Dear Old Blighty

But it is different while travelling with parents. The food poses a problem, and to ensure that they don’t tire themselves out, it is better to stick to a light schedule. And that’s why we decided on the 15-day organised tour from Kuoni, which would help us cover the most – while not having to worry about the ‘how’ and ‘where’, with a steady supply of Indian food. It would start from London and then take us through the western half of Europe, saying goodbye in Rome. As I can recall, the last time I had been on such a trip with strangers was when I was 11, and we were doing a tour though the United States. So it can be said that I had almost no idea what to expect. While on the first day I thought it was a giant mistake and I wouldn’t survive five days into the tour, a few days into the programme and I could easily block out the people and continue to be overwhelmed by the sights of what was in front of me. Most of the families in the group were from the Middle East and save two howling infants (of course), the rest were rather tolerable – some actually nice people. That’s it about the organised tour – and I don’t think I have anything more to mention about them, apart from our tour manager – Rumy, who was not just brilliant at what he did, but was very kind and gave us some great tips about the rest of our journey in Rome and Milan, which were going solo for. 

We flew British Airways from Vienna into Heathrow’s Terminal 3 and all kinds of #toflytoserve memorabilia passed my mind. Our seats were split in the journey and mine was in the middle of a huge group of Canadian women who were returning home after a pilgrimage. I had no idea that Christians went on such trips and a really detailed chat with one of the ladies, who was happy to explain the details to me, and also shared her recommendations on special non-touristy things at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. For starters, she told me about a place in Bosnia called Medjugorje that Christians visit in thousands – apparently, the Virgin Mary has been visiting some local Catholic children there and sends out messages through them. It is said to be a place where apparitions have been reported and the stories around it are fascinating. The things you learn when you speak to people from across the globe are some of the most important reasons that draws me to dream of travelling the globe. 

Soon, I could see us descending beyond the cloud cover, the Thames winding its way across London and it was time to disembark. Our destination was the IbisHotel near the Wembley Stadium, which is a pretty long way from the airport and had inspired us to brave the London Underground with luggage. I guess if you know where you have to go and/or have only a small case, there can be no better way that the metro – but from firsthand experience, we’re never doing this again. By a spot of bad luck the Piccadilly line was under repairs that weekend, and we had to take a longer route, change three trains and undergo an exhaustive workout pulling our bags up and down the stairs, across roads and through never-ending corridors. Absolute nightmare. To add the misery, the Wembley was hosting the first match of the new era of Manchester United, in a precursor match to the British Premier League. So you can only imagine what it felt like, to be walking uphill with suitcases, while frenzied crowds were leaving the stadium in hundreds.

By the time we reached the hotel, waded across a mob (extremely happy and slightly tipsy Manchester United fans in red jerseys and hoarse voices) and got to our room, it seemed like we were out of energy for the day. But this would be our last evening before the official tour began, and we had to meet Baba’s school teacher who lived in Barnes. 

Robin Martin, lovingly called Robin Da was my father’s English teacher in the Vivekananda Educational Society School, Narendrapur in West Bengal. I don’t know exactly how my father got back in touch with him and when the plan to meet materialised, but I was marked a copy in an email with his address promising a visit. So there we were, journeying across the London Underground and taking a cab into a district in south-west London. Thankfully, all of that went smoothly, the friendly black cabbie had GPS and we got to our destination in a jiffy. 

The next morning marked the beginning of the London tour. We were introduced to the people from the group, told the rules of the game and it was time to push off. I visited London last year, and covered almost all of the regular bits – but my parents had last been here over 11 even years ago and it was exciting to hear from them about how much had changed. The only difference I noticed was that Trafalgar Square now had a bright indigo rooster perched towards the left and the fact that there was no rain this time (Alas!). We were taken around the usual tourist spots, watched the change of guards at the Buckingham Palace with a few additions – we saw ‘The Monument’– a huge stone column with a top shaped like a candle, dedicated to the great fire of London in 1666; a social art installation where tree trunks were painted blue to highlight the significance of trees in the environment.

The next stop was really not of interest to me personally, but the enthusiasm shown by everyone around me was rather infectious. A sacred place for cricket lovers, and one that will live in people’s minds forever after having seen Sourav Ganguly’s chest hair (Yikes!) – one of England’s iconic cricket grounds – Lord’s. Two very well mannered English gentlemen took us around, showing us the honour boards, the dressing rooms where we were told that each player was superstitious and had their own allocated seats, the Pavilion Long Room, the legendary awards balcony, the impressive J.P. Morgan media centre and little tidbits of history throughout the premises. While the others were clicking away, I found myself in a conversation with one of the guides who was exclaiming about the rise of football as the national game in England and how, as boys, they would play cricket on the streets – but all of that was a thing of the past. At the end of our little talk, he shook me firmly by the hand and told me that I spoke impeccable English. Whether his standards were Indians who came on tours or his curry delivery person, I do not know – but I was smiling on the way out of the gates thinking of how adorable some of these old English men could be!

 It was a really long day, and we were glad to be back to the hotel, have dinner and pack to be on our way to France the next day. We were going to be driving to Dover (remember the white cliffs from previous trip – that Denis and I went so far to see, but got assaulted instead?) and taking a ferry across the Strait of Dover/English Channel to Calais. Next morning, we said toodle-oo to my beloved London city and drove through the picturesque English countryside to the absolute southern tip of the country. Dover was as charming as I remember it, a pity that we didn’t have the time to step out.

After a customs check, where a King Charles Spaniel was the security in-charge (there were no beeping electronic walk-through doors, or pat downs – just a dog sniffing at us and giving approval), the whole coach drove into the ferry and we took the stairs to the second level. I had been on a Carnival Cruise ship before, but had no idea that even a ferry would bear a resemblance to any fancy shopping mall we have ever been to, having a gaming centre, massage parlors and free Wi-Fi!