London Travel: Notting Hill, Portobello Road & a Cold January Stroll

Well, hello London!

I woke up hours before my family, it was dark outside, the booming fireworks from the night before settled in over me, we were celebrating the New Year in Europe! After arriving the day before, and an all-night flight, jet lag yanked the rug out from under us as we stayed up, not napping from our 7:30 AM flight on New Year’s Eve. 

That morning, we had been all in for visiting the world famous Borough Market, tasting, window-shopping and soaking up the wonders of fresh food and bustling stalls. Offers of coveted pastries and sizzling street food and the discovery that a New Year’s Eve visit was insanely packed and full of unrestrained energy there, near the south end of London Bridge made us positively giddy.Ah, the iconic London Bridge of the childhood nursery rhyme, “London Bridge is falling down,” whether fact or from a legendary London battle, way back in 1015 AD, nevertheless is set in history, providing all of us with a narrative that has been passed down for generations, one I was mesmerized by. I always thought London Bridge was actually the enchanted London Tower Bridge anyway, bringing my own picture of it home to rest in my den, it’ll always be my London Bridge, so there.

Snug in bed, I looked around our Air B&B, centrally located in greater London on Vestry Street. Quietly I got up, not able to resist going to gaze from its 3^rd story wall of windows. There were a few stragglers, walking briskly in the cold morning air, already up to welcome the day. I guess being a night-owl was from my all-nighters in the ER working as a nurse, I would often breakfast, then head out with my friend Marilyn in search of that elusive antique. Today, I could barely restrain myself from rousting everyone from slumber, running out for coffee or tea. Today was our first proper day to explore London, to keep calm and carry on! 

Itinerary:

Wednesday, January 1 — Explore day: Notting Hill, Paddington, Portobello Road, Buckingham Palace (no Changing of the Guard).

Getting dressed, I stole into the adorable Air B&B kitchen, getting out farm ham, dairy eggs, Havarti cheese, bacon, fat little round pork sausages, fresh baked croissants, steel cut oats, European butter, fresh raspberries and huge blueberries, all bought at the little market across the way from where we were staying.  Wiping frost from the window, I saw people down below start coming to life, on their way to work, most likely. 

Our family gathered as bacon, sausage, croissants and buttered toast hit their noses. We commenced eating like vultures for prey. Those farm fresh products were amazing, ones we celebrated every meal, whether eating out, or stirring up a little bite ourselves. It was astounding to cook there, something we very much were into, comparing various products to those at home. We also bought Canadian syrup and lapped it up. Everything was unique and rich, especially the dairy, so creamy without being heavy. Butter had us doing summersaults, its golden color and deeply flavorful taste made us swoon. In restaurants or our Air B&B, the fresh ham and cured meats were lightly cured, savory, but not overly salty. Besides butter, cheese hit the high mark as we inhaled cheddars and blue cheese, but lest we forget flaky meat pies, artisanal breads, preserves, and handmade sausages, oh my, and were they fab! London’s dishes and respect for cuisine got high points from the lot of us throughout the trip.  

We dressed warmly wrapping up like Eskimos; I personally had on enough clothes to choke a horse, an LL Bean heavy down parka with liner and hood, two pairs of wool lined pants, panty hose, wool socks, Solomon running shoes made there in France, thermal undershirts, wool turtleneck, Woolrich cashmere scarf, and two pairs of wool-lined and REI leather gloves, (in case I lost a pair). I packed raingear too, hoodies and raincoats for the entire fam that would reach mid-calf and a sturdy umbrella like Mary Poppins must have carried. I must say, I wasn’t cold, or hot, surprisingly. I couldn’t move all that fast with all the garb on though, a lesson I learned in the Tube, the oldest metro system in the world was about to literally grab me!

We headed out, excited to discover some of London’s oldest and most delightful spots. We walked to the Tube station entrance to purchase Oyster Cards that were prepaid Transport for London cards for the third largest and oldest metro subway system in the world. You had to insert the card, retrieve it, and walk quickly through the turnstile gate. As I put my card in, the turnstile grabbed me, not letting me advance. On the third attempt, certain members of my family had to be picked up off the floor, they were laughing so hard. As I said all that winterwear got me ensnared. I felt like such a buffoon. If the shoe fits…

Moving right along, one of our truly lovely walks in the tube was Paddington Station. One of the most interesting displays was the Railways at Paddington, a Photographic Timeline. It had the most fabulous historic photographs of the railway being built starting in 1864 and proceeding until 1952. For a certain member of our family, we stopped at Paddington at Paddington Station, the only shop in the world exclusively dedicated to Paddington. This exclusive Flagship store offers a shopping destination for purchasing Paddingtons to visitors from around the world. We took a tea and pastry break there, making it feel quintessential London.

We arrived at our destination, Nodding Hill Gate Station, as we were soon enveloped by charming pastel houses and terraces in Nodding Hill, which became world famous after the 1999 movie, Nodding Hill, with Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant.

As to be expected, New Year’s Day in London was quiet, some attractions closed or on short hours, so our plan to make it a general explore day was perfect, as we wandered through the storybook streets of Notting Hill, admiring local shops and bookshops, and on the lookout for Paddington related souvenirs and to share the story amongst us of Paddington finding a home.

Notting Hill welcomed us with rows of enchanting houses and winding streets offered a calm morning for us to walk together, appreciating the blended Victorian architecture and modern London life. Adorable corner cafés opened slowly for the new year, with locals walking dogs and chatting, the unique colors of homes brightening the rain-leaden winter sky. Traveling with our family made our ordinary stroll a shared memory indelibly imprinted in our minds.

Notting Hill’s artistic character was endless, with its curated boutique shops and storefronts, history preserved in its Regency, Victorian, and Edwardian architecture. I read where these neighborhoods were once rural countryside before urban expansion, and that Notting Hill has one of London’s largest Caribbean communities, holding an annual Carnival, Europe’s biggest street festival.

Fat water drops started at a steady pace, bringing out rain gear, and yes, I was quite a sight, decked out in head-to-toe raincoat with hood, and an umbrella. Prepared and dressed for a monsoon, I wandered for miles, oblivious of my odd appearance and happy as a clam.

At Portobello Road we ogled antiques and found unexpected odds-and-ends; its slower rhythm and laid-back style made me smile. Stopping in one particular  antique store there, the rain had picked up even more, feeling colder, as the wet winter afternoon settled into bones. Outside, resting awkwardly on a little stand, as if he had been set aside and forgotten, lay a 21-inch hand-carved wooden rabbit. He was damp from the rain, flung slightly to the side, looking utterly desolate, yet impossible to ignore. His long ears stuck out above him, and with movable arms and legs it made me wonder if he was once someone’s special companion. What truly snared me were his eyes, not perfectly aligned, one set about half an inch lower than the other, giving him a curious expression. There was no stamp, no signature, no clue to the hand that carved or painted him, only that he had been made with craftsmanship. As one might imagine, On the spot, I named him Peter.

It is easy to think how Peter might have come into the world as hand-carved wooden figures like him were made in workshops, especially in Europe, where folk toys and decorative animals were crafted with simple tools and care. The hand-painted details, slightly uneven, each asymmetry a reminder that he was never meant to be a mass-produced toy. Somehow, that journey led him to a rainy sidewalk, waiting.

We did not bring Peter home that day, at least not at first. Instead, our family met for delicious fish and chips, warming ourselves and talking as families do. While there, my daughter mentioned she had seen a charming metal spaniel inside the very same antique shop, a heavy little dog meant to be a doorstop. She loved him, but she hadn’t purchased him. As we lingered over our meal, I handed her my credit card and said, “Go back and buy your dog.” She paused and smiled, asking, “Isn’t that where you found Peter?” I said yes. When she returned, she surprised me, not with the spaniel, but with Peter himself. She had gone back for him, rescuing him from the cold rain and bringing him directly to where I sat, still savoring my fish and chips. It was a moment of joy and perfect timing. We got him bubble wrapped and brought him to the Air B&B, sitting him on the ledge to dry in the stupendous, lovely heat.

Now Peter lives happily with us, no longer alone or forgotten. He greets everyone as they enter our home, dressed for every season and celebration, Christmas, Easter, Mardi Gras, and Thanksgiving, each holiday giving him new character and charm, a reminder that sometimes the most meaningful things are the ones we almost leave behind. From a cold January sidewalk to the heart of our home, Peter is the bomb!

Oh, and yes, my daughter got her dog too, a charming Staffordshire King Charles Spaniel They named him Big Henry, and he is rather an elevated dog, not a doorstop after all. He sits on her kitchen counter amidst the chaos and prep for meals, a very much adored fellow. And although they have two other real dogs, Sammy and Stella, don’t tell, but I think he’s Top Dog after all!

Later that afternoon, we went to Buckingham Palace to admire the grounds, even though the traditional Changing of the Guard wasn’t scheduled that day. My mouth was agape, the palace was beyond imagination, a truly monumental time during that sparkling winter afternoon as we gathered close. The rain stopped; it was even more captivating than I ever dreamed. Even without the full ceremony, the palace grounds and nearby parks make for a peaceful winter stroll. As my family stood, I wondered how many millions of visitors stood right where we were, looking at a perfect picture book of tradition, history and ritual, swamping us with beauty. It was a moment of rare grandiosity, one that none of us will ever forget.

We traveled that day from: Vestry Street, to Notting Hill, Paddington, Portobello Road (West London), Buckingham Palace (Westminster/City of Westminster), and back to Vestry Street. It was an exceptional day, and our trip was just getting started!

Watch for our Next Itinerary in this Series-Bon Voyage: A Winter Abroad

Thursday, January 2 — Harrods High Tea at The Georgian (11:45), Big Ben, Westminster Abbey.