Say Hello to Russell Square

Sept. 10-11

I’m at the Atrium Bar and Cafe shared by the Imperial and President hotels at Russell Square. This has become my neighborhood in London.

This is my third stay at the President in the past five years. I discovered it on a short trip in 2011.

It’s got some bare-bones feel. There’s no air conditioning (but the windows open). The room is sparsely but adequately furnished. It’s clean.

Best, though, is that you also pay $130 a night to stay in central London. That’s across the park from the British Museum, a couple of blocks from the British Library, where the Magna Carta is, and if you’re feeling energetic, walking distance to Trafalgar Square, Westminster, even Southwark, where the Globe is.

And of course, it beats hell out of the hostel in New York.

If you get tired, you hail a cab or step onto the Underground. The Russell Square station is a block from the hotel.

The Imperial charges a little more than the President, but I’ve never seen the rooms, so I don’t know if there’s an appreciable difference.

I had some time to kill Saturday night at Newark and stopped at a bar called the Vesper Cafe near the gate. It had Kane Head High, an OK IPA both fragrant and sharp. The best I could do for a follow-up was Sam’s Oktoberfest. 

It surprised me because the Oktoberfest was very tasty for a lager and an excellent drink to have with the spicy lamb meatballs, which were stunningly good. Especially with the slice of toasted olive bread.

This and a couple of other places in this wing of the airport offer the option of paying in miles from my frequent flyer account. I did that at another bar later.

They ran out of the brown ale I ordered, so the bartender gave me a half glass, which was the last of it,  and added a bottle of Allagash IPA, which was OK, but it’s a white so it’s short on body and a little sweet.

I went cheap this trip on the air fare. Joanna decided she has had enough running around for a while, and chose to stay home, so I was only looking after myself.  I didn't pay the extra fare for extended leg room.

It was a survivable mistake.

The plane, as expected, was jammed. It had three flight numbers. There was no overhead space left by the time I boarded, so I had to make the trip with my hat and jacket in my lap.

The seats were so cramped that my bag couldn’t stow all the way, so I had to sit with it between my feet.

Obviously, I have survived. So it wasn’t too bad.

We left Newark almost on time, around 9 Saturday night, and landed at Heathrow a few minutes past 8:30 Sunday morning. The actual flight took only six and a half hours.

Passport control took about an hour. There were more than a dozen desks working, but there were so many people it felt about as efficient as Newark. Because of the delay, my flight was no longer posted at the baggage claim, so I had to hunt up a United rep to ask where my bag was.

I finally found it isolated near carousel 6.

You go up escalators and down again, around twists and turns, but eventually get to Heathrow’s Underground station.

Now, this is the easy part. First, you get somebody to walk you through the steps of adding value to your four-year-old Oyster card. (Yeah, it was still good.)

You follow the signs, get onto the train, and take it for 22 stops to Russell Square. 

There is a climb of 20 steps. When you have trouble, a guy will offer to help, but you can tell him you want to drag this stuff up the flight yourself out of sheer stubbornness.

After that, it’s even easier. You skip the flight of 176 steps to the surface, and as the transit system advises, you take the elevator.

While he was stamping my passport, the immigration agent asked me what brought me to London. To see some of the sights and drink some of the beer.

What sights? I mentioned the British Library, and he asked what’s there.

All kinds of ancient books and manuscripts on display. An entire room  devoted to the Magna Carta.

That surprised him. I said they have a dozen copies on display. It has been a while, so that may have been an exaggeration.

But, sir, there are only three copies, and one is in the United States.

The first time I went into that room, I didn’t know there was more than one.

That’s why, after a brief rest at the hotel, I walked to the British Library on Euston Road.

The Magna Carta Room is currently closed. They had one copy on display in the main exhibit room. If I get back to the library later this week, I may be able to ask somebody on the library staff about how many Magna Cartas were on display.

I went to the Friend at Hand, the pub halfway between the Underground station and the hotel for something to eat before I went to the library. I had some deep-fried cod and coffee. 

It was about two here (9 in New Jersey) and this may have been the first solid food I’d had since I had a piece of chicken on the plane. 

I had a cask red ale for dessert. 

It seems that most London pubs have three our four taps for cask ales.  The ale is hand pumped, usually three our four pulls for a half pint, and is served at cellar temperature.

It’s probably as authentic as hell, but the carbonation is not as sharp, so the ale can come across as a little flat.

I got lost on the way back to the hotel from the library. I ran into a couple of guys from Vancouver who asked me for directions.

Together we got a fourth guy to set us straight. Russell Square was off to our left, not straight ahead, as I had originally suspected.

A block brought us to the square. We found the intersection on a map and knew where to go from there. They wanted an Underground station, so I told them how to find Russell Square. 

The Ship Tavern, a short walk from the hotel, is a dark wood pub that had an IPA made by a company called Deuchors. The ale has a mildly floral scent and a strong floral flavor, with almost a hint of sour. It was probably the best of the lot I’ve tried today.

They also had a group of musicians playing some great old-time whorehouse jazz.

I was scouting Lincoln’s Inn Fields, a Georgian neighborhood not far from Russell Square. There are a couple of museums there that I hope to visit in the next few days.

It was during this foray that I discovered that Krispy Kreme has come to London. The company has a small franchise on High Holborn Street, right across from Byron, which promises “proper hamburgers.”

I had dinner at the Swan Holborn. Swan is one of those names, like Wellington and Ship. There are pubs all over London with those names. The Duke of Wellington, for instance, is a gay bar in Soho.

There are great pubs crowding every street in London, so I guess they’ve used up all the available names and have to share some. 

When I sat down at the Swan, who should I see but the two guys from Vancouver having dinner.

Nothing spectacular today, guys. Just a few funny things. 

I am just enjoying being in one of the world’s greatest cities, right up there with Paris and Hong Kong, and in my jaded opinion, a lot more fun than New York.

Stay well, everybody.

Harry