We arrived in London and made our way to this beautiful, charming little hotel.  Now swallowed up into a larger chain, it had a huge modern monstrosity nearby that was touted as being its sister hotel.  I did not care about the new monster hotel’s gym; we’d be doing plenty of walking.  We had no use for their indoor pool; we could swim anytime.  So this little jewel suited us perfectly.  Like a grand dame, she proudly retained her old world charm in the shadow of her younger sister large Marge.  This hotel was old school and full of history — just the way we like it.  We would have the pleasure of descending and ascending this beautiful staircase each morning and evening, coming down for breakfast and going up to bed.  Our room was just upstairs and off to the left if I recall.  No sterile elevators going up a gazillion floors, just the smooth feel of the polished balustrade’s old wood gleaming underneath our hands.  We set out to explore a little and by far the best thing I discovered about London was the cabs, which were salvation for anyone with a child in a stroller!  They all have tall, rounded roofs and a crazy amount of space!  You simply roll your pram (using my newly acquired British lingo) right on in and buckle up the entire stroller — baby and all!  No unpacking all the bags, lugging a heavy car seat, transferring a possibly sleeping little one, folding up the stroller, and then having to reverse the entire process just a short while later.  It was absolute heaven and so transformative I cannot fathom why all other countries have not followed suit.  If you do not have a child in a stroller you have tons of room and space for your bags.  It really was the greatest.  During the course of our travels we have had cab drivers from all over the world:  Haitiian, Asian, Arabic, French, Spanish, Italian, African, Latino, Canadian, and American.  I pride myself on having an ear for language and my husband and I enjoy getting to know where people were born and listening to their stories.  The hilarious and unexpected part of this trip is that I literally had to translate everything any cabbie ever said to us during our entire week in London.  The irony is they were ALL British; therefore they spoke English.  It was incredibly difficult to discern their various thick cockney accents, particularly when they spoke quickly.  I found it comical that of all the places we had been fortunate enough to travel THIS would be where I would do the most translating.  The cabbies are all Brits because they must pass what may be the most difficult test in the world.  It is called “The Knowledge” and it demands years of study to memorize the labyrinthine city’s 25,000 streets as well as ANY business or landmark — no matter how obscure.  That is incredibly impressive!  Its rigors have been likened to those required to earn a degree in medicine.  Without question, it is a unique intellectual, psychological, and physical ordeal demanding thousands of hours of immersive study.  They must commit to memory the entire city of London and endure a process which takes at least four years to complete; for many it takes much longer.  The German philosopher Immanuel Kant said, “It is beyond a doubt that all our knowledge begins with experience.”  As we took in our first sights of London, our experience was slowly building our knowledge:  of prams and of proud cabbies … and of the knowledge of London.