Where Art Thou, Chester Row?

Riding the Piccadilly Line from Heathrow into central London, we met a lonely Italian suitcase. Whether it had decided to extend its vacation, or simply wanted to see London without its rightful owners (perhaps they were slowing it down), the blue valise was riding the tube alone. We were going to strike up an acquaintance, but our stop came, and the travel bag continued on its own path.



We arrived at the Lime Tree Hotel checked in, and set out to explore London right away. The weather, unusually sunny and warm, seemed to be on our side. Our first sightseeing stop was the self-proclaimed, award winning Cornish Pasty Shoppe. Two pasties later, we were off to Buckingham Palace.



It was pretty. It was grand. And very regal. The guards stood very still. We saw evidence of the passage of some royal horses.



I was a wimp for not wanting to run past the guard with the fully loaded AK-47 or even take a picture of him. What a sissy.

Walking down through Westminster, we stopped at the Westminster Cathedral. The mosaics inside were stunning, and no photo could capture the grand scale of the church. Still, we tried. We both lit candles and went on – so much to see!





Walking past Parliament and Big Ben, we headed up Whitehall, where Bree made up for my cowardice by taking a photo of the AK-47 wielding guard at Tony Blair’s “crib,” aka 10 Downing Street.





After our first English pint at the Red Lion,





we crossed Westminster Bridge to the London Eye, a ginormous Ferris-wheel-like contraption that was built for the Millennium celebration. The ride offers spectacular views of the Thames and surrounding sighs.















Jet lag and lack of sleep were catching up to us, and we dragged back to the Lime Tree to get ready for dinner. After checking with the front desk, we decided to check out the Duke of Wellington Pub, for some English food. It was literally around the corner. A 5-minute walk, if that. I checked the map. I noted the directions. I left the map at the hotel…

Forty-five minutes later, after we had walked the better part of our neighborhood, and seen what may have been a dead body (or a glove, we’re still not sure) we gave up. Chester Row DID NOT EXIST. We settled into the restaurant next door to our hotel.

The next morning we checked our map. We had been walking up and down the wrong street.