August 4.
After a much-needed sleep, we’re feeling human again. Breakfast at the flat (we’d stopped at a grocery store on the walk home yesterday), then off to the tube to meet our friend, Tom Handler. We actually have a very nice, large sun-filled room in the flat, which I did not explore yesterday, because it’s up another damn floor. Pleasant place to sit before setting out for the tube.
Tom Is a close friend, who we met when we lived here in 1967-68, when he was a solicitor in the London office of Baker & MacKenzie. Born in Hungary, Tom and his family moved to Australia, where he grew up and went to school, before moving to London. Carol and I used to picnic and go to concerts with Tom, often accompanied by our friend and my law school classmate, Steve Sugarman, who teaches law at Berkeley, but who was living in London at the time. We got to know Tom’s lovely mother, Lily, who lived in Australia, but came over to visit Tom. Here’s Tom and Lily in 1968.  We also met Tom’s brother, Leslie and, later, got to know his Hungarian-born wife, Adrienne, and met their daughters, Sophie and Rebecca. Tom speaks only Hungarian to his daughters and grandchildren, keeping his heritage alive. Here’s a picnic photo taken when we visited London with our daughters. Tom (with sun glasses) and his daughters are in it, as is Adrienne on the far left. Below is a much more recent photo of Tom and a grandson..
 We have stayed in touch with Tom over the years, and managed to see him from time to time. Tom is a sensitive and lovely human being, and we count ourselves fortunate indeed to remain connected to him. Carol and I used to relish his handwritten letters on thin blue paper, which gave us his news, often reflected upon, philosophically. Somehow, he manages to preserve the spirit and intimacy of those handwritten letters in his emails. In more recent years, we’ve gotten to know and love his close lady friend, Judith, who we hope will be joining us for a day later in the week.
We spent a delightful day with Tom, covering a lot of ground, most of it on foot. We started at Petticoat Lane,which was not as lively or colorful as Carol and I remember it, but still fun.
  From there we went to Spitalfields Market, once a large flower market and now converted to the kind of upscale area one finds in many cities around the world, with open air restaurants, trendy and crafty shops and stalls and a good deal of buzz. Nice enough, but not particularly my cup of tea; been there, seen that kinda thing. From there we went to lunch at Flat Iron, a steak house, which was quite good.
After lunch, we went to Dennis Severs House at 18 Folgate Street, an 18th century house created in meticulous detail by Severs, complete with artifacts, sound, smells, half-eaten meals, creating the sense that the imaginary silk merchant couple has just left the room before you enter. You walk in silence through four floors of rooms, as if wandering through a painting. Severs called it “still-life drama” and tried to provide visitors with a rare moment to become as lost in another time as they are in their own. No photos were permitted.
We walked slowly through streets, observing and stopping at one point for half an hour to rest and have a cold drink. 
 After that, we took a tube to the embankment, walked across the bridge and along the Thames, looking at the many skyscrapers that were not there in the late 60s, walking past the Royal Festival Hall, where Carol and I had gone to many concerts when we lived in London, stopping for dinner at one of the many restaurants that now line the Thames, none of which existed in our day. At dinner with Tom, we discussed the meaning of friendship and partners, as well as other topics.
After dinner, we walked back across the river with Tom, as night began to fall, to the tube station, where we said goodbye to Tom and returned to our flat, ready to turn in for the night.
August 2-3
Zoe and Phoebe fly in from Atlanta, meeting us at O’Hare around 4 PM. We have more than 4 1/2 hours to kill before our 8:55 flight to London. Meeting up is a bit of a logistical challenge, because they have round trip tickets between Atlanta and Chicago, and need to get from Terminal 3, where they arrive, to Terminal 5, where we leave for London from, and we have the e-tickets for all four of us. Our timing was perfect; we arrived at Terminal 5 about 45 seconds before Zoe and Phoebe did.
No trouble getting through security. Surprisingly good dinner at a small Mexican restaurant. Carol talked our way into a BA Executive Lounge, which is especially good since our flight has been delayed an hour. Carol and the girls play boggle, while I email and blog.
We’ve already had several small world experiences on this trip . Our Uber driver is from Ghana and is shocked to hear that Carol and I have been there six times. We have plenty to talk about in the heavy traffic to the airport. Earlier in the day, I’d had three emails from Ghana from Daniel Kwarteng, who took time out from running his pineapple farm a year and a quarter ago to show Carol, Phoebe and I around Ghana. He said to be sure to say hello to his “sister Phoebe,”. En route to the airport, I get a call from my former client and friend, Paul McLoughlin, who I had not spoken to in many months. We talked about our families, including his son Tully who, on graduation from Yale spent time abroad in, of course, Ghana. Here’s Tully when we saw him on one of our trips to Ghana.
On our way to the Mexican restaurant in the airport, a man calls out to us. It is Sanu Raja, father of the Nepalese student, Nirajan, who Carol and I sort of adopted while he was at Northwestern and whose wedding we went to in Pittsburgh this June. Sanu Raja, Sunita, his wife and her mother and sister, all of whom we’d seen at Nirajan’s wedding, were at O’Hare, having just flown in from Pittsburgh and about to return home to Nepal. We’d spent time with Sanu Raja and Sunita before, both in Nepal and in Chicago. Here we all are.
Flight is a breeze, with some watching, some listening, some eating and some hanging out. I’m amused by the exit signs on the plane and tell the girls that they need to exit in that position. They’re not nearly as amused by this as they should be.
Passport control asks us for a letter from Wendy giving us permission to take the girls, but they let us in without it. We’d been aware of this requirement in other countries, but not in England. Takes a little while to get the luggage but not an excessive amount of time. We head out and pile into a black London taxi, the driver calling me “mate” and the girls looking a bit tired.
We arrive at our flat, which is not elegant, but will certainly do for our stay. It’s most prominent feature is the three flights of stairs we need to ascend with all our bags.
After settling in, we venture out to the British Museum, intending to go by bus, but winding up taking a taxi after several false tries by bus. Drove through fashionable London areas, giving the tired girls a quick look. Arriving at the British Museum around 4, we are overwhelmed and tired so settle for looking at the Rosetta Stone and the Parthenon marbles, certainly worth the trip.
  From the Museum, we descend the long escalator at the tube stop. we get off at a Earl’s Court (pronounced Ellscott) and walk to a pub, where we have quite an acceptable dinner. After dinner, we take a much-longer-than-I-needed 35-minute walk to our flat, where we trudged up the three flights, dumped ourselves into refreshing showers and are about to crash for what I hope will be a good, long time.
Generally, I start out a blog to a country by recounting a brief history of the country. But English history has so many kings and queens, often with the same names (a bit like traveling to Atlanta and being directed to Peachtree Street, except that instead of being called Peachtree, they’re all Henry), that I’m going to just hit the highlight—they used to rule us until, long ago, they charged us too much for tea, so we revolted. And now, almost two and a half centuries later, both of our countries are led by narcissists seemingly determined to drive their countries into the ground. So, anyway, we’ve got that in common to help cement our “special relationship.”
Normally, I take the laboring oar in planning the exotic foreign trips that Carol and I take, but Carol, who enjoys puzzles, has been fitting the pieces of this trip together for weeks. She’s done a masterful job. You’ll get some idea of the puzzle as you read this blog, starting tomorrow.
We’re very excited about this trip with Zoe and Phoebe. Being with them for a week and a half in Peoria, IL would be wonderful. Seeing London, Stratford and all our friends with them is over the top. As one of our friends, wishing us a good trip, wrote, “this is precious time.” Indeed it is.
August 1, 2019
Well, tomorrow Carol and I take off for London with two granddaughters, Zoe,16, and Phoebe, 14. We’ve been taking them, alone, on trips each summer since they were 7 and 5. The first trip was a 3-night Disney cruise, something of a surrealistic experience for Carol and me. 4000 passengers, 2000 crew, people dressed as Mickey, Goofy and princesses signing autographs for the girls and shows each night. Youngsters from around the world served on the boat, each wishing you a “magical day” whenever they saw you.   At one point, I told Carol that if one more young crew member wished me a magical day, I was going to throw the fucker overboard.
If adult passengers had been asked as they disembarked whether they’d like to do another Disney cruise, I think that 83% would rather have lost a kidney. In retrospect, though, it was a marvelous trip, certainly one none of us will ever forget. Both Zoe and Phoebe are into theater, so in subsequent summers, we’ve taken them, in alternate years to the Ohio Lighy Opera Festival or to the Stratford (Ontario) Shakespeare Festival, OD-ing on theater each summer.
Now, though, they are older, and world travelers, each of them having elected to go places in Africa with us for their anyplace in the world trip you want to go birthday gift. Here’s a photo of each on their African sojourns. 
So, we figured we should up the ante in order to keep their interest. We told them we were going to go to Stratford, and they said that would be good. But when we added, “England,” they became really excited.
There are two aspects to this trip. The first is to see something of London and Stratford, as any tourist would. The second equally important aspect stems from the fact that this is a homecoming for Carol and me, as we lived in London 1967-68 and we still have many friends there. We were somewhat younger then.  
So this is a show off the granddaughters to friends trip, as well.
This is not the sort of exotic trip that followers of my blog are used to, so I debated as to whether to post a blog at all. I guess you know what I decided eh? Whether or not this trip interests you, I wanted a record of it. So, come along or not, as you choose.
April 11.
Well, headed home now, so I guess it’s time to reflect on this trip.
First, the timing of the trip was unusual, coming only eight days after returning from Morocco with Carol. For sure, that’s a whole lot of traveling in a short time, so I was somewhat concerned about that. It worked out fine, though. I’m glad I’m not taking another major trip in eight days, but I don’t regret doing these two. Of course, South Africa would have been much more fun with Carol, but I think that her decision not to come was right for her.
Walking up and down hill was not a breeze for me on this trip, though, and that’s a concern. To put it in context, I am certainly able to walk and when there are smooth surfaces or railings, I am fine, both up and down. A certain amount of the problems I had can be attributed to high altitude in Lesotho and to my being heavier than I should be. I need to lose some weight between now and my next major trip, and I also hope to do some walking in preparation for the trip. Going down hill, however, without a railing on uneven surfaces may continue to be difficult. So I’m going to need to watch that, or travel only to countries that have moving walkways everywhere, which could eliminate some of the more exotic destinations. Now that I don’t hear worth a damn and can’t walk downhill, I may rapidly be approaching a variation on Descartes, “I blog, therefore I am.”
The trip itself was terrific. Nevada runs a great trip, includes a wide diversity of activities, and does it with a spirit of fun. Our small group of seven (plus Nevada and guide), was very compatible, with no real losers, and the guides were uniformly terrific, which is critical.
The best days for me were in Lesotho, just moving through the spectacular landscape, observing life as we passed along. Beyond that, though, there were many memorable aspects to the trip. In no particular order, some that come to mind are spending time alone with a professional photographer in Joburg, the wonderful Origins Centre in Joburg, spending time with sangomas (faith healers), the quirky guy who built airplanes out of scrap, attending a Friday night synagogue service in Joburg, the market in which animal parts were sold to healers, witnessing the early morning baptisms in the sea in Durban, the Shembe religious service we went to, a day with the graffiti art expert, the visit to the Constitutional Court in Joburg, seeing the Mandela capture site sculpture and several very excellent art galleries. That’s a whole lot of memorable events in a pretty short time.
I think I got a reasonable number of decent photographs. Each photography trip confirms for me that I’m just not interest in schlepping multiple camera bodies with six different lenses. Nor am I much interested in delving a lot deeper into the technology of photography, even though I recognize that that could improve the end product. I am interested, though, in learning techniques for capturing subjects in more usual ways.
It continues to be an incredible privilege to be able to experience what I’m able to experience in the way I’m able to do it.
I appreciate all of you who take the time to follow the blog and, especially, those of you who take the time to comment. My friend, Gil Cornfield, often shares reactions and insights that go to the heart of what I experience, so I’ll close with this comment Gil wrote about my travels in Lesotho, “It is awe-inspiring to realize that those statuesque shepherds and we inhabit the same planet.”  Yes, it is. And as long as I can experience awe in traveling, count me in.
April 10.
As our flight does not leave until 8PM, I hire Freedom to drive Stan and me around for the day, and then drop us at the airport.
Our first stop is the Constitutional Court, where, Albie Sachs, a former Justice, has arranged for us to be given a tour by two young assistant curators, Francois and Thina, here posing in front of the Freedom Dancers sculpture outside the building.
The building is an amalgam of art and justice, due in large part, to Albie’s influence. No detail is overlooked and every piece is connected to the Court’s commitment to the equality of all people as reflected in the South African constitution. Outside the court building is a sign saying Constitutional Court in each of the eleven official languages of South Africa.
The fonts on the above sign have been specially-designed to reflect the people’s they represent. Francois and Thina are extremely knowledgeable about all of the pieces, their artists and how they relate to the Court’s mission. The works are diverse and, in many cases controversial.  Most all of the pieces displayed have been donated to the Court by the artists. The building is modern, architecturally interesting and engaging. Even the men’s room that abuts the justices’ chambers reflects a commitment to equality, regardless of rank. Here is the courtroom.
The court is located on Constitution Hill, a hill that used to be a fort and a prison (actually four separate prisons, that housed Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Ghandi, among others). Today there is a modern building that serves as a women’s jail. We could easily have spent the day there, but had to settle for two hours.
We stop by to pick up some South African fabric that Stan wants to make into ties, then continue to Amatuli, a huge gallery that contains art work of all kinds, a bit overwhelming. We have lunch nearby.
We continue to Liliesleaf Farm, the place where South African colonial police captures about ten ANC leaders who were meeting and planning sabotage operations. The raid led to convictions of many who were sent to Robben Island. The place is very interesting historically and has a wealth of material, which, unfortunately is not displayed or organized in a way to allow one to grasp everything. Still, it was worth a visit and, if we’d had a good guide and it wasn’t at the tail end of the trip, we might well have enjoyed it a great deal more.
From here, Freedom drives us to the airport, with a good three and a half hours to spare before our flight. Time to blog and eat in the airline club (though Stan is unable to join me there).
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