From DC to London

Cornwall

2009-08-24T15:00:00.005+01:00

Alright, I have no class. I may be ever girly and feminine, as evidenced by the giant suitcase that on day 3, I already hate, and I also realise that the region's name long pre-dates Beavis and Butthead and MTV, but I can't type or say Cornwall without snickering. I blame it squarely and entirely on the influence of my older brother and my late father. I love gross humour. Cornwall. Hehe.

Incidentally, I just spent two hours writing about my trip so far and my laptop crashed without saving any of my work. Really hate that. So, I'm now typing furiously, trying to remember what I typed :P

I'm enroute now to Exeter and I've said goodbye to the beautiful beach, the lovely seafood and the Cornish ice cream . I really hated to leave the beach, but the adventure continues.

So, to continue on with my journey from last time, after I enjoyed that scenery for the rest of the train ride on Saturday, I arrived in Cornwall and made my way up a giant and steep hill, only to discover that I was meant to go down another very steep hill. Realising that if I was wrong and my hotel wasn't down there, I'd have to come back up the hill, I discovered a rental home manager type guy standing nearby and I went over to ask him if he knew where my hotel was. There was a queue, but I waited patiently and of course, yes, my hotel was down the hill. I'm still glad I asked.

I'd booked this hotel because my first choice - one of the top rated hotels in St Ives - was only available for my second night. This other hotel that I'd booked got very mixed reviews. The views were fantastic, everyone said, but the hotel itself had issues. My only choice was to book a dinner inclusive rate, which was a bummer because I loathe hotel restaurants, but oh well. One less decision to make for the trip.

But, the point of this whole trip was to see more of Britain and this hotel was at the other end of the town from the other hotel...and that counts, doesn't it? In both hotels, I'd booked seaview balcony rooms and was very much looking forward to all beach, all the time for the weekend.

So, as I came around the corner, having navigated the hill by putting myself in front of The Suitcase and bracing it behind me, so as to keep it from arriving at the hotel decades before me and possibly killing a small child, I saw the hotel. A giant yellow Southern American plantation style building. It looked promising so far...

A man who'd been washing the steps came racing over to take The Suitcase (and I think he probably hates me now) and we headed into reception. Strike #1 on the hotel: arriving at 3:01, my room wasn't ready, despite a 2pm check-in. But, being in that relaxed I’m-at-the-beach-so-who-cares mentality, I was pleasant about it and they got it ready quickly.

So, the poor stairs washing guy and I headed up to my room and when the door opened, I was a bit taken aback by my “seaview balcony” room. It looked out, fullface, on a beach that was only 50 feet away. And it was a proper balcony with a patio set. The only awkward aspect was that it – and all the balcony rooms, I later discovered – looked directly over the hotel bar, which had a glass ceiling. But still, it was a rather amazing view and when the man left, I sat out there for a very long time, taking in the beachyness.

I wasn’t quite in holiday mode yet and I felt I should be doing something productive, so I went down to that hotel bar I’d been peering down into and had a gin and tonic…and I felt very productive really, I’d done something.

Finishing that off, I wandered out to the beach with my book and read for awhile, being interrupted every so often by the urge to people watch and the need to dodge beach balls that were trying to bonk me on the head.

But, despite the gorgeous view, I was reminded that I was in Britain and not some tropical paradise, and I was eventually becoming unsuccessful in battling hypothermia, even with a jacket on, so I went back to my more sheltered balcony for awhile, until it was time for dinner.

The hotel restaurant had been one of the things that was unanimously booed about in the reviews, so that, coupled with my own disdain for hotel restaurants didn’t bode well for their chances with me…but I’ll admit it was rather nice not to have to go anywhere for dinner. But alas, it was mediocre at best. My venison had some weird sweet spice in it that I didn’t really care for and service was friendly, but slow.

But, they served coffee and chocolates in the now dimly lit bar and it was nice to sit and relax and listen to the surf.

I left my balcony door open that night and fell asleep to the surf crashing outside…heaven.

The next day, breakfast was much the same – mediocre food and ridiculously slow service, I waited 45 minutes for my breakfast to arrive. And, after waiting another 45 minutes for the taxi the hotel said they would call for me, but didn’t, I was off to hotel #2. It was diligently raining and still very cold, but I had delusional hope that it might stop raining and warm up.

Upon arriving (very early), I was immediately greeted in what felt more like a living room than a hotel lobby and was offered coffee and scones. Scones! Who cares about a room when there are scones to be had?

So I settled down into a comfy leather couch and munched on my scone, watching the rain outside….but when the rain eventually slowed down, I bundled up and headed nearly next door to what was said to be the top beach café in the UK and the #6 seafood restaurant in the country…and the seafood was, in fact, divine. Huge oysters (possibly the best I’ve had yet), perfectly cooked fish…but alas, none of the desserts seemed tempting and I was more than full, so I headed back to the hotel, where my room was ready.

What the second room lacked in spectacular views, it gained in cuteness. The room was pink, firstly, which I don’t think I need to explain gained megapoints with me. But I actually knew that part ahead of time, the hotel’s website has photos of each of its 10 rooms. But it was also quite large, which I hadn’t really expected, with a couch against one wall.

After getting settled in and doing the obligatory veg-on-the-balcony for awhile, I went down to the beach and out for a walk…but soon enough, it was time for my 85 minute hot stones massage back at the hotel. If I need to explain that the whole 85 minutes was pure heaven, then you need to have your brain cell count checked :P

But alas, after staggering down to my room afterward, in my uber-relaxed state, I planned to veg for 30 minutes or so…and as I was doing this vegging, my stomach began to turn on me. Perhaps it was the mass quantities of food in me, perhaps it was just bad luck…but I couldn’t help having flashbacks to the dreaded Edinburgh end last year. And even with my upset stomach, I was still longing for my carefully planned dinner…and debating about whether I could really eat it or not…it was that tortured feeling where the thought of food grossed me out, but the thought of missing that dinner seemed beyond tragic. I didn’t actually officially become sick, I just felt like I was well on my way.

Thankfully, just in the nick of time, my stomach recovered and I had my lovely dinner. As I’d walked to the restaurant, I noted that the pathway was beautiful, with the surf crashing just off it below…but was also a bit eerily dark. It was okay walking to dinner, as it was still early, but I worried about the walk home. And sure enough, it was very eery and creepy to walk home. I’m sure it was perfectly safe, but as I walked along the completely dark and deserted path, I walked faster and faster, increasingly freaking myself out.

But, of course, I reached the hotel without incident and settled in for night #2 of sleeping with the balcony door open, listening to the surf.

Waking on my last morning at the beach, I didn’t want to leave…but, the rest of Britain beckoned, so arise I did and after a lovely breakfast with organic this and homemade that, I checked out and set off for more exploring. And I walked to the very edge of town to what I later learned is “the island,” a huge jet out of land from the rest of the town that gives you unobstructed views across the Atlantic. I didn’t think I had time to walk across it, so I just took photos from one end, but it looked gorgeous.

So, after one last yummy seafood meal, with lovely harbour views, I made my way back to the hotel, collected The Suitcase and went off to the train station, bidding farewell to the beautiful beach, the beautiful food and, of course, the lovely Cornish ice cream.

So, stay tuned for the next update, all about Exeter.

Off to See Britain!

2009-08-22T09:04:00.002+01:00

As I type, I'm sitting in a train seat, just leaving dear old Paddington station and my beloved London for 2 weeks, to see the rest of Britain.

I've lived here now for 2 years and 12 days (but who's counting?) and I decided it was time to see more of this crazy little island. Casual conversations always lead to the question "so where else have you been in the UK?" And sadly, I have only a few places to list...and I always follow that list with "but I really want to see more." So here I am, getting ready to see more.

This trip was meant to be a celebration of getting my visa, but I wasn't sure it would be approved yet by the time I went on the trip...but hoorah, of course, it was :)

So, I and all my fellow passengers are barrelling along to Cornwall...a weekend at the beach! Well, for me anyway, I don't know where they're all going :P

If I've not become a horrible lazy blob whilst on this lovely holiday, I'll write about my adventures...11 cities in 15 days. After I spend a lazy weekend in Cornwall, I'll head Northeast up through England to Scotland and then across Scotland before I take a 9 hour train ride home.

I didn't plan the route very well! I started booking things before I'd fully planned the route, so rather than going in a proper circle and making the best use of my time, I'm going in a haphazard zigzag, ending up quite far Northwest in Scotland by the end. Oops. Oh well ;)

Work has been utterly mad for the last 3 weeks and at its culmination, I was getting up at 4:30 and hitting the pillow again at midnight....working most of that time. The craziness is over now, for good we all hope. But the beautiful and wonderful thing about British (and European) culture is that a holiday is a holiday. No one will expect me to call in, no one can call or email me (nor would they if they could). They'll just leave me to "turn off" as they call it...to relax.

And I think that's true in some cases in America, but mostly, you're still expected to check-in every so often, people might call you with questions...you never get to shut off and relax. And, of course, you get a tiny amount of time to go on holiday anyway. I do miss some things about America, I miss my friends and family terribly (you fools could come visit anytime you know :P)...but I don't miss American work culture at all. For the last year, with the small chance in the back of my mind that I might not get my visa extension, I wondered what it would be like to move back.

I knew I would be devastated to leave London, but I also knew it would be lovely to see my family more often...I haven't seen them since Christmas! I'd get to see friends I'm slowly losing touch with. But then, I'd also have to work in America again, with 2 weeks of holiday a year...and instead of a uniquely hellish 3 week period of working way too much, I would always work that much. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

So, whilst I'll admit that I do miss some things from America, I'm not a workaholic and I never will be...and I love the work culture here, enough to stay here forever if they let me :)

Anyway, back to the trip. It's started off a bit chaotically, but I guess trips often do. I'm being my usual silly girly self and I'm being punished for it...my suitcase weighs a small ton. I've got 6 pairs of shoes, a different outfit for each day (in a couple cases, 2 a day). I am an idiot. I'm going to a different place nearly every day, so I could have easily worn the same thing more than once...it's not as if anyone will see me in that same outfit again! But that seemed gross and not very fashion conscious, so I soldiered on with my giant suitcase. I don't have far to take it in most places, so it should be okay. Lol, I'm stuck with it now!

And then, in my usual neurotic mode about timings, I got to the train station 45 minutes early. I grabbed a bagel, sat down to read...and suddenly realised that I didn't have my laptop power cable. I had the laptop, but no cable. Being an American laptop, I'd be unlikely to be able to find a replacement cord and my battery is down to about 45 minutes. With 33 minutes to my train, I went dashing across the station, hauling my giant suitcase behind me and asked a cab driver if he could get me to my street and back in 30 minutes. "Sure," he shrugged, as though it was easy peasy. So off we went. "forget your passport?" he asked. "No...my laptop's power cord, I'm going away for 2 weeks, I can't deal with not having it!" So after one small detour due to a closed street, he had me at my door in 9 minutes. Dashing inside, grabbing the cord and leaping back into the cab, we were back at the station with 16 minutes to spare.

All my friends here tease me for living so central, but that right there is why I love that I do. My forgetfulness cost me £12, but still, I have the power cord and I still made my train!

So, the scenery seems to be getting interesting now and I think I'll sit back and relax for a bit :) Going to the beach!

Three more years!!!

2009-08-04T21:15:00.002+01:00

I found out this afternoon that I've been approved for my visa extension...and I can stay in the UK until 2012 :D

This has been a very long 13 months...I've spent many an hour wondering what on earth I would do if I had to leave my beloved new home. I imagined, with dread, flying back to DC on a one way ticket, leaving London possibly for good...and I hated that thought, it seemed incomprehensibly awful. But it also began to feel like a real possibility, worry being my middle name and all ;)

So, I tried not to let myself plan or think about anything beyond August...I didn't want to get my hopes up and plan for the future when I didn't entirely know where that future would be.

But now it's over. I get to stay in my home. It's funny, I thought that the moment I found out would be this huge emotional moment where I would collapse with joy and cry. But this life in London gets pretty hectic sometimes ;) And the moment I found out was during a 30 second break of a whole day of frantic meetings...so whilst I was manically elated for the rest of the afternoon, I had to switch gears back to life almost immediately and there wasn't time for any melodramatic celebrating. But I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of relief and relaxation that I don't think I've felt in over a year.

I love this city and this country...and I get to stay. And I still can't believe I really get to stay.

And the next big adventure? In a little more than 2 weeks, I get to visit 11 cities around the UK in 15 days...a whirlwind celebration of my new visa and a chance to see more of this crazy little island. I can't wait :)

The Long Silence and The Year in Review

2009-07-26T19:04:00.002+01:00

So...it seems I've become terribly lazy about my blog and it's been nearly 7 months since I've posted. All is still well in lovely London and I guess I should post a review of the saga that is my life in this rainy and fantastic city :)

January and February: I started my then-new job at the beginning of the year and went from all-free-time-all-the-time to no-free-time-any-of-the-time. So basically, there wasn't much of a life happening...but nevermind, it was cold and dark 25 hours a day, so I don't think I even noticed :D

March: It started to get not dark and cold and I had my very first American visitor. I think my love of food may just have terrified him to the core, I dragged him around the culinary mecca that is London and we ate everything in sight ;) And best of all, his visit meant that I finally got to go to the mahvelous champagne brunch at the Landmark hotel. Whilst I've spent 2 years trying to convince friends to go, I knew that if anyone was up for unlimited champagne and a very posh unlimited food spread, it would be an American!

April: I went on what should have been a 60 mile bike ride to Brighton, but was actually a 20 mile circle around Surrey. 4 people + 1 map + no sense of direction does not equal a trip to Brighton. But nevermind, it was fun anyway and, having borrowed a bike for the day, I went out the next weekend and bought one - inspired to finally start cycling around London and *maybe* cycle to and from work eventually.

May: My landlord decided he wanted to redo my bathroom, so I decided to finally go to Italy whilst the work was being done...after spending much of April feverishly planning the trip, I set off to 3 days in Rome and 3 days Florence. And a wasted afternoon in Pisa...the town with a messed up building and not much else. Otherwise, the sights were lovely, the food fantastic and it was a lovely week to be had :) Then, upon my return, with the bathroom work taking longer than expected, I played tourist in my own neighbourhood for the week, staying in hotels. But, once it was completed, I was - and still am - in heaven. The bathroom is gorgeous and well worth the wait :D

June: With the end of my current visa looming, I spent much of the month getting my ducks in a row and getting my extension application organised and sorted...and with summer upon us, there were many picnics and lazy weekend afternoons in the park :)

July: This month has been consumed with work, sadly...but nevermind, it pays the bills! The rest of my life has been filled with more summer dos and feverish planning for the next trip...with my passport now indefinitely in the hands of the lovely people in immigration, I'm stuck on this tropical island. Where values of stuck = I love it here and now I have at least a temporary excuse not to leave :D So, in late August/early September, I will be travelling to 12 cities in 15 days...starting in the very southern part of Cornwall and heading up to Scotland and back down again...I'm beyond excited about the trip and late August can't get here fast enough!!

But meanwhile, I'm still in love with London and I am anxious and hopeful for my new visa, so I can stay here for another 3 years, soaking up all there is in Blighty and trying not to get killed by buses, taxis and whatnot whilst cycling around London ;)

An as always too quick American adventure

2008-12-30T14:05:00.012Z

A belated Merry Christmas to all...I'm back from my stateside visit, my second one in less than a month. I don't think I blogged about my trip back at Thanksgiving, but the very short report is that it had been more than six months since my last trip to America and, for the first time since my big move, I felt like a foreigner in my own country.

My vocabulary was all wrong, I kept forgetting that they add sales tax at the till (register) and the whole time, though I loved seeing my family, especially my mother, I couldn't wait to come back to my beloved London. It was a very odd feeling. The only caveat being that since I went to Boston to see extended family (whom I love dearly), I didn't see my brother and his family, nor did I get to see any of my friends.

So, not 3 weeks later, I was soaring back to America for a slightly longer visit to DC for Christmas week. And, having had that weird foreigner feeling so recently, I was preparing myself for a weird week, for 7 days of wishing I were in London...7 days of trying not to be that annoying whiner who wishes they were somewhere else.

I did have a somewhat busy week planned and whilst my trip to Boston had been almost completely unstructured, my trip to DC included plans for most of the week, with what seemed like a comfortable lull at the end of the week. So it wasn't exactly dreadful.

So, landing at Dulles, I felt my usual post-flight grossness...whilst I am eternally grateful that I've accumulated enough miles to almost always upgrade to business class, the reality is that zooming along at 35,000 feet for 8 hours hurts, no matter how comfy your seat is.

And, for the first time since my move, I landed in America with no mobile (cell), as the family share plan my mother and I had had for years expired and we decided not to renew it...and I'd discovered during my Black Friday shopping spree that pay-as-you-go phones are stupidly expensive in America - $200 when all was said and done, so I'd chosen to just do without.

So. Before I left London, I made specific plans with my mother for when and where to meet at Dulles. The plans, of course, got royally screwed up. And I, of course, became foaming-at-the-mouth grumpy, quite literally like a little kid who'd been awake for too long. It didn't help that when I walked out into the night, coatless because a recent email from my mother had included a "neiner neiner" tale of 70F/21C, I was met with instant hypothermia.

I don't know what had happened to the tropical paradise, but DC was back to its freakishly frigid December self...so, frantically pulling out my coat, I grumpily trudged to the complete other end of the airport where, having discovered via a pay phone, my mother was waiting.

Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the hinterland of the family's horse farm and home and my brother et al were there, as my brother was fixing a Christmas Tree Catastrophe involving a cracked stand and seas of water on the hardwood floors. Oops.

My dog was mildly happy to see me, but my nephew was super excited to see me, which made my decade. I'd been worried, egotistically, that since he hadn't seen me in 7 months, I might have fallen off his not-quite-7-year-old radar. However, my elation at still being his "favourite person," as he often calls me, was soon marred by the realisation that he thought I was back in America for good. Ugh.

He looked at my one suitcase and said "how'd you get all your stuff in here?? I thought you'd have like 4 suitcases!"

My brother exchanged a sideways and silent "uh oh" look and we explained that the rest of my stuff was back in England and that I was only visiting for a week. The explanation was met with a sullen "oh" from the kid and my heart was immediately ripped out of my chest.

Moving right along, I visited with the entire family until after midnight and finally hit the pillow nearly 24 hours after I'd left my bed in London the previous morning.

Jetlag never ceases to confuse, annoy and amuse me...logic would have you think that if you stay awake for 24 hours straight, your body will recover by sleeping extra long afterwards...or at least for a normal night's sleep, ignoring whatever body clock it thinks it's on. But no, there is no logic. Having fallen asleep at nearly 1 AM, I woke up, wide awake, at 5 AM...10 AM in London. Cute.

I'd been astonished and proud of myself that, despite my usual last minute start on Christmas shopping, I had done almost all of it before I got to DC and only had a couple of things to run out and get on my first day in DC.

I'm not sure if it was a foreigner moment or simply my global lack of direction, but for my first fun event of the week, I was meeting a dear friend and former colleague for dinner at a restaurant I thought I knew how to find. Famous last words. With no phone to call and watching the gas tank creep lower and lower but not wanting to take the time to get gas, the minutes passed and I became later and later for our dinner. Finally arriving an hour late, I burst into the restaurant with frantic apologies...but it was all fine. Except I realised how incredibly necessary and nice a mobile is. After a very lovely and long dinner, we said our goodbyes and I rolled across the street for gas/petrol. The car took 18.38 gallons and the tank is 18.5 gallons. Oopsy.

For day 2 of Christmas in DC, I was meeting another friend and former colleague for lunch and was going to my old office to meet her. There were more twilight zone moments when I arrived and everything in the office looked different. I said quick hellos and hugs to a few former colleagues I knew and my friend and I went off to a very lovely lunch across the street...upon returning with her to the office, I made my rounds to say "quick" hellos and had the great fun of surprising several former colleagues and getting to go on and on and on (and on) about London. Until it became seconds before my parking meter was set to expire and I went darting off to my oldest and dearest friend's house.

And we had a nearly 12 hour visit that was still too short, where her 4 year old daughter treated me to a full and detailed tour of her playroom and the laundry room and we, the adults, discovered that one of her dolls is Chucky's bride because it was giggling entirely on its own. Repeatedly. The adults were far more bothered by this than the children, incidentally. And a visit with the B family would be entirely incomplete if her husband and I didn't get to bring up the "barf sweater," from 13 years ago, which we did. I'm sure you're all dying to know what in God's name that story is. The short version is, it involves our collective first semester of uni/college, a frat party, way too much alcohol, an occupied-by-someone-else bathroom, his sweater and my being a lightweight. And somehow, 13 years later, we have yet to decide whose fault it was and we are still stupidly amused by it. Or. Well. I am. Anyhoo, in lovely timing, I also got to see my friend's younger sister and again, the London tales continued.

Bidding everyone adeiu, I drove back to the hinterland and had a lovely two days of Christmas festivities with the family where we somehow managed to be nice to each other for, I think, the entire time. I'm nominating us for a collective Nobel Peace Prize. I'm one of the fortunate ones who actually enjoys family time and am extremely close to all of them, but still. That much time with anyone makes you turn homicidal. And we didn't. So yay. I had stupidly volunteered to make a birthday cake for my nephew's birthday and had grand plans for the Perfect Cake.

But, come Friday morning, with my jetlag mostly gone, I slept too late for the actual perfect cake and I had to make do with all-purpose flour, rather than cake flour. The horror. My mother and I then amused ourselves for nearly 90 minutes drawing SpongeBob Squarepants on the cake with various candies and icing. It was more like SpongeBob Squarepants Very Special Cousin, but we tried. We all went out for my poor nephew's day-after-Christmas birthday, a curse he will carry for all of his days. And I got to have actual, ooey, gooey American pizza, which was quite possibly the best moment of my entire trip. I'm endlessly amused that this fantastic pizza is in the hinterland and I have to allow that it makes the hinterland borderline cool. And I am happy and proud to announce that my nephew approved of our Special SpongeBob Squarepants. And everyone loved the cake :P

Saturday, my last day stateside, was the best day of all. Though it wasn't quite the same as being back for good, I spent the day with my nephew. We went to one of his favourite restaurants, Bob Evans, for a plastic breakfast and then it was off to the museums for a bit. I was excited that the American History museum (my favourite) had just reopened after a two year renovation closure and had planned to take him there, with promises of Kermit the Frog and Dorothy's ruby slippers being there. Only, when we drove by, there were 507 people outside, who all had the same idea.

It was a comical and amusing realisation of how much he's growing up that he read me the directions to drive to the museum, called my brother when we got lost anyway (via a mobile borrowed from his mother for the day) and, as we drove past the heinous line whilst searching for parking, we both agreed that the American History museum wasn't worth waiting in that queue/line and we went to the next door Natural History museum, which had no line.

"They have a GIANT squid," I said, "And a whale hanging from the ceiling." Well, that was more than enough to win the now 7 year old boy over and off we set. I'm proud to announce that we spent a good 4 hours there and he was massively intrigued and interested the whole time...and he can read frighteningly well. Oh, and perhaps most importantly, the giant squid is still there and it is still totally gross.

Having taken in most of the exhibits and seen a 3D IMAX movie on dinosaurs where a T-Rex type dinosaur bit our heads off, we set off to meet up with his parental unit at the zoo, which had a night time Christmas lights thing. We left the car in downtown DC and took the metro up to the zoo, because I'd promised him we'd take the train.

Due to his current obsession with SpongeBob Squarepants, we spent most of our time in the sea exhibits joking about SpongeBob and his friends. So, as we walked up the hill to the zoo after our train ride, I continued the discussion and noted that we never did find the pineapple in the museum (SpongeBob lives in a pineapple).

There was a pause and, in a quiet and concerned voice, my astute nephew said "you know, SpongeBob isn't real..."

And it was all I could do not to sit down right there on the sidewalk/pavement and giggle hysterically. Instead, I chose to save my dignity as best I could.

"I know that," I said. And err, that was my whole retort.

So, we finally met up with the parental unit and the kid was becoming tired and cranky so, though it was cool to see the zoo at night for the first time in my life, we didn't stay long and - after a collectively cranky search - we stopped for dinner before saying goodbye and taking both cars back to the hinterland.

My brother ditched me on the freeway and, having returned the borrowed mobile when we left DC, I had another helpless foreigner/idiot moment, I got lost briefly right in the heart of where I lived for 5 years, where I still own property. Eventually arriving back to the farm, I called him briefly to say both that I was alive and that he was an idiot and I went to bed.

Taking the day flight back, morning arrived too quickly and it was time to head back to my beloved London. I got to fly the new business class back, which I was stupidly excited about and loved...and I learned that the day flight is dangerous because the free-flowing alcohol is at the end of the flight rather than the beginning of it. And so, with a drunken hello and Happy New Year to the immigration occifer at passport control, I was back in my beloved city...ready to enjoy my last week of freedom and realising that maybe a person can love two places at once.

Happy New Year!

An end to the torture (working title: Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus)

2008-12-13T15:57:00.001Z

Well, I'm late in telling you, but I am employed. Or, soon to be anyway. When I start my new job next month, it will have been 6 months, minus a few days, that I was unemployed.

Nearly like a deja vu moment, I was offered the job just before I left to visit the states for Thanksgiving...last year, it was the night before I left. This year, it was 45 minutes before I boarded the plane.

It took me over a week to accept the offer, racing frantically to get a few other interviews in first...but I did accept it and I'm glad I did.

It's not a marvelous job, I'm not falling over myself excited at its location or the job itself. But the company has been extremely keen to hire me...I was very flattered to be offered the job at more than market rate, less than 24 hours after my interview. And it isn't a *bad* job, it's just not my dream job and the pay isn't dream pay.

But it's a job. A very stable job. And in this crazed and depressing economy, that is all that matters. I'm getting news from my fine American friends that the recession is "just now" hitting the UK.

Err, well, no. I think we'll have to chalk that up to the sheltered and skewed media coverage in America. We've been hurting for awhile...London more so than the rest of the island I'm sure, due to this being the financial centre. But for months now, and in increasingly disturbing numbers, there have been layoffs. By the thousands. Daily. I have several unemployed friends, the recruiters say that hundreds of candidates apply for 1 job, it's bad.

There are drastic attempts to bolster the economy...mortgage help, a sizeable VAT (sales tax) decrease, adverts on TV, the radio and the street announcing "recession busting" sales...we are very much effected by the downturn.

So, I am just eternally and utterly grateful to be working...to be just squeaking in with enough points to get my visa extension this coming summer.

As I watched the Olympics festivities earlier in the year, I felt incredibly bittersweet...it was fun to be right in the middle of things, to feel the energy and excitement about the 2012 games, but it was also sad that at the time, it was becoming an increasingly real reality that I might not be here for those games.

And there is still no guarantee that I will be...but things are definitely looking up. So, the lessons learned these past 5 hellish months are this:

1) I have wonderful, fantastic and amazing friends on both sides of the pond and if I haven't said so personally lately, I love all of you.

I already knew I was lucky in that regard, but it's times like these that I really realise it.

2) Living in the most central area of the most amazing city in the world with endless "free time" does you no good when your job hunt consumes 25 hours a day and 8 days a week.

I wish I could say that with all my time off, I've seen every corner of London. But sadly, there were entire weeks where I did not have time to leave my flat. At all. I kid you not.

3) Just when you think things can't possibly get any worse, they do and tenfold.

There were weeks when recruiters weren't calling, when the job listings were dwindling with alarming speed, weeks on end when I literally could not watch the news because it was just too scary...and I'd think "Well yeah, okay, this is bad...but I'm handling it, I'm cool, it's fine." And then there would be love troubles on top of all of that and I would just sit here and wonder why. Why is life so complicated? Why is my life so complicated? Why is the sky falling and why is it falling on me? But somehow, I survived. And though the love troubles are currently the worst they've been in a very long time and I honestly don't think I will ever get to enjoy the happiness of marriage and family, life will go on.

4) You have to enjoy the small happinesses in life.

I have always hated making myself feel better by remembering those who have it worse than me. I mean, first of all, that's kind of obnoxious. It's basically saying, "well, so and so has a crappier life than I do, so I'm happy." But second of all, I'm a perfectionist and I'm greedy...finding happiness in mediocrity does not make me feel better. BUT. Sometimes, that's all you have. Sometimes life really is crumbling all around you...and if you can make yourself happy for 5 minutes a day, you just might stay sane. So I learned to find happiness in a night out with friends, to be happy with a funny episode of a random sitcom. To be happy that I could still afford food. I learned to be happy with mediocrity.

5) None of us realise how our lives affect others and we say and do things without realising the power of our ways.

Facebook was often the most evil and depressing aspect of my life during this awful time. I would log on, desperate for a quick respite from my endless job hunt, and I would be faced with sickeningly happy status updates from friends. In the week of my most painful love troubles, 2 of my Facebook friends got engaged. I wanted to be happy for them, I wanted not to hate them. But hate them I did, those status updates made me sick to my stomach...sick that everyone's lives seemed to be plugging along happily except mine. That they had everything I wanted and couldn't seem to get.

Other times, I'd get well meaning emails asking if I'd found a job yet...which only served to make me worry more that I did not, in fact, have a job yet.

But the reality is that the world does not revolve around little old me ;) My Facebook friends' engagements were just happy events that happened, they did not get engaged to make me unhappy ;) The well-meaning emails were just that, well-meaning...I doubt anyone realised that asking that dreaded question only made things feel worse.

6) Lastly, I love this city and this island more than I ever thought I could or would.

I guess it's that old adage that you don't know what you have until it's gone...and I feel like I nearly lost my beloved island. And the complete utter sickness and sadness I felt at the possibility makes me realise that after 16 months here, I only love it more than I did the day I got here.

Though it was nice to see everyone, I felt like a foreigner when I was back in the states at Thanksgiving...this is my home now and I don't want it any other way.

This has all just been another crazy chapter in this crazy adventure of living in a foreign land...and I survived. Maybe even a tad stronger for it.

Someone recently said that this will be an amazing story that I'll tell to my grandchildren someday. I'm not sure those grandchildren I want so much will ever come to be, but this will be an amazing story that I tell someone, someday :)

And for now, I am finally over a weeklong cold - a rather rudely timed ailment, given that I have several weeks of guiltfree free time ahead of me - and, having enjoyed an exhibit at the V&A Museum this morning with a friend, I'm off to enjoy some random part of this fantastic city.

I don't even mind that it's 15:45 and getting dark. Or that it's frigidly cold, American style. Or that it's raining. I just love that London is right outside my window. It's the little things that make you happy...

Still plugging along in Jolly Old England...

2008-11-09T20:29:00.002Z

I've been terrible lately about posting, but I'm still here! I am, sadly, not re-employed yet...but that's partly by choice.

I've turned down an offer or two because they just didn't feel right...but I'm hopeful that something will come to fruition soon! :)

In the meantime, I'm trying to remind myself to get out and about, enjoying this fantastic city...and I do, often enough.

Life's been busy in both good and bad ways and I'm trying to see all of this as one of those life-learning moments...a life-learning moment that hopefully won't mean the end of my residency in the UK!

I'll be making my first visit back to the states in a few weeks, to visit extended family in Boston for Thanksgiving...I'll be happy to see everyone but, as usual, even happier to get back to the country I love.

Hopefully my next post will be an ecstatic "yay I have a job" post :)

Happy Birthday to me!

2008-09-25T07:15:00.000+01:00

Well. I'm old. Once AGAIN, my carefully crafted plan to celebrate the 1st anniversary of last year's birthday has failed. It seems I am not celebrating the 1st anniversary of my 30th birthday, I'm 31. Life is just utterly cruel. CRUEL.

But, to commiserate this horrific day, I will be pigging out rather continuously. If I have to be old, I might as well be well-fed and old. I'm off soon to begin my eating and wandering ;) The wandering, of course, counts as calorie cancelling and will mean I don't have to feel guilty for my pigging out.

And so begins a lovely day wandering my beautiful foodie city, a small respite before the manic week of interviews next week. Tragically, summer is over and it seems there are jobs to be had :( ;)

Yet another summer comes to a close

2008-09-23T14:19:00.006+01:00

It's been eons since I've written, when you discount the Olympics post where I cheated on its posting date ;) (see the 24 August 08 post, which was actually posted earlier today)...and I'm still unemployed, but kind of enjoying it.

I'm a little stressed out, worried about what this might mean for my visa extension, because me being me, I don't trust that the points add up and that it's fine. I'll worry until next year, when I have the visa extension ;)

But otherwise, I rather love the unemployed life. I go through spurts of being a lazy hermit, only to eventually feel guilty for not seeing more of London, for not using my time more wisely, which catapults me into running around looking for things to do.

Over the last couple of months, I've discovered that I love to wander down to the river...it's weird how you can turn out of the hubbub of Embankment and Charring Cross and as soon as you're along the river, everything and everyone slows down. It's always a nice respite to do a bit of that slow wandering...I always seem to be in a hurry when I'm walking around, zooming through little crowds of tourists on my way here or there and yet when I get down to the river, there's nowhere really to go than to just stroll.

I discovered that there's a river taxi thingie that, among other stops, goes out to Greenwich, where there's a lovely market and, of course, the maritime museum. So, that's on my to do list...but being a zone 1/Central Londoner, the thought of going out to the hinterland of Greenwich is daunting ;) I'm a little more motivated upon discovery of the river taxi because not only does it sound kind of fun, it's quite a bit more direct than the train. So we'll see, hopefully I'll do that soon.

My London life has been otherwise foodcentric lately ;) I know you're all shocked and surprised :P I've been making my way around to all the different food markets...partly to feed my new obsession with cupcakes. I have no idea where it started and it is in addition to my long-standing love of ice cream, not instead of it ;) But, the Brits are rather obsessed with our American cupcakes and cupcake bakeries are popping up everywhere here, many of them just stalls at the various food markets...and they must be visited! I'm rationalising all of my cupcake visits with the plan to use them as research to create my own recipes ;) Someday. For now, it's just fun to eat them :P Incidentally, American cupcakes are different than British fairycakes, but I'm not sure how yet.

Oh and also, the only Cinnabon in the UK recently opened in Piccadilly Circus and it had to be visited last week...ooey, gooey, gross, processed Amnerican yumminess! in London! My favourite food in my favourite city! The only thing that might make me happier is a Taco Hell in London. I really am a food snob, I promise. I just. have. weaknesses. The good news though, is that now I don't have to keep trying to cram a visit to Cinnabon in every time I visit the US. The bad news is, I really do not need those calories so close by. Oh dear.

So, there you have it...I still love London and have my fingers, eyes and toes crossed that I have many more years of London (or at least British) enjoyment ahead of me :)

On a not-really-related note, I have finally organised my various travel photos and will be posting them soon...flickr is being uncooperative, but I'll persevere! I've posted pics from Brussels, my long ago trip from last fall:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28376720@N06/sets/72157607452818324/

Horseman's Sunday

2008-09-23T13:40:00.003+01:00

I don't remember how I came across it, but on Saturday afternoon, I happened upon the details for "Horseman's Sunday," an annual event held at a church just outside Hyde Park.

It looked interesting enough and was a short walk from my flat, so I figured I'd go see what it was about...motivated in large part by the unseasonably warm and beautiful weekend we were having in London.

Lol, I'm not sure I need to elaborate any more than to just show you the photos:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28376720@N06/sets/72157607455585219/

It was a refreshing little event...I love London, but I love it for very different reasons than I thought I would when I decided to move here. I know I've said it before, but London is incredibly cosmopolitan, incredibly international and very much not British anymore. Or, at least, not the Central core that I call home. So, when one comes across actual British people and actual British-type events, one must relish in these things.

I'm often teased by friends here for the fact that I live so ridiculously central, for the fact that I live amongst the tourists. But I love living this central (mostly) and I plan to stay put for awhile.

But the things I do miss are the traditionalism I wanted to see when I decided to move here...and the sense of community. I barely know my neighbours and that's just the reality of city life. If I lived farther out, I'd miss out on being so near all the activities in London, but I'd know my neighbours. Decisions, decisions.

Anyhoo, I digress. My point was that the very point of this little event was to celebrate a little bit of London's history, that of its long-standing relationship with horses...and to celebrate a London that once was (and still is, just a teeny bit).

I love that when I'm wandering along in Hyde Park, there are horses plodding along right next to me...it's a strange feeling to be right in the middle of chaos, yet feel like you're in the middle of the countryside. It's a nice feeling that somehow, the old London and the new London can exist together.

The other thing that was kind of cute and nice about this little event was the sense of (albeit very very posh) community. People knew each other, they knew the vicar and they seemed quite content in their little pocket of Central London.

It was just a little reminder that Central London hasn't completely changed. Besides, what other city on earth is irreverent enough to house a vicar who - though he doesn't ride - will get on a horse in full regalia? A highly amusing note to my weekend :D

Goodbye 2008, Hello 2012

2008-08-24T20:22:00.005+01:00

I trudged out into what was a stereotypical London day, a cold and rainy morning, to Trafalgar Square, to watch London's part in the closing ceremonies of the Olympics from the big screen TV that had been in the square throughout this year's games.

I kept feeling guilty that I hadn't gone to watch any of the games from Trafalgar Square and I was even more gutted that I'd completely spaced out and had missed the opening ceremonies completely, so rain or not, I was determined to be a little part of history and watch London's big moment from London's very centre...with, I thought, a bunch of other Londoners. There was a huge party in front of Buckingham Palace and though the tickets were free, there were a limited number of them and I didn't discover the party until too late, so oh well. Trafalgar Square seemed like a perfect alternative :D

But, as I arrived an hour early to Trafalgar Square, thinking there would be gobs of people, I arrived to a nearly empty square and met the friend I'd planned to meet up with...slowly, both the sun and the people came out and it turned out that my plans to beat the crowds weren't all for naught. We had a fantastic view, but I literally didn't move for nearly 4 hours. Though my friend got bored and bailed after awhile, I forced myself to stay for the entire thing, not wanting to miss out on this little bit of history.

I even have photos for once:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28376720@N06/sets/72157607452033040/

And as I stood there, I found myself very hopeful that I'll still be here in lovely London in 2012, to watch the real thing.

I ended the day, sunburned, oddly enough, and content that I was making the most of my London adventure :D

A year ago today, I was....

2008-08-10T10:34:00.001+01:00

Just arriving to Jolly Old England at right about this time, I was trudging through Heathrow with The Suitcases, trying to get my bearings and trying to convince myself that this wasn’t a visit, that I wasn’t a tourist…that I had moved to another country.

A year later, I think I’ve changed quite a bit! From little things, like my spelling, to bigger things like my sad understanding that Americans don’t know much about the rest of the world (myself included). I still have to apologise on at least a daily basis for America, but a year later, I still find it stupidly flattering when a Brit decides to like me, despite my Americanness.

It’s been quite a year…there have been stolen purses, a broken heart several times over, two flats, a cool sounding job only to lose what turned out to be not such a cool job, and great friends in a city that can be frighteningly anonymous.

And so, here I sit, on the one year anniversary of moving here. I’m still unemployed, but I’m far less freaked out about it…somehow, everything will work out. I have far bigger worries, like how a year later, I’ve gotten too comfortable living here and I’ve become one of those city dwellers who never does anything in their city. Due to my unemployed bum status, I had the chance to watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics on a huge screen in Trafalgar Square. But. I am a moron and I didn’t realise the Olympics were starting already, I always thought it was later in August. I spent all day doing nothing in my flat.

I’m slowly getting on my own case about my laziness…I’ve plans to be out and about, enjoying this fantastic city, for nearly the entire next week. I'm off to enjoy this fantastic city, hopefully making more friends as I go.

But I guess it just goes to show, it doesn’t really matter how hard something seems, how exciting it may once seem. Eventually, you get used to it and you get comfortable…and you get bored. And so help me, I refuse to be bored in London!

This is a fantastic city…and I live here :) I intend to spend the rest of the summer enjoying my unemployed bum status, wandering London and enjoying the sites.

A year later, I’m a local. The Suitcases are packed away, I’ve got most of the lingo down and people seem to think I’m a local. Now, if I could just find a paycheque somewhere, I’d be all set…

But anyway, Happy Anniversary to me!

A Bump in the Adventure

2008-07-18T20:11:00.004+01:00

Well ok, straight to the punchline: I'm unemployed again. Quite unexpectedly at that.

Last Friday at about 2pm, I was just cranking away at really boring documentation at work, happy that it was Friday afternoon and planning to spend my weekend researching online retailers to finally buy herb* plants, when my phone rang.

It was HR asking me, cheerfully, to come up to the video conference room. Now, everyone knows HR rarely summons a person with good news...and the fact that it was the video conference room meant that either my boss or his boss were going to be involved, as they're both in the company's US office. So I already knew the cheery tone had to be fake.

So, as I climbed up the stairs two floors to join them, my mind raced as to what on earth was going on. But the reality is that that was only about 4 minutes, so by the time I plunked down in a chair and greeted both the HR lady and the head of my department, who turned out to be the one on the video screen, my brain was still going "whaaaaa?"

Not wasting any time, the head of the department told me that due to budget cuts, blah blah, they were canceling my project and I was being made redundant. British speak for laid off. I was assured, several times, that it was completely unrelated to my performance...and though, due to my short time with the company, they weren't obligated to give me any severance, they did.

The conversation that followed is really a total blur, because it was then that I realised that they were asking me to leave immediately. I get the business reason - it's general corporate policy, when you let someone go, not to give them time to be messing around on their computer, taking information, etc. But it was mid-afternoon and, typical of British offices, there are no cubes, just desks.

And so it was that the HR lady and I went down to my desk and I began collecting my things while she (kindly) chatted with someone and left me alone. After I'd chucked huge piles full of papers into the bin, barely even looking at what I was tossing, my deskmate asked what I was doing.

"Leaving." I said, managing to say at least that much without crying.

"Leav - what - what do you mean?" He said.

With a useless deep breath, I opened my mouth to respond and started crying.

"They've canceled the project and I no longer work here."

After a few very kind words on his part and an offer to help in whatever way he could, I scurried out quickly, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.

And so it was that I walked away from my office for the last time, carting a bag of random things and feeling the shock mount in my brain.

Not 20 minutes earlier, I'd been gainfully employed and planning a happy and mundane weekend. And suddenly I was unemployed, terrified of what this meant in terms of both my visa and well, my bank account.

I spent the next 4 hours texting, emailing and talking to a few friends and crying, the crying part being rather hysterical and nearly nonstop.

On the very sage advice of one of those wonderful people, I managed to pull myself together long enough to talk to a recruiter I knew from last fall...who expressed her own shock and sympathy and who has since been very encouraging.

Hanging up with her, I promptly went back to my nervous breakdown until a friend arrived to assist in getting me very very drunk :P

We went out to dinner, though the last thing I remember is the main course and I woke up Saturday morning, in the wee hours. After trying, to no avail, to remember how I got home, I got up and got myself going for the day. I still spent most of the day freaking out, but I also spent much of it getting my CV updated and looking at jobs.

I don't have the same luxury I had last fall...a year later, any extended gap in unemployment might mean being rejected for my visa extension. And having to move back to the US next year would be utterly devastating, I'm trying to not even consider it. I don't have nearly as much in savings as I did last fall, so I'm also a bit terrified of what tomorrow will bring!

But. A week later, I've calmed down quite a bit and I've seen the silver lining, at least a little bit. The reality is that I was very frustrated and unhappy at work, I didn't feel like anyone cared about my project. And funny enough, I guess I was right.

I'm not obsessively career-minded and I never will be. But I hate failing and I did want to see that (@!$) project through...I've been lucky in life and, frankly, I haven't failed at much...nothing this catastrophic at least. I've never been let go before, I've always quit...on very good terms on all counts. As I wandered around in those first couple of days, I felt like I'd failed in this whole adventure. I kept coming across landmarks and buildings that reminded me of my very first days here...and it suddenly seemed like I'd screwed it all up.

But a week later, I'm starting to see that - if I do it quickly - I can learn from this and come out of it even better off. Everything in life is a lesson. Some of them hurt like heck, but there's something to be learned from everything...and what I've learned from this is that you have to enjoy life for what it is...and you have to realise that if you try hard enough, you can get through anything.

I have fantastic friends. I have a promising interview next week. I have other prospects in the wings. And, impoverished or not, I'm free to enjoy the city I love again - in between all that job-hunting!

I had the very happy opportunity to cook for someone Tuesday night and I absolutely loved that I could actually cook everything fresh, because I was home all day. Speaking of that lack of career-mindedness, I loved that I could devote my day to what - in my world - really matters.

Though a recruiter cut my visit short, I went to the Victoria and Albert Museum today, which I hadn't visited yet...and got to see the fashion exhibit before I had to leave, which was fantastic.

And almost every morning, I've gone running in Hyde Park...with the park blissfully quiet and empty.

So whilst I'm still utterly terrified, I have hope that everything will work out. I'm hopeful that something better will come along and this will just another hoop I jumped through on my big, crazy adventure to move to another country and stay there.

*Please note, my fine American comrades, "herb" has an h and is pronounced phonetically. It is not erb. Thank you for your attention to this very important matter :P

Happy 4th!

2008-07-04T14:15:00.001+01:00

Happy Independence Day, my lovely American readers...I am at work as I type – a very, very weird feeling. The 4th of July has always has been that oddball holiday where, as a kid, failing being a geek or hoodlum who was in summer school, we were already on holiday on the day and it didn’t really seem that different than the rest of the summer – except for all the fireworks and parties of course.

But then we hit adulthood and the dreaded world of jobs and no summer vacations (except for you lucky impoverished teachers!)...and so then the 4th becomes this fun holiday that often hits annoyingly mid-week, but still means a day off, a day to pig out to the enth degree, to watch fireworks, to bask in summer. And, you know, honour America’s “independence*”

It is, next to Thanksgiving, the most American day. It’s one of those things we forget that the rest of the world doesn’t acknowledge ;) I mean hellooo, shouldn’t the whole world bow down and shout hooray for us? Duh.

So, whilst you fine people stuff your faces and blow your limbs off with homemade fireworks, I’ll be here wearing black, slaving away at work and properly mourning and apologising for not letting the English just keep our silly little country all those years ago.

But fear not, whilst it pains me to no end to think of the endless food I’m missing, I fully intend to visit for the other end-all-be-all food day in November :D

*Just a reminder that according to the Brits, we didn’t “win” our independence, they just got sick of us and left. Whatever, we have better food than they do ;)

Please Excuse the Silence!

2008-07-02T13:17:00.008+01:00

Well, I was reprimanded recently by a loyal reader for the fact that it’s been eons since I last wrote...and I guess I’m just too busy enjoying the glorious British summer to have much to write about ;)

The days are 18 hours long and the temperature hovers between 70F and 75F…and though it’s currently rainyesque outside, we’ve had many many beautiful sunny days – I was even sporting a bit of a sunburn recently. But I’ll stop gloating now ;) Unless hell has frozen over and miracles have happened, I expect poor DC is drenched in a typical summer – triple digit temperatures and hellish humidity…I miss you fine people, but I do not miss DC summers! My flat doesn’t have air con (the odd phrase used here to refer to A/C) and I haven’t even noticed.

But how quickly one adjusts…it was probably close to 80 yesterday and I joined right in with the moaning at work about how disgustingly hot it was. Mercifully I think that horrible heat was short-lived ;) I don’t even mind that the weekend is slated to be chilly and rainy. Lol, anything but horrendous heat is good enough for me!

Aside from the weather, I've also been in seventh heaven of finally having my kitchen things with me...a few broken items, a bunch of "missing" things that I wish I hadn't tossed last summer. But I got to cook a whole dinner for the first time in way too long last week...and the recipient is still alive, so I suppose it was a success ;)

As much as it killed me to do so, it was only a 2 course meal because "dessert should be a treat, not a standard thing and it's just a weeknight." *Sigh.* Misguided Brits. Dessert, as we Americans know, is the answer to everything. But I digress.

We had:

Portobello mushrooms stuffed with kalamata and green olives and pancetta to start and

Steak pinwheels with Boursin, spinach and sun-dried tomatoes, with mashed potatoes.

And I discovered a wine genius at the wine store near my flat, who suggested what was a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon.

Oh how I've missed cooking!!

For all my constant gloating about my five weeks of holiday a year, I’ve only used 4 days! Where on earth has the year gone? I desperately need to plan some holidays...and whilst Italy and Spain are very, very enticing, I think I may also very well just take some time to explore my beloved London, I’ve found myself forgetting how fantastic it is to live here. Forgetting how many millions of different things there are to see and do. Not that I can’t do those between dreaded work times, but it’s that annoying thing about how when you live in a city, you never take advantage of all the things in your city. So perhaps I need to go on holiday at home ;) Without the hotel cost but with all the wonders of London.

But, though I lazied out of Oktoberfest in Munich for my 30th birthday, I really think I’ll go for my next birthday*...and though I doubt there are any hotels left, the idea of camping actually sounds quite fun – not all holidays have to be posh, right? It's quite an ungirly thought I know, but it does kind of fun. So I suppose I should start rounding people up to go, as Oktoberfest is not at all a solo holiday type thing! Going to Munich would break my rule about not going back to the same city twice – I had the wonderful pleasure of visiting Munich before I lived here – but it’s for a very good cause: a giant alcohol-focused party in one of the friendliest cities I’ve ever visited. How can that be missed? And yes, I do know it's a beer focused thing and I don't drink beer - but if I'm going to be ungirly, might as well go all out right?

I'm still dying to go back up to Scotland too, so many places to see, so little time ;)

So that’s all for now kids. You Americans enjoy your holiday this Friday, I’m a little bitter. You’ll all be enjoying a long weekend, celebrating your hard won independence from the fine British people** with giant burgers and yummy desserts and mountains of other foods…and I’ll be here working, dieting and paying for your sins. You’re welcome you hedonistic losers :D

*Please note: I am not turning 31 in September. I will remain 30 for, you know, ever. Whilst somehow my plan to celebrate the first anniversary of my 29th birthday, rather than turn 30, failed last year, I have much hope and confidence that the same plan will work this year. So, I will be celebrating the first anniversary of my 30th birthday on 25 September, not turning 31. Thank you for your attention to this very important matter, I'm glad we've clarified things :P

**I have been told, by two different Brits, that Britain did not lose the Revolutionary War, they simply got bored and left. But whatEVER. They're just mad because they have to work on Friday :D

Scotland Recap Part Two, Edinburgh (subtitle: I’m sorry London, I found another city(ies) to love)

2008-06-02T13:20:00.015+01:00

Day Three, continued

Walking into Glasgow’s Queen Street station, which is nearly literally next to the Carlton George, I lucked out and the 10:30 train bound for Edinburgh was leaving very shortly. I’m still somewhat new to this whole train thing and I’m an idiot in general, but I did note that my ticket was good for any train that day. So, double-checking with a station staff member that this particular train had a first class carriage, I boarded. Or so I thought. There were actually two separate trains on the same track and thankfully, I realised my mistake soon enough...who knows where I was almost carted off to. Boarding the correct train, I felt a bit silly for having booked first class because I was the only one in the carriage. But really, it was nice to have the quiet, because standard class was loud and packed. I’ll even forgive that when the kitchen guy came by and asked if I wanted tea or coffee and I said “coffee please, black,” he brought me tea. He also brought a blueberry muffin (which was surprisingly moist), so I decided to save my Glasgow pastries for later.

It was a quick, though pretty, trip down to Edinburgh and making my way through the station, I tried to get my bearings. I can’t recall if I mentioned, but I was to be staying at The Balmoral, quite a treat to myself and also a consolation prize for having had to say goodbye to Glasgow. I was wholly unimpressed with the Carlton George and knew that The Balmoral would be a much better experience. So whilst I was looking for signs for the exit out to Princes Street, I’d hoped to see a sign or walkway directly to the hotel, since it’s literally at the station. But no luck...and it turns out you have to walk up a very long staircase to get up to street level and the hotel. Oh well. But as in Glasgow, I could hear bagpipes playing and I really loved the aura it created. Plus, it was as beautiful out in Edinburgh as it had been in Glasgow, so that was a lovely treat. Whenever the sun shines in Britain, one must relish it.

So, having caught my breath from the excursion up the stairs, I walked up the (few) lovely steps of The Balmoral and was warmly greeted immediately at the door by a porter who took my suitcase and chatted with me while we waited at the currently very busy reception desk. I was struck by the genuine friendliness of all of the staff I could see...it wasn’t the forced, curt friendliness of any 5-star hotel, it was actual friendliness. I couldn’t go up to a room yet, as I was quite early checking-in, but they took both of my bags and my mobile number, with a promise to call me when my room was ready.

As I turned to leave, I learned just how friendly and attentive the staff at The Balmoral are. I’m not usually one to rely heavily on the concierge, I like to figure things out myself and even though I’m paying for those very services, I feel guilty for being a pest. But I’d barely made eye contact with him and he smiled and asked where I was off to and did I need any assistance. When I mentioned I was off to an early lunch at the Mussel and Steak Bar, he gave me very precise directions and – as I’d already read online – said the mussels were fantastic.

So, with that info and a quick chat with the extremely friendly doorman outside, I set off for the restaurant, on Grassmarket, with a map. After being in a little awe of the beauty of what I saw of the Royal Mile, I found the restaurant on the second try and was their first customer of the day, and was very warmly greeted.

Grassmarket is, I think, usually a big quad type area with many bars, shops and restaurants, down quite a steep winding hill from the Royal Mile. But they’re doing major improvement works and currently, it’s a bit of a construction mess – which was part of why I couldn’t find the restaurant. Well, that’s my excuse anyway.

Sipping the only white wine by the glass on the menu, I ordered half a dozen chilled oysters to start and a kilo of mussels in pesto with chips for my main. Lol, the server seemed a bit shocked that I wanted an entire kilo and not a half, but I assured him I was hungry. I wasn’t really thinking that 1 kilo = 2.2 pounds. Many mussels. Oops. Everything, including the bread, was delicious and several other customers poured in as I ate…my server was lovely, offering more bread which he excitedly suggested I dip in the mussel sauce (which was yum!). I think they screwed up my sauce though and used the shallot cream sauce, not pesto…but it was still delicious. Having to decline dessert due to my overzealous kilo order, I made my stuffed way back up the steep hill to the Royal Mile.

As promised, the hotel had called whilst I was at lunch to say that my room was ready, so I headed in that direction to get settled. Upon my return to the hotel, the doorman, who had asked where I was off to earlier, asked how lunch was. It became a theme throughout the weekend that he and I would chat for several minutes every time I left or came back, which was quite lovely...and upon entering my room, I was amused that my bags hadn’t just been brought up to my room. My suitcase was laid out on the luggage stand, facing the correct direction so it could be opened and my laptop bag was carefully sitting in the desk chair. Perhaps I’m nit-picky, but I really love attention to detail like that.

With a little quick organising, I was back out the door to head back to the Royal Mile...assuring the ever helpful concierge that I just wanted to wander, with no set plans. It was already 14:00 or so and I was anxious to see Edinburgh :) I headed up the hill toward the castle, slowly strolling and seeing the sights. I discovered this crazily narrow and steep side path called a “close,” which I would later discover were side streets where people lived back in the Middle Ages…the Royal Mile is surrounded by them because at one point, nearly everyone in Edinburgh – poor or wealthy – lived along that one mile. As I made my way up to the breathtaking St Giles Cathedral, there was a wedding party having photos taken and the bride’s dress was gorgeous (and there were many kilts, lol). I stopped and watched for a few minutes, snapping my own photo and goofily daydreaming of what it would be like to be married there. I’m a girl, I can’t help it :P

Eventually, I kept going up the hill and as I got closer to the castle, the Royal Mile forked, and the path became much narrower and steeper. There was a guy who appeared to be an actor (based on the conversation I was overhearing), dressed in battle get-up with blue paint on his face…I stopped for a few minutes to watch him pose and take pictures with tourists, as he was quite amusing. Lol, he offered to show his tattoo to some poor American lady and she didn’t think to ask where it was before agreeing to see it, lol. It was on his derriere! The woman was a good sport, but she seemed utterly mortified. I suppose I lack class, but I was laughing so hard I had to walk away, lest I catch the actor’s attention and become his next victim.

As a side note, perhaps due to the many direct flights from the US, the marathon being held that weekend or simply the fact that it was also a long weekend in America, but Edinburgh was overrun by Americans. Lol, you people were everywhere, it wasn’t nearly as fun to be American in Edinburgh as it had been in Glasgow, but there were far more kilted men in Edinburgh, so that helped balance things :P

Walking up to the castle, I was amazed at the view and since there was a weddingesque horse and carriage waiting outside the castle, my silly wedding daydreams started again. Lol, how cool would it be to be married in the castle? I decided not to do the tour and just wandered about for a bit, snapping photos of various things. Spotting an ice cream truck outside, I decided I deserved ice cream, bought a cone and headed back down the hill.

There was another couple having wedding photos taken at St Giles when I passed it again and, of course, I had to stop again. I’m easily amused I know.

I headed back out to Princes Street to check out what looked like a lovely park – Princes Street Gardens. It stretches from the Balmoral nearly all the way down Princes Street and, as it turns out, it’s gorgeous. So I walked along slowly, people watching and soaking in the sights. With my horrendously poor sense of direction, I didn’t realise that Princes Street – and the park – parallel the Royal Mile and when I saw a “gorgeous huge house” on top of a cliff, I didn’t realise it was the castle. Duh. But in my defence, it doesn’t look castlelike. But anyway. After um, more ice cream, I turned around and headed back toward the hotel, passing the National Gallery as I got to the end of the park – which is a beautiful Greek-style building.

After a quick stop at the hotel to rest for a few minutes, I decided to brave Calton Hill. I didn’t really know what it was, but it had been suggested by one of the people back in London who’d made the fantastic suggestion of Rogano in Glasgow, so I figured I’d give it a go. So off I went and when I finally figured out where the path was to walk up, I started on my way. As afraid as I am of heights, it’s not a scary walk...there are steps usually, but those were closed, so everyone was walking up the road, dodging cars as we went.

At the top, there are a few cool monuments scattered about and the view, in several directions, is amazing...you’re above nearly all of Edinburgh with a view beyond the city out to the water. I couldn’t bring myself to get too close to any edges, but I did get some great photos. So, feeling like I’d seen everything I could, I felt deserved of a drink in the hotel ;) I made my way back down the hill and, arriving back at the hotel, flopped down in the Bollinger bar and ordered a glass of Moet et Chandon Rosé...the very Rosé I’d tasted at the Moet house in Reims, I even have a bottle of it at home :) I sipped it and flipped through the cocktail menu out of curiosity. The Balmoral has two bars – this one, which is a more refined and proper hotel bar and is mainly focused on champagne...and the Balmoral Bar, which is less formal and more of just a bar. I decided to order a strawberry liqueur and champagne cocktail, having long-since finished my glass of Moet, but I wasn’t actually that impressed with the strawberry thing...it was kind of bland. Oh well. It was getting quite late, so I headed out to dinner...after much debate earlier with the concierge about where all my meals should be for the weekend, I decided on the Café Royal Oyster Bar for dinner, it was nearly literally across the street from the hotel and in addition to the concierge’s recommendations, it has a ton of good reviews online. So, with a cute chat with the doorman, where he apologised for sounding like a father, but really wished I was taking a coat because it was cold, I set off for dinner.

The Café Royal Oyster Bar is quite an old building, it may even be a historic landmark, and it’s really beautiful...it has high gothic type ceilings, with decorative paintings all over the ceiling. The restaurant is “next door,” divided by a not-quite-ceiling high stained glass partition. Plunking myself down at the bar, I ordered a Gin and Tonic and my beloved half a dozen chilled oysters and people watched. The staff were fun and friendly, though the bar was packed, so they were also insanely busy. After an hour, having had a second G&T and finished my oysters, I wandered next door for dinner. The restaurant side is quite small, but the staff on that side are equally lovely. I suppose I’m boring, but I ordered mussels for my starter, even though I’d just had them for lunch...they were served in a cream sauce with salmon and cashews, which sounded really yummy. I ordered a mysterious looking seafood platter for my main, with a side of chips and Bearnaise and munched on their delicious bread and a glass of Muscadet (I think) whilst I waited for my food.

The mussels arrived and were a huge portion...but I bravely/piggily finished the entire bowl and prayed that my main was less generous. Mercifully, it was...the seafood platter was a variety of tapas-sized portions of various shellfish (including a lobster claw) and three different types of salmon...everything was delicious and I guess I must be repressing my sweet tooth again, because I’m pretty sure I had dessert, but I don’t remember what I had :( Settling the bill, I wandered back to the hotel, filling my doorman friend in all my adventures as I went...it was late and I was stuffed and tired, so I called it a night.

Day Four:

Once again being responsible, I got myself up early and was down at breakfast in the hotel by 9ish...not surprisingly, the hotel’s breakfast buffet was quite impressive...hot and cold items everywhere and everything was delicious. There are a la carte items available as well, but even piggy me saw no reason to order anything additional. After a leisurely breakfast with the morning paper and feeling quite happy that I’d get to have the breakfast a second time the next day, I headed upstairs to plan my day. I decided to check out a tour through one of the closes, that I’d seen online the night before, and also wanted to brave climbing Arthur’s Seat, the other high elevation point in Edinburgh. So, setting off back to the Royal Mile at a leisurely pace, I happened upon the tour, the Mary King’s close tour, and wandered in…though I’d originally planned to do it later, they had a tour starting in a few minutes, so I figured I’d join that one. It was really fun and interesting, with a bit of spook thrown in! I’m a complete baby about being scared and I was wishing I had someone with me, lol. But I survived and learned much about the closes and the history of Edinburgh, I highly recommend the tour...it took about an hour and seemed a bit more off-the-beaten-path than things like the castle.

Somehow feeling peckish again, I decided to scout out lunch...again through my own research and further validation by the concierge, I made my way to Creeler’s, which is widely considered the best seafood in Edinburgh and is just off the Royal Mile. I was their first, and oddly, only customer and settled in with a bunch of pamphlets about Scotland that they had by my table. Ordering a glass of white, I ordered the “trio of salmon,” to start and scallops and pancetta in cream sauce for my main. Everything was divinely delicious and though the servers seemed perplexed that I was their only customer, they were all lovely toward me. I had room for dessert and had earlier been very excited to see strawberry crème brulee on the menu, but was a little bummed when the server said it was actually raspberry that day...but, lol, I ordered it anyway. It was a perfect portion and was quite delicious. Settling the bill, I went on my way, heading back to the hotel to rest for a bit.

Eventually, I headed back out with my sights on Arthur’s Seat. Consulting my doorman friend on the way, I set off. I was totally turned around and didn’t realise that Holyrood Palace and Arthur’s Seat are at the other end of the Royal Mile from the castle...so after I walked all the way up to the castle and realised my mistake, I headed in the right direction.

Ambling my way down the hill, I was a little struck by the cruelty of the topography...the Royal Mile was taking me down, down, down and I was to climb what I’d read is a dormant volcano...a climb people “prepare” for and one that takes an hour. So it seemed mean that I was basically making my climb more strenuous with each step down the hill. But given all my pigging out, I figured it was probably a good thing. I wasn’t really worried about the height of the Seat because Calton Hill hadn’t seemed scary. On my way, I passed a fudge shop and there was a guy outside advertising free samples...turning him down with a laugh that I’d just had “a gigantic lunch,” but was on my way to climb Arthur’s Seat and would be back in a bit, I carried on down the hill.

Finally reaching the clearing at the bottom, I saw the Seat and basically thought to myself “gaaaaaaaaah.” It looked very impressive...and terrifying. But ever determined and dumb, I soldiered on and figured out where the path starts. I stood at the base for awhile, forcing myself to start walking, lest I always regret not doing it. But sadly, lol, I chickened out...having climbed about 10 feet, I changed my mind. Firstly, the path is quite loose and uneven and it really isn’t meant to be attempted in a cute dress and cute shoes, as I was wearing. Secondly though, you walk right along an open drop…which is eventually quite a drop!! I just couldn’t do it. Someday, when I have some big guy next to me, I might brave the Seat. But with a defeated sigh, I made my way back up the Royal Mile.

Approaching the free fudge guy, he chuckled when he saw me and said “you didn’t go up, you’re back too soon.” “No,” I said sullenly, “I chickened out.” “Ah well, you deserve sympathy fudge then.” And, heading into the shop, I had a bite and continued on my way back up the hill. I wandered Grassmarket for awhile and noticed two restaurants that looked quite interesting. Then I sat in the regular bar at the hotel for awhile and savoured two Gin and Tonics. Eventually researching the restaurants, I decided to have oysters at one and dinner at the other because the latter had cheese fondue as a starter. YUM. I popped in to the cheese fondue one, secured reservations for an hour away and set off to have my oysters. I immediately felt bad upon entering Maxie’s Bistro for my oysters, because though the reviews had called it a wine bar, it was actually table service...and I felt a bit guilty for taking one of their tables on a busy night, given that I was only ordering champagne and oysters, but I did it anyway, lol.

It’s a cute little place and they do seem to know their wines quite well, though the by-the-glass selection is limited. The food menu looks lovely but unfortunately, they didn’t really serve my oysters properly and they’d been shucked kind of lazily. After a second glass of champagne, it was close enough to my reservation, so I settled the bill and wandered outside to take a few photos from the outside terrace.

Taking the long way back down to my dinner destination, the Maison Bleue, I was quickly seated in a lovely spot next to a window. It was a bit odd to eat alone there, as it’s quite romantic and quaint, but by that point in the weekend, I didn’t really care. Ordering a glass of Riesling, my beloved cheese fondue as a starter and duck confit with gruyere mash as my main, I settled in to people watch. I was lovely to just sit and do nothing and I didn’t even mind that the service was quite slow...lol, the bread was heavenly. My cheese fondue eventually came, 3 different types in mini filo cups with baguette pieces for dipping. I’d been a little wary of the fondue, because it sounded like a hefty starter, but the portion was perfect. After another glass of wine and a long while, my duck confit arrived and it was tasty...though not great and I couldn’t really figure out why. I finished off the meal with (delicious) panna cotta with berries and made my way back to the hotel. It was quite late when I got back, so I was soon asleep.

Day Five (the wee hours):

At precisely 04:22, I awoke feeling Not Good. I thought I might be hungover, so I got up to get a glass of water from the bathroom. Without warning, while standing there, I was suddenly violently ill. 10 minutes later, staggering back to bed with not a drop left in my system, drenched in sweat and feeling like the star of an Alien remake, I collapsed into bed. I won’t continue with the god awful details, but needless to say, the holiday was over. I never did have that second Balmoral breakfast and I barely got myself dressed and packed and downstairs to check out at noon. My train was at 12:30, but I was seriously considering eating the horrendous cost of another night in the hotel and another train ticket. I just didn’t possibly see how I was going to get myself all the way back to my flat in London in that condition. But I somehow did.

When I saw my doorman friend and one of the concierges I had come to know, they could both tell that I was in utter misery, I could barely stand...summoning the hotel chauffeur, the concierge loaded all of my things into the car and I was blissfully driven around the corner to the station, saving me the walking down long staircase.

My seat companions were as nice as can be and when I apologised in advance for being the Seatmate From Hell, one of them gave me her sleeping bag to make a pillow out of...and brought me ice chips, because I couldn’t even stand water at that point but was dying of thirst. Sadly, I only caught a tiny glimpse of what looked like a beautiful view along the east coast...it hurt to watch anything. After sleeping for about half the trip, I felt much better and managed some water and juice.

But unfortunately, I was back and forth nearly all week and couldn’t sit up, let alone go to work, until Thursday afternoon. Who knows what caused the illness, I try not think about what I might have eaten to cause it, lol.

It's a (now) comical end to what was otherwise a lovely holiday...I really loved Scotland and I can’t wait to go back and eat at Rogano and The Chip and see the Burrel Collection in Glasgow, brave Arthur’s Seat, have that second Balmoral breakfast and watch the east coast view on the train.

But for now, London will have to do ;)

Scotland Recap Part One, Glasgow (subtitle: I’m sorry London, I found another city(ies) to love)

2008-05-30T13:09:00.006+01:00

Firstly, though I do still love travelling alone for the freedom and adventure of it, I think on my next trip, I’ll do more pre-planning to meet up with people or go with people but not spend all my time with them. Lol, five days by myself got a bit tired after awhile!

But even with getting bored with myself after awhile, I loved Scotland...possibly Glasgow slightly more so than Edinburgh because, in order of importance, a) the people were friendlier, b) they were more excited at my Americanness and c) it felt more “real” than Edinburgh. But I really enjoyed my time in both cities and, I’m sorry London, but you’ll have to share my love with Scotland from now on.

The Scots are, from what I experienced, very very friendly, happy and proud…they really love their country. I have to say that it made me realise that I haven’t seen the same pride here in England. I’ve spent little time outside London, of course, so I may be making an unfair observation of the English, but they seem much less proud of England itself than the Scots are of Scotland. Oh. And please note: kilts are quite sexy. I’ve always thought them a bit odd and even (gasp) unmanly, but I saw many, many of them in Edinburgh, due to random bagpipers, Saturday night formal occasions, weddings, etc and um, they’re manlier-looking than a tux I think. I dunno, there’s just sort of a rugged yet sophisticated aura to them. I did much drooling. Anyway, moving right along…

I’m backtracking slightly and recapping from the eve of the trip, when 17:30 last Wednesday blissfully arrived and I set off for my evening at the Ritz.

Arriving to the hotel with an hour still before tea time, I plucked a copy of the Wall Street Journal off the reception desk (the only paper they had out) and headed into the hotel’s Rivoli Bar. Ordering one of their fruity cocktails, a blueberry concoction in a martini glass, I settled in to peruse the paper...but it didn’t take long for it to feel fundamentally wrong to be reading such a work related paper whilst on the very beginning of my holiday, so I soon turned my attention to the bartender, who was creating drink after drink with fascinating flourishes of art. I’m sure it’s all part of the Ritz experience, but it was really quite impressive and hard to explain if you haven’t watched it. Every movement seemed to be done with the knowledge that he was working in the poshest of posh bars in London, and it was fun to watch. I know that sounds cheesy, but really, it’s impressive. Plus, he was talking to those of us sitting at the bar while making all the drinks and was quite a funny guy. After a bit more of that and another fruity cocktail, it was time for tea, so I settled the bill and headed across the lobby to the Palm Court.

The tea was lovely, but I have to say, I think I’ve had my fill of the Ritz tea. I strongly suggest you experience it, if you never have, purely for the ambience. But the actual food is quite basic compared to some of the other teas I’ve been to...the Park Lane Hotel serves lemon clotted cream with their tea and it’s heaven. Of course, few other teas are as all-you-can-eat as the Ritz is, so there is that ;) But I think I have to formulate a new trip eve plan…still to include the very lovely Rivoli Bar, but perhaps somewhere else afterwards instead of the tea.

After stuffing myself silly on the tea, I headed home and soon called it a night, as I had an early morning to get to my train.

Day One:

Though my train didn’t leave until 8:46, I’m a dork and since I’d (of course) booked a first class ticket, I had access to the lounge at Euston station and wanted to experience it. It was Virgin’s train and lounge, so I figured it was worth experiencing...plus, First Great Western’s lounge at Paddington is lovely, so I was expecting at least the same. So I arose at the ugly hour of 6am and was out the door by 7. Arriving to the station with more than an hour to my train, I headed to the lounge. Firstly, unless I missed it, there is no lift to get to the first floor lounge...they want you to lug your bags up 2 staircases to get to it. Lovely. So, having done that, I entered the much anticipated lounge...and was immediately disappointed and amused with myself. It’s really lame, don’t bother allowing time for it! There’s barely any food and the coffee is lukewarm.

It was eventually time to board and I fought my way down the platform to the first class carriages, through the mass of crazed standard class passengers, who were all anxiously trying to board to get a seat. Sidenote: first class on trains is not that much more expensive than standard class and I highly recommend it. Every train I’ve been on thus far includes an overcrowded standard class section – do you really want to stand for a five hour journey? I don’t. Anyhoo, back to our story.

The ride up was lovely, though I was unimpressed with the (west coast) view. I’d heard stories upon stories about the lovely views from the train and had purposely taken different routes on the way up and down, to experience both...the west coast one is rather boring, I have to say. Now, in the view’s defence, I was online the whole time due to my handy dandy mobile broadband, so I wasn’t looking out the window every second. But what I saw was boring. Many goats, cows and sheep. But I did see teeny baby sheep :D But, aside from running out of coffee or something, the service on the train was lovely...except the carriages are tiny compared to other carriers. Shortly after departing Euston, we were served a full breakfast – I chose the fry up and it was actually quite good...and then beginning after 11am, free alcohol rolled through several times ;) There were sandwiches, cookies and fruit toward the end of the journey.

We pulled into Glasgow Central at 13:45 and I managed to find a taxi quite quickly...I was happy and amused to see that they are the same black cabs that are used in London. I could hear bagpipes playing in the background outside and after a quick journey to the hotel with a very friendly and helpful cab driver, who enthusiastically offered several sights I should see on my visit, I was at my hotel, the Carlton George.

In my conversation with the cab driver, I accidentally discovered a fun trick to play on the Scots, especially the Glaswegians. When the driver asked where I was from, I said “London,” without even really thinking...it’s become what I say, partly because I love living here, but partly because London is home by now. But as I said it, I saw a confused and amused look on his face...so, with a laugh, I said I was originally from Washington, DC, hence the accent. My accent and my Americanness were to be a novelty to the Glaswegians, it doesn’t seem that they see many of us! So, from then on, I did the “from London” thing on purpose throughout the weekend, always getting a curious look until I laughed and further explained. I’m easily amused, I know :P

The staff at the hotel were incredibly friendly and I was checked-in in no time and after dumping my stuff in my room, I headed back out the door. I wandered the immediate area for a bit and then decided to head to the river, to an area I’d read about that was newly developed and looked kind of interesting. I was a little motion sick from the train ride and I kind of wanted the fresh air and the breeze. So, after heading back to the hotel for directions, I set off. I got lost almost immediately and was quite taken aback when a man on the street asked, in a happy and friendly tone, if I was lost. Pausing for a moment to remind myself, and Toto, that we weren’t in crabby London anymore, I smiled and said that yes, I was. The friendly gentleman pointed me in the right direction and off I went on my two mile journey to the river. But after about a half a mile, the area seemed a little questionable and uninhabited, so I hailed another cab. Glasgow has a subway system, but it seemed incredibly confusing to me and my plan was to waste money on cabs instead :) A few minutes later, there we were at the riverfront. And um. It was the middle of nowhere. There’s a science centre, BBC Scotland’s headquarters, a Crowne Plaza hotel (where I’d considered staying!!) and the big event venue in Glasgow, the SECC. But that’s it. But, since I’d trekked all the way out there and the cab was now gone, I figured I might as well wander around for a bit...except that though it was a beautiful sunny day, it was quite windy and chilly along the water and I didn’t have my coat.

I was much better on this trip about taking photos, I’m happy to report, and I’ll post them soon, I promise. I took a bunch of pictures of the river, went into the science centre and at precisely 4:02pm, having spent 25 minutes in the hinterland, I grabbed a cab from the hotel and went back to civilisation ;) I had yet another very friendly cab driver with many suggestions of what to do and see.

Happily back in the land of the living, I walked around the big shopping area in Glasgow, on Buchanan Street, and saw many of the same chains that London has, as well as some cute boutiques. After I bought a few things I didn’t need and made dinner reservations, I went back to the hotel to partake of the free minibar and then up to the lounge to see what it was like. There wasn’t a soul in the lounge and I realised I hadn’t seen a single other guest yet anywhere in the hotel, a la The Shining. There wasn’t anything drinkwise in the lounge that I didn’t also have in my room, but by this time it was dinnertimeish, so I set off to the restaurant, grabbing a local magazine from the lobby as I went.

Rogano was recommended to me by two people who’ve spent considerable time in Glasgow and I’m ever so thankful for the suggestion...it’s not very impressive looking from the street, it’s in an alley and has a somewhat tacky neon sign, lol, so on my own, I might’ve passed it by. But I highly recommend it.

Arriving an hour before my reservation, I went to the bar to have their famed oysters, with a glass of champagne. (I’m rather obsessed with oysters now, for those of you who remember that the Champagne trip was the first time I’d ever tried them ;) ). I’d barely sat down when a lovely and friendly server came up and asked what I’d like…ordering a half dozen chilled oysters and a glass of champagne, I settled in to read the magazine and look around. It’s quite a lovely place inside and the service is fantastic…my oysters arrived soon enough and they were giant and yummy. After about 30 seconds of debating about the piggyness of it, I ordered another half dozen, Rockefeller style...and another glass of champagne...the cooked oysters were also very yummy, I’ve always been a fan of them cooked, but now I think I prefer them chilled :)

Just before I headed to my table for dinner, three men came into the bar area to reserve a table for dinner and just seemed to be having a great time…I’m not really sure why I noticed them, but I soon went off to my table and shortly after I was settled and had ordered water, one of the guys came over to ask if I’d like to dine with them. Lol, I was a little taken aback, but it was a lovely gesture and they’d seemed fun from my brief notice of them in the bar, so I thanked him and joined them. He was English and the other guys were American and they’d been golfing around Scotland all week…three hours, four courses, two bottles of red and much conversation later, it was time to say goodnight. And because I can’t bear not to tell you what I ate ;) I had tuna carpaccio with olive tapenade for a starter, lobster thermidor for my main and a treacle tart with fruitloaf ice cream for dessert…the fourth course being coffee and petit fours. The dessert was weird, I didn’t really know what it was, but was intrigued by the fruitloaf ice cream, so I ordered it…if there’s ice cream, I’m there. Incidentally, I now know that “treacle” is basically molasses. Ew. But the starter and the lobster were phenomenal...and their bread is fantastic as well.

I bid the three lovely gentlemen goodnight and went back to the hotel, having had a surprisingly lovely evening. Being really quite tipsy when I got back to my room, I soon fell asleep.

Day Two:

I forced myself to get up early, so as not to waste the day, and by 9am, I was showered, dressed and eating the included breakfast at the hotel. I was the lone diner (again, creepy), but the server was very friendly, lol. I ordered the fry-up (sans the haggis and black pudding, ew) and though it was decent, it wasn’t as good as I’d expected. Plus, I’m still not crazy about British bacon, which was included. I prefer my beloved American stringy bacon, which the Brits call streaky bacon.

Heading out for the day, I walked across George Square to see what was around...walking farther than I’d expected to, I ate up a couple of hours, did more window shopping and after a pitstop at the hotel, headed out to another recommended place for lunch, Gamba. Again, another fantastic meal: I had swordfish tartare with goat cheese to start, a mackerel pancetta salad as my main and declined dessert...it being an early lunch after a big breakfast, I just wasn’t hungry enough! Plus, I had grand plans to try the Willow Tea Rooms later, which I already knew about but which had also been recommended to me by my previous night’s dinner companions. So I wanted to save room for a pastry or two. The recommendation was for the museum aspect of the tea rooms, not the food, but still.

Back to the hotel to decide what to do with myself and I decided to go to Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery, with plans to visit its nearby park as well...hailing a cab, I was on my way. It’s a very cool museum. Unlike many (most?) museums, you’re allowed to take photos inside and there is a peculiar floating head exhibit, lol. Not real heads, gross :P There’s a very cool history of Scottish clothing exhibit that I loved...and a rather irritating women’s lib exhibit that, sadly, focused more on melodrama than on history, I left that one rather quickly. But overall, it was a great museum...small enough to get through quite quickly, but big enough so as not to be bored. Also, I was utterly proud of myself for spotting a Monet painting I’d never seen before from across the room, based on its style...I love Impressionism, but especially Monet. I enquired with the helpdesk about a specific painting and though they couldn’t help, they were all bending over backwards trying to help, which more than made up for it :) Lord knows I can be the queen of cultural and intellectual snobbery often enough, but I have to admit that to some extent, I love being laid back about both aspects...and I love to encounter others who are. The staff at the Kelvingrove were obviously very knowledgeable, but not at all stuck up. They could not have been friendlier or more helpful, offering very specific directions around the museum for different sections.

Eventually, having had my fill of the museum and the park outside, I got (what were very foolproof) walking directions back to the city centre from one of those uber-friendly museum staff members and headed toward the Willow Tea Rooms.

Lol, the tea room was okay…again, incredibly friendly staff and you share tables with strangers when it’s busy, which might be fun (but it wasn’t busy when I was there). From a historic aspect, they’ve left most of the original furniture from when Rennie Mackintosh built and designed the tea room over a hundred years ago...he designed several buildings in the city. So it’s a cool atmosphere, very old world and traditional.

But the strawberry sundae and lemon meringue slice I had were kind of gross, so the food isn’t really all that...though a girl near me (another American, funny enough) had the full afternoon tea, which at least looked lovely.

Settling my bill, I wandered back to the hotel, buying a cardigan I’d seen earlier on my way. I wasted a bit of time at the hotel, rather tired from all the sights and eventually headed to drinks and dinner at what I was told by several people is a Glasgow hang out, Ashton Lane. My eventual dinner destination was a Glasgow institution and an Ashton Lane establishment, The Ubiquitous Chip (usually just called The Chip)...but I bravely intended to wander around the lane first, possibly going elsewhere for drinks. Several people had told me that it’s a very social area and inhabited by the older end of the young crowd (read: people my age).

I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated when I arrived at (the very short!) Ashton Lane, which is littered with several bars and restaurants, and felt like a bit of a dork for being alone, lol. In retrospect, I wish I tried a bit more people watching, but after a couple drinks in the “corner bar” within The Chip, I headed upstairs to try my luck at impromptu dinner reservations...and I lucked out :) I was quickly seated in a lovely glass-roofed area called the Mezzanine that overlooked the downstairs and a small wine cellar and I settled in to order. The vegetarian haggis had been suggested as a starter by a friend and despite my usual menu-scrutinizing, I’d come to The Chip intending to have that as my starter and I barely looked at what else there was on offer. So I ordered that and, feeling I was on an adventurous roll, ordered the pigeon as my main (wrapped in bacon with a cream sauce)…I’d never had pigeon before, but was assured by the very cool sommelier that it was delicious. They have several half bottles of wine available on the wine list, which was a lovely surprise...whenever I eat alone, I’m often tortured by wine lists with extensive bottle sections, but only a choice or two to order by the glass, so this list was a lovely treat. Lol, ordering an entire bottle for oneself is tacky :P But being forced to pick a wine you don’t like simply because it’s the only choice is annoying. The sommelier was extremely fun and nice and suggested what turned out to be a fantastic red (sadly, I didn’t note what it was). Also sadly, I cannot for the life of me remember what I had for dessert, but I do remember that it was quite yummy...and I do remember that I had a glass of Muscat liqueur with it, which was a bit too sweet for my tastes. I was too stuffed to eat the petit fours they brought, but friendly wine guy wrapped them in this cute foil formation for me and I took them with me on my merry way.

So, with the mass quantities of alcohol I’d ingested, I was back at the hotel soon enough and, storing my foil formation in the minibar, I was asleep way too early Friday night and too soon, it was:

Day Three:

Again, awaking early, I was at breakfast at 9am, this time the creepiness was over and there were others in the breakfast room. After a (much better) breakfast of scrambled eggs and salmon, I headed out to grab a pastry (or two) at a bakery I’d seen on Thursday…to eat on the train to Edinburgh later. Lol, I saw another bakery on the way, so ended up with one pastry from each. Back to the hotel to get packed up and checked out and I said a sad goodbye to Glasgow, already planning to go back very soon.

I suppose it seems odd that I loved it so much, it’s not like it’s this famous city that everyone talks about...but there are at least a few fantastic restaurants, some great cultural spots, the people cannot possibly be nicer and it’s just so laid back. It’s like a mini-London without the chaos or the attitude. And again, it was really fun to be there as an American.

The details of the Edinburgh portion of the trip are to come, with a comically nightmarish end to the trip.

Turbulent Flights, Fashion Crises...and Scotland!

2008-05-20T13:22:00.002+01:00

I know I’ve been quiet...just busy and annoyingly tired, jet lag I suppose. My trip back to lovely America was mostly uneventful, I actually could have used a couple of extra days to shop, but oh well...lessons learned.

I have my heart set on a very specific pair of trainers to replace the ones I wrecked in the wash and though they sell them here and in the US, they’d have cost me half as much in the US. But alas, I couldn’t find them. Tragic but true. I did get a couple of cute dresses and a cardigan at my beloved US-only retailer Ann Taylor, so all is not lost. Oh and I finally got the champagne flutes for my crystal pattern, the one missing style among my collection, quite fitting for my Champagne collection…and the rest of my stuff is here in the UK! :D I’m just trying to get things organised with the moving company here, but hopefully everything will be in my possession soon.

My flight home was comically turbulent. The poor flight attendants had quite a time serving dinner and I was nearly wearing a glass of red wine at one point, when the flight attendant tried to pour some into my glass and a cloud hiccup rudely interrupted the process. My dinner roll wore the wine instead and whilst I’m an adventurous eater, a red wine-laced piece of bread seemed rather unappetising. I was given another roll and more wine promptly, but only a half full glass at my request! Red wine and clothes do not play well together. Note to self: in the future, white wine is better on turbulent flights. Duh. I’ve never been on a flight that violent and though I was mildly concerned about safety, I was more annoyed that it was delaying dinner and therefore reducing my sleep time. I know you’re all lining up for the pity party now, the line forms to the left ;)

But anyhoo, I’m back home now, on the island I love…and whilst I still love London, I am ridiculously excited at my next trip…to Scotland!

But before I get to that, in somewhat related news, I’ve decided that my flat is in a direly dangerous location. Far more dangerous than possible stabbings, muggings, etc…I’m a 3-4 minute walk from the money-draining mecca of Oxford Street. And with my upcoming trip as a good enough excuse to indulge in all the gorgeous spring dresses I’ve been seeing for weeks, I set off down the aforementioned Street of Despair on Sunday. I left my flat at 13:00, thinking that five hours was more than plenty of time to collect “enough” cute items. Not so, it seems...I indulged a bit again on the way home last night, today at lunch and I have *one* more stop on the way home tonight, because I’m a bit out of control ;) Whilst it’s not the only thing on my still-to-get list, I fell in love with a dress at a department store here in the UK…I saw it on their website and there it was, at the London store. Alas, though I loved it just as much in the dressing room, I decided it was too formal. In a most gut-wrenching move, I put it back on the rack and left the store.

So, the trip: on Thursday, I’m headed up to Glasgow for two days and then down to Edinburgh for two days before coming back to London...and, of course, I’m on holiday the day after I get back, because I can be ;) I am actually quite behind on using my holiday time and I’m foreseeing a rather long summer break for possibly no reason. We’ll see. It’s a hard life, I know…but yet somehow, I soldier on. I’m so strong…disrupted in-flight meals, unfinished shopping trips, unused holiday time…it really is a wonder how I cope sometimes.

Monday is a holiday on both sides of the Atlantic, except for Canada, who had to be different and difficult and be on holiday today instead. Whatever ;) But regardless, the bank holiday was the original motivation for the trip.

Anyway, back to my trip. I’ve heard nothing but good things from everyone about both cities and it’s funny…when I booked everything, I had myself going to Glasgow first because I figured Edinburgh would be more exciting and I didn’t want Glasgow to seem anti-climatic, so I put it at the beginning of the trip. But in the past few days, I’ve heard from several people that I’ll enjoy Glasgow more…and now I’m a bit bummed that I already bought the train ticket to Edinburgh on Saturday :)

However, using all this less-neurotic attitude I’ve built up living here, I’m also allowing that it’s really only a few ££ and if I really love Glasgow that much, I can stay longer and buy another ticket.

So, loosely, the trip includes copious amounts of seafood in both cities – something I’m told the Scots do quite well and something I very very much love. There will be random roaming and sightseeing in Glasgow, staying at a lovely-sounding hotel (I have access to the hotel lounge and there’s a free minibar in my room, woohoo!)...and perhaps I’ll even brave meeting a few of the locals. One of the things everyone has commented on is how friendly the Glaswegians are, compared to Edinburghonians (is that a word?) but also (more glaringly!) compared to Londoners. As much I love London, I’ve never warmed to the anonymity here, where you’re seen as complete loon for saying hello to a stranger on the street. But whilst I’m all into eating out alone these days, I’m not sure I’m brave enough to go to a bar alone, in order to meet these supposedly friendly locals. Plus, call me geeky, politically incorrect and old-fashioned, it seems slightly smarmy to go to a bar alone as a woman. We’ll see. My only exception to this rule is the bar at the Ritz in London, which is organised more like a restaurant than a bar.

My plans for Edinburgh are still as-yet-unplanned...actually, the whole trip is quite unplanned, but I did try to find stuff to do in Glasgow…not much in the way of events on the days I’ll be there. And I spent so much time doing that that I ran out of energy for Edinburgh research, lol. I feel so lax in my usual-neurotic planning, but aside from some planning I did way back when I booked everything, I’m afraid I’m terribly naive as to what there is to do in lovely Edinburgh.

There’s the castle, of course. The Edinburgh marathon is on Sunday and since I’ve never seen one, I’ll be curious to at least see all the fools take off ;) Other than that...who knows. Listening to the accents could possibly be plenty to keep me amused all weekend though ;) I have to say, I find the soft Scottish accent far more lovely than even the most posh English one.

In good and bad news, this is a crazy, albeit short, week at work…exhausting, but it's making the week go by quickly and I’ll feel quite deserved of a holiday by tomorrow evening. So, with my cocktail at the Ritz bar tomorrow night, followed by the Ritz tea to commence my trip, Wednesday at 17:30 can’t get here fast enough!

Off to the hinterland of America again (working title: “I don’t bounce very well anymore.”)

2008-05-06T15:55:00.003+01:00

Ok, firstly, I’ve received many condolences and expressions of alarm related to my fall…I’m okay!

My previous post was intended for comical relief, I’m not in catastrophic shape :D My hands are very nearly healed, my elbows and knees are close behind that…my knee is bearable and my foot…well ok, my foot still hurts. But it’s less purple, so there is that.

But in the department of breaking news, I’ve been usurped by she whom I inherited my clumsiness from – my mother. It seems she was rudely ousted from her steed whilst riding recently, launched through the air and then dumped unceremoniously in the dirt. In relating the story to me in email, she said:

“I don’t bounce very well anymore.”

Anymore?

I’ve spent the last week of my free time in geekville, reading philosophy and whatnot because quite simply, I’m a geek. A girly geek, but a geek nonetheless...I did spend a bit of time frolicking about Oxford Street yesterday, buying shoes and clothes, if that redeems me at all. But I digress.

So philosophically-minded as of late, I’m left to analyse the deep meaning of her sentence. “Anymore?” Was there a time in her life when she did bounce well? Is bouncing something we humans are good at or that we should aspire to? Kangaroos, yes. Tigger, yes. But humans? I somehow missed that memo and I'm really rather bummed. Bouncing sounds useful and, at the very least, kind of fun. I don’t know, I just know that she outdid me in the land of pain, she was carted off to casualty (the emergency room for you Americans – yes, the Brits call it “casualty.” Creepy, innit?). She’s okay apparently, loaded up on drugs, but not permanently maimed or anything. Well, except for the permanent loss of her bouncing abilities. But I suppose there are worse things.

I think I outdid her in the land of humiliation though, as she only had one witness to her clumsiness, whereas I had a whole park. Plus, she was launched through the air by a horse…an event quite out of her control. I was launched through the air by my own toe. Not quite the same from a victim perspective.

But whatever. My recovering clumsy self is off to Chicago tomorrow for a work trip…and I’m popping over to DC for exactly 48 hours of the weekend in honour of Mother’s Day. Hopefully, I’ll get to see some of you Washingtonian friends in the process…but at the very least, I intend to eat copious amounts of food :D A combination of both would be perfect…but I do need to stock up on the gross American foods I so miss: New York style pizza, Cinnabon, Cheesecake Factory, Taco Hell…my stomach hurts at the very thought, but it’s also very excited at the processed and congealed prospect of such goodies :D I'm not putting food above friends, really. I'm just saying, I like food. I love food. Will kill for food. Sorry, that last part was a bit much. Anyway.

Work is a bit of a disaster and I’m realising more and more that I desperately miss the poverty-stricken world of liberal arts and indulging in thought just for the sake of thought. What a life it would be to sit in Hyde Park all day, reading and philosophising. But such is life…I got greedy eight years ago, I 'm stuck with my silly MBA, I think I have to stomach a bit more of the corporate world for now. And I don’t think I miss the liberal arts world quite enough to give up my West End flat just yet ;)

In happier news, I'm still in love with life here, despite my recent (dwindling) homesickness...and despite looking forward to seeing everyone in DC, I'm more looking forward to next Tuesday, when I'll be back home in London :)

Um, Ouch and Duh

2008-04-25T10:38:00.001+01:00

It’s been a busy week so I’ve been quiet, but I have a funny tale to tell you, the latest in the life of accident-prone me.

Saturday morning, I rolled out of bed and after a somewhat leisurely breakfast, dragged myself out the door for my now-only-once-weekly run through Hyde Park.

As I was about 75% of the way from Speaker’s Corner, where I start, to Piccadilly, I was deep in thought daydreaming about running the bestest run there ever was, crowds were cheering, I was dying but persevering, you know, typical loser cheeseball mental motivation to try and ignore the increasingly agonising pain you’re currently in.

So there I was, running along, when all of the sudden, my left toes turned on the rest of me and tried to be all independent. It seems they were unhappy with our current route and, without consulting the rest of us, had decided to do something other than participate in the run.

To call the event that immediately followed this toe dissent a “fall” would be to use a word far too passive for what I actually did. I didn’t fall in mid-stride, I launched myself through the air.

As I tripped over the disobedient toes, I went flying through the air, landing simultaneously on my hands, elbows and knees…skidding for a few inches on the pavement before my grand finale of bonking my chin on the pavement. I just ooze grace and class, I’m telling you.

Taking stock of myself and deciding I was in 30% agonising pain and 70% utter humiliation, I looked up to see – to my relief – a typical Londoner reaction on the part of a woman nearby. She looked at me with disdain and walked off without so much as a word of pity. It was the first time I loved the anonymity of London. For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought I was going to escape the incident unnoticed. But since that whole interaction was, in reality, about three seconds, my glee was short-lived. A fellow runner, a woman, came racing over to see if I was okay and a gentleman who’d been on a leisurely walk insisted on helping me up and over to a bench. He produced a wad of tissues from his pocket and handed them to me, which led to my first sight of my mangled hands, which were somehow scraped and cut on both sides and were basically just bloody messes…with a few pieces of pavement thrown in for good measure.

It was about that time that the various points of destruction on my body began to throb in a manner I can’t really justify with words, but I’m a girl so I was still at about 30% pain/70% humiliation and was doing my best to assure the gentleman that I was just fine. Vanity always matters more than comfort :P My voice was shaking with that almost-crying tone, but I soldiered on.

The gentleman sat with me and chatted for a few moments and then we said our goodbyes and I hobbled home, with my run over before it had even really started and my ego a bit dented…I had myself a mini-cry and then spent the rest of the slow walk trying to ignore the increasing pain. But ego aside, it was very kind and very unLondonlike for the woman and the man to stop to help me and I greatly appreciated it.

Arriving home to take full stock of the damage, I discovered that my knees and elbows were in rather bad shape, even though they’d had trouser legs and sleeves to protect them…and so with vanity still in the forefront of my mind, I was back out the door to the drugstore for Bacitracin (Neosporin).

As any American knows, Neosporin is the miracle answer to all cuts and scrapes…it just heals everything nearly instantly and you don’t get ugly scars. It’s the best thing there ever was. But alas, upon requesting this miracle cream at my local drugstore, I was told it’s prescription-only here in the UK. They hand out Codeine like it’s candy, but I need a prescription for some skin cream? Mmkay.

Buying some over-the-counter antiseptic cream instead (which has served a useless purpose), I went on my way to wallow in my pain.

That pain kept me awake all night Saturday and Sunday nights and 6 days later, I’m pretty sure I also sprained my big toe/ball of my foot and did as-yet-unidentifiable damage to my knee. Basically, it hurts to walk and going up and down stairs is enough to make me want to poke my eyes out. But I’m too lazy to go make use of that free healthcare thing, so I’m ignoring all of it ;) I’m strong, it’ll all heal. I think.

I’ve taken the tube rather than my walk commute the last two times, but I instantly remembered why I hate the tube and so pain aside, I’m walking home tonight. Slowly and painfully, but I’m walking. There is no muscle pain in the world worth the hell of the tube during rush hour.

In other news, I’m having my very first pangs of homesickness. I still love London and I’m quite sure that my upcoming trip to Chicago for work will cure the pangs ;) But perhaps good old America isn’t that bad.

A weekend of the best boozing there is

2008-04-15T19:53:00.003+01:00

Well, to sum it up, I learned quite a bit about Champagne, had a great time and came back sufficiently stuffed on French food, carting 6 bottles of Champagne :)

Sadly, I jinxed my brain in talking about the camera in my last post and forgot the stupid thing in my room every single day. No pictures. I’m a loser. But there are pictures in general, taken by others (non-losers). But anyway, moving right along:

Day 1, Thursday:

Scurrying my way over to the St Pancras station from work, I made my way through the Eurostar check-in and found two of my four companions. It was soon time to board and the three of us made our way to our standard class seats, collectively and jokingly whining about how we all wished we’d sprung for Leisure Select…and it turned out that the remaining two members of our group were in the carriage already when we boarded.

A quick two hour train ride later and we were at Gare du Nord in Paris and disembarked from the train in search of our rental car…we were already collectively tired, from long weeks at work and the fact that with the time change and a two hour drive still ahead of us, it was already nearly 10pm.

After what felt like an hour later, we’d gone to the wrong parking garage, back to the station and were finally in the correct garage, in the car and on our way to Reims. But alas, we got horribly lost in Paris and through a combination of my printed Multimap directions and the handy GPSesque functionality of the iPhone one of my tripmates owns, we finally got out of Paris….cheering loudly as we climbed the entrance ramp to the highway – a ramp we had come to call the vortex :) We got lost again in Reims and it was nearly 1am by the time we were settled in the hotel. And though we exercised impressive amounts of self-control, I think we all wanted to behead each other by the time it was over.

Despite my standing hotel snobbery, I must say that the Holiday Inn Express in Reims is quite lovely…our beds were extremely comfortable, with big fluffy duvets, the rooms were not tiny and the shower was quite powerful…and when you get all that and free breakfast for €70/night (and air miles!), you can’t really complain.

Day 2, Friday:

After a semi-night’s sleep, we all met back up over breakfast in the hotel and after a few jokes about having wanted to kill each other the previous night, we sufficiently carbed ourselves up for a bit of wine tasting, and set off on foot for our 10am tour of the Lanson Champagne house. I highly recommend this tour, as it’s quite informative and interesting…but I’d suggest you go on Monday through Thursday. Sadly, we would have watched the actual assembly line production of the champagne, but the workers only work Monday through Thursday, so we just saw the inactive equipment instead. But still, it was impressive to see the equipment…and even more fun at the end of the tour when we sampled a glass :D I bought two bottles, one each of the classic blend and the rose. Pink champagne is the greatest thing ever invented…I’d never seen it before I moved to the UK, but it’s all the rage here. It’s pink and it’s champagne, does life get better than that?

With tour #1 of the weekend down the hatch, we wandered off in search of lunch. I’m sad to say that with my lack of energy as of late, I didn’t do nearly as much research as I usually do for trips…and though I did have a list of possible restaurants, it wasn’t that well thought out and it wasn’t very long.

When one of my tripmates poo pooed my first suggestion because she thought it too pricey, we ended up around the corner at Le Gaulois, which appeared to me to be some cheesy chain restaurant/pub. But, swallowing my snobbery in the interest of group peace, I followed everyone inside and counted this as a wasted meal.

But, when the salad I’d ordered came, I stood corrected. It was this enormous work of art, with smoked salmon, foie gras, caviar and bacon, all piled on top of very green greens. My wine and my dessert of whipped cream and raspberry sorbet were equally delicious and after settling the “addition,” (the bill), we went our separate ways for a 30 minute break and I did a little window shopping. Regrouping at the cathedral, we set off for tour #2 at Veuve-Cliquot, on the other side of town.

This tour was slightly shorter and more about the history of the house and the brand than about the actual production, but we did hear some of the same explanations again and we all agreed that hearing it again made the details make more sense…and then, at the end, we got to sample more champagne…the best part! Interestingly, we tried the same champagne in two different ways: first, just poured from the just-uncorked bottle, as you usually do. But then we tried a second glass, from a bottle that the sommelier had decanted. None of us had ever heard of or thought to decant champagne, it looked like beer in the decanter, but it did taste differently than the first glass. I thought it was much stronger, which seems counterintuitive, but I still think it did. They gave us little cups of (blissfully fresh) fruit salad and sweet caramely crisps and after we finished our glasses, we headed off on our way. No one bought a bottle because whilst the Veuve champagne wasn’t unpleasant, it wasn’t that fantastic either.

It was late afternoon/early evening by then and we parted ways again with plans to meet in two hours for dinner. Three of us ended up in a café, sipping champagne for awhile and then we went back to the hotel for a bit of solo vegging.

I pulled out my restaurant list again for dinner and with a higher price point agreed upon for dinner, we chose a place from my list and went on our way. As we walked to the restaurant, one of the two men on the trip saw a window of pastries at nearly the same moment I did…and we expressed shared foodie glee at the beauty of them. With plans to go back the next day to devour several of them, we went off to dinner at the Brasserie du Boulingrin. Thankfully, my ego redeemed itself and one of my choices was, in fact, a winner. The French eat quite late and our 7:30 dinner plans made us one of the first to arrive for the evening. By the time we departed at 11pm, the restaurant was packed. The service was impeccable, our server was funny and knowledgeable and the food was plentiful and heavenly. I’d realised I was with my kind of people when the same tripmate who’d seen the pastries was mumbling about what he was going to have for his four courses…’four courses?’ I thought. Oh happy day! And we did…we had two starters each ;) We shared two bottles of champagne and about a half a bottle of wine each. I tried my first raw oyster and had a delicious rest of my meal, all 4 courses of it ;)

I don’t think I need to say that I’m not a picky eater by any means…but I do have a few avoidances. Raw oysters (though I’ve long since loved them fried or in stew), veal, haggis, black pudding…just things I’ve deemed very weird that should not be called food. Oh and peanut butter. I love peanuts, loathe peanut butter. It’s messy, slimy and weird. But, I digress. Per the insistence of my companions and the fact that I was mellowed out on wine, I tried a raw oyster from the platter they’d been sharing. And it was delicious…they created a monster and for the rest of the weekend, we ordered them again and again and I happily partook of them :) Rolling ourselves home, we made reservations at another place we passed for Saturday dinner. Even with my newfound appreciation for the area food, I was silently wary of our choice…it looked obnoxiously modern and trendy and they spelled Bistro “bistrot.” But regardless, we called it a night and parted ways to our rooms.

Day 3, Saturday:

I woke up with a wee hangover and dragging my old and achy self out of bed, I got ready for the day and met everyone again over breakfast. The other gentleman on the trip, who’d been silent about last night’s pastries, had gone out early to our beloved pastry shop and had a pastry for each of us. I thanked him profusely and devoured mine immediately and we left the uneaten ones with reception, for later consumption. Our 10am appointment was at Ruinart and after a short production-style tour, we were given our beautiful samples. As we sipped them, we commented on the extreme clean and crisp taste of this particular one…it was really lovely. And we were treated to a free second glass of the rose, which we were meant to pay €4 each to enjoy. We were all keen to purchase bottles of the first one we’d tried and though we knew it was the premium label, it wasn’t until I checked the price list that we realised why the champagne was quite so lovely. €198/bottle. Oh my. The tour fee had been quite a bit higher at this house than the first two and we were mildly perturbed until we realised that we’d tried really nice champagne twice, all included in that supposedly hefty price. Though I passed on buying a bottle, two of my companions did and we set off for a somewhat hurried search for lunch, as we had another tour in just 2.5 hours.

Given yesterday’s luck on food and my usual neurosis about being late, I didn’t bother with my list and just agreed with everyone else that we head in the direction of tour #2 and find a place to eat on the way…though I was still wary of the bistrot. But, it seemed difficult to find bad food in this lovely little town, so in a thought most unlike me, I just figured that where ever we went, it would be good food.

In a 10 second discussion, we agreed upon a brasserie we wandered across and as we walked in, with one of our French speakers requesting a table for five, a jovial looking man clapped his hands at a young woman sitting at a large table, summoning her to “move it!” (in French). She was obviously an employee or a daughter and we all laughed and sat at the table she’d just vacated.

It was, again, a lovely meal…and the staff, obviously a family, were lovely. I cannot believe that I can’t remember what I had for lunch, it’s so very unlike me not to remember food ;) But I do remember my dessert – a raspberry tart that was just delicious and perfect.

And so, with more delicious food and wine behind us, we set off for tour #2 of the day…a small house that we’d chosen at random on Friday afternoon - G.H. Martel. This one included a film and – since they no longer produce their champagne in the city proper – we saw the equipment that was used in the 19th century, which added a new dimension to an explanation that was becoming a bit repetitive and old to all of us ;) Soon, it was time for the best part…sampling. I purchased a bottle each of the classic and the rose…it was lovely champagne, but I bought it mostly because a quick Google search on the lovely iPhone told us that you can’t get the brand at all in the UK…so I bought it mostly for momento purposes.

With Saturday’s educational portion behind us, we parted ways for a bit of solo time and I wandered rather aimlessly, heading in the general direction of the beloved pastry place we’d seen the night before. Yes, yes, I’d tasted one of them, but I wanted to see what else they had :P

I got lost (duh) and happened upon another pastry shop first…where I bought the only thing I could completely recognise – no one in the shop spoke English. A framboisine…a big blob of whipped cream, delicious raspberries and a little pastry base. Fruit and cream gets me every time. It’s just heaven. I ate it as I walked and was soon in front of my original destination. Well, after nearly getting run over by cars several times, but I did get there. I bought a little mini strawberry mousse cup, which I also ate while I walked and, yay me for moderation, decided not to eat again until our 8pm dinner plans.

We arrived at the bistrot at promptly 8pm and when they directed us to a table for 6, we made ourselves comfortable…only to be reprimanded shortly thereafter by a freaky French girl because she meant the table next to it, the one for 4 people. As we scrunched ourselves around it, one of our French speakers politely pointed out our close quarters…and we were met with a universal “tough” shrug. Okie dokie then. When the party for the table for six finally arrived, we were somewhat comforted…there were eight of them ;)

When we enquired as to what the starter and mains of the day were, freaky girl gave us a peculiar wide-eyed duuuuuuh look. It wasn’t a language issue…she just didn’t know what we were talking about, even after we pointed the words “entrée du jour” on the menu. Things were not going well, but we were at least extremely amused. She did finally come back with the specials and we each ordered as we’d done Friday night: 4 courses each, a bottle of champagne to start and 3 bottles of other wines to share later. She brought the champagne and our (yay) oyster platter – our first course – properly. But then she came back immediately, plopped our three “later” wines on the table, uncorked them and left. Oooookaaaaay. So, I took the bottle that fellow pastry lover and I would be sharing and handed it to him to let him do the tasting honours and pouring…because whilst that’s still not the correct form of things, it was at least second best :/ Comically, due to our close quarters, pastry lover had the champagne and the red we were sharing on the floor between us.

We decided that with the buggy eyes and the just “duh”ness, that she was on something. What, exactly, we shall never know. The oysters, at least, were fantahbulous. But whilst we were all on our first or second oyster each (out of 5 each), she came up with our second courses. Um, no lady. Thankfully, both of our French speakers politely clarified that we weren’t ready for those, seeing as it had been like 4 minutes since our first course had arrived and with that, freaky girl left again…still confused.

When she came back later with the second courses, we were ready for them and mine was delicious…a prawn and cheese casserole of some sort. And for my main, I tried veal for the first time. It was okay, a bit bland compared to a steak, but I didn’t dislike it…and the sauce and gnocchi it came with were mediocre, I’m sad to say. My dessert was equally mediocre, but c’est la vie.

We paid the addition, bid adieu to buggy-eyed freaky girl and called it a night.

Day 3, Sunday:

The last day and we met at our usual time, ate breakfast, checked out of the hotel and departed via our car to Epernay, the other large town in Champagne and it was sort of on the way back to Paris. We had a 10:45am tour at Moet et Chandon, which is in Epernay and is one of the few houses that offers tours on Sundays. But we were toured out by Sunday…and when the lady went on and on about how champagne is made, all we heard was “blah, blah, blah.” But then we got to the sampling…and tasted this heavenly 2000 vintage, one each of the classic and the rose…and we each bought bottles as we left.

With a “small” lunch at a random café with portions both tastier and way larger than we expected, we decided we’d had enough of the Champagne region and decided to go back to Paris early to ditch the car and have an early dinner in Paris.

I’d mentioned to my companions earlier in the weekend that I had a rule with Paris, that I was saving it for romantic purposes…but I didn’t want to be the naysayer, so off we went. And I’m here to tell you, our Parisian oysters were lovely, our quick dinner was really lovely, but it was sad. I don’t think I can go back to Paris again until it's for romance…it’s just too depressing otherwise. And it was only 3 hours…so technically, I’ve never been to Paris :D

Soon enough, it was time to head back and we caught our train, said our goodbyes and went to our London abodes.

And, as a very cool aside of living in London: it is possible to leave London on Friday night, without leaving work early, spend the weekend in Paris, leaving early Monday morning, arriving back to London and to work on time. I’ll file that away under future romantic hopes ;)

All in all, it was a lovely way to spend a weekend, but I’m glad to be back home. I was exasperated and gleeful, in that order, upon my arrival home to discover: that my door will not close and that my TV is fixed.

There was a day 4 for me of course, a day of recovering and relaxation that I can afford because of my lovely five weeks of holiday time :) But all I really did was relax, enjoy the TV that is working again and, lol, call the estate agent to report the door problem. And lest you worry that I’m frolicking about with a door ajar, the handyman came last night and fixed it enough that if I lock myself in, it will close. He’s coming back tonight to properly fix it. Fingers crossed that the omen of home repair is soon behind me.

The dresses will have to wait until another day and I'm not telling the world where they are until I do my shopping. Neiner neiner. But I will tell a certain specific reader :D

Champagne, the place and the liquid

2008-04-10T11:20:00.001+01:00

Well kids, I'm off to France this evening - shooting out the door from work a few minutes early to catch the 18:32 Eurostar with my friends.

We'll get to our hotel in Champagne at - we think - nearly midnight and starting tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we'll drink champagne, tour vineyards, eat real French food and take in the sights...and I'm ever so excited that with my mountain of annual holiday time, I'm off Monday. So, when I drag myself back through my (still TVless) door at probably midnight Sunday night, I can just drop everything and sleep in. And, much as I love the friends, I have my own hotel room...so I won't go on people overload.

The week is looking both up and down. I'll be all optimistic and whatnot and go with the good news first:

I got my phone topped up. So there's that at least.

I'd lamented just this past Sunday at brunch about having seen this really cute dress in a store window one day on my way to work...but having completely spaced out on where I saw it. I hadn't noticed it again and I really wanted the dress, but it seemed a tragic loss, as the retailers change the window displays all the time ;) Well, yesterday morning, lo and behold, there it was. It's almost pathetic how gleeful I was to see it...and it's very reasonable price tag. When I got to work yesterday, I popped onto the store's website, having quickly decided I'd buy it on my way home, only to discover that there are like 10 other equally/more so cute dresses inside. Oh dear. Too many decisions I was just too tired to make. I decided I'll do that on Monday, when I'm having my TVless relaxing day :P

Plus, in my usual mode of "holidays mean calories don't matter," I had long-awaited plans to buy a few of the gorgeous pastries at the John Lewis food hall on the way home last night, to have for breakfast this morning. But with the oh-so-fun British opening hours, I knew that since they closed at 20:00, the pastries would be clearing out by 19:00 or so. So, it was better for food procuring purposes that the dress excursion wait, because the dress store was much earlier on the route than John Lewis.

But then, the very nice engineer who'd fixed my fridge when I first moved in called and wanted to come by at 18:30 last night to fix the washer, per my urgent request to the estate agent. That meant I'd have to race home and delay the food hall...leaving it dangerously close to being pastry-less ;) He fixed my washer and really quite quickly and I ran (literally) the half mile back to John Lewis.

I'm sad to say that most of the pastries were gone. But I've filed that away as a good Monday breakfast, so it's not a tragedy. I did score a strawberry fondant thingie and a lemon/orange muffin. Plus, I stopped at Selfridges on the way home and got some additional yummy pastries. I am, shall we say, not hungry right now :P But I've actually saved the muffin and one of the pastries for later. Yay me for exercising, you know, moderation :P

I hope I don't actually have to do this particular washer repair in the future...but I watched him fix it, I asked him how to do it, and I could fix it on my own next time, if I really had to. Ah, single life, such fun. There was a teeny-weeny chunk of material stuck in the pipe. That was the culprit.

But I'm cranky this week and there is, of course, a downside to this. I couldn't stand that my packing was being left to the last minute, so I packed Tuesday night with clothes I don't love but that were clean. And I just wasn't up to waiting to do all my loads last night, after the washer was back up and running, so that I could repack.

So, my suitcase is sitting next to me, filled with clothes I don't love. Oh well.

So now, the bad news, that I've really already mentioned: still no TV. Argh. Oh well. To be dealt with when I get back.

I am still - and more so - frustrated with decisions of other people...increasingly cynical about the world as time goes on, but such is life.

I'm a horrible human being and I know I've still not posted any pictures of any of my trips. But, the camera is going on the trip and um, I'll try to post pictures? Is that good enough? :)

Life, Unglued

2008-04-08T10:05:00.002+01:00

My whole life is falling apart at the seams and I have to tell you, this perturbs me just slightly.

So, my TV still does not work, despite the very friendly owner of my flat calling me yesterday afternoon to direct me to the building maintenance guy, who assured me that everything was fixed and that when I arrived home that evening, I should have TV reception back. So, I hung up, warily unconvinced and set off to go home for the day.

Whilst speaking to these two gentlemen, I got a notification that my pay-as-you-go phone needed topping up, desperately. But the online and phone top-up systems are both broken, so now I have to find time and energy in my week to go to an actual store and top-up my phone. This is where I'm mad at myself for my laziness....eight months of living here and I still have a tourist phone. But still, it's supposed to be easy to top the stupid thing up.

Of course, you should always trust your instinct – I was right, the TV still doesn’t work. I really should just get cable, but given that I pay £135 a year just to HAVE a TV, I feel obligated, on mere principle, to stick with Freeview. But the aerial issues in my building are making that quite difficult. So, I’ve been enjoying the very very nice Bang & Olufsen stereo that’s built into my flat…but this is 2008, the radio will only take you so far in life. I’m American. I need my TV. Plus, I chose the classical station and thereby launched myself into uber-introspection, which is really never a good thing.

Moving right along, however, I reasoned that this will be a busy week with the Champagne trip this week-end and that I really didn’t have time to watch TV anyway. Except, it was bugging me that my usual standing plan to come back from holidays to a clean and organised flat, with functional appliances, was being thrown off course. Since I depart on Thursday evening, in all likelihood, I still won’t have TV when I get back on Sunday night. And my day of relaxation on Monday will be more one of whinging in my head about the lack of TV.

Anyway, so I motivated myself to stop obsessing about the TV and start the first of five loads of laundry…part of my plan not to be up all night Wednesday night, doing the laundry and packing thing. And that was when I realised that on Sunday, when I stopped at the grocery store and remembered that I was out of shower gel and most food types, I forgot that I was out of laundry detergent. Ugh.

The thing about city life and walking everywhere is that the idea of walking 3 streets to the store is just too much effort once you’ve arrived home for the evening. But, faced with the alternative of throwing my carefully planned week off kilter if I didn’t go, I started the first load of laundry with the scraps from the bottom of the nearly empty box of detergent and went on my way.

The closest grocery store to me is the food hall at M&S…M&S being a bit of a British institution. But, being the food snob that I am, I rarely go there…I usually go a bit further to Waitrose or, more often these days, to a million different boutique stores to get what I have convinced myself is the very best. But, I decided that M&S was good enough for laundry detergent and actually forced myself to enjoy the fact that my 3 street trek was done in daylight, at well after 19:00. It’s still freakishly cold, but at least it’s not dark.

Sadly, upon arriving at the food hall, I discovered they didn’t have the detergent I’ve been using ever since I moved here…all they had was some upscale looking lavender-scented box. Now, I love lavender and I love fru-fru things, but I’m quite neurotic about laundry detergents, because using the wrong one could ruin my whole wardrobe.

But I was tired, it looked safe enough, so I bought it and trudged home. Upon arriving home, I discovered that the washer was paused in time, mid-cycle…I decided not to care for the time being and reset it. And so, when it behaved itself the second time around, I loaded the second load…nearly every single white item I own, it’s been a busy week :P

So, four attempts later and MORNING has arrived and my clothes are – as we speak – being held hostage in a defective washing machine. It refuses to drain. And since most/all washing machines here are front-loading, it’s locked and won’t let me get my stuff out. I’m somewhat hopeful that I’ve just clogged my sink and I think they share a pipe, so if I unclog the sink, all will be well. But I’m more convinced that this is yet another aspect of the fact that my life is falling apart. And regardless, my week is already off-track. I have to finish my stupid laundry tonight. After I stop to top-up my phone and get drain unclogging stuff that is.

So, backtracking slightly…I did not sleep last night. Literally at all, I think. There are about 20 minutes I can’t account for, so perhaps I fell asleep for those 20 minutes. But basically, I just laid awake all night, staring at the ceiling and pondering my pathetic existence. I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately, frustrated with the general idiocy of the universe, and perhaps it’s catching up with me. Or perhaps I actually have a full blown licence to whinge right now and the reason I can’t sleep is that life is just being rather unfair to me at present. Whatever the reason, I would very much appreciate it if somehow my week could improve. Or at the very least not get worse. I have no washing machine, I have no TV, I have almost no phone and I can't sleep. What's next, my heat?

I’m the organiser for this Champagne trip – God help us all – and I fear that major crankiness will ensue for the weekend if things don’t stop falling apart. And the four lovely people I’m travelling with deserve a companion who doesn’t hate the universe. Ugh.

Snow!

2008-04-06T19:51:00.004+01:00

Dear Mother Nature:

You seem a bit confused as to the date, so I'd like to help you out:

1) We set our clocks forward last week-end. I do realise we were slow compared to the hyper Americans, but we like to relax and savour the here and now, they like to get on with tomorrow. That's our collective British excuse. Regardless, it's nearly 20:00 as I type and it is not quite dark out yet.

2) Today's date is: 6 April 2008. Or 6/4/08. Or 4/6/08, should you happen to be American.

3) This is London. I'm meant to have already survived my first British winter. I was told all winter that it doesn't snow in London and, of course, I didn't see snow here all winter. It certainly should not be snowing in April because April=spring. Snow=winter.

In summary, you halfwitted wench, your dumping of that pretty white stuff on and off all day today was a gross error in timekeeping. DUH. It's April lady, what's with the snow?!

Ok, we now return you to your regularly scheduled blog. I woke up this morning gleeful to be meeting a friend for a sinfully delicious brunch and as I made myself a cup of coffee, not quite awake yet, I was utterly perplexed to see big, beautiful white flakes of snow falling outside my kitchen window. I was actually momentarily mesmerised by the falling flakes, as I love snow when I can watch it from inside. But suddenly, my brain went "wait, what?!"

Friday was beautifully warm and sunny, a balmy 17C. Several weeks ago, my officemates and I agreed happily amongst ourselves to have a radio on all day, and whilst I usually enjoy the music and tolerate the idiotic DJs, Friday's DJ was at the top of my you-know-what list. Because at every break, she reminded us how lovely it was outside currently, but added that it would get "very cold and might even snow!" over the weekend. I was increasingly perturbed by the insistence on the coming cold, but I chalked her snow talk up to craziness. It doesn't snow in London. Oh how wrong I was.

An hour after the snow sighting, dressed for Siberia, except for my undying insistence on wearing skirts and the accompanying stockings, I set off toward Soho for brunch. The pretty and big flakes had turned to a wet, yet still snowy, goop. I was recently told that a block is called a street here...how I hadn't already figured that one out I don't know, but anyway, 2 streets away from my flat, I lost feeling in my toes and began pondering my pathetic existence.

I had picked our venue myself and by accident, it was almost directly on my work route, so I didn't get lost (yay). Having lost all feeling in my entire body by about minute 12 of the 40 minute walk, I decided to look at the positive. Nothing is open on Sunday mornings in London, very little opens at all on Sundays. But at 10am on a Sunday, the streets are blissfully quiet and lovely and though I was, you know, dying from hypothermia with every step, I forced myself to take in the loveliness of London, because no one else was around to take away from the loveliness. I stopped to look in store windows, I looked around at side streets...I took in the surroundings I see everyday and don't even notice.

When I arrived for brunch, my friend was already there...and due to the confused snow, I could barely open my frozen jaw enough to greet her. Anyway, a delicious plate of Eggs Royale and great company later, I was thawed out and ready for my trek home. A trek that, true to urban living, involved stopping at various stores on the way home. And true to the quirky Sunday opening hours in the UK, I had to stand and wait for several minutes for the grocery store to open. Hypothermia was quickly returning. Plus, there was some "weird parade" going down Oxford Street on my way home, which was anti-climactic to my quiet walk earlier.

I wish I could tell you I'm smart enough to have called it a day at that point. But, I'm not. Or at least, I'm food-obsessed enough to withstand painful cold in order to procure food. And also, I'm too stubbornly set on walking everywhere to take the tube. So, I stopped at my flat long enough to deposit the goods I'd procured walking home from brunch and to spend a few moments thawing out again. During my thawing out, I learned via my radio that the "weird parade" was the Olympic torch being carried through London. Oops, I missed a rather big historic moment. I really hate that. Oh well. Sufficiently thawed out, I set off for Harrods to get some chocolates for my trip to Champagne next weekend (more to come on the trip later in the week). It had to be Harrods because they're the closest vendor of Neuhaus chocolates and Neuhaus has these heavenly strawberry jam filled dark chocolates. So, I bought a sinful amount of those, a few cherry truffles from Charbonnel et Walker and a few champagne truffles from the plain old Harrods counter. Yum.

So, shortly after 16:00, I had scored my chocolates and was finished torturing myself with the snow, settling into my cozily warm flat for the rest of the day. I barely have TV, something dreadful happened to the aerial on Tuesday, but hey, I can feel my toes, so that counts for something, right? It's the little things in life.

A very posh night out

2008-03-28T12:22:00.006Z

I had the most lovely evening that ever was on Wednesday night…it might even outdo the heavenly spa weekend.

I had the opportunity to enjoy cocktails and dinner at the Royal Automobile Club (RAC), with a very lovely gentleman. And no, it wasn’t a date, it was a just a plain old lovely evening.

But, as my friend and I were making plans for drinks, he suggested the RAC, as he was a member. I didn’t really know much about its existence at that point, but it seemed easy enough, so I said sure, that would be great.

Being Ms. Google-It, I went on a quest to educate myself. And what I found was impressive. The Royal Automobile Club, I found, is a country club. Well, a gentleman’s club – in the TRADITIONAL sense of the phrase’s meaning, not the smarmy one, thank you very much. It’s the city version of a country club, basically. I found all kinds of interesting articles on the history of these clubs…and in the process learned that the RAC is one of the more exclusive and expensive ones.

To peruse the website, you’ll find that gentlemen are required to wear tailored suits. Ladies are required to dress in according formality. There is a ladies sitting room, where tea and sandwiches are served. I may be wrong, but I don’t think women may go to the cocktail bar alone. A rule some of you probably find annoying, but one I find really endearing…it looked like the quintessential old England that we Americans drool over, the quintessential old England that I love dearly.

Now, I’m certainly not working class – I grew up in a comfortable environment and I’ve dabbled in the uber-posh world on several occasions…but I don’t spend my days shopping in Mayfair and though I’ve dined at some of the more exclusive venues in London, I wouldn’t call myself posh.

But. I do know “how to act,” as it were. I know what to do when there are 8 million utensils on the table in front of me. I know to use a softer and more feminine tone of voice in those instances, I knew how to dress, given the dress code described above. I’ve never been intimidated by the posh and I’ve never really felt like I’m not supposed to be there. I’ve always loved the surroundings and the epicurean in me always wishes I were living that life all the time.

So, when my friend and I finalised our plans on Tuesday evening, I was even more intrigued and impressed when he asked me to ensure that my mobile was turned off before I arrived. “Strict club rules,” he said. And also that I needed to take my coat to the cloakroom as soon as I arrived, as you aren’t allowed to be wandering around with your overcoat.

But suddenly, I was a little intimidated. I was to drop my coat and meet him at the bar, but I dreaded that someone would stop me, asking who on earth I was. And my only answer would bring to the forefront that I am not, in fact, posh. I'd have to convince them that I was meeting a member at the bar, possibly unsuccessfully. Ugh. So, imagine my relief and glee when, having gotten lost on the way (of course) and sent him a text, he was waiting for me outside, looking down the street for me.

Coat deposited, phone off, we retreated to a beautiful lounge and sat in giant plush chairs, sipping Gin & Tonics and munching on cashews and olives (which were mercifully pitted). Well, I was munching very very carefully. I’d asked beforehand that we leave dinner up in the air, with my neurotic dieting ever in the background and my food-obsessed weekend last weekend, I intended to forgo the probably-fattening dinner and just have drinks. And really, those cashews and olives were verboten as well.

But, after I’d been savouring this beautiful environment and our pleasant chat for awhile – and the drinks, of course – he asked if I was up for dinner. Well, I may be dieting, but come on. The place was gorgeous and calories be damned, I wasn’t about to pass on what had to be an equally lovely dinner. Truth be told, I’d peeked at their menu on the website. So I smiled and said that dinner would be lovely.

So, we moved on to the dining room, where the host seated us in more plush giant chairs. Shortly thereafter, a server came up to me carrying a fluffy pillow, covered in upholstery that matched the chairs exactly.

“These chairs are often too large for ladies, would you like a pillow for your back?”

Why, yes, yes I would. Heaven.

So, with a heartfelt thank you, I accepted the pillow and savoured this new and even more beautiful room. The dining room, it seems, is my friend’s favourite room – and I can see why. My art knowledge fails me on the official style, but it’s much the same style as the Ritz – with ornate paintings and crown moulding on the walls and ceiling.

We shared a bottle of a very delicious and sweet, but not too sweet white wine. My friend did tell me what it was, but I’ll have to ask him to remind me, as I’ve forgotten. But, I was lamenting at one point on the difficulty I always have in food and wine matching and he summoned the sommelier...who gave me a lengthy, friendly, enthusiastic and helpful explanation as to the how and why of food and wine matching.

The dinner menu was slightly different than what was on the website, but equally delicious looking.

We started with amuse-bouches of smoked salmon, avocado and crème fraiche. Well, I did. He’s allergic to fish, so didn’t touch his. Oops. And no, I did not eat his too, that’s not ladylike :P

For my starter, I had lobster risotto, with basil truffle oil and prawns (he had an asparagus dish of some sort, but I was too busy chatting and enjoying my own fantastic starter to catch much else of it)

For my main, I had pan-seared halibut with potatoes and crab, with a basil and saffron cream sauce. Also ridiculously delicious. My friend had suckling pig, which looked equally divine.

Next up was a tiny chocolate mousse parfait with candied cherries…it’s killing me that I can’t recall the proper name for this course, but there is one. It’s intended to cleanse your palate before dessert.

For dessert, I had lemon cheesecake with a blackcurrant coulis and a chocolate sliver perched on top. My friend had what was a much larger portion of cream filled crepes…and at his insistence, I had a half a crepe ;) Both desserts were pure, utter heaven.

Lastly, we had cappuccinos and petit fours – a selection of chocolates that gave a perfect ending to an absolutely perfect meal.

We were one of only two tables still occupied, so my friend glanced at his watch – 11:30!! We were both shocked at how fast the time flew by, we’d been there for 5 hours. After he collected our coats, he hailed a taxi for me and after many thank yous, back to reality I went.

All in all though, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening. Perfect conversation, perfect setting and perfect food and drink. I love this city.