Penthouse

In moments, say, rolling out of the San Francisco Opera House and seeing people waiting for the bus, I feel something akin to gratitude, reverence and awe for the great human invention, the city. Why? Hard to say, except that I grew up at the edge of a small and remote desert town and from an early age wanted to be somewhere else. Cities were places one visited, saw from the outside, and so I was able to will observe and evaluate, pick and choose regarding cities in what was so way cool about them. In the end, I come back to this: a real city is a place where people go to the opera on the bus.

London being at the top of the list. No question about the peace and pastoral beauty of Gloucestershire. But as soon as I boarded the London-bound train, things began to shift in a more energetic direction. Traveling with my cousin's offspring, Jacob and Alexandra, added another level of security and ease, not to mention humor. One has to be around young people. Maybe one has to be around young people in a city. The siblings argued about London and where they were, Jake being a resident, Alexandra an occasional visitor. But they worked as a seamless team getting me in and out of the cab, normally a draining experience with at least one terrifying moment in which I am asked to go backwards down the folding ramp now built into most London taxis. I usually go through a rather exhausting discussion with the cab driver to make sure he knows what he's doing. But not this time. Jake was already there, grabbing my wheelchair handles, talking me down like John Wayne in The High and Mighty.

And within moments we were in the tight-arse lobby of the Swissotel, formerly the Hotel Howard, now 90% staffed by, you guessed it, Swiss. My room wasn't ready. We rolled into the Covent Garden area in search of lunch. The latter consisted of English pies, steak and kidney for Jake, cheese and chicken for Alexandra.  Lentils and carrots for me, the Gloucestershire Jewish Christmas having taken its caloric toll.

It was dark by the time we got back to the hotel. After all, it was 4:30 and in the London winter the day was done. The bellman led us up to the room. It is a simple fact of Jake's life that he easily strikes up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. The bellman's name was Sebastian, we learned halfway up in the lift. Very likely this name was not a state secret, and the man probably had a name tag, but I'm simply oblivious to these things. And I have learned from travel this year that Jake's utility as a Rapport Builder is not to be underestimated. And here was the room, the result of several conversations with the Swiss folk at Hotel Howard regarding wheelchairs and their requirements. Resulting in this, a free upgrade to a spacious suite, designed with all the most modern of amenities straight out of some sparkling design center in Zürich or Genève, doubtless. With one single drawback, that I could not move my wheelchair around the designer wall into the bedroom or toilet.

Not to worry, because I had come equipped with Jake, who had already chatted up Sebastian the bellman, who was already ringing the desk to discuss What Might Be Done. The answer: another room. A quick glance inside the next suite, and another set of problems. A shower with a high step. Wouldn't do, Alexandra told me. Back to the front desk, Jake, Alexandra and Sebastian in tow. These guys may be Swiss, but they know how to pull out the Jewish joke about 'never mind the quality, feel the width.' There was lots of 'we hope you appreciate the room, sir, it is our largest, and its upgrade complementary.' Not to worry, we had Sebastian as our witness.

He was neither Swiss nor English-rumpled in the local bellman tradition. In fact, he was one of those observant introverts one wants to have around on any trip. At this very moment he was behind closed doors, in the manager's office. We waited. Being a Saturday, we would have to wait a long time, like until Monday. The assistant manager breezed out, beaming and chatting up a Swiss storm. More of 'wasn't the room big,' but quickly followed by a promise to go for the ultimate upgrade, a massive suite on the top floor with a balcony overlooking the Thames. In fact, close enough to the river to fish, if one doesn't mind fly casting across The Embankment. The hyper-luxury suite. With the National Theatre just across the water, its electronic sign proclaiming a wondrous season of plays, two of which I will see this week. None of which has anything to do with wheelchair access, although it does shift the equation, one has to admit. There was now enough incentive to devise a workaround. And take a chance or two. Or three.

One of the best things about having Jake and Alexandra about was their street cred. I had two well spoken English people with me to run around the rooms pronouncing wheelchair inadequacies, which freed me to remain affable, positive and praise the Swiss rooms at every opportunity while sadly lamenting their remoteness to the wheelchair-riding public. Not only was there little to explain, there was little to worry about. What stance to adopt regarding all this? Would I have to roll down to the front desk with a dour expression and make sure that, in one way or another, the squeak of my wheel was heard? No. Jake and Alex would do that for me, just by being present. No need to squeak.

Which explains why I spent this morning and even the early afternoon staring out at the sparkling Thames, then the black of the night Thames, then in my dreams the idea of the Thames. The penthouse suite has these beautiful views from the desk in the living room, which barely takes notice of the vast bathroom or the bedroom. Quite enjoyable, though one pays a price. I wasn't entirely sure I was going to be able to get myself up from the toilet this morning. As for the shower, I took a look, took another look, then backed out. I would shower another day. I take enough chances getting into bed. The wheelchair must be parked by the end of the bed, and I have to sidle sideways between closet and box spring to get into position. Not exactly ideal. And all this could be avoided with such a modest investment. A higher toilet. A couple of bars in the shower. One less minibar would not be noticed.