From London - Buckingham

We were dangerously exhausted by the time evening came on our first day in London. But we'd learned to get around a bit, scuttling in the tube around town from here to there, and saw the opportunity to visit Buckingham on our way back to the hostel. So off we go, heaving one last sight to see before tucking into bed.

As you can see, there weren't many people milling about, so we could get close in by the gate to see what was going on in front of the palace. Which wasn't much at first...the two guards stationed on either side of the right-hand doorway, standing erect at attention, were the only sign of life other than the pigeons that flitted in and out. Three guards with machine guns were standing at the driveway exit, which was open, but they were very much on the periphery.

Then the two guards started to do something. They did a little high-stepping and walking about in front of the little doorway, synching every movement perfectly in unison with one another. Then they stood still again.

I didn't think three was any significance to it - perhaps they had a routine to do that to keep from going crazy? - until the machine-gun guys got tense. They noticeably stirred into a vigilant demeanor, and even gave one of the few bystanders a black cigar for standing too close to the open doors of the driveway exit.

Then it happened. A convoy of vehicles suddenly appeared from within the palace compound, swiftly winding toward the exit. The excitement among the bystanders grew, and the crowd seemed to double in size in a matter of a moment, lining the portion of the exit that led from the gate to the street. Among the crowd (mostly Brits) there was animated speculation as to who was being driven in the convoy; though there were no stretch limousines, one of the vehicles had very darkly-tinted windows. In the few seconds that it took for the convoy to disappear into the London traffic the conclusion had been reached that it was Prince William, or Prince Harry, or some other important personage that I didn't have any feelings about one way or the other.

Regardless of my indifference, it was an exciting moment which provided a much-needed boost of adrenaline for three tired souls. I was glad that my son and his cousin could already put a memory feather in the ol' senior trip cap.

Before going further, I must say something about the hostel experience. For an American who had never done it before, the idea of spending the night and sharing a bathroom with a coed mix of strangers was a jolt. I later came to realize that our choice of hostel on that first night was lower than par, even by hostel standards, but the very concept was discomfitting for someone used to staying alone in nice hotel suites with full amenities taken for granted.

Upon my insistence we strategized so that the rooms we chose would minimize the risk of bombardment by the boisterous party crowd coming in at all hours. Thus, we booked rooms with only four beds hoping that just one person coming in couldn't cause too much trouble.

That first night in London it worked...in fact, no one came in to occupy the fourth bed, so it was just the three of us. But it was still a shock upon finding out that we had to pay extra for sheets, then more extra for towels, then more extra for access to the secure lockers situated under our bunks. After all of that, there was still the issue (for me) of having to deal with the common restroom facilities on each floor, into which both men and women and their children freely traipsed in and out, not giving a thought to the differences in gender. Another straw was the fact that there was only one shower facility for the entire building, on the first floor. The showers they did separate by gender, but I could not handle walking into a shower naked among strange men and boys, and decided to wait for better luck at the next hostel.

The absolute last straw, however, was the cleaning lady. Upon arriving we tried to get an hour or two of rest before hitting the town, so we all laid in our bunks for some shut-eye. Then it started...CLATTER CLATTER CLATTER...WHOOOSH WHOOOSH WHOOOSH. The Russian cleaning lady decided at that moment to start vacuuming with one of those canister-type cleaners that you pull around. Thing was, she was pulling it over a rather uneven hardwood floor, producing a loud clatter wherever she went, whooshing and bumping into walls with the nozzle end.

That was all in the hallway. We all looked at each other thinking, well, this will be over soon and maybe we can get some rest after a bit.

Not to be. In fact, this gem of a cleaning crew decided that she needed to go into all of the rooms and vacuum them as well...the doors set with a spring so that each one would bang loudly shut as she entered and exited each one. We thought, well, that'll take a little longer, so maybe we'll be able to get at least fifteen minutes of rest before hitting the town. There can't be that many empty rooms for her to go in and vacuum.

Turns out, it made no difference which ones were empty! In her exhuberance, our Russian friend unlocked and came RIGHT INTO OUR ROOM, noisily clattering and banging and whooshing. The bunks individually all had curtains, which we had closed to block the light to enhance our rest, so my thought was, well, I'll pull this thing aside and let her see that there is someone in here. Then she will say to herself, "Oops!", then slink quietly away, remorseful at her intrusion.

NOT SO! My nephew and I both pulled our curtains back simultaneously, I think for the same purpose, which earned us a cursory glance but that was all. She doggedly kept to her task until the job was done properly. In fact, my imagination led me to believe that she felt that our room must have needed a little extra, because it took FOREVER for her to leave!

Thus my baptism into the hostel experience was not the best, but it did get better starting with the next leg of the trip.