ANALYSIS/OPINION:
You’ll never see all of London. Like New York, Melbourne, Los Angeles, Berlin, there is simply too much to see and do in the ancient British capital in even a month or a year.
Say you have but two days, as The Washington Times recently did, to explore the beloved commerce and banking capital of Europe — a city founded in Roman times and has had as many identities as the people who have called it home.
This requires making choices about what to see, where to go and, perhaps most importantly, how much time to spend at each. For if anything, two days here only whets the appetite for more.
Welcome to London. Culture. History. Cuisine. Ever evolving. Always adventurous.
Almost always polite.
Day 1:
Ah, The Tube. A masterwork of Victoria-era public transit that shames almost any mass transportation system in America—particularly, and unfortunately, the D.C. Metro, where I live. Never, during my days in London, did I ever wait more than five minutes for a train.
Only once did it break down—and yes, I’m using that as a bar against which to set the Metro.
My hotel, the Novotel London West (1 Shortlands, London W6 8DR, +44 20 7660 0680) is in the West End of town, and my “home station” is Hammersmith. From here I can take the Circle, District, Hammersmith and City lines—a veritable pass to the entire city.
Embarking at Hammersmith, it’s a brisk ride north and a bit west to St. John’sWood. It’s a rather unassuming neighborhood, but just blocks away is one of the holiest sites in rock ’n’ roll history.
At the doors of Abbey Road Studios (3 Abbey Rd, London NW8 9AY), I am met for a press tour by Starscream Communications founder Richard Melville, whose clients include this historic recording venue. A jocular fellow with an easy smile and informal manner, he ushers me into the lobby. Even here, at the mere threshold, the ambience of history is undeniable. We are joined by Kayla Hopkins, facilities coordinator, and Mirek Stiles, head of audio products, for a tour of the storied recording studios.
First stop, Studio 1, where orchestral music has been recorded for decades thanks to its ample tracts of real estate. With my hosts’ blessing, I step up onto the conductor’s platform, where John Williams, Sir Edward Elgar and other titans of composition have stood to lead ensembles in works either original or centuries old. It was here that Mr. Williams led the London Symphony Orchestra the first time Indiana Jones’ theme was ever played in 1981.
Mirek takes photos of me with the conductor’s headphones on, as I mime and imagine all the soundtrack’s committed to tape here: “RoboCop,” “Braveheart,” “Aliens” and too many others to name.
But one that must be: “Yellow Submarine.”
Thus we move to Studio 2 — Beatles country. This was the Fab Four’s favorite spot to record, and perhaps why they named their final album as a foursome (although “Let It Be” was released later, it was in fact recorded earlier) after this place. It brings chills thinking that, in this very room, with its heaven-raised control room, not just The Beatles, but Pink Floyd, Kate Bush and others fostered and refined their dreams to then disseminate to the world.
In a nearby mastering studio, Kayla and Richard have me take a seat before a screen, informing me they will play the famous video for John Lennon’s “Imagine,” featuring himself in the “White Room” and playing piano with Yoko Ono seated next to him. I’ve seen it before, many times, so other than the grace of watching it in this location, I am unsure how precisely this will be different.
An engineer begins the video, and Lennon and Ms. Ono strut through the familiar foggy woods. Then come the first piano chords, and the sound waves are coming at me from all sides. The richness of the timbres of Lennon’s playing, his lilting baritone, are magnificent.
Richard explains that the string part, barely audible on the original recording, was rerecorded and boosted here, with the string players going back to the original room and recording engineers mixing the ambience of the room to match as closely as possible to the conditions of the initial work.
It is a glorious, reinvented masterwork of an awesome song, and its surrounding sound, plus the video of Lennon — younger than I am now and wearing those famous glasses — is enough to leave me speechless.
As musicians soon pour into Abbey Road to record — anyone can do so if coughing up the per diem — Richard and Kayla treat me to breakfast in the cafe, where their faces go aghast as I regale them with lackluster U.S. vacation policies.
Outside, on this perfect day, Richard photographs me traipsing the “zebra walk,” where The Beatles were photographed for the cover of “Abbey Road.” Dozens of other pilgrims are here to do the same, much to the irritation of passing motorists who honk at the interlopers. A cadre of Asian tourists is even dressed in the “Sgt. Peppers” costumes, with their photographer braving the middle of the street to photograph them on their walk.
(While the studios themselves are reserved for artists only, the crossing and shop are open to the public.)
Jumping back on the Tube, I head south to Leicester Square to claim my London Pass at their office (11A Charing Cross Road, London, WC2H OEP), a bonanza of a tourist’s churchkey that grants same-day access to dozens of attractions throughout the city. You can pay for the cost of several days’ worth of access to attractions, and it’s worth it as seeing everything in London a la carte gets expensive mighty fast.
Just south I walk through Trafalgar Square with its column statue of Admiral Horatio Nelson, killed in 1805 during the Battle of Trafalgar off the coast of Spain in the war against Napoleon. The National Portrait Gallery is here, as is the British Museum, but right now I have other ideas.
Following a quick jaunt to Piccadilly Circus — which, despite its history, is now more or less London’s equivalent of the obnoxious bright lights and touristy flavor of Times Square — I head east on the Tube and emerge at the Tower of London (London EC3N 4AB, +44 844 482 7777), a fortress that warehouses 1,000 years of English history. From the time William the Conqueror and his Norman invaders first constructed it as a bulwark against their Saxon enemies, the Tower has played parts both political and bloody in the history of England — as fortress, residence, military training center and prison. Perhaps most notoriously, Henry VIII put two of his wives — Anne Boleyn and Catherine of Aragon — to death within these fortifications, with a glass monument commemorating where those two unfortunate queens met their fate.
The final executions here were of turncoats during the First World War.
The Crown Jewels are within these walls, and the queue (which we would call a “line” in the U.S.) is many, many people deep. Also, no photography is permitted of the treasures of the realm.
In addition to the soap opera of royalties past, a plethora of exhibits and actors in period costume recount the fine minutiae of the Tower’s past. It’s a bit overwhelming, if historically accurate, and one can spend hours here. Perhaps I spend too much there myself, but I never knew when I might return. And for all its history, if I may, there’s a bit of “Disney-fication” about the proceedings.
Exiting through the portcullis, I walk but a few hundred feet to the Tower Bridge (Tower Bridge Exhibition, Tower Bridge Road, London, SE1 2UP, +44 (0) 20 7403 3761), built in the 19th century to ease rapidly increasing commuter congestion across the Thames on nearby London Bridge. It’s now one of several busy thoroughfares in this city of many bridges, though it’s certainly the most dramatic. If you come here at just the right time of day, you might even see the bridge raised to allow high-masted river traffic pass below.
The London Pass allows entry into both the bridge itself as well as the museum, which showcases how Victorian engineers masterminded and executed a marvel of then-modern engineering.
As I have a habit of traversing famous bridges on foot — I have walked the Golden Gate, Sydney Harbour and Brooklyn, to name but a few — I do the same today, but as English rivers are much narrower than in the New World, it’s a rather quick sojourn. So I head up into the bridge’s superstructure, climbing up many flights to the high-level “Walkways,” where visitors can walk mid-bridge and peer through a glass-bottomed floor at the cars and rushing waters below. Many are hesitant to try, but as I once stepped past the edge of the Willis Tower in Chicago, I’m unfazed by any such fears.
The most interesting fact of the day is that the Nazis left this great bridge intact during the Blitz — rather using it as a convenient landmark during their air raids.
On my way back into the Tube with evening commuters, I am handed a free copy of the London Evening Standard. Being from a country where newspapers are either forcefully growing up fast or in the midst of death throes, it’s inspiring to see, amid those glued to smartphones, a train full of Londoners with their noses in paper and their thumbs smudged with press ink.
It can happen.
It’s been a long day. I stop for nosh at Capital Restaurant (30 Hammersmith Broadway, London W6 7AB, +44 20 8748 0590), a delightful Turkish donar joint, and then meet my companion, Victoria, to walk a few blocks to the Queen’s Head pub (13 Brook Green, London W6 7BL, +44 20 7603 3174), for a pint to end the evening.
I’ve heard about the room-temperature beers, and I am here to report that they are delicious. A little less head than you’d get in America and a few degrees warmer, but outstanding notwithstanding.
Day 2:
London Pass, take 2. Best to see the best of the best and make some choices.
I opt for the heart of government. The rest will have to wait for another time.
Disembarking at Westminster Tube station, I come above ground and am met by the tall, ancient face of Big Ben. A “wow” escapes my lips beholding the magnificent clock face, almost right in time for high noon.
Big Ben crowns the Houses of Parliament, where MP(s), Members of the House of Lords and the prime minister have haggled over legislation for generations. A reservation is required for a tour, but simply enjoying the astounding architecture from the outside is edifying enough.
Across the street is Westminster Abbey (20 Dean’s Yard, London, SW1P 3PA, +44(0)20 7222 5152), first constructed by Benedictine monks in the 10th century, and now the resting place for past monarchs as well as where the current queen, Elizabeth II, was crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury Feb. 6, 1952, and where her grandson William married Kate Middleton April 29, 2011.
No photos are allowed herein, and that’s a good thing. Put the iPhone down and simply allow yourself to be enveloped by over a millennium of religious and official history. Artwork from various periods is omnipresent at every turn. The sepulchers of 17 monarchs are here, including Elizabeth I, Henry VIII and Mary Queen of Scots. Charles Darwin, Isaac Newton and Geoffrey Chaucer all call the Abbey their final place of rest, joined by politicians like Oliver Cromwell.
As fate has it, an Anglican mass is underway today. The usher hands me a leaflet but says it must be returned. I wait in line for communion, which feels a bit strange considering the thousands of tourists milling around the proceedings.
A few blocks from the Abbey is another treasure trove unlocked by the London Pass, the Churchill War Rooms and the Churchill Museum (Clive Steps, King Charles Street, London SW1A 2AQ, 020 7930 6961), where the wartime prime minister hunkered down with his generals to counteract the Nazi war machine as the bombs exploded overhead.
Rooms are recreated to appear largely as during the darkest days of World War II. The centerpiece is the Map Room, where key information on the war effort was prepared and shown for Churchill and King George VI — and where secrecy was paramount.
The Churchill Museum stands as testament to the complicated nature of the wartime leader who was bounced from office in 1945 — only to return 1951 — from his youth, through the war and on into his golden years as an elder statesmen and lecturer. Churchill’s speeches are played on speakers, and placards throughout give testimony to such famous sayings of his as: “I am prepared to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”
Not far from here is Buckingham Palace, residency of the royal family, and where the queen hosts state visits from world leaders. Needless to say, it’s behind rather serious wrought iron gates, and you can only peer through and see the royal guards, but the exterior is yet another example of the majesty of the capital’s architecture.
Hopping in an Uber I make my way to the Royal Albert Hall ( Kensington Gore, London SW7 2AP, 020 7589 8212), which Queen Victoria had commissioned in memorial to her dear departed Prince Albert, who died in 1861. All throughout the building, the guide points out how the letter “A” is everywhere incorporated into the building in remembrance. (Across the street, a large statue of the prince can be approached.)
We are ushered through storied corridors where giants of entertainment have crossed paths. It was here where The Beatles and The Rolling Stones appeared on the same bill only once of two times in their careers. Eric Clapton has played the stage 200-plus times.
We are also shown the Queen’s personal entrance, which was moved away from the front entrance due to fears of assassinations during World War I. A laugh is had in the tour as the guide recalls when Elizabeth’s onetime guest, Nelson Mandela, stood and cheered for some musicians, which caused Her Majesty to stand, which caused the entire theater to stand, which necessitated an impromptu intermission so all could be seated.
Inside the hall itself space, where no photographs are allowed, an ensemble just so happens to be rehearsing for the evening’s performance. The conductor takes the ensemble through Richard Strauss’ ” “Thus Spoke Zarathustra,” known to filmgoers as the theme from “2001.” The bombastic thrice-repeated opening triad booms through the magnificent hall, and I’m somewhat sorry I’m unable to attend the evening’s concert.
After another rush hour trek through the Tube, I emerge at Monument station, the outside of which requires A-level way-finding as every turn I make, my GPS says I am heading in the wrong direction. Finally I find my way to where Victoria has checked us in at the Threadneedles, Autograph Collection (5 Threadneedle St, London EC2R 8AY +44 20 7657 8080), a rather amazing, well-apportioned venue in a former Victorian bank. The room is generous, the bed comfy, the staff first-rate. It’s the perfect place for an evening’s rest despite its, uh, head-scratching name.
Heading out, Victoria and I make for the Garrick Theatre (2 Charing Cross Rd, London WC2H 0HH), the personal venue for the great Sir Kenneth Branagh, who tonight stars in “The Entertainer,” a 1950s-era play about a fading vaudevillian (Mr. Branagh) and his domestic troubles. The Garrick is a beautiful old theater, and from the second row the Oscar nominee is in rare form, reminding one of why he became so famous so young.
For post-theater dinner, we head to the East End to the Whitechapel district, made rather infamous by Jack the Ripper. But tonight, I’m interested to see if London deserves its title as hosting the best Indian food in the world.
We pop into Lahore One (218 Commercial Rd, London E1 2JT, +44 20 7791 0112), an authentic family-run Punjabi restaurant. It’s near closing time, but the staff is friendly and welcoming.
Our waiter suggests I try the Karahai Gosht, chunks of lamb cooked with garlic, ginger, onions, tomato and spices with fresh coriander. I have a pretty high tolerance for spice, but in Indian restaurants, I always trust them where heat level is concerned. The waiter nods; he seems to know just the way to have it made.
Victoria orders the chicken biryani, cooked with mild spices (she doesn’t like as much burn as I do), saffron and basmati rice.
The entrees arrive, complemented by garlic naan, and I am in instant heaven. The taste is beyond anything I might have dared expect, with the Karahai Gosht absolutely filling every fiber of my being with its immense flavor profile. The spicy kick is definitely there, but it’s precisely in the sweet spot — the zone between a bite and fiery unpleasantness.
It’s exquisite, amazing, timeless. One of the best meals I have ever had. I tell the staff as much; they seem, if not exactly bowled over, at least somewhat surprised.
And in a break from my normal practice, I leave food behind. I won’t take the leftovers with me. Not only will there not be a way to reheat them in the morning, but to do as such would be to sully the memory of this capital meal.
It’s back to the hotel, for we have a flight to Scotland in the morning. I saw so much, but London has so much more yet to see. There’s The Shard, Tate Modern, Museum of Britain, St. Paul’s, the Dickens Museum. More and more and more.
Like any city, the best way to experience it all is to spend an extended holiday — or move here.
Eric Althoff is the Travel Editor for The Washington Times.
Please read our comment policy before commenting.