Sunday, April 5: Palaces and Platitudes

Third day in London. Let’s just say there are more things we want to do in London than we would possibly have time for, but some of the most interesting parts have been the unplanned experiences. Happily my hips seem to have recovered some overnight, and walking was not quite as problematic today.

First off, this is the weirdest Easter ever. It’s always been problematic to me that Easter so often falls during spring break, because we’ve made the decision to be away from our church’s Easter service three times now. After the build-up of Lent and Palm Sunday, it is a hardship to miss the celebration of Easter. We originally had planned to be at St. Paul’s Cathedral for the Easter service, but in the end it got too complicated with other events and the aforementioned 12 travelers, and so we did not this year. It’s a real loss.

Allison and Line renewing their friendship; not sure what Andrew is doing.

My view of the changing of the guard at Buckingham

Instead, we went back downtown. We saw the changing of the horse guard, and then on to the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. Not my favorite experience. It was as crowded as the square outside the Vatican is at Easter, where people are waiting for the blessing from the pope. Except this was not the pope! This was a group of people in historic costume (cool) moving slowly, at great distance from us, through a series of rather boring movements (not cool). There was a band in uniform; we expected stately marches—they played “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” We were pressed into a monumental crowd (probably at its worst due to Easter weekend), and it was a test of endurance. We were surrounded by selfie sticks. We didn’t quite make it to the end, but even retreat was not completely possible, because the roads were closed. FINALLY we made it back to where Carsten, Louise, and the three youngest kids wisely waited it out at the playground.

The Vingborgs are taking the playground tour of London. And there are lovely playgrounds to visit. It makes me nostalgic for the days when we did that, at least until the little boys are up at 6 am and we get to stay in bed. And then they start to fight over which one of them gets to have Louise push their stroller, and I’m quite satisfied where I am. Louise is the most relaxed, patient, loving mother I think I have ever seen. This fits with our impression of Danes in general; relaxed people who love their kids and give them independence at an early age.

About 2/3 of the 9^th and 10^th graders in their very small country town (and the rest of the nation) go to boarding school for a year or two. This seems like kind of a cool system to me. The kids are just ready for some independence, and the parents are just ready to get rid of them for a while. I’m thinking of instituting this policy in the US soon. Aside from the boarding school years, all of their education is free, and they even get paid a low salary to go to gymnasium, which is sort of like a pre-college time that maybe correlates to a core curriculum in college.

Speaking of Danish children, their English education is astonishing to me. Line, the 12-year-old companion to Allison, is now so fluent we can carry on a nuanced conversation. Meanwhile, I am still struggling to pronounce the 2-year-old’s name accurately enough that he understands that I am saying his name. It’s a humbling experience.

The playground they enjoyed was in St. James Park, near the palace, and it is a blessed place to be on an Easter Sunday. The spring flowers are in full bloom, the trees are budding out, and the cherry trees are in full pink glory. You can see the palace at one end of the river that winds through it, and the city skyline looks like a fairy tale city at the other. Rebirth is everywhere, and the sun was even shining for a bit. Big Ben was striking 12 o’clock, and all was well.

I don’t quite know how to put this into words, but in spite of the tension of the unknowns, and the irritations that pop up when we are trying to make our way somewhere, I feel like exploring a new place is when I am my truest self, most alive to the world around me. I can’t say this would be true if I were doing it by myself; this is somewhat Brian-induced, because he can confidently get me around a new place without the eternal lost-ness and uncertainty I would experience on my own. And it is not lost on me that this way of looking at myself has a foundation in the extreme privilege I have lived in as a white, generally wealthy American in the early 21^st century. I’m not sure how to reconcile that with my interest in justice, but I am grateful for the opportunities I have.

Two exhausted toddlers

Speaking of privilege, most of us had tickets to the West End production of the “The Lion King” for the 2:30 showing, so we headed in that direction for lunch. Near Covent Garden we found narrower streets lined with cute shops and restaurants, and we settled in at a restaurant that didn’t seem like it would cost us a week’s salary.  We take up a lot of space in a restaurant. People, strollers, backpacks. The two little guys slept through lunch in their strollers.

Finally we made ourselves get up and walk again, over to the Lyceum Theatre for “The Lion King.” It’s been a long time since I’ve watched that movie, and the musical is so much fun. I know it’s been around forever, so this is old news, but the costumes and puppets are just fantastic. I found myself somehow trying to find the Easter message in it, and I came up with “life always rises from death.” But I don’t really think that is the point. Plus Natalie told me later it is based on “Hamlet,” so there you go.

After the show, Louise and their girls went to find Carsten at the basement of the science museum where the boys were playing in the water again, and we went for some faux nourishment at Valerie Patisserie. Yum.

We dragged ourselves back to the house, stopping for a few groceries on the way home. We’ve spent the rest of the night relaxing and enjoying some down time. The kids are playing a card game that seems to be universal, whatever name it goes by—in the US it might be called I Doubt It or B. S. In Danish it is named something that translates to “Cheat.”

And tomorrow we part ways—they’ll head back to Denmark, and we’ll move on to York for a couple of nights. It’s so good to keep up, compare life experiences, and watch each other’s children grow up.

Brian gives a first try at driving on the other side of the road tomorrow, so this should be interesting. Hopefully I got all my nervous backseat driving out on the kids on the way to Chicago, but that really doesn’t seem likely.