``Does the queen ever come here?''

''Oh yes,'' the waiter replied. ``She comes here for birthday celebrations and formal occasions. You know, the queen's palace is just across the park.''

HISTORIC SITES

The queen was not in residence at Buckingham during our visit. But when we took a train to Windsor Castle, 20 miles west of London, we found the sovereign standard waving -- indicating the monarch had checked in at ''her favorite weekend home.'' Still, two hours exploring Windsor was plenty for Julian, even with a kid-friendly channel on the audio headset. But as much as he was a bit resistant to historical lures, I was determined to sprinkle them in, knowing that eventually his recollections would pay off.

Julian's curiosity about the Blitz meant that the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms were worth an hour-and-a-half before the ankle-tugging commenced. At the Tower of London, a narrated, 60-minute tour by a charismatic Beefeater helped illuminate a bloody chronicle, and walking through the trove of Crown Jewels was an eyeful. But exploring the Tower's grounds on our own proved a chore.

And the British Museum? Within 10 minutes Julian was plotting the Underground route back to our hotel. A better stop, maybe, for early in the day.

Julian's favorite museum was the London Transport Museum, where kids can clamber on a fleet of old double-decker trams and subway cars. We used up more than four hours exploring and playing here, until Julian spent the last of his shekels from home in the gift shop.

But all attractions paled against the Flying Fish Tour, a jet boat that skipped along the River Thames and produced the widest grin of the trip.

The Flying Fish is basically a live-action thrill ride, speeding through the eastern part of the city, down to Greenwich, past the O2 Arena, and to the little-seen Thames Barrier, which protects London from flooding. But when we stopped for breathers, the guide narrating our one-hour trip told us about Greenwich, Mean Time and Canary Wharf's days when London was the busiest trading port in the world. It was an amusement ride with educational payoff -- and another justification for pulling Julian out of school for the trip.

Idealistically, I had hoped this first trip abroad would offer a historic and cultural education. But while buildings and tours had their place, the real learning happens on its own schedule, I found, without any planning from me. The chorus of foreign languages, homeless people stretched on makeshift sofas in the Underground, buskers seeking donations for quirky performances broadened Julian's world beyond anything he'd experienced in his San Diego bubble.

As for me, managing the ideal trip to London was draining. Near the end of our visit I'd given up on the concept of any ''down time.'' Reading material from home went untouched. Whenever I got Julian to shower or write postcards home, I was prepping for the next day's agenda.

But on our last afternoon, as we strolled through Green Park, I saw the momentary escape I craved: Rows of lounge chairs, rented by the hour, with parents buried in a book while their kids romped on the grass.

No time on this trip. But next time, I'll know to plan on it.

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