introduce himself to the various guests, almost all good friends of Martin stopping by before hitting the town. In about 20 minutes, we met a publisher, author, artist, professor and other incredibly interesting people. At moments I felt like we were in a different world, sitting on a chair more than likely 200 years old, drinking some awesome wine and speaking with truly successful Londoners. We were beyond the infamous velvet rope. There was no other place we wanted to be but then we were hungry.

We ended up bidding farewell to the guests as checked out the Brazillian Meat restaurant next to the b and b. When we arrived, we were a bit nervous. The place was fairly empty and it was 7:30 pm. Our fears were reduced when we saw the food. Maybe Britain wasn't into the big stick of meat. But by nine, the place was standing room only with a line out the door. Again, we noticed the lingering diners that were engrossed in their conversations-not their plates. We decided to do as they did and lingered at our table soaking in the atmosphere and our own conversation.

Back at the b and b, cocktail hour was still going strong with new guests. After our long trk through London and knowing we wanted to hit lots of sights the following day, we opted to head to our room. 

By midnight, I am pretty sure every actor and actress who performed on London's West Side was in the main room. There was singing (incredible singing even if I was tired), laughing and crashing of empty bottles dumped in the trash. We both fell asleep to the sounds, almost like a lullaby.

In the morning, we saw empty bottles everywhere as I young boy was setting up for breakfast. The breakfast room was sadly nothing special but they had some quick meals and we were pleased. (Side note--the website shows a breakfast room now--we did not have this; guess we need to go back). Our breakfast companion was a younger man from Colorado. He was on business regarding an internet start up he was working on.

"Can you believe you found this place?" he began as he took a swig of his coffee (the coffee was in beautiful tea cups).

"No, "Mike laughed. "how did you hear about it?"

"My boss has a friend who knows the guy. And you?"

So we told our new friend the tale of Captain Bucko. He listened and then stood up, grinning.

"That's so cool," he shook our hands and left. He was in a hurry to get to a flight.

I looked over at Mike and noticed he had yellow streaks in his hair. Apparently, antique pillows should not be laid on after a shower. 

After cleaning off some fabric bleeds, we headed off for a day of site seeing. We had to see as much as possible--we would be joining our tour in Zurich tomorrow. And who knows who else we might meet?

Sunday Story--Is it two pounds per one dollar or two dollars per pound?

We landed in London, late morning (London time). We began to walk through mazes and were truly lost puppies looking for home. Mike turned to a guy next to him that looked like he rode Harleys for a living. 

"You're new to this, aren't you, " he smiled.

"Yes, could we follow you?" Mike the ever trusting husband said.

"Sure," he nodded us through a gate and began to explain the whole customs process.

Mike, being his usual chatty self asked if our new friend would care to join us for coffee to thank him for his help. He would be delighted to.

So sitting down, I learned our friend, Captain Bucko, was a truly interesting individual. According to him, the good captain, he had been abroad several times and had visited many countries we were going to see.

"So where are you staying?" he inquired.

"This place called The Athenaeum," Mike answered as he pulled out the itineary the travel agent gave us.

The captain rubbed his chin, "Don't know anything about that place."

"According to our travel agent it's somewhere between a Hilton and say the Ritz--nice but not too nice, we're not the Trumps, "I was getting into the conversation.

"And it's really not too pricy, "Mike chimmed in. "It's only 380 pounds a night so that's what $185 or so?"

Captain Bucko started to laugh, "My friend, you are confusing your math. As you will quickly learn, two dollars is worth one pound, not two dollars per pound. "

Mike and I were speechless. He continued.

"The room is actually more like $760 a night. A bit OTT as they say here."

Mike and I both looked at each and mouthed 'Oh my goodness'.

I turned to Captain Bucko, "Maybe it's a mistake on this sheet. Maybe it's really dollars. A little too high but."

"We are staying there for four nights--that's like three grand," Mike blurted out.

"Well," Captain Bucko scratched his beard. "I do have some friends, the Millers. They are into antiques and have a little bed and breakfast. Let me write down their info for you. The guy who runs it is a great fella. I wouldn't be surprised if you called him and he came and picked you up himself in his land rover and took you about town."

"That would be great, "Mike was smiling. I was unsure.

"Well honey, "I began. "Why don't we see if it's a mixup at the hotel and take it from there?"

"But this seems..."

"I want to try the hotel, "I forced a smile. I was going to play the bride card and he knew it. Mike nodded and we got up from our chairs.

"Well the travel agent said we need to catch a train to the other airport because it's closer to our location and take a cab from there."

Captain Bucko nodded and got up. "I understand. Now when you get to the other airport, you exit to the left and find a que, that's a line, for cabs called blackies. Blackies are great cabs but they again are OTT."

"Oh great," Mike smiled.

"It was great meeting you again," I shook the captain's hand.

"Yes and thank for your help," Mike said pulling out his wallet.

Captian Bucko, pulled out his wallet and motioned Mike to put his away and paid for our coffee and pasteries. "You're own your honeymoon, allow me," he smiled. "And remember if you call the Millers, tell them Captain Bucko sent you they'll give you a good rate. And you can't get in without a referral."

Captain Bucko went back to the plane to catch his connection to France and we proceeded to take off for our train. Before boarding we exchanged our dollars for a small sum of pounds. Mike went to buy the tickets for the train, coach again.

"I don't know about that bed and breakfast, "I said as we were waiting.

"He seemed nice and come on three grand is going to kill us. We'll be broke."

"I'd rather be broke than on the British news as a serial killer victim, "I mumbled. "The whole thing seems like a scam. I mean who is really that nice?"

Mike sighed, "I guess you have a point. It did seem a bit odd that he knew about bed and breakfast. Well here's out train."

We got on the train and saw it was bumper to bumper people. I mean pressed to the glass so many people. There was no way we could even fit. I looked to my left and saw the other car was almost empty.

I grabbed Mike's sleeve. 

"Come on, looks like no one saw this side," I was very eager to sit on one of the cushy benches I saw.

We got in and sat down across from an older man, a professor at Duke we later learned, and gave each other subtle high fives. We could not understand how the people in the other car were so well stupid to be all crammed like they were.

As the train began to roll, I was mesmorized by the beautiful countryside. It was truly lovely, The green was amazing and the little home adorable. I was getting really excited to soak in this new land. 

"Tickets," the polite (and by the way, all British are polite--very polite) conductor asked our table.

The professor pulled out his ticket and then Mike pulled out his.

"Sir, "polite conductor addressed Mike. "These are for coach. You are unfortunetly in first class."

I glanced back at the crammed car behind us, and then I gave Mike my please don't-make-me-go-there look.

"Um, "Mike began. "I am so sorry. Is there anyway I can pay you the additional fee now." 

Surely it's only a few bucks.

"Of course sir. That will five pounds, each."

Mike sighed and took out the wallet. Our pounds were dropping faster than a weight watcher meeting. 

I smiled and continued to enjoy the countryside.

We arrived at the station and true to Captain Bucko's words, found the Blackies. We looked for the que but found nothing. We began to walk right up to the cabs when I noticed a rather large line way behind us. Our first lesson in England. You don't stand right up at the cabs for que. You poiltely wait well back. Now no one said anything as we walked straight to the front (very polite remember) but felt uneasy stares so Mike and quickly ran  to the back of the que.

We got in the Blackie and drove for about a block to our hotel. Five pounds.

The Athenaeum was pretty, I will admit that. A door man went straight to our cab and grabbed our bags. He scanned our luggage tag and greeted us by Mr and Mrs last name and then led us to the lobby where he introduced us to the front desk by name and began our registration. I was impressed but not $780 a night impressed.

Will we stay at the hotel or trust Captian Bucko? Will we go see the queen? All these questions and more will be answered next week!

****Quick Update: I was reviewing old stuff and I am about 100 pounds off on the hotel room--it was 280 pounds. I thought $780 seemed too high :0****