Lola-fact: I have a weakness for double-decker tour buses. Cheesy, right? I love the (low-flying) bird’s eye view of a city, learning its layout so I can navigate on foot, picking out places to return to, and hearing little fun facts about its history (nerd alert!). If there’s a double-decker tour bus available, little-old-me can be found atop it.
While studying at Oxford fall semester 2001, Mom came to visit me for a weekend getaway to London. Fortunately, she shares my passion for those extra-tall buses (we snagged one in Rome just because we were tired of walking and wanted to sit down while taking in the sites).
An attractive young man was our “tour guide,” so, being 20, that made me happy. I enthusiastically shot a hand in the air when he inquired whether there was anyone from the US on the bus, to which he retorted flatly, “Wow. Imagine that. A North American on a tour bus.” I meekly returned my hand to my lap, fixing my gaze on the street below.
We scooted around the bustling metropolis, and our guide pointed out this and that… heaven, I tell you, heaven. As our bus heads towards Big Ben, our facetious double-deckered sherpa gives us the lowdown on the oversized clock and its nickname, “fortunately it’s not named after a guy called ‘Richard.'”
And a lone Lola-guffaw floated up and away from the roof of the tour bus.