England Day 1

England Day One

Since learning the local language worked so well in Germany, we decided to head to England! A brisk 9-hour flight from sunny Florida—time to dust off long sleeves and something called "pants."

As everyone knows, Europe exists in the future. Or maybe just a different time machine—zone. On the plane, I brought a book to read, which is my personal brand of sleeping pills. I’ve been stuck on the same word of the same page for four months. I felt proud for attempting to be responsible and aiming for a good night’s sleep before our big day. But then I discovered the beer was free. Change of plans, boys.

I started with a Camden Helles and turned on Avengers: Endgame — #nosleeptilGatwick. How does anyone sleep on a Virgin Atlantic flight anyway? Every 8 or 9 seconds, someone handed me something: snacks, beer, dinner, hot towels. At some point, I switched to wine for the larger serving size. It was a tempranillo-shiraz blend. Also, it’s easier to convince a flight attendant you’re ordering two servings because your sleeping wife might drink one. By “convince,” I mean at one point she said, “You’re drinking both, aren’t you?” Then she winked and handed them over.

Eventually, service slowed, the lights dimmed, and Endgame ended. I rearranged myself for comfort but was too hyped from the movie. If I ever woke up with superpowers, I wouldn’t have any follow up questions. I’d just say, “It’s about time.”

At some point, I must’ve slept. When the lights came back on, I saw a graveyard of beer cans and mini wine bottles. First, I felt embarrassed. Then proud. Then embarrassed again as the flight attendant shoveled it all into a trash bag.

We dropped off luggage at the hotel since the room wouldn’t be ready until 1 PM. It was 8:30 AM. We met my mother-in-law and sister-in-law in the lobby. The plan? Ride the Big Bus Tours double-decker for an overview of the city. The guide was great, and headphones made him easier to hear. We hopped off—safely—at Trafalgar Square for photos. Back on board, a new guide handed out headphones but never spoke. Why did we need headphones? Each stop added more passengers needing headphones. It was an endless loop.

At Covent Garden, we found a market. And wouldn’t you know it? They had beer. My wife mentioned The White Lion’s fame and wondered if it had good beer. I replied, “Only one way to find out.”

People say beer in England is served warm. Turns out, that’s not folklore. Cask ales are served at “kinda slightly cold” but not American-cold. Draft (draught here) beer was colder, but still not American-cold. The cask scene felt hipster. Enthusiasts search far and wide for it. I treated it more like hide-and-seek but gave up before counting to ten.

Back on the bus, we couldn’t make it to the hotel before our lunch reservation: Afternoon Tea at Mews of Mayfair. We headed straight there and, inexplicably, still arrived late. Tea came with a carb-loading tower: sandwiches on the bottom, scones in the middle, desserts up top. Delicious. I chose English Breakfast tea. No one cared it was lunchtime, but everything else I did seemed criminal. I didn’t strain the tea properly, got crumbs everywhere, and asked the server to take my plate. She countered with, “Why don’t you use it instead?” Touché.

For the cherry on top, I said we were “all set,” my go-to for “please bring the bill.” This baffled the server, who leaned closer, trying to understand. Send help.

Finally, we made it to the hotel. My clothes felt like a second skin—not superhero-cool, but more “peel it off and slither away.” I slithered toward the bed and napped.

I woke in bliss—to my wife reminding me I was behind schedule. I’m pretty sure I showered. Dinner was at Star Tavern, my first stop on the fish and chips journey. Fun fact: this is where they planned the Great Train Robbery. I’ve read that book! The beer was cold, the food solid. The bathroom, however, had a ceiling chain to flush. I learned this the hard way by hitting my head.

We meandered back toward the hotel, stopping for drinks. Gaucho, a charming wine spot, lured us in. The alley was adorable, the atmosphere delightful, and the wine excellent. The others went upstairs while I stopped at the hotel bar. Did I need another beer? No. Did I need water? Absolutely.

I ordered an Anytime IPA, akin to my favorite All Day IPA, and warned the bartender I’d drink lots of water. He rose to the challenge. I downed the beer and about eight glasses of water. The bartender shared London’s best sights. I showed him my wife’s itinerary. He was impressed. Thank goodness there were no cask ales in sight.