lexington yesterday

My story went like this (July 2005): Anyone who visits London quickly learns how to get around. There are the big red double-decker buses, the tube, and London’s famous black taxis called hacks.

My fellow genealogists and I rode into the city on the big red buses. It was convenient and cheap. We took a cab (taxi) twice.

Long lines of black taxis wait for fares coming into the city at Victoria Station. We took one of these coming into Hampstead. When departing our hotel we called a cab to take us to Paddington Station to catch the train to Cornwall. The orange cab arrives, it is not the traditional black. (In hindsight this was our first warning).

After loading up the luggage we were off to Paddington. The driver was a friendly chap, asking about our trip. Being Southern ladies we engaged him in conversation. “Where are you from”, we asked. He answered, “Africa”. He looked Moroccan. (second warning).

Then we asked if he had ever visited the United States. “They won’t let me into the country. My fingerprints are on file,” he said waving his left hand. “Anyway, I won’t go to the US. I hate Bush.”

‘OOPS,’ I thought.

Then a newscast came on the radio. The announcer began talking about President Bush. The nameless driver in the jumpsuit taxi cranked up the volume on the radio. He kept repeating how much he hated Bush. This was over the top.

My friend and I started looking for back-door handles. There were none. Just where the Sam Hill were we? . . . Somewhere under the tracks of London. Certainly, not the neat, tree-lined avenues tourists usually see. (No more warnings, this could be the big one!)

The Paddington sign popped up in our line of sight. We rolled up to the station, collected our suitcases and paid the fellow. I was grateful to have my feet back on the ground and be on the way to the West Country where only Jamaica Inn pirates and mysterious Bodmin moors awaited us.