After our last B&B breakfast, hubby verified that there was a cab outside. We schlepped the bags down to the street, only to discover that that the driver wasn’t in the cab. Then we started to panic, even though we only had to go a few blocks and we had plenty of time.
Our lovely B&B manager called another taxi for us. At which point the driver of the first one showed up and we go in, but felt guilty about it.
Goodbye, Edinburgh. Goodbye Scotland. We did so much, and I was exhausted by the time we let, but I would definitely go back. Such a great city. Next time, we might skip the fancy hotel and just bed down at the B&B. I do have to admit that was nice to have a few days of pampering and ass-kissing, even if we were paying big time for the privilege.
It was about a four hour train ride from Edinburgh to London. First class. Whoever was supposed to be in the seat next to me never showed up, so I was able to doze off a little when I wasn’t looking at sheep, cows, horses and rapeseed.
I also used to the cell phone to call our hotel in London, hoping to set up massages for that evening, only to be told they didn’t have treatment rooms at the hotel any more. They did give me a phone # to call, apparently the same people who used to do the treatments at the hotel. I called that number and was told we could have a half hour tub soak plus an hour and a half massage at 6pm, which sounded absolutely divine. She mentioned that the both of the masseurs would be male. I was cool with that although I was worried the whole set-up might be a bit dodgy. However short of an actual whorehouse at that point, I was so stiff and kinked up that I didn’t care.
Getting from Kings Cross Station to the hotel was an ordeal starting with finding the damn hotel. Somehow I’d been hoping it would immediately present itself as soon as we were out of the station or that the guy in the nearest tourist booth would provide accurate directions or that hubby would have some idea where the hell we were going.
None of that happened.
Instead I was tired, kinked up, cranky and hauling a bag that was way too heavy because my stupid brain (the same one that didn’t check my passport and managed to forget my pills) had decided NOT to take the rolling bag on this trip. I somehow thought that a giant duffle would be closer to Travelin’ Light.
Stupid , stupid, stupid. The hotel wasn’t actually that far away, but it was too far with the bag. Hubby picked up my bag and I told him not to because I was worried that the combination of our two bags would be too much for his osteoporosis .
He kept walking with the two bags and I kept following him, telling him to put it down. It was the closest to a big blowup we had on the whole trip, so I guess we did pretty well.
We FINALLY got to the hotel, Holiday Inn Kings Cross, which I’d booked because I got a bit of discount and which turned out to be kind of a dump. At this point we were too tired and stressed to care about very much. Went down to the lounge to have tea and chill out.
The Chelsea/Manchester United game was on and a bunch of guys were watching. How much more quintessentially English can you get? Blokes watching Chelsea vs Man U?
Tea definitely did its trick and by 430P, we were feeling much better. We headed out in the direction of our massages and discovered that we were quite close to Islington, including a bar called Angel Islington, for all you Neil Gaimon fans out there.
Islington reminded us a lot of San Francisco or the East Village with all kinds of fabulous vintage stores and boutiques. Our massage place was called Kimantra and was located in Camden Passage. Very froofy and not the least bit dodgy. The only thing I can complain about was that when we were soaking, there was no way to get more hot water into the tub. If you turned on the taps, all you got was cold water. I’m sure if it was a problem with the hot water supply or a health and safety thing or what.
The massage was wonderful. A full ninety minutes with Michael from Japan. He really worked my upper back and shoulders, going over and over the points of resistance. Seriously a great massage. I noticed that Michael got a lot closer to my naughty bits than any American masseur would. Nothing lewd or nasty about it, just not being afraid to get near to them.
Naturally, I made embarrassing massage noises, even more embarrassing because Hubby was on the next table getting his massage from Simon of Macedonia.
If you are ever in need of a massage in London, call Kimantra. Ask for Mike.
Islington is also like San Francisco in that it has LOTS of awesome places to eat various cuisines. For dinner we went to Miso. Big, delicious bowls of soup and noodles with all kinds of wonderful meats and veggies. Perfect combination of light and filling.
Back to the hotel. You’d think we would have crashed right away, but I think I was awake for at least one episode of “A Touch of Frost.” There seemed to be Frost episodes on either BBC1 or BBC3 every night that I was in the UK
Hubby knitting on the train.
Drinking tea at the Holiday Inn
Vintage store in Islington
Sir Hugh Myddleton
Dinner at Miso
One for my fellow Owen-loving Torchies!