It was the perfect thing. We didn’t have to wait very long in a line to get into The Orangery in Kensington Park. For six pounds, we could get a large scone with clotted cream and jam and a pot of cinnamon tea. It may not seem like much but it meant a lot to us.
It was golden inside or rather a musty glow. A round gold cashier table greeted us at the door. Antique dark wooden tables and chairs, the latter cushioned in velvet, stood up against the large square windows all around the cafe. More tables with booths attached lined the walls with enormous mirrors framed in gold hanging overhead and crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceiling. Rich tapestries of reds and golds covered the walls and a deep red plush carpet with golden swirls was the floor.
I remember what the weather was like on the first day we explored Lisbon. It was the first city we came to where we didn’t have to wear coats, scarves, and mittens so we promptly donated them and were happy to wear three quarter sleeve shirts. It was so warm, I started to sweat in my arm pits and had to tie my hair up into a ballerina bun so my brunette locks wouldn’t get sticky and wet.