Whizzing by on the train, I saw the flash of the Tower Bridge in the quick breaking view between graffiti scrawled buildings. Two year ago on a rainy November day, I stood on that distinctly distinguishing London landmark bridge under an umbrella as another tourist returned the favor of snapping a photo, a solo travelers’ courtesy. There would be no idle walk across the bridge or tour of Westminster Abbey this time in London. I would be in the city for only 23 hours, time only for three meals and an overnight at the Zetter Townhouse.
Bewildered…that’s how I felt stepping into the Zetter Townhouse. New felt very old. In the dark parlor like entrance, the happy hour crowd lounged in Grandma’s mohair-type couches and swaddling arm chairs. Fragile looking wooden chairs were staggered about small tables that I wondered if a sweating drink would mark the wood. A taxidermist’s work preserved cat which someone dressed in a blue vintage dress and added a lacy parasol. Kitty held the place of honor on the fireplace mantel next to crystal candelabra.
“How did you find us?” asked a young man as he confirmed my reservation. There was no check in desk, just a narrow table along the wall amid the floor to ceiling bookcases. I handed him my credit card, distracted by the volumes of books. “Excuse me,” I said looking now at the life-size stuffed kangaroos in the dining room beyond the bookcases.
The Zetter Townhouse had only been opened for two months as an addition to the Zetter Hotel just across the cobblestone street. I found it using a Google map function to locate businesses near the UNICEF UK office. The map pinpointed several choices for hotels and restaurants. I individually searched each location for price, customer comments and proximity to my 9 AM business meeting. I discovered that my first choice, a Holiday Inn Express, was being remodeled – memories of fresh carpet glue and plaster dust on the windows nixed that one. A comment about another possible lodging warned guests to rise early to enjoy a hot shower, late risers would have cold water…no thanks! One more had no vacancy. Another one was too expensive! The Zetter Townhouse offered a reasonable price, still high – walking distance to the office, but no comments to persuade me. I hit the button – Make a Reservation.
The young man escorted me to the elevator disguised by striped wallpaper. How delightful! Down the narrow corridor to my room, I paused to glance at the black & white snapshots tucked behind and encircling framed pictures. Someone’s 1960’s trip to Paris? More photos encircled the pictures decorating the walls of my guest room. How delightful! A rotary dial phone set on the antique desk. I found a red hot water bottle in a crocheted sleeve on the shelf of the antique wardrobe. Above it to my relief was a hair dryer. Gold velvet curtains hug at the headboard of the bed framed by colorful painted borders. There was no window behind the curtain, just a wall. Light poured through the dormer style windows which looked over a cobblestoned street. I giggled. This room was delightful!
In contrast to the vintage style room, the bathroom gleamed with a modern glass enclosed shower, chrome towel racks, heated towel racks I must add, thick white towels, and a bulky robe. Only the mirror had an antiqued shadowed look.
My rotary phone rang. It was my travel buddy. “You did good!” she exclaimed. She had trusted me and reserved a room at the Zetter Townhouse too. “Meet me for dinner,” she chimed.
We agreed on a Pub where the crowd on its second floor seemed quieter that the revelers at the first level bar. No one came to take our order, them my memory of my last London trip reminded me. This would be one of those pubs where you order at the counter, pay and then the food is brought to you. My fish and chips came with Heinz ketchup, my Pittsburgh home brand. The beer tasted refreshing and I would have had a second if a table staff had offered. I didn’t feel like elbowing into the counter crowd to order any more. The name of the Pub? Who knows! I paid with my British pounds and lost the receipt. Note: I would have parted with more of my British pounds had table service been available.
Breakfast at the Zetter offered several choices…room service, continental in the Townhouse parlor, or full English breakfast at the Zetter Hotel across the cobblestone street. Scrambled egg, bacon, and coffee tasted great. I could not eat the sausages. I nibbled on the tan colored one, but I passed on the black one after hearing the declaration it was probably traditional blood sausage. No thanks, that was not suiting my US breed tastes.
For lunch, I found a small restaurant with options for take-out or table service. I took a table near the kitchen where I could smell the daily special…pork, cabbage, and potatoes. The endorsement of the waitress’ smile assured me I made a good choice. I washed the plateful of food down with a cold cola. Satisfied with the service and the meal, I left knowing I had again “did good” with this choice of another nameless place where I paid cash.
Three meals and a good sleep later, I was back to the train platform. “Is this where I catch the train to Gatwick Airport,” I asked a man who shirt identified him as an employee of the rail system.
“Stand right here, Love,” he said pointing to a white rectangle painted on the platform. I stepped in the center playing along. When the train rolled into the station, he escorted me as if he were a coachman helping the Queen. Delightful! I was again on the train catching a glimpse of the London Tower Bridge. Simply delightful!
The Zetter Hotel & Townhouse, 86 – 88 Clerkenwell Road, London, EC1M 5RJ, UK
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