The GQ Model Next Door

When it comes to being fabulous, there are few places that rival the free for all of the Henley Royal Regatta at Henley-on-Thames.  And so, yielding to the call of our fabulous, social, British selves, we joined the thousands of posh internationals along the riverbanks.  

Men wear seersucker, blazers (specially-designed Henley blazers if they have ever raced in the regatta), and wield picnic baskets and cocktails with familiar ease.  

Women tiptoe in heels down dirt paths wearing long dresses (below the knee is required for the enclosures, and God forbid you show up in trousers!) and shading themselves from the sun with fanciful hats.  

Small golden or paper badges flutter from breast pockets, signifying entrance to the exclusive enclosures.  And then there are all the people who throw formality to the wind, swing blankets and bottles of wine, and camp out on the banks.  Baguettes and wedges of cheese spill out of grocery bags and a riverside party commences.  Many small clusters of youths sit far from the river, eschewing prime real estate for the convenience of the clearings.  They care for the London social calendar, not for the rowing itself.

Indeed, it was a mixed crowd with mixed motivations.  Some cheers, some imbibed, some did both.  We chose to cheer, making our seat on extra plastic grocery bags and our meal of sandwiches, a baguette, and a round of Camembert.  We scored a spot along the bank, close to the finish line and in the shade.  And good thing we did.  From the time we sat down until the time we left hours later there was a constant flood of people back and forth along the path.  The next available seat couldn't have been as convenient or comfortable.  And we had great neighbors!  An enthusiastic cheering section from New Zealand picnicked to our right, the parents of a former Oxford rower (president of the Blue Boat) sat to our left, and boats full of old men rowing their adorable old wives glided by in the water at our feet.  Occasionally, a wake from a race or passing boat would splash water up at our feet, making us all laugh.

My favorite neighbor was the mother of the former Oxford rower.  She was originally from Slovenia but had lived in England for most of her life.  She was a typical mother, trying to coax me onto the blanket she shared with her husband so that I didn't dirty my dress, bragging good naturedly about her son as she glowed with pride (this is how we found out he had been in GQ because of his prominence in the British rowing world), and asking us about our trip and such.  We found out that we knew a rower in common (we knew him from his Yale days; she knew him from his time at Oxford) and from that moment on we were clearly on the same page: appreciative of rowing and of the crews at the regatta, and proud of our rowers (her son and my Josh).  When her son came over, he was dutifully embarrassed by his mother's affection, pride, and bragging.  He was quite nice, though, and offered to let us buy tickets to the enclosures.  Since we has already seen most of the races that we had come for, we declined.  Maybe next time.  But meeting such a lovely family made the afternoon.  We also ran into friends - rowing is a small world - and Josh conspired to create a boat for a future Henley regatta. I'm rooting for this idea.  The race is quite fun when you have a stake in it (through friends).  Or when you have a handsome man who suddenly gets excited about dressing up.

That evening, our last in London, we enjoyed a wonderful spread of breads, cheeses, and sausages with the lovely Aunt Martha brood.  Welcoming us into their apartment and sharing their feast and company with us? I really do have the best family.

Spotted: Strawberries and cream.  I'm not sure if this is a Henley thing or a Henley and Wimbledon thing, but it was everywhere.  At the tents at Henley.  In a special Starbucks drink for the month.  Advertised in store windows.  Sounds like a pretty delicious tradition.