My husband and I traveled to London several years ago. It was our first (and so far, only) trip abroad. We were there for almost 3 weeks, and believe me there are a BUNCH of great (and some not-so-great) stories that came out of it.

One of my favorites was the day we planned a visit to the Tower of London. We went early, assuming it was going to be crowded. It was a fairly nice day in May so we figured it would be packed with tourists, and we were right.

While in line to enter, the woman and child behind kept crowding us – standing far too close for comfort. Finally I heard the woman speak – she was French. I know other countries have differing standards of “personal space” so we tried not to be too annoyed.

At the Tower we had a great time – Sean’s a huge armor fanatic so we spent a ton of time in the armory. I spent a few minutes at Traitors’ Gate trying to imagine what Elizabeth I had seen when she arrived from the Thames. We both love ravens so enjoyed seeing the Tower’s flock (per Wikipedia, the generic “flock” is the modern name for a group of ravens…past descriptions have been an “unkindness” or a “conspiracy” – I think I like those better!) .

The Tower has a small chapel (the “Chapel Royal of St Peter ad Vincula“) that’s still used for some private functions. We wanted to see the chapel, but the section was roped off and two Beefeaters were standing at the path entrance.

We stood off to the side, trying to decide what to do next.

At that point another group of tourists approached to visit the chapel, guidebooks in hand. The Beefeaters politely explained, in clear upper-crust British accents, that the chapel was currently closed for a private function, but that it should be open in about 15 minutes. The tourists continued to approach, speaking French-accented broken English, and gesturing to the path. The Beefeaters again explained, more slowly and with more hand gestures, that the chapel was now closed and to come back later. After several of these exchanges, the tourists finally moved along.

Once they were safely out of earshot, one Beefeater turned to the other and said, in a heavy East-End London accent: “F-ckin’ French.”

When Sean and I totally cracked up the Beefeater looked startled, then sheepish, then stoic again…all very quickly.

It was our very favorite quote of the whole trip!!