Hampstead, London

First, a spot of bitching. Is there any reason why bus drivers in London refuse to accept cash and tell me to either go underground or eat oysters? I just wanted to take a short ride, not mount a complex production with day passes or whatever.

On the positive side, cab drivers are so polite that I wonder how the inhabitants of the Buckingham Palace can manage to do any better in terms of manners.

Here is the boutique hotel where I’m staying:

It’s a 200-year-old pub that has a few rooms upstairs. There is a bookstore right next to it and a ton of restaurants, cafés and stores.

Here is the room:

Yes, it’s tiny, like everything a normal person can afford in London but when I open the balcony door, it’s like I’m lying in the midst of Hampstead  (in a good sense):

If my husband read my blog, I doubt he’d like the part about me lying in the midst of Hampstead. So it’s a good thing he doesn’t.

Hampstead is filled with quaint little streets and corners:

And every once in a while you run across a majestic old building like this:

And I’ve only been here for a couple of hours! More to follow. . .