It’s pitch black in the closet and there are five people—myself and four strangers—squeezed into a tiny closet that’s from the outside. It’s my nightmare as a later-in-life sufferer of claustrophobia. It’s made worse by the fact that if someone coughs, the dogs and king’s guards searching aggressively in the other side will find us immediately and we’ll be hanged. Poor Anne on the other side of the door in the dark, damp room alternately seems angry and frightened as she denies to the men that anyone else is in the room with her. There are 12 of us stuffed in various hiding spots. The Catholic priest coughs on purpose—gives himself up—and the search is called off as he is hauled away…to the gallows. Now we are 11.
The year is 1605 and the Roman Catholics are done with the decades of oppression under a series of conveniently Protestant kings of England. Guy Fawkes masterminds the plot to load barrels of gunpowder under London’s parliament building and do away with it in one massive blow—along with the king’s men and hundreds of innocent people in the surrounding market. What do we do: support Guy Fawkes, Anne whose brother was hanged for no reason other than faith, and the other Catholics at wit’s end, or stand staunchly with King James and the other Protestants who have bought up all the land, power and dignity of the people?
Victors wrote the history books and set the holiday schedule, and so Brits around the world celebrate the stopping of the gunpowder plot every November 5 on Guy Fawkes day. My dad remembers celebrating this as a child living in a British colony. I’m so glad innocent people didn’t die that day when the plot was foiled, but it was amazing to learn about both sides during an immersive experience next to the Tower of London last week.
Using virtual reality, live and interactive actors, and a staged underground set, we could smell the smoke and feel the damp and (with the help of technology) glide high above the Thames on a rope to help the priest try to escape and feel our row boat almost tip into the river later, as old London burned in the distance. Clara pointed out that the actor in the (virtual reality) boat talking directly to us and appeared to be only feet away was the actor who played Draco Malfoy.
In the end, the king’s men detected and averted the plan in the nick of time, and we celebrated the victory with a modern day feast of fish and chips. The night prior, we dined on popcorn and mochi watching the live performance of Wicked on West End, and one day we ate the national food of the UK, tikka masala.
Our favorite meal, however, was on Christmas Day. Throughout the service at Westminster Abbey, Kevin was sliding through restaurant options that might have any remaining 11th-hour openings. My only request a month earlier was, “Let’s have a proper traditional English dinner on Christmas—you know, like beef Wellington, Yorkshire pudding, lamb, sticky toffee pudding for dessert, that kind of thing.”
So while the priest is reading the gospel, having stopped right in front of us and waving the immense wand until Brooks about passed out, Kevin leans over and whispers to me, “Italian or Peruvian?” We went with Italian.
Walking to the restaurant through throngs of people started to hurt Tatum’s feet in heels. I swapped shoes with her but it was still a miserable walk under the cold sky and we were going to be late. So Tatum, Brooks and I hailed a cab and Finn, Kevin and Clara walk-ran to the restaurant. We didn’t want to cancel as we risked losing a large deposit. Those of us in the cab arrived first and we stopped before entering.
We had arrived in front of a door in a dead commercial area near the Tate Modern that seemed to lead to a deli. We deduced this from the shelves lined with goods for sale, and the fact that there were only two tables in the tiny place. And the writing on the door that read “Italian Deli,” which was a strong clue. To get away from the cold, we entered but weren’t sure what to do. This was not the place for a very pricey dinner and heels. Kevin by phone assured me that this was the correct address at least.
They arrived and we sat down wondering if we would be eating very expensive salami and mozzarella paninis. But no, not the case. Our set menu included the following offerings: ox tongue, fois gras, pork cheek, anchovy paste on fried cheese and, my favorite option, pigeon wellington. Brooks was perplexed by the options but happy to see a beef filet on the list of starters—until Tatum advised him against it as would arrive tartare. Brooks wasn’t up for raw meat on Christmas.
The meal was delicious and very passionately presented by our young Italian fellow, but the whole experience was cultural in a way we hadn’t expected. Dessert included two mini birthday cakes presented to the official 16-year-olds. They even let us sing to them (one of them).
We went home to our quirky arbnb flat by the Chelsea football stadium and watched a lot of Harry Potter movies. That was a great antidote to all the walking, learning and dining, especially since we were able to visit the infirmary where Harry had his bones regrown, also serving as a chapel at Oxford University.
I loved our long walks to and through Hyde Park, where we saw tiny elves in trees and shops full of English roses. It’s hard to know what’s real sometimes, between claustrophobic closets centuries ago and magical dimensions that muggles can only imagine. That’s the great thing about travel; you don’t have to choose just one answer.
@theterrace 
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It was a great trip! Love my family!
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