In keeping with the idea that having a friend visit allows me to do touristy things that I have absolutely no desire to do (no really, I swear) I had two veddy British experiences this week: I went to high tea at the Georgian Tea Room in Harrods, and saw The Mousetrap in the West End.
The Mousetrap was not fun. I dislike Agatha Christie as a novelist, but I detest her as a dramatist. I would not have gone to the play at all, but Deborah was dying to see it, so I got tickets for her and Laura and myself to go on Thursday. In the end, though, Deborah found out that she couldn’t come because she had a test the next day, so I gave the extra ticket to my friend Katie. I was miffed, though, about having to go see it in the first place. To be fair, it was a real experience to see the longest running play in the West End (now in its 54th year!) but all the same, I would rather see something slightly less kitchy. The entire time I was in the theatre, the only British accents I heard were on the stage, everyone in the audience was American. The evening was saved, however, by the post show cup of tea that we got in a café near the theatre, where we spent the entire time making fun of the elaborate set up and poor exposition.
High tea, however, was a great experience. We made reservations in the morning so that we were sure to get a seat, and then I went off to class while Laura went to the British Museum. The plan was for me to join her after class at the British Museum, but I realized a little too late that I didn’t know where the British Museum was, and that I had given her the guidebook. Mapless, and unwilling to ask for directions, I stumbled around the Russell Square area before felicitously running into a classmate of mine waiting for a bus. She pointed me in the right direction, and I showed up forty-five minutes late to meet Laura. Being late however, meant that I ended up getting there in time to watch the city council of London arrive in a motorcade and be escorted into the museum. They were all decked out to best advantage, including a ceremonial chain to each for each of them that clashed oddly with their modern dress.
The British Museum itself was wonderful, but because I had been late in getting there, we stayed a little bit longer than we were supposed to. Laura got anxious that we would miss our reservation, so we practically sprinted to the tube, and just barely caught the train that had pulled into the station while we were running down the stairs to the platform. The ride went smoothly, and when we arrived at Harrods we walked as briskly as decorum would allow up to the Georgian Tearoom. There we were greeted with a lovely pink, flowery restaurant with white and pink chairs and tables, which were practically empty except for three or four other tables whose occupants were not speaking English. I made some not very witty remark about how glad I was that we rushed over, and Laura pointed out that as I had been forty-five minutes late to meet her I was in no position to judge. Fair enough.
The tea itself was truly magnificent. In addition to our pots of tea they presented us with the traditional triple-tiered tea service, loaded down with sandwiches, scones and pastries. The quality of the food was amazing, and everything came with free refills. The scones were honestly the best I’ve had so far, and they were served not only with the usual clotted cream and strawberry jam, but with a rose jam as well that was out of this world. The service itself was so formal as to be almost comical. We were not suffered to pour our own tea, even though the pots had been put next to us, and every time I reached for the pot a waiter would appear out of nowhere and to glare at me for daring to pour my own cup. The table that we had been seated at was far too large for two people, and the distance between Laura and myself made quiet conversation difficult. I started to wonder if it might just be better to communicate in semaphore, but fortunately a piano player started up about ten minutes into the tea, who, combined with the food, rendered conversation unnecessary.
After tea we were stuffed beyond belief, and decided to walk off the effects by browsing through the department store. We ended up staying till closing, and finding ourselves still too full we walked around the neighborhood for a bit. I ended up popping into H and M to get a black tank top (I think I left my other one in Madrid). It wasn’t as grand as Harrods, but it was so much cheaper that I was willing to overlook the lack of a tearoom and live piano music.
piano
