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THURSDAY, NOV. 7: There is an eight-hour time difference and it took ten hours to get here, so it is now 2 AM in Los Angeles. We’re tired. England is efficient. We’re quickly through customs, into a Black Cab and darting through heavy traffic to an apartment in Kensington -- a section of the city where we often stay. The London temperature is in the low 40s. Tara and I are ready to fall over, but Cheyenne expresses how much she wants to go to Piccadilly Circus -- the entertainment section of London. It’s been three years since she’s been here with us, but she remembers the area. “Fine with me,” I say. Tara says she would rather nap, but she knows we need to quickly align with London time, so we’ll be awake to conduct a workshop tomorrow. To minimize jet lag, you stay up while it’s light, drink plenty of water and take many packets of Emer’gen-C™ -- a vitamin C and potassium fizzy drink. Cheyenne and I want to take the Tube (Underground subway system) to get back in touch with the city. Tara would prefer a cab, but goes along. We’ll cab home. We know Kensington well and have favorite coffee shops, internet cafés, and restaurants. I teach my daughter how the Tube system works, how to buy tickets and read the Underground map. We’re quickly in Piccadilly Circus and emerge from several stories below ground into a crowded neon maze. Dozens of local kids are lined up for an event in the Virgin Mega Store. Chey observes how they’re dressed. They all look like Goths to me. She thinks they’re cool. Dressed in ski jackets, gloves and hats/headbands, we walk to Rendezvous coffee shop in Leicester Square. Chey has green tea. Tara and I need coffee infusions. The English brew their coffee like Americans. “We probably taught them,” I tell Tara. I’m kicked under the table. “Notice how all the stores here are American?” I say to Cheyenne, “Tower Records, Friday’s, Gap, Starbucks, Burger King ...” “The Brits own Burger King,” Tara says. “We probably taught them how to make hamburgers,” I say. Cheyenne snickers. Tara gives me her “I’m a kickboxer who is going to kick your ass,” look. We people watch, then walk around to see what movies and theatrical plays are being offered. Most of the films were released at home a couple months ago. In a record store, Cheyenne is delighted to find a huge section devoted to 33 1/3 ‘house’ and ‘hard house’ music vinyls. I ask, “What’s the difference?” Before my daughter can respond, a bouncy black guy wearing a wool stocking cap down over his eyebrows answers, “Hard house is a harder faster beat -- angrier.” Cheyenne finishes, “And house is more mellow ... more disco.” “You work here, right?” I say to the bouncy guy. “Yeah.” He raises his eyebrows and the stocking cap rises along with them. “There’s also trance and drum ‘N’ bass. There’s happy hard-core and scary hard-core -- angry music, angry beats.” “More than I need to know,” I say, smiling. Cheyenne buys several records using money she earned helping me at a Detroit medical/dental hypnosis convention two weeks ago. |
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Richard and Tara in Piccadilly Circus, London. |
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At 4 PM (6 AM Los Angeles time) it begins to get dark. If I laid my head down, I’d fall asleep at the table in the Colombian restaurant where we’re having dinner. It’s a food adventure. My choice is tamales served on a huge banana leaf. Hungry as I am, I can’t finish it all. Tara has an exotic sampler. Chey, fearing the strange food, plays it safe with a salad. There are 20,700 cabbies in London, so you can usually find a cab quickly. We step out of the restaurant, I raise my arm and a Black Cab pulls to the sidewalk. The apartment offers a small separate bedroom for Tara and I. Cheyenne sleeps on the sofa pull-out in the living room. There’ also a full kitchen and dining area. Although I requested a double bed, none is available. Tara and I have two small twins, but we’re too tired to care and are asleep by 8 PM. Click HERE for the continuation |
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