London Party

(submitted by Chris Card-Fuller)

I had forgotten what it feels like to roll into a European capital ALONE (Chris, my other half, was staying home to show off Paris to his daughter, Kate, who’s visiting from Bali). What can be more frustrating than catching the glint of afternoon sunlight illuminating the spires of Big Ben and Parliament, enveloped by clouds streaked combustible orange, when there’s no one to nudge and say, “Could Turner have painted this Thames cityscape any better than we’re seeing it today?”
“Have you ever seen anything more majestic than London at sunset?”

Chris had said before I skipped out the door that “it seemed like a long ways to go for a short beer” but I would have kicked myself if I missed the BootsnAll London party at the Fire Station Pub because I was eager to put some faces with names. Just imagining all these travel addicts squeezed together into one pub seemed like an experience comparable to stumbling into a gathering of Impressionist painters camping out in Normandy. Plus, the trip from Paris to London is so EASY. Much easier than it would have been for me to get from Upstate New York to Portland, Oregon. From Paris, I can catch the Eurostar at Gare du Nord. Passports are checked perfunctorily. There’s no massive security checks. The train leaves on time and in three hours, with a one hour time change between France and England, I’ll be exiting Waterloo Station in the center of London.

Another reason I’m looking forward to this party is that writers don’t get invited to many ‘business parties’ (unless you write bestsellers - and even then…). Before looking for my hotel - the Grapevine - I decided to check out the pub location - practically spitting distance from Waterloo Station.

The Fire Station Pub is high-ceilinged and huge compared to your traditional pub. I wandered in around lunch time and took a coffee at the bar. Noticing I was the only woman standing at the bar, I wondered if women in England stand at the bar? I noticed that a special section was set aside for private parties which looked promising because one of the problems about going to a party where you don’t know anybody’s face is finding the PARTY (which can be fun sometimes if you stumble into the wrong party and they’re passing out champagne, for example).

But no need to worry here. By late afternoon apparently, Sean was there on location and by seven thirty when I returned from hotel hunting, the party was not only well marked with signs but the BootsnAll crowd was sitting around one huge table (very matey!) with Sean in the middle, ready to greet new arrivals. He greeted each of us with a name tag and a pint of beer on the house. That’s how to make newcomers feel REALLY good. The guys behind the bar were pretty damn efficient at pouring those beers and yet they took just the right amount of time with the Guinness. That’s something else I haven’t done in a long time - drink Guinness - somehow in Paris it just doesn’t seem as fun. Drinking beer.

Obviously there wouldn’t be enough time to talk to everyone - the pub closed at 11 pm. Too early! But those that I did talk to: Marina, Neil, Delara (what a great name and it’s REAL!) Boo_Helen, Jennifer & Chris, Riz, Chris H. and Chris O., Sean, Isabel, Roy an animated filmmaker/fellow Cook Islands fan. All these VERY COOL people made me want to stay longer and talk longer, which is why those of us that could, tried to stretch out the party a little longer by walking over to the Queen Mary which is a night club/ship docked on the Thames.

We hiked across the Jubilee Bridge which was just put in place last July (July 2, 2003), inaugurated by Princess Alexandra. On the south shore we sighted a huge embankment party with retro 70’s music reverberating across the Thames. At the Queen Mary, by the looks of the number of people out on the dance floor and the natural progression of some of the dancers from the ‘boards’ if you’ll excuse the pun to the lounge area, I gathered we had stumbled in toward the end of the night (you know that frenzied feeling at night clubs - when the everyone’s making their last pitch). It’s really the most interesting time to float in and OBSERVE the scene. Lots of dancing, lots of other activity (don’t need to go into detail here). Good music. Good beer.

After more beers, some dancing and more talk, plus one last look at the Thames from the prow of the Queen Mary (don’t want to get all sentimental and gush - but GOD it’s a beautiful sight!), the ‘Management’ gave us a last call and a final relatively gentle nudge toward the front door. We capitulated.

Some highlights of the evening’s conversation included meeting those who are are actually ‘in transit’, Riz, on his round the world trek, Jennifer and Chris enroute to Berlin - and maybe Prague and sharing sighs of longing to return to the Cook Islands.
It was great meeting some local London residents as well as the Swiss, French and German-speaking contingency. We suggested that Jennifer and Chris should check out the Love Parade in Berlin. Neil told me to take a walk on the south embankment of the Thames before leaving town. Thanks Boo-Helen for the praise - we writers crave it. (Even when we don’t deserve it). Thanks Chris O. for your insights into living and working in England.

I finally had to admit: The party was over - too bad.

Which brings me to lodging. This had been a major concern for me, knowing that the Grapevine Hotel which is located at 117 Warwick Way near Victoria Station is not exactly within walking distance. Actually, it is approximately an hour’s walk from Waterloo Station (which I had already done twice today with a stop at the Tate Gallery and Trafalgar Square along the way). Two people had already suggested that walking from Waterloo to Victoria at two a.m. may not be the smartest move. Which brings me to public transport. There ARE night buses, but few people, not even the information booth at Victoria Station seems to know WHICH night bus runs from Waterloo Bridge to Victoria, but after much questioning and going from one office to the outdoor bus terminal, I finally did get a bus number and time frame (night buses run on the hour, a few minutes after the hour from Waterloo Bridge). Cabs normally should cost between £6-8 from Waterloo to Victoria, but at 3 a.m., gypsy cabs pick numbers out of the hat. You have to really start walking away before they’ll begin to negotiate.

Thanks, Sean and Chris O. for making sure I got safely to the door of the Grapevine. Okay, so maybe the Grapevine has a little peeling paint, but believe me, at 4 a.m., after more than a few Guinnesses, who CARES? The important thing is that crisp clean sheets NEVER felt better. There was no noise, except for me dashing up the steps. And where else in London can you find a private room for £30, Breakfast included? Let’s face it, it doesn’t get any better. I’ve stayed in £100 hotel rooms that weren’t any larger. Grapevine tells me they’re planning a renovation so that all rooms will have showers and toilets eventually (rather than on the landings). This will be good, but if you’re looking for the £30 room, catch it while you can.

I woke up Sunday morning at 8 a.m., in spite of the my personal record of Guinnesses consumed in one night. And strangely enough, no hangover which convinces me that the advertisement “Guinness is good for you” may hold some truth. Definitely it’s better for you than sparkling wine followed by white wine, followed by red wine, followed by Calvados which might be the tally for a casual dinner party in Normandy.

At 9 a.m. no one is out on the streets. Even the nearest church is shut up like a drum. I take Neil’s advice and cross over to the south embankment of the Thames crossing at the Vauxhall Bridge. I note the life preserver which has been placed on a handy rack in case you see somebody drowning in the middle of the river at 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning (it could happen!). This is really thoughtful of the City of London, I think, but I’ve noted as I continue my walk on the south embankment through the back terrace of the new Tate (this morning the terrace is mired in an assortment of discarded McDonald’s drink cups, straws), that all the subsequent ‘life preserver stations’ are missing the life preserver. Assuming that not that many people have fallen into the Thames overnight, I have to believe that the life preservers have been filched. By tourists, looking for a souvenir? It’s too bad. But at least someone tried to do something humane.

Once I gain some distance from the Tate’s terrace, the Thames walkway seems to tidy up. As I get closer to Westminster bridge, bunches of tourists gather like waddling penguins, cameras all poised in the same direction toward Big Ben. The closer I get to Westminster Bridge, the thicker the foot traffic becomes. School kids in uniforms, boy scouts and families with toddlers trudge resolutely across the bridge. I had wanted to spend some time this morning in Westminster Abbey but the throngs discourage me. One last cup of hot tea before making my way to the Eurostar.

I’m feeling happy and tingly and not at all lonely.

The BootsnAll high just hasn’t worn off yet. I’m wondering where everyone else is and what they’ll be doing today. Who’ll be happy Portugal won tonight’s game and who won’t?

Back home in Paris, we’ve sprung a leak - somewhere in this old building. Back to REALITY. Chris wants to know about the party.

“It was a short trip for a long and definitely refreshing beer.”

Pictures from the BootsnAll London Party