I begin this post, the first of many on my grand tour, stinking like a worn-out gym shoe. London saw me wear through five days a black long-sleeve shirt with blue jeans, and only that. There will be much joy in reuniting with my long-lost wardrobe in Bursa this evening. Till then I write off the fumes.

The beginning of my trip was not auspicious when upon reaching British customs, supposedly the least of my border worries, I was detained for three hours by an Indian gentleman. Fingerprints, mug shot, a quite comprehensive interrogation ranging from physical scars to my siblings age, bank accounts were opened, and my outgoing flight to Istanbul checked. Finally, after informing me of my singularity and his pleasure at having met me, I was set loose on London.

Imperial defines the home of Arthur, Shakespeare, Elizabeth, Locke, Nelson, Churchill, and a lot of George's and Henry's. For Uncle Mike (UM) and I, Churchill was pervasive in our conversations and took the lion's share of our time there. The pug once said, "A day away from Chartwell is a day wasted," and though I can't heartily agree with him regarding his countryside estate, I dare say a visit is anything but waste. Bucolic views from a rise where his red-brick house is located, the estate surrounding marvelous, designed by Churchill and consequently an extension of himself. Lakes, dams, heavy machinery, his daughter wrily commented that "her childhood was beset by leaky dams." He became a master bricklayer, and even applied to the Union of such trade but was rejected due to a previous anti-union event he had ordered as home minister. Known largely as the statesman who saved Britain, Churchill in his free time managed to produce 200 paintings and more than 50 books including two authoratative accounts of the world wars. "History will be kind to me" Winston said, "for I will write it." Needless to say, UM and I are getting along grandly.

Our first day in the great city was spent resting. A pint at our hostel, and the sack for some hours. A walk along the Thames that night, British pies (pot-pies) at a riverside restaurant, and a flash-tour of St. Paul's, the Millenium Bridge, and the Globe Theatre that left UM sore the next day. London is to blame, for it has that way of chicanery, luring you on further, the next fabulous, the kind you have read about in a book for years, world-famous spectacle just around the bend. And I didn't even see the Palace, British Museum, National Library, the Eye, London Bridge, Harrod's Palace, or the Tower. I did, however, see Shakespeare. The cast of British movie stars did a wonderful job with The Merry Wives of Windsor, and Falstaff was brilliant as he was soiled in a laundry hamper, beaten black and blue by an angry husband, and tricked into sporting antlers in public. A truly splendid affair in the Globe under a clear sky while my fingers went numb. A note of praise for my kindle is in order. As the play started I quickly noticed that I understood approximately 10% of what the characters were saying. Deeply concerned, I quickly flipped on my beloved, searched the online store, and within three minutes had a free copy of The Merry Wives in front of me. It saved my evening.

There is more, but I think this is enough for now. I will post the rest in a couple days!

Love to all.