'n About

London: Two days and untold transfers

2008-06-16T02:26:00.000-07:00

We have commuted an absolutely incredible amount so far this week and it is only Monday morning. I only wish that I had thought to log every transit change. Lyndsay lives in West Dulwich approximately 1 1/12 hours from central London. I am truly getting every pence's worth out of my weekly Oyster travel card. She commonly leaves for work at 8:30 to start at 10 am commuting three hours a day. However if she bikes as she did this morning, decked out inher biking regalia, flashing clipon lite and neon backpack cover, it is a 45 minutes ride.

No rain as yet, but constantly colder than I packed. The big dilemma is Ascot on Wednesday as our dresses are self-less and I have yet to wear less than two layers of sweaters. Somehow neither a black Patagonia windbreaker or fleece seems appropriate with my fancy hat. Is it possible to get frostbite during the day in an urban location?

Visited the Museum of the City of London for the third time and am sure I will never not visit it when here. This year the Great Fire exhibit was completed, but the history ended in 1599 due to renovations. Had not realized that the 1566 fire came only a year after the second Plague which had decimated 1/2 of the population a year earlier. Dined at China Row, passing Spiedelfields market which is on its way to being upscale and homogenous. Home for a 15 minute nap before returning to see King Lear at the Globe Theater, a truly memorable experience.

Nye worked Sunday and Lyndsay and I got a late start. Walked the shopping district with a European pizza lunch, a quite tour of the Regents Street Apple store, hat return to Lewis, then on to Forstrum's for the recommended chocolate soda, but as it was 25 minutes before closing they would not serve us. Stopped by Clapham to see the potential new house. A huge Tesco and lovely large park are nice advantages of this otherwise youthful trendy area. Home exhausted. Made a fun dinner of chicken and salad cooking smoked pork rashers and making other substitutes as necessary. So nice to visit folks who enjoy a nice sweet German wine.

Virgin Atlantic - a post of its own

2008-06-14T00:22:00.000-07:00

Three stars for Virgin Atlantic Economy. Long ago experienced a memorable First Class, but Economy is the best around. Legroom, unlimited liquor, a useful welcome gift with blinders, toothpaste, etc. A boxed cupcake as we boarded. if I felt techie intimidation then expect to spend time figuring out the "remote control" for the screen/music. Where have I been? Text messaging between seats with 60 seconds of detailed instructions on etiquette/security; ditto, gaming between seats. No more wondering which movie is playing on which flight in which direction. They are all playing, or TV. The secret is learning to shift in your seat without turning on the screen, but looking around many others had the same problem.

Summer Travels - 2008 Style

2008-06-13T14:34:00.000-07:00

Left Vero with gas @$3.98 if you hunt. For the first time ever, we plotted probable destinations for refueling along I95. The lowest price was $3.829 in South Carolina; the highest near my dad's in Bellerose NY $4.199. For the first time I saw several open gas stations without prices posted. The number of young people driving motorcycles was another new sign of the times.

If you haven't tried Blenheim's hot ginger ale, you can't appreciate why day one had to end in Florence SC so that I could be at the 8 am opening of the Pee Dee Farmer's Market on Tuesday. A charming couple sold me three 6-packs of eye-watering liquid heat and a was off for another 600+ miles to Long Island. By the time I made it through afternoon rush hour in DC, I was exhausted. To my delight I discovered an amazing fast food concession stand in a Maryland rest area called Phillips Seafood that had a super crab cake sandwich. The skies were blackening and as I approached the Outer Bridge Crossing, there was a windstorm to equal those only seen in the desert. Sheet of debris blew in whirlwinds and as the winds picked up, I worried about taking a van over the Verrazano Bridge. Then the skies opened and as I drove along the Bronx/Queens Expressway, bolts of totally awesome lightening light Manhattan like a scene out of an end of the earth movie. Arrived at ten exhausted.

China - A Part of Me

2006-01-16T11:03:00.000-08:00

Visiting China was a mind-changing experience. Ten days, three major and two minor cities only gave me a taste for more. We arrived back on Friday. As this was a school trip, I was along to report and log the experiences of the group of nine Advanced Studies students, one mom, and three faculty. I created a web rather than blogging as, until I am FTP the blog to a private web, there was concern about Blogger's links to other webs.

Considering that I never really expected to go, I am enormously grateful for having had the opportunity. The students were remarkably gracious - not one word of complaint about food even when we adults were quietly grumbling. The toilets became a common whipping boy and we began rating those that were not rated by the state. Our fearless leader, aka The Emperor, was a stitch; he had three pair of brightly colored corduroys which were more effective than the flags most guides carried. After all his warnings about watching our bags and wallets, it was he who left his in a taxi. $$$ plus all cards, ouch!!

China had modernized. The Good Earth had left its mark with me. I had certainly been to Hong Kong and Taiwan, but in my mind the mainland should have been backward. While Beijing was gray and somewhat lifeless, huge and congested, I enjoyed its stately presence and its people were friendly; our Holiday Inn was as good as any Manhattan four-star hotel. One evening I sat in the coffee shop with my mocha latte (better than Starbucks) using their free wireless (hopelessly slow) all the while listening to a three piece jazz group play absolutely dreamy cabaret songs. It was surrealistic. On the streets it was more like the old Soviet Union but everywhere folks were busy and enterprising.

Our Chinese flight to Xian was notable for the four attendants who bowed to us before serving, in stark contrast to the shabby, brusque United counterparts. The students had a mind altering experience spending the night at the public 4000 pupil high school. Unfortunately, school was not in session and their students had voluntarily returned to meet ours and participate in a simulated class day. The difference in school size from 4000 to our high school size of 350 was enormous. One of our best meals of the trip was prepared by the school kitchen staff, also a marked contrast to our Aladdin food service.

Xian was lovely. One could imagine how nice it must be when the weeping cherries are in bloom. The terracotta warriors were a highlight of the trip (Our library had a great book about them that allowed me to keep up with the guide). I supported the Chinese economy at the silk and jade factories bringing home three silk comforters and some jewelry. We went to dinner with CiCi's fellow teachers (this year's Chinese teacher) who were extremely gracious.

Shanghai was a city's city. Immense, it is largely rebuilt since the PRC; it is modern with skyscrapers as far as you can see. In each city we had excellent guides with us at all times which added greatly to the experience. The last, a man in his 50s had a good perspective on all the changes he had seen. He was very entrepreneurial and had listened to all the bankers and financiers who had come his way and made a nice profit in the stock exchange. Everywhere everyone seemed very proud of their country and eager to prosper.

I am left wishing I could have traveled to more provinces and especially, seen the mountains. This is the language for the 21st century. With all the talk of globalization, we need to be emphasizing Chinese culture, history, and language to better prepare our students.

The link to my web describing the trip is on our school's website and listed on this sidebar.

A New Adventure: Preparing for China

2005-12-22T04:06:00.000-08:00

It's probably been a month since the reality that I would be going on school trip to China hit me. To maximize this opportunity to travel with two other educators and nine students, it's time to hit the books, web, and any other media that time permits.

With little background to build upon and on the recommendation of my daughter L, I began listening to the Pimsleur language CDs and have become committed to my daily time in the car. Somehow learning something so foreign and having some of it "stick" is simply awesome. Now with added vacation time I have begun reading background books. Today I came upon a really interesting site from the Metropolitan Art Museum. I only wish we would have access to the web as we traveled to increase our appreciation of artwork. This site puts art into a historical perspective. Our trip to China now is especially opportune after our summer reading globalization theme last summer.

Paris: City of a Thousand Lights and Challenges

2005-07-05T09:42:00.000-07:00

Friday: In Transit, Again
During a totally frantic morning, my friend arranged for a loan and signed papers to purchase a new apartment; her son and I waited in the car watching the clock tick down to departure time. She’d decided to coordinate our departures from Grenoble, which meant a train transfer for me in Lyon, while she was off for two weeks sailing off Corsica. Although five years of French did not prepare me to understand railroad announcements, (and, in truth, travelers in the US would have a similar experience with the LIRR), it was a lovely ride through the incredibly pastoral French countryside. Huge areas are rural and much as they have been for centuries.

I noticed on the Internet after Dany booked my hotel in Paris on the phone using SNCF, France’s train association’s offer of 40% savings, that there was no way the hotel could be near the train station as claimed. Now, as I stood in Gard du Lyon, a huge railroad station to the east of Paris coordinating the city map, with the RER train and Metro maps, I was frustrated by my inability to speak enough French to call for exact hotel directions. So I made a best guess as to the station and learned that the huge Acueill signs were for information booths. Since in French, information is l’information, it would seem that an information booth could be identified with a large I; nonetheless I had broken the code and got directions to the general vicinity. Immediately, I realized that the ticket, billet, machines were only in French. With suitcases in tow, I circled the station to locate a human ticket agent, and was informed (incorrectly, I later learned) that day or weekend Metro passes did not exist. I bought the suggested 10 tickets, good for both Metro and RER trains. Fortunately, escalators were available in the up direction at each change of station. I arrived at Denfert-Rochereau above ground on a busy city street. With no idea of which way to go, I tried to hail a taxi. Non! Three rejections from passing empty taxis cued me to the fact that the system must work differently here; a sign saying Taxi’s was across the street, complete with empty taxis in a row. Ah, to my good fortune, a Chinese taxi came by and I knew I was in luck as no Chinese man could know French and not English. Yes, he had found my hotel before, but it was very difficult – many one way streets. We sat; he studied the city atlas; the meter crept up. He was knowledgeable and delightful and $15 later I found myself on a tiny street in a dubious neighborhood with no idea of where I was, but armed with the knowledge that the subway closes at midnight and that a taxi to the airport would cost me $65. My three nights with Lyndsay was now to be two.

No, please not here
A peek into the lobby of Hotel Jardins du Paris confirmed that the Internet pictures lied. A wizened elderly man greeted me cheerfully (into his lair?). This was definitely a step down from the hostels of my past, and as Lyndsay would show me the next day, from hers also. He had my reservation and quickly calculated a rate of 47 euros per night, or 141 for three nights, much better than the 197 the SNCF had offered (1 euro = $1.25). My mind spun; it was already almost 8 pm, I had no way to reach Lyndsay who would be arriving in a few hours and no idea how to get another room. He offered his last room. Yes, I could see it. Alas, this is the photo I forgot to take – from some old French film, vintage cots! For a moment I imagined I was in black and white, but it was clean and complete with a private bath. Deal done and I had the pleasure of the better rate. Suspiciously, he had to put through the charge again even though I was quite sure I had seen the charge already on my bank statement. I seriously considered the in-room wifi, but at $35 for24 hours, and a caveat to not shut off the computer, I decided to go off line.

Motherly Guilt
Ugh… 8:30 and no mother could leave her daughter to negotiate finding this place, and finding my way to Gare du Nord definitely beat waiting at the hotel. Ironically our correct metro station, Alesia, was only one beyond where I had gotten off and begun my taxi expedition. Seven minutes and I was at the Metro.

Lyndsay’s train was due to arrive at 10:53 but I watched hopefully as each of the three earlier London trains arrived, hoping to escape early from the seedy under life of Paris at night. I purchased a phenomal sandwich, galette, my second railroad station sandwich of the day, and superior to any in the US, and sat reading the most apropos book, The Dante Club. Social bums and beggars added to the general ambiance. When Lyndsay arrived it was as if light re-entered the City of Lights. She took the hotel in stride having arrived with very low expectations after reading the reviews. We feel asleep anticipating two days of adventure.

Saturday: Paris, Day One
After a petit de jeune, notable for its instant coffee and cocoa machine, in a surprisingly delightful cave under our hotel, we were off for a wonderfully sunny day. None of travel agenda, ever materialized as we were swept along by a series of slight misjudgments in Metro stops. From Les Invalides we walked along the Left Bank to Ille de la Cite and Notre Dame. Lyndsay had visited and ascended to the its top for the view in January and we were able to avoid that queue. On our way to Sainte Chapelle, we realized that time was running out to meet a friend at the Arc de Triompe by 3, so we stopped and I had one of the most memorable lunches of my life at a sidewalk café: slices of duck breast in a poivre sauce with spectacular green beans and fries. At the Arc, Lyndsay surprised me when Liz, her roommate from McGill and now best friend from London, appeared. We enjoyed a leisurely coffee on the Champs d’Elsyees. As this was July 2nd and the French take off the month of July for vacation, major sales were in progress everywhere and we went into the shopping district of Les Halles. It was funny to examine prices from two viewpoints: high by US standards, and a bargain with the strong pound. Truly dragging by this time, we went off to Sacre Coeur, a site I had never visited before. How beautiful as the evening’s long rays pierced the stained glass windows. Surprisingly, construction was only undertaken at the end of the last century. We finished the day with two ice cream sundaes at a café looking up at the church and enjoying the crowds. Back at the hotel, the proprietor (concierge is simply too assuming a title) informed me that I had double paid. Unfortunately, he could only refund his cheaper fee. Lesson learned: the railroad takes a big cut, more than one night’s stay.

Sunday: Paris, Day Two
It began to seem possible that we might do all of Paris in two days. Actually, Sunday was two days: one, a packed day of sightseeing and great shared experiences, and two, the saga of departure.

Carousels and children were everywhere around the city. A huge ferris wheel is located next to the Louvre reminiscent of The Eye in London. In Paris, it is part of a mini amusement park. The French, more so than the British, seem immersed in showing their children a good time. Our day got off to an anguished start as we walked blocks in the area of St. Germain-du Pres in pursuit of crepes for breakfast. After half an hour we wound up back were we started, observing that the area has two distinct components – an upscale residential/shopping area, and a touristy, student area. Our crepes were square, not quite as intended, but well-nourished we set off for Musee D’Orsay and its marvelous Impressionistic works. From its roof, is a great view of the Louvre and the East bank. I especially enjoyed the guided tour Lyndsay provided, bringing to life obscure painters whom she had studied at Pratt. From there we walked to the Tuilleries garden where we stretched out on a bench and soaked up the wonderful weather. After recovering our stamina, we walked to 22 Rue de Rivoli to Angelina’s, upon the recommendation of my friend Alice. The long queue was a minor price to enjoy the gilded ambiance and phenomenal hot chocolate with Chantilly cream. Only the waitresses seem incorrectly cast, as they were all foreigners in traditional French uniforms.

We then walked the length of the Louvre, which is truly huge, in search of a Metro stop. Now, to add to our ongoing series of chance encounters, Lyndsay met three other friends from McGill, one of whom asked if she were available to be photographer, outside Paris, at a wedding in October. As she had interned with a wedding photographer in Seattle at the beginning of art school, this was a dream offer come true.

We had planned one last experience to complete our two day Parisian marathon, a cruise around Paris. Unfortunately, travel again compromised our plan and our train simply announced that it was stopping before our destination. We walked and walked along the Seine; no really, Lyndsay prodded and poked at me. When we found a boat station, their tour did not include the Eiffel Tower. “Okay, Mom, only two bridges to go.” And it was, also, truly worth the effort. We got the best seats for photographing, on the side of the boat, and were enchanted by all the old Parisian songs and by the exuberance of all those enjoying life on the banks of the Seine – lovers, families, a Tango dancing club. We simply could not have had a nicer two days together.

Some random observations from our weekend in Paris
It really was not necessary to purchase the three day museum pass at 45 euro; in fact, the first Sunday of each month, entrance to the D’Orsay, at least, is free. Similarly, the daily metro pass which we later learned was available was probably overkill as we used 20 tickets between us. Paris seemed more of a melting pot than New York. Good walking shoes are essential – I can’t overestimate that as I did not have any.

The Saga of Departure
The endless light of the evening skies constantly tricked our bodies, but after finishing the cruise at 9:30, the impending countdown to the midnight closing of the Metro hung over us. We enjoyed a quick salad close-by our hotel with our first beers of the weekend, never had a wine. Then, back to the hotel for a quick shower and change and off to the Metro. Lyndsay sweetly came along to the major transit change station to help cart my now seriously-overweight suitcase down and up stairs. After a warm hug, I was off.

A few stops later, a growing anxiety creep over me - something was wrong. In the pit of my stomach, even though I did not want to acknowledge it, I was on a Metro for Charles de Gaulle Etoile and not on the RER for Charles de Gaulle Aeroport. I realized that in our last moments of zeal, I had boarded the wrong train and had no option but to get off and go back, i.e. lug everything up and down multiple staircases to the correct line. How could I, at my age, have given my last euros and telephone card to my daughter, and now potentially find myself at midnight in some random area of Paris with no money for a cab and no way to reach anyone. Were those the black blobs from the movie Ghost flying through the open subway windows? From being a somewhat comatose, sweaty done-in traveler, the adrenaline kicked in and while I did not ever lift the suitcase, I was able to methodically heave it along step by step. Now, on the correct train, I noticed that the line would eventually fork. After sticking my head out at a couple of stations, I realized that each time this train arrived, the lights for the aeroport stations were not lit. Off the train again, I waited at 11:45 for the final and correct train. I knew that Terminal 2 was for Air France, but when I ascended to the aeroport itself, there were six optional wings and no airport personnel except for maintenance. I chose one and trouped off down the endless automated walkways in this incredibly modern beautiful space until I found some other travelers camped out and decided it was safe to join them. Every seat in the aeroport was metal with permanent armrests to assure that no one could stretch out to sleep. Each time I dozed and awoke a different person was up and restless. By 4:15 my flight appeared on the monitor, obviously in a different wing and I was off again. As my 7 am flight time approached, the terminal began to come to life, but the duty free and food concessions remained closed. The huge storm which had been forecast for Sunday hit with vengeance. Lightening was on us and the planes could not be loaded. We departed an hour and a half later, exactly the transit time allowed for my connection in Madrid back to the US. Aboard Air France, the only difference between this coach breakfast and the first-class one of a week earlier was the lack of a proscuitto open-faced h’or d’oeuves (considering the incremental cost for those actually paying for first class, that’s one very expensive nibble) – the Nescafe instant remained constant. The Madrid connection involved a change of carriers, so after a few frantic inquiries, Continental was located at the opposite end of the airport. The plane was an hour delayed giving me time to pop into Duty Free. The 7 hour flight on a full 777 was not conducive to sleep, although the film, Sahara, would probably have had me asleep in my own living room.

As the immigration forms were passed out, I felt the transition to normalcy slowly returning. Then, a speedy stop through Customs and out to Carousel 6. When do you give up? After memorizing the remaining suitcases? Never! After 45 minutes, a pleasant airport official approached me and suggested that my bag had not made it to New York and that I could proceed to the Baggage Service office on another level. As the customs official at the exit area noted, I made it and that’s what was important; I could always get another suitcase. In any airport, this must truly be The Office of Horrors. Those who choose to work therein should be blessed and well compensated -- what great scenarios occur for anger management study. The only redeeming factor was that I had only my laptop and Duty Free bag now to carry on the Air Train/NJ Transit/LIRR connections home. The schedules conspired to connect so well that there was no time to even call my dad, and I rang his doorbell and surprised him at almost 5 in the afternoon.

As I sit here on Tuesday awaiting today’s flight from Madrid, I ponder the irony of so much effort going into getting this bulky overweight piece of luggage to the airport if it never makes it home. I lament the pictures of Paris still in the camera in the suitcase and ponder my replacement wardrobe…

Eating Well

2005-06-30T22:59:00.000-07:00

Today I leave Bernin by train from Grenoble to Paris to enjoy my last weekend with Lyndsay. As our hotel does not have Internet access, the next posting will be early next week. This is the entrance to Auberge Bernin, my friend's home, circa 1610, undergoing renovations to create a second floor of 3 apartments and a third floor loft apartment for herself and family.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping; besides the incredible choices of cheese and yogurts, the highlight was square ready-to-grill lamb kebabs – square onions, peppers, and meat.

No matter how busy the day is, there is always time for eating well. Today enjoy some simple recipes.

Salade Nicoise
10-15 small new potatoes, boiled and sliced in good-sized wedges on the diagonal
3 hard boiled eggs
1 giant tomato, carved up attractively
1 large can of tuna
and the secret ingredients are…
1 ½ pounds of green beans, steamed in the juices of a smoked chicken
½ cup of special vinaigrette

Using an oval plastic steamer that looks like the covered roasting pans of old, which comes with the microwave here, steam a whole purchased smoked chicken until it plumps and is hot. The juices in the bottom of the steamer are then used to boil the green beans and, if desired, the potatoes and eggs.

The vinaigrette is 1 part cider vinegar, 2 parts vegetable oil, 1 part olive oil, a spoonful of grainy mustard and a shot of Viandox – a beef seasoning akin to Bovil. It should be quite mustardy.

Mix the tuna and salad dressing. Then the beans, potatoes, tomatoes, and finally gently stirring in the hard-boiled egg slices.

Steamed Aubergine

Lovely appetizer served with a little lettuce and tomato on the side. The avocado was served filled with shrimp…
Skin an eggplant leaving the stem on. Cut lengthwise in to 4/5” long slices and place in the microwave steamer. Steam until tender 8-10 minutes from cold water. Cool completely. Put on a flat plate and serve marinated with whipped lemon, a little finely crushed garlic, and olive oil and salt.

Note: Aubergine is eggplant; auberge is guest house.

Brik - Lebanese
Cut a circular piece of phyllo dough 6-8 inches in diameter and oil lightly. Fill half lightly leaving one inch clearance at edges with scrambled egg, mashed potatoes, garlic, and other optional items. Fold over top, and gently fry until crispy.

Daily Life

2005-06-28T01:31:00.000-07:00

With wifi setup, I am no longer pecking my way with a foreign keyboard. It had not occured to me that the French do not use our querky keyboard and it was humbling to hunt and peck.

Grenoble's a lovely place to live, but there's little in the way of sightseeing. Although there are six premiere ski areas accessible, they get very little snow in town. We are picking currants and making jams. As my friend's home is being converted to an Auberge, there are daily trips to their "Lowe's" and lots of routine errands. Our major activity has been relaxing in her pool. It's surprising how many homes have pools. We drove up to a charming old village up in the mountains, but it's only restaurant was closed.

Went into the center city for dinner and enjoyed a charming tiny Moroccan restaurant. Last night a friend invited us for dinner farther out in the country and prepared fairly atypical, basically vegetarian fare. Tuesday is women's day with discounts in the shops so we will be off to the center city again tonight.

Between the Internet, soda, and ATMs, the differences are becoming fewer. Even French clothing is being replaced by Indian cottons fashions. A nice custom is that one's garden is supposed to be private and if a neighboring home has windows they must be shaded at all times or have trees to block the view.

Boujour

2005-06-26T10:16:00.000-07:00

Lost a few days there. Wrote off our last Thursday in London. Started with a delightful stroll through Kensington Gardens on our way to the Palace; however we didn't get to visit as the L11 entrance fee was enough to take the Princess to lunch. Got to watch an equistrian team practice their jumps. By the time we reached Westminister Abbey at 3:4r, it had closed. Decided to save The Globe for another time.

Left Friday at 6 am for a flight to Charles DeGaulle. Even on Air France, first class has lost it flair. The plane was so old, first class had the same three seats across configuration as coach, but with the middle seat blocked off. It would have helped to have brushed up on my French before trying to pick up my tickets for the train down to Lyon. It was so crowded that all the luggage area was filled and I was fortunate to get a fold down seat to sit with my bag between the cars. It was a tenuous ride as, each time I nodded off, my suitcase would start to tip and I worried that I would hit the young woman opposite me. later I was to learn that I had a reserved seat, but was probably saver staying with my luggage. Everything ran so late I arrived 45 minutes late and found no friend waiting. She thought the railroad might have been on strike or more seriously delayed. The phones did not take coins and the credit card I purchased resulted in an error message I couldn't translate. At the Police booth, the officer did not speak English and suggested that information was on a different level. So I sat and waited and an hour later, we were all reunited.

Rather than returning to my friend's home in Grenoble, however, we were invited to a party at AlliaDental for the reps of a dental supply firm. We all had champage waiting for people arrive to a big party for the installers of the equipment. It was a gala affair with an outdoor tent, one of those bulls folks ride against a countdown clock, a huge barbeque and unlimited champagne and German beer. Defintely memorable. Everyone got a small stuffed cow to take home.

Saturday and Sunday I awoke in this pictoresque suburb of Grenoble situated between mountain ranges to the sounds of a church across the street. Everywhere there are potted flowers. It is quiet and lovely. We walk to the boulangerie for bread and visit the farmer's market for produce. After picking baskets of currants for jam, I joined Dany in her shallow circular pool to chat and lounge. We really are not doing much, but with great elegance.

Going in a New Direction

2005-06-23T02:42:00.000-07:00

Just two days ago Lyndsay got a response from a firm she had sent a resume to cold call. So today Lyndsay was off to a morning interview (perhaps I brought sunshine and some luck). Just couldn't do another museum while she was out, so totally enjoyed tea in the sunshine of the yard and some leisurely blogging. There is no way I would have remembered what I have done here if it weren't for this blog.

Two hours later her life is off in a new direction, with her first professional job at Rareform. None too soon, as her work visa expires in 8 days. She’ll be a junior graphic designer. The timing is also wonderful as we were able to spend these four full days together before she starts next Monday. Actually, we are scrambling to see whether we can meet up again at the end of my trip since my French friend is leaving to go sailing early.

Started late today, but visited a truly outstanding museum, the Imperial War Museum. Loads of school children were enjoying the incredible hands-on activities. We were like kids, going through a submarine and then visiting the Children in War exhibit. An entire Kent house was recreated from that period. The photographs, news reports and videos were heart wrenching describing the evacuation of nearly one million children. I was surprised to find a John Singer Sargent exhibit and a phenomenal painting, Gassed, depicting a mass of blinded soldiers in the foreground while regular troups played soccer in the distance. Having enjoyed his fine paintings of the wealthy in Boston, I had no idea of his WWI work. Three hours later we had only skimmed the surface of this tremendous resource.

After an iced mocha at Cafe Nero's, which beat Starbucks, we hung out at Foyle’s bookstore, the largest in England. Then we took some trains over to Canary Wharf, a newly developed commercial area and then, on out to Greenwich, a quaint town with an old schooner and three Tex-Mex restaurants. Two decker tables were a first for me - great food, but no a/c. The heat wave continues in the nineties with full sun daily. Another 11:30 evening. Sure isn't Vero. By now, there's a good chance I have been on the majority of rail lines in London.

Side Note: Read today that Serena hit an 145 mile per hour shot yesterday breaking the female record.

Things Done Differently

2005-06-23T02:24:00.000-07:00

Behavior
Have seen almost no women wearing shorts (okay, one or two Americans, but even they seem to have gotten the message). As Lyndsay has pointed out, there is something different in the way Londoners carry themselves, from little kids up. Better posture, never sliding done on their butts and extending their legs in front of them, and generally being quiet in public.

No chubbies
Servings are small, albeit for the same price as a large serving at home. Large servings just do not exist. Coke bottles are the original size (12 oz). A near absence of McDonalds and the hamburger chains, however, PizzaHut and PizzaExpress are everywhere. Lots of alternative coffee chains.

Moving more and quicker
• I have timed the crosswalks: when the little man turns green you have exactly 10 seconds to cross at an intersection. It is scarcely enough time to cross if you are already standing and waiting there.
• Every crosswalk is marked on the street. First side "Look Right"; second median "Look Left."
• You climb stairs to the left and take the left elevator.

It is impossible to exaggerate the amount of stairs to be encountered to negotiate all the transit connections. Unfortunately, at many stations no handicapped access is available and you see folks on crutches negotiating the stairs. Actually a system is in place to entitle them to free taxi rides as an alternative to providing handicap access on public transportation. Unfortunately, the double-decker buses are on their way out so all buses can be handicap friendly.

Tourist Friendly
I stopped by the major train station to ask about getting to Heathrow with heavy luggage. The man asked when I would be coming through his station and told me to stop by and see him Friday morning and he would have someone help me down and up the stairs with my suitcase. Can't imagine New York marking all the intersections "Look left" and then "Look Right."

Free rides
When it is crowded or late or every Sunday evening, the toll stiles are opened and everyone is free to pass through which smooths the flow of traffic.

Random Idiosyncrasies
• No more WC's, only toilets
• Rooms are let not rented, hence letting and sales offices
• Stations have Way Outs, not exits
• Women wear knickers not underwear
• Everyone wears trousers, not pants; men wear pants, not boxers
• First floors are second floors; ground floors are first floors
• Beginning drivers of cars or motorcycles are identified by a large L for learner

2005-06-22T05:09:00.000-07:00

Wimpleton Style

On the Way to Wimbleton

2005-06-22T00:22:00.000-07:00

A lovely breakfast eaten in Lyndsay's tiny yard, we were congratuating ourselves for an early start by 10 am. As Lyndsay's phone has not yet been turned in to lost and found, we returned to The Hummingbird Bakery to pick up a loaner phone and give her the opportunity to photo a mass of cakes and goodies. That was the last thing we accomplished until 6:40 pm.

We made the fatal mistake in London of taking a bus instead of the underground. There we were at the bus stop and it seemed to be quite close to the downtown. Of course, after a lengthy time, Lyndsay realized that we were going in the wrong direction. Construction seems to be going on everywhere concurrently, with two way streets reduced to one, open to the driver with the most guts. The bus driver rode his horn and I silently promised myself never to drive in this city (Lyndsay hasn't yet either). We had been advised to arrive at Wimbleton around 2 to have shorter lines, queues here, but had also planned a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum. By the time we got to the V&A, we needed and enjoyed a leisurely panini at our first sidewalk cafe. We limited ourselves to the fashion and photography exhibits where underwear through the ages was a stitch and ventilated stays, a major step forward for women. An a cappela group was singing What the World Needs Now bringing smiles to all in such an astere setting.

Was everyone off to Wimbleton? Realize that we began this adventure with sore feet and frazzled nerves. One pound seemed a good price for the chance to avoid the 15 minute walk from the station and to ride an open-topped two-decker bus. Then we saw the queue on the sidewalk to our left as we sailed by. Boy, was this a great investment as we assumed we were being taken to a more interior entrance. We wound up walking half way back to the station to get to the end of the queue. Debate, debate - should we stay or go. By now it was apparent that we would benefit from the reduction (L16 to L10 for arrivals after 5 pm (that's the price to stand, obviously). We asked how long to expect and decided that two hours was a reasonalbe investment for a once in a lifetime opportunity. That was 4:05. It was all extremely orderly. We were given numbered Queue Cards so no one could jump in and a Queuing Etiquette manual. You may bring in one bottle of wine or two pints of beer per person. You may bring camping gear to queue up one hour after the previous day's play but must have it stored by 9:30 in the morning.

Wow we made it to the bridge overpass in 1 and 1/2 hours and were congratualing ourselves again. When we reached the other side, the queue reached out endlessly in front of us. The guards kept encouraging us, "you're almost there." Stiff upper lip and all that stuff. At 6:40 we entered and it was all worth it.

There are two major "stadiums" and 17 smaller courts. We watched 4 different sets of players on the smaller courts, being able to watch from immediately next to the court line. The ball girls and boys were like trained soldiers running, bending and gesturing in unison - tennis ballet. It was extremely civil and orderly and almost totally quiet throughout the park with the exception of groans and applause. There was absolutely no advertising. The food court booths were generic; the alchohol choices were champagne, Pimms Lemonade, and un-named drafts. We eventually were able to find seats at a females match and after regrouping, decided to do one final queue for the standing roam heaven to watch Selena Williams and Angela Haines. She is a massive woman - not tall, but incredibly muscular and stocky. As she made her comeback, the roars from the audience made all our suffering worthwhile. And then, out of all the thousands there, we ran into Lyndsay's boyfriend who patrols the upper class section (hundred pound seats). We ended our perfect evening sharing conversations and Pimms at the outdoor cafe. Walking back to the station, the queue was already forming for the next day. Home by 11:45.

A note on security:
I have never seen a police officer on foot since arriving in London. Occasionally a few pass on bikes. While we were advised that solid containers could not be brought into the stadium, no mention was made of the need for security. When we entered, our bags were searched, but what is so different than in the US, is the absence of fear and the absence of propaganda about how our government is working to protect us.

Mother/Daughter Monday

2005-06-21T00:02:00.000-07:00

Of course, the bakery surplus makes it home, too. We ate a balanced breakfast of crumpets and cheesecake and carrot cake.

Didn't get started with the tourist bit until noon, but had a grand day. The forecast is for 10 more days of heat in a country totally unprepared for it.

I took Lyndsay to see the Museum of London, a favorite of mine which was outstanding, but no longer had the WWII exhibit that had been so impressed Frank and I on an earlier trip.

After purchasing half-price tickets for an evening's performance, we went to the Thistle Hotel for high tea instead of dinner, then came home for a quick change and went back into London to see The Woman in Black, a real thriller. It had everyone screaming and jumping out of their seats. Truly an old-fashioned theater experience. During intermission, an attendant sells ice cream cups in the seating area.

If it weren't for the all the sugar, this trip should be a thinning experience.

6 Train Connections, 5 Museums, and 2 sore feet

2005-06-20T23:37:00.000-07:00

The London map is totally deceptive. It appears that sites are clustered and that you could walk from one area to another. In fact, in a day of traveling, no two sites were ever accessible from one tube stop. After yesterday, my game plan was to sightsee and return to the house, relax, and probably go back out for another round. Lyndsay shattered that idea when she reported that our train line was closed for the day due to “ Closed for Planned Engineering Work.” As she had to leave immediately for work, I would have to leave immediately at 9 am with to accompany her so that she could lead me on the mile walk over a Vero Beach mountain to the nearest other station. That also meant no returning until we met at 6:30 at Travalgar Square. So began and exhilarating, if exhausting day of coordinating a tour book, map, and A-Z(zed) street index (invaluable). With all that unfortunately there was no room for a camera.

From London Bridge station I visited Southwick Cathedral and then the Operating Theater Museum in the Southwark district immortalized by Dickens for its poor indigents (it was the first Women’s Hospital located in the top level of a church; the equipment was deserted and left there in place). Hiked to the Museum of Textiles and Costumes. Then strolled along the Thames Bankside to the Tate Museum (not much on modern art, but the lobster on a telephone was memorable. Then across the beautiful footbridge built for the Millenium to the north bank and St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Went up to Liverpool Station and visited Spielfield’s Market (the vegetable, cheese and bread stands are unbelievable. The produce is all from South Africa.) Off to Tottenham Court Road and the British Museum where the Great Reading Room has been restored (for us librarians this was where Panizzi designed his indexing system). Of course, it’s better known for the Rosetta Stone and the Elgin marbles. By now total exhaustion has set in, with hours to go before meeting Lyndsay. Waited for a column to become free and stretched out to read for a while.

Still time for another museum and fair. Tubed down to Charing Cross for a fair at St. Martins in the Fields, the National Museum, and the high point of the day, soaking my feet in the Trafalgar Square fountains. Met Lyndsay who jumped in with me, then we watched an Indian dance performance. On the way to dinner we went in search of the homeless who had shifted their locations due to the heatwave. Lyndsay regularly feeds them with surplus bakery items. Today she left a shopping bag of goodies with a guy sitting in the tube station. Then we walked to a Lebanese restaurant for dinner.

Late and tired we returned to Ladywell where Lyndsay lives in the SE via a much-appreciated relocation coach. Even at 10:30 it was still in the nineties, so we stopped at the Ladywell pub two minutes too late to be served, but purchased two Becks for the road. Can you imagine being unable to legally drink in the pub after 10:30, but being able to legally drink on the street as we walked home!

Where's Lyndsay?

2005-06-18T13:00:00.000-07:00

Customs was friendly and smooth. The bags were there and waiting. As no one manned the “Nothing to Declare” area, immediately I was in the train depot outside ready to get some cash, call Lyndsay and get a ticket. Having been warned in advance not to change much money, I pushed a $20 at the teller who said it wouldn’t be enough to get the one-way ticket to London. Two $20s got me to town with 5 pounds or $2.50 to spare. But it wasn’t quite that smooth…
20 pence got me Lyndsay on the first try, but only for one minute. No nice “Please deposit x pence more.” But the phone does display your debit allowance. Easy enough instructions: get a single on the Bedford line to London Bridge. My good fortune, a real human manned the ticket booth and I was off to track 4.

Lovely train, really quite, no thump, thump as our trains have. The conductor took my London Bridge stamped ticket and I being in somewhat of a fog did not think to ask whether London Victoria was shorthand for London Bridge and Victoria stations. At the last stop, I learn that I have gone to the wrong station. Now, Lyndsay’s plan was to meet me at the platform in London Bridge station and she was already running late because of the plane’s delayed arrival. She was expected at work at 10. I called her in total frustration. Did I mention that the “Mind the Gap” take on a whole greater meaning in London where a foot up or across is not unusual? I call her and learn that I must take a train and meet her at Waterloo. The train workers are incredibly sympathetic. Without taking my first ticket, a gentleman put me back on the same train to go back on stop and there cross to platform 10 for Waterloo. I disembark at Clapton Junction and discover that there is neither an elevator nor escalator. I get more change to call Lyndsay, but I am apparently out of range. You all know the adage, “when rape is inevitable…” I slung the laptop and purse around my neck old-lady style, and pull my 80 pounder to the left handle rail – no sooner did I take a step, by a train employee picked it up and carried it down and up to track 10. There is a God and he hovers over train stations knighting gallant men. There she was as I exited Waterloo. She gave me my weekly train pass and we were off to another train to Ladywell and home.

There's hardly a minute to drop everything and be back at the train station to accompany her to work across London in Notting Hill. As we are waiting at the station she realizes that her phone is missing. Back home – no phone. Tried calling it. Nada. Probably dropped on the last train. At train headquarters we are given some hope that on Monday it may be found. Meanwhile we have no way to link up.

Lyndsay’s two hours late. Everything is charming. A gigantic sidewalk antique fair stretches for block. Notting Hill is totally congested with tourists (all wearing the sneakers I was forbidden to pack). Unfortunately, I dragged the camera around but had left the memory card in my laptop, so no pictures. It’s the hottest day in London this year, sweltering. I am still in my travel clothes and by 3 pm I begin the final four train connections home. I catch a shower and quick nap and then take off to walk to the top of her neighborhood where a park overlooks the city. Lyndsay’s out at a party. So, time to blog. The final gotcha of the day is that my plug adapter won’t work in London – they use the giant kind. Fortunately I have Lyndsay’s computer and hopefully my camera batteries will last. It’s 8:30 here; thanks all for helping keep me awake and adjust to London time. I can’t take any more frustrations today.

Where's First Class?

2005-06-18T12:57:00.000-07:00

The new 777 is Continental’s new flagship with enough room for first class that we all queued as if it were economy. As I entered the stewardess directed me that my seat would be on the right side and on the aisle. I took 1K but felt something was amiss. In first class, even the window seat is usually over a foot from the window and from its partner seat; frequently they swivel so groups can socialize over a small cocktail table. These were big, but bunched up in a gray drab cabin more reminiscent of Aeroflot. Soon someone arrived with a ticket for my seat and informed me that I should have been up front. Of course, this must be business-class. I walked forward and swept aside the curtain between the compartments only to discover myself in the galley. First class proven without a further doubt, I seated myself in the bulkhead seat.

The statutory preflight cocktail, champagne in a plastic tumbler, was offered and I eased myself in for a first class 2005 experience. The pilot announced that we would be holding at the gate for someone arriving on a connecting flight. One hour passed without any offer of additional beverages.

Frank had ached with envy over the fabulous dinner I was to enjoy; we discussed what kind of caviar that might be served. Perhaps now it would just be sprinkled on some of the tempting appetizers wheeled through the cabin. Instead, cashews, in china, not the little peanut baggie, were followed by a choice of “half a lobster” on lettuce or smoked chicken. The two morsels of lobster were tasty, not enough to make up for missing the Albertson’s Father’s Day special. The chicken consisted of two slices of cold cuts attractively garnished. Four main courses all would have beat the cafeteria, but I’ll pass on the recipe for any of them. The chicken entrée ran out almost immediately. My shrimp were tough but tasty. The cheeses and fruit were wonderful. And only in the USA, would dessert consist of cobbler with ice cream, or vanilla ice cream with toppings. Actually no one discussed the dinner, or anything else, as the movie started with the first course. Who needs conversation when you can enjoy a TV dinner with your favorite sitcom? An instructional movie and guide provide seat control training. The remote control when freed from its slot remains tethered with a wire; I thank the stewardess for subtly restoring it to its housing when I left my seat having slept on it all night. With three preset position options that could be modified with 12 customizing buttons, it was a true joystick of traveling comfort. Night was short. The flight only takes six hours and with losing 5 hours to the time difference, the cabin was awash with light by 1:30 am. The fruit reappeared for breakfast and it was soon time to tackle London.

Countdown

2005-06-12T08:31:00.000-07:00

Made reservations on Monday to leave this coming Friday. For a Lucero this is lots of advance notice; try going to Egypt with two children on two days notice. The trip is complicated by having to pack for an additional three weeks in the Northeast. Leaving Tuesday for New York and a couple of days with my Dad before departing Neward; toying with Monday afternoon just to add to the panic level.