Hot Time in Rome

The past few days are almost too much to blog about, but we are going to give it a try. I say "we" since John is joining me in the editorial department since he is on holiday (that's vacation, if you are a yank).

When you fly from Heathrow Airport on an intra-European flight it’s a different experience than flying to the US. The shops are smaller and simpler. There really is no duty free. There also aren’t any lush spaces to relax and begin a journey. John likes to stop, have a nice meal and drink a glass of wine. He prefers a certain bistro in Terminal 3, but there is no branch in Terminal 2. As we wound our way through the airport we finally found luxury. It was ridiculous, but we decided to stop at a caviar-teria to have a nosh and something to drink. What better way to depart England for Italy?

Our Alitalia flight was uneventful. The airline and its planes are looking tired and worn. The flight was late and the supposedly "luxurious" in-flight service didn’t really materialize. When we retrieved our luggage, John’s bag had a strange tag on it. It said something along the line that the airline and airports take no responsibility for lost or damaged articles. More on this later…

We had arranged for a car to meet us and take us to our hotel. We booked a room at the Hotel Campo de’ Fiori online, sight unseen, and had no idea what to expect. It is hot in Rome and John does not tolerate the heat. He has more patience for Republicans! We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived to find a charming place with air conditioning and an elevator. The hotel continues to be pleasant, clean and well run. It is centrally located in Rome’s historical district, halfway between the Vatican City and the Roman Forum. And it’s just off a square that will play a central role in this blog.

Il brutto americano

Many Americans who travel come up against both the myth and the reality of the Ugly American. Americans abroad are often seen as unsophisticated, rude, arrogant and otherwise crude. This is somewhat unfair. Many Americans make their way through the capitals and small cities of the world with deference and appreciation while people of other nationalities often stand out as insensitive and rude. However, we cannot deny that the Ugly American exists and insists on being seen and heard. Over the years we have overheard phrases like: "How much is this in real money?" or "Who do you think invented democracy?"

On Monday evening we lived through one of the most shocking moments of Ugly Americanism possible. We were sitting at an outdoor table at a restaurant on the Campo de’ Fiori enjoying a wonderful meal. A very blond and very bland American family was seated near us. The father was immediately rude to the waiter, demanding water, olive oil and bread for his sons. As we heard bits and pieces of the conversation our ears became sharp as spears and the family didn’t seem bland any longer. At one point they were discussing Roman history and their single frame of reference was the movie Gladiator. While that film does a reasonable job of portraying the lives of gladiators and the bloody games the ancient Romans adored, it does take great liberties with history and has to be taken with a grain of salt. It was sad not to hear a single reference to a book, play, novel or historical document about Rome. The real shock came later as the family discussed their trip to the Vatican earlier in the day. One of the three sons asked his father (the mother rarely spoke up) if the Cardinals of the church still reported to the Jews. The father answered yes. He explained that the Catholic Church in Rome is and has always been a vehicle for the Jews to control the world and that is why the evangelicals left the original church. Who knew Hitler had spawn?

Sitting along side us was another American family: a father and daughter. They were clearly estranged by divorce or maybe separated by physical distance. Was he visiting her or was she visiting him? I don’t know. They tried, however. The father attempted Italian and the daughter tried to be interested in her father. They ate. They left. Nothing was settled. Location doesn’t always make a difference.

The Campo

The Campo de’ Fiori offers some great things. Six days a week there is a morning market with wonderful fresh fruit, cheese, meats, spices and oils. There are numerous cafes and restaurants lining the square. There is a wine bar called Vineria Reggio. Called "the coolest bar in the campo" by one of our guidebooks, this place has the most amazing collection of wines by the bottle or glass. You can also buy a bottle to take away. But you can’t buy drinks in bottles after 8 pm Friday through Sunday.

In the evening the campo is filled with street performers and musicians plying their trade. Some of the music is not bad, but the repertoire is a bit limited. One saxophone player only seems to know "My Way" and "Over the Rainbow." The star of the square was a teenage violin player with some skill and style. He was also able to belt a song (but day 3 of "O Sole Mio" was enough). We made sure we tipped him every evening and were soon greeted with a hello when we crossed the plaza.

Una donna perduta

All of our time in the campo has been shadowed by a homeless woman. She is perhaps around 60 years old, but might be younger. She is heavy set, gray, ruddy and dressed in a blue and white striped muumuu. She is in some strange way a personification of Italy. She doesn’t beg. She doesn’t perform. She is. People bring her food and water. We gave her water several times. We have seen her every day at different hours. I would never want to live her life, but I am happy that she actually smiles when you give her water or something to eat. She lives in this square and nobody disturbs her; amid all the commerce going on around her, she is allowed her space. We may not be able to learn from her as she is lost, but I can learn from the people around her.

L'intimo perso!

How do you explain that as you forage through your suitcase for some fresh underwear you suddenly realize you’ve been robbed? When you can, tell me how and I will do a better job than this! I know I packed at least eight pair--I remember counting. I had four in my suitcase when I got to Rome. Hmmmm. The only missing underwear was Italian. So I bought some new ones today. Let's see if they get stolen on the return trip.

This past week was a fairly quiet week. On Sunday John went down to Stratford-upon-Avon for a sales meeting so I was on my own until Wednesday.

One evening I went to the Old Vic to see a performance of Shaw's Pygmalion, or as it's known in some circles: My Fair Lady without the singing and dancing. Tim Pigott-Smith played Henry Higgins and newcomer Michelle Dockery was a riveting Eliza Doolittle. The theater itself is historic; the walls of the lobby and stairways are covered with photos of so many famous actors in productions going back to the last century: Peggy Aschcroft, Judi Dench, John Gielgud, Alec Guinness, Lawrence Olivier, Michael Redgrave, Ralph Richardson, Diana Rigg, Maggie Smith, etc.

Another highlight of the week was going out after work with John's colleagues. I'd heard a lot about them, but had never met most of them. As it happened, the chosen pub was Fifty-five Bar & Lounge near our flat that I mentioned in my blog on July 9. It was fun to put faces to the names I'd heard. Unfortunately, at 2:4:1 I had too many Manhattans and awoke with a groggy head.

Why is there a photo of the Roman Colosseum on the page, you ask? That's because we're going to Italy on Saturday evening for two weeks. A week in the Eternal City and a week in Tuscany. I will try to write some entries while in Italy.

Time Travel

I returned Sunday to Cambridge, England, for the first time in 26 years. In the summer of 1982 I was a naive 17-year-old who spent three weeks there with a group of high school classmates and an Anglophile history teacher chaperon. Our group was one of several that descended on this British Mecca of higher education every summer "to study" light subjects. Ours were Shakespeare, British geography and parliamentary debate, and I'm sure we were a constant pain to our teachers. On the whole, we were privileged American children with little world experience.

Our Shakespeare instructor was a young man trying to get us excited about Much Ado About Nothing and had the bad luck of teaching us first thing in the morning. "WILL YOU PLEEEEEEASE STOP YAWNING!" is the phrase I remember him uttering the most--much more than anything about the Bard. The geography teacher was a jolly Scotsman who preferred to talk more about golf than the origins of the River Thames. And the debate teacher a very colorful, degenerate Anglican priest who taught us the finer points of verbally tearing the opposition to shreds, with humor and sexual innuendo, if possible.

After my recent visit, I'm not sure what has changed more: the town or me. The ancient college buildings don't seem to have aged at all. But the signs that the university as a whole and the town had changed were everywhere. Cambridge has become modern with new shopping centers, chain stores and shiny new hotels. There's a Starbucks, for Pete's sake. And the tourists! The hoards and hoards of tourists! Had it been like that way back when? I don't think so.

The most striking change for me was the fact that all the colleges now charge an entry fee for visitors. In 1982 we strolled through the various college courts free as birds. We'd cut through one college to get to another. You could enter the magnificent Chapel at King's College whenever you wanted. No longer. Some colleges are completely closed to visitors and others charge anywhere from 2 GBP to 5 GBP to enter. I had to visit my old haunts at Clare College (2 GBP) and I coughed up the 5 GBP ($10) to get into King's College Chapel, but I rebelled at the others. So I missed seeing some of my favorite architectural highlights, like the Wren Library at Trinity College.

I commiserated with several university employees about these changes and they agreed that things were not as nice now as they were years ago. "It's just the way the world is now." I know it's a sign of the times, but it made me sad. You can't take one step in London, Cambridge and elsewhere without your movements being recorded on closed circuit TV. You see CCTV signs everywhere.

Still, I tried not to let it get me down. I visited the residence hall where we stayed and the Old Court of Clare College where we took our mediocre meals. I gazed at the beautifully manicured lawns, remembering that walking upon them was verboten. I spent a long time in King's College Chapel staring at the amazing fan-vault stone ceiling from the 16th century. The vaulting, stained glass windows, soaring spaces, make the Chapel one of the greatest wonders of architecture anywhere in the world. I watched people punting on the River Cam, enjoying the summer sun.

By then it was nearly 4 o'clock and I'd been walking around the town since 10 in the morning. I suddenly noticed I was 43 years old, tired and my feet hurt. So much for reclaiming my youth! Time to point my tired feet toward the train station and head back to Camden Town.

Click here if you want to see more photos of my stroll down memory lane.


Interesting Summer 1982 tidbits:

In the summer of '82 Ronald Reagan was President of the United States. Leonid Brezhnev led the Soviet Union...there still was a Soviet Union. Israel had just invaded Lebanon, sparking a war and the Lebanese Civil War. We arrived into a triumphant Great Britain: they had just won the Falklands War and Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher was riding high. Prince William, the heir to the British throne, had just been born and was baptized; an intruder broke into Buckingham Palace and sat on the bed of Queen Elizabeth II, chatting with her for 10 minutes before security arrived; and the Provisional IRA detonated 2 bombs in central London, killing 8 soldiers, wounding 47 people, and leading to the deaths of 7 horses. The first CDs went on the market.

The Man Who Was "Bond...James Bond"

The Imperial War Museum London has an interesting special exhibit right now on the life and works of writer Ian Fleming. The exhibit is irresistibly entitled For Your Eyes Only: Ian Fleming and James Bond. Being a major James Bond fan I could not help but go.

I knew the basic facts about Fleming's life and, as some of you know, I've been working my way through the James Bond novels, but this exhibit gave me a much fuller vision of the man.

Fleming had a lot of love affairs--a real playboy. He preferred older, married women with no strings attached. There were numerous photos of him with these women on the beach, on the ski slopes and at cocktail parties. He didn't marry until he was over 40.

Despite coming from a well-connected family (his father was a close friend of Winston Churchill), Fleming lacked direction in his life until World War II. His work in British naval intelligence was the making of him, and the making of James Bond, as it turned out.

The exhibit has great JamesBondania within. Original manuscripts of the novels, hundreds of examples of the novels translated into other language, posters of the movies, original movie production sketches, guns, gadgets and on and on. I particularly enjoyed seeing the shoes with the poisoned knife in the toe that Lotte Lenya tried to stab Sean Connery with in From Russia With Love.

The rest of the Imperial War Museum is amazing and daunting. I hadn't been there since 1995 and the place has been improved so much. The main hall displays airplanes, armor (armour), missiles, weapons, bombs and all that good stuff. There are extensive exhibits on the World Wars and conflicts post-1945. There is also a very sobering Holocaust exhibit. The place is worth a visit if you make it to London.

In the museum shop I was sorely tempted to relive my childhood by buying a Corgi model of the Q Branch Aston Martin with the ejector seat or the Corgi model of Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang (which Fleming wrote) with the wings that spring out when you move the gear lever forward...but I didn't.

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For All You Wizards & Muggles Out There

From www.Londonist.com:

Platform 9 and 3/4 To Be Disapparated

"Harry Potter may have completed his seven years at school, but younger wizardlings are in for several years of service disruption on the Hogwart's Express. Platform 9 and 3/4 will be shifted later this year to allow construction work on the West side of King's Cross, according to Jon Burden the former Duty Station Manager at King's Cross, who led a tour of the area yesterday. The enchanted platform will be relocated to the front of the station, close to the ticket office, in September."

Read on...

Hampton Comes Courting or Learning to Drive on the Left

Last Saturday was a perfect day to go for a ride. It was sunny and warm, and we had a ZipCar reserved for the day. The only trick was I had to remember how to drive on the left side of the road. How hard could it be?

It wasn't the big city driving that worried me. I like driving around New York when I have the chance. No, it was remembering to stay on the left side of the road, to follow all the rather foreign traffic signs and to operate a left-handed manual transmission. We were in a new Cooper Mini. It's a cool and trendy automobile, but rather challenging to get into and out of especially if one has large feet like me. I did get the hang of driving it, after a fashion, but had trouble judging the location of the left front tire a few times. Just ask passenger John.

Anyway, Saturday was a great day for hopping in a car and heading up (or is it down or maybe sideways) to Hampton Court Palace. We didn't have a detailed road map of England so we got a bit lost and went a wee bit out of our way. We also decided to visit the palace on the weekend when the largest flower show in Europe is held there. Traffic jams are more aggravating on the left for some reason. Just when we were seriously questioning our judgment, we arrived and found a reserved parking lot just for palace visitors.

Hampton Court Palace is an amazing place architecturally and historically. Thomas Cardinal Wolsey built it into a magnificent palace and Henry VIII took it from him as punishment when the cardinal and chancellor could not get the pope to approve Henry's divorce from Catherine of Aragon. Henry lived here with 5 of his 6 wives. Two of those lucky women would be beheaded, one died in childbirth, one was annulled and one survived him.

Hampton Court remained the British monarch's principle residence through the reigns of the Tudors, Stuarts and Hanoverians (up to George II, after which it fell out of favor). It is incredible in part because you can see very different architectural styles: Tudor/Elizabethan and Baroque. William and Mary hired the great Christopher Wren to renovate Hampton Court. He wound up destroying much of the Tudor palace, but built an equally impressive addition. What remains is part 16th century, part 17th century. We spent hours walking through the rooms and courtyards captivated by the wealth on display at every turn. Highlights included the Great Hall with its amazing hammer beam roof and the Chapel Royal. The gardens are lush and there is a maze which we have to return to see. It's well worth a trip.

Click here if you want to see more my Hampton Court photos.

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East End

After the excitement of seeing those bats in their feeding frenzy I decided to have a different kind of experience on Friday. John worked from home in the morning. His colleagues were all attending a company cricket match. Since he doesn’t know a googly from a wicket he decided to pass on a visit to the pitch (too much local colour?).

In the afternoon we hopped on a bus for a nice ride to the East End of London. This is the home of Cockney speech, Jack the Ripper, beigels along Brick Lane and, of course, that great British soap opera: EastEnders.

We arrived at a place called Old Spitalfields Market. We had been here 10 years before, but now didn’t recognize a thing. Built in the 1880s as a wholesale fruit and vegetable market, it became a general market where vendors sold antiques, bric-a-brac, clothing, artwork and the like. It was a great place to spend a Sunday afternoon when it got very crowded. The run-down market was a special slice of London life.

Well, we found 2/3 of the historic market had been demolished. Where once there was a Victorian iron-and-glass canopy there is now a steel-and-glass commercial office complex, complete with designer brands, attitude and gourmet food. The general market still takes place in what's left of the old place, but in our opinion it's been scrubbed a little too clean and its quirkiness is gone.

We left the market hoping to find the remains of the East End we once saw. Still standing across from the Market is an interesting old pub called The Ten Bells. It was the place where two of Jack the Ripper’s victims were last seen. It still retains a worn shabby look, but it's a planned shabby-chic look for tourists like us. The beer was OK but no ghostly apparitions to report.

We also stopped in Christ Church across from the pub. It has been restored magnificently, reversing the effects of a misguided Victorian "renovation" (what was wrong with those Victorians?) and decades of neglect. The church is a beautiful example of "English baroque" architecture.

After the church tour (sounds so wholesome) we headed to Brick Lane. This street is something like a one-block version of the Lower East Side of New York. Over the past 2 centuries every recent immigrant group established a beach head and now there is a commingling of cultures with some chic fringe. This is one place you can get a nosh at two in the morning if you have a craving. We headed to one of the famous beigel emporiums (that is bagel shops for you Yanks). What a bargain: 6 fresh plain bagels in a bag plus 2 filled bagels (that means one with tuna and another with butter) all for 2.50 GBP ($5). This is the cheapest thing you can buy in London. We finished the afternoon off by stopping into a South Asian grocery store and buying enough spices, sauces and assorted things to satisfy any curry cravings for a while.

Click here if you want to see my photos from this outing.

The Bats Were Hungry

Thursday evening I went on a "bat walk" in Regent's Park. I'd seen a sign posted when I went walking in the park on Monday last: "Bat walk Thursday evening, equipment provided, wear appropriate clothing." I was intrigued. Equipment? Appropriate clothing? I rang the number from the sign and put my name down.

The group assembled at Hanover Gate in the park at 9 o'clock PM. A bookish husband and wife (and their son) from the Bat Conservation Trust arrived to lead the group. The equipment they provided was a bat detector--a black box about the size of an old transistor radio that picks up a bat's echolocation ultrasound emissions.

Our small group of ten waited by the lake until the sun had really gone down. At this time of year the sky remains light in London well past 9 PM. While we waited the bookish man gave us various lectures about bats: the varieties we might see that night, social behavior, feeding habits, etc. All around us insectivorous birds (swifts, swallows) were skimming the surface of the lake in a feeding frenzy. But pretty soon the birds all disappeared and it was time for bats to take center stage.

We moved around the lake to a grove of sturdy old trees and set the bat detectors at 45-47 kHz. Very shortly the detectors started squawking, almost like Geiger counters. The bats were right over our heads in the trees. It seems the first bats to appear in the evening tend to feed under the shade of trees to protect themselves from their natural predators (owls, etc). As the night deepens, the bats feed out in the open.

We ventured out into the open ourselves, down by the lake, and the bats were everywhere. They were swerving and diving all around us. These were all pipistrelle bats whose bodies are about as big as a man's thumb! As small as they are they eat thousands of insects per night of feeding. And these were especially hungry because the night before had been rainy and bats don't fly or eat in the rain. The rain interferes with their echolocation and they can't find food.

By shining the light of a torch (flashlight) along the surface of the lake we were also able to make out a Daubenton's bat. This variety skims the surface of a body of water eating bugs. It's like a natural hovercraft.

After ninety minutes the group headed for the locked gate and were released by a park ranger. I thought this was a fun and unusual way to spend an evening in London!

Two 4 One

English drinking--makes you think of a nice pint of lager on a warm sunny day or perhaps a warming stout in a pub where you have escaped from the cold rain.

Well, brace yourselves. Patsy and Edina, Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty, these are the images that should come to mind.

Since I arrived I have been astounded to see how much alcohol the average resident of London consumes during a night out. I already mentioned the public drunkenness witnessed on Saturday afternoon. I thought to myself that this was an exception, a celebration.

Tuesday evening we went to a cocktail bar a few blocks from our flat. It was recommended by one of John’s colleagues as a reasonably priced place with good cocktails, both a rarity in this city. Good cocktails? Yes. Reasonably priced? Yes. The only trouble is, cocktails are not like the animals being lead onto Noah’s ark. They should be consumed one at a time, not two at a time. Fifty-Five (www.fiftyfivebar.co.uk) is the name of the place and during happy hour (6:00-8:00) all cocktails are served two at a time. I ordered a manhattan for myself and a martini for John. The bartender poured two of each. I was sure it was a mistake but no. I quickly realized that all around me Brits were double down, and getting ready to fall down as a result. As the clock neared 8:00 the cue (more local language for you) at the bar was growing. Nobody wanted to miss the last shot of 2:4:1 madness.

Not one to shun local customs, I drank my two manhattans, we went on to dinner (where I had only water) and then stopped at the Earl of Camden pub on the corner. This place had a special as well. Order two glasses of wine and get the whole bottle! What is one to do? With the dollar so weak you have to economize somewhere. Now if only I could get rid of this headache.

My Beefeater was Royal Marine

Tuesday morning I ventured out on the London Underground to visit the Tower of London. It really is one of the most remarkable places on earth. The White Tower was built by William the Conqueror in 1078--more than 900 years ago. The centuries reach out and grab you. It's amazing when you think of all the people who passed through the Tower's gates and those that perished there. Some of the famous prisoners included kings of England, Scotland and France.

The Tudors seemed particularly bent on executing people. The great lawyer and scholar Sir Thomas More was imprisoned and executed there because he wouldn't recognize Henry VIII as head of the Church in England. Henry also had wives Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard beheaded at the Tower. Lady Jane Grey met the same fate. Princess Elizabeth was imprisoned for a time by her half-sister Queen Mary I, and it was from the Tower that Elizabeth set out to be crowned in Westminster Abbey after the death of Mary.

In addition to serving as a fortress and prison, the Tower was a royal palace, an armory, a treasury, a zoo (first in Europe), the Royal Mint, a public records office, an observatory, and is the home of the Crown Jewels.

I took an intimate guided tour with a Yeoman Warder--just me and 100 other tourists. The Beefeaters (don't call them that to their faces) always put on a great show. Most would do well at a stand-up comedy club, and this guy was no exception. He had a supply of jokes up the sleeve of his blue and red tunic--hundreds of years of jokes. All Yeoman Warders are retired non-commissioned officers from the British armed forces (except the Royal Navy). Our Yeoman was the only former Royal Marine at the Tower. I got points with him for being the only person on the tour who knew the date of the Battle of Trafalgar (1804).

After spending several hours wandering around the Middle Ages, I found myself in the City of London, smack in the middle of a modern financial center. The streets were full of conservatively-dressed professionals with grim faces. Britain's economy is slipping into recession.

Click here if you want to see more photos of my day.

The Beauty of Roses

Monday I went to our local post office in the Camden High Street to post something to the States. (Impressed with my English?) I'd forgotten that post offices in England (as with the rest of Europe) are not merely places to mail a letter. The Royal Mail acts as a bank, investment house, insurance broker and in a myriad of other roles. Besides the obvious, this P.O. sells such things as greeting cards, computer supplies (including printers) and passport photos. While I was waiting in line (queuing) a rack with brochures for all kinds of investments and insurance (including pet insurance) caught my eye. On my way out a Royal Mail employee tried to interest me in opening a savings account at seven percent. He was very friendly, but backed off when he found out I wasn't a British subject.

At midday I walked over to Regent's Park, the 410 acre park not far from the flat. It features "stunning rose gardens with more than 30,000 roses of 400 varieties." Somehow the few hours I spent there coincided with the break in the downpours we'd had all day. The park was beautiful; I'll let my photos speak for themselves.

On the southwest end of the park is Baker Street, of Sherlock Holmes fame, where there's a museum at No. 221b. There was a throng of tourists outside; it's interesting to see how popular a man is who never existed yet lives today.

My First Weekend in London

Here's a cocktail recipe for you to try:

Mix
1 part sunny Saturday afternoon in London
2 parts Amy Winehouse drag
1 part public display of drunkenness (keep separate from above until ready to mix)
2 parts bemused tourists
1 part bemused Londoners
1 part Peter and John

Shake gently and viola!
You have gay pride day in London.

We woke on Saturday morning with no plans. I was checking on the state of public transportation (which Tube lines have delays, etc.) when I discovered that it was gay pride day in London. The theme for London Pride 2008 was "Fairytales, Myths and Legends."We decided to go take a look at the parade and walk around the street festival. What we saw amused, disturbed and sometimes shocked us. Who needs to be staggering drunk at 1:30 in the afternoon? Well, a number of Londoners is the answer.

We meandered around for a few hours, had an expensive Malaysian lunch and bumped into an American couple John met back in December. We headed back home for dinner. I made a leaning tower of lasagna, well we did. It was a mix of cheeses and whole wheat pasta, but there wasn't quite enough pasta to bring the dish to a symetrical finish. Though it was a split-level lasagna, it was still pretty tasty.

Sunday has been a little more subdued. We have had our first day of traditional London weather. The skies opened several times today. We spent an hour walking around a wonderful old church and church yard, St. Pancras Old Church. One of the oldest sites of Christian worship in London and England as a whole, people have been praying there for 1700 years. We followed that up with a light lunch and a stroll. We are now back at the flat (I am being forced to speak the language) and planning a quiet night in.

More to come...

England on the Fourth of July

I arrived in London yesterday without incident. The Aer Lingus flights to Dublin and London were pretty good: friendly service and, quiet passengers. Many of the passengers had been on vacation in the U.S. using the power of the euro to have a great time. I also overhead that several Irish had come over to attend weddings of American relatives.

You have to pay for any alcohol you want to drink on Aer Lingus, and they encouraged passengers to buy two (or more) bottles or cans of whatever during the cocktail service because they wouldn't have time to serve drinks at mealtime. I bought two bottles of Chilean cabernet. I enjoyed observing the many Irish faces I saw on the plane and on the ground.

Our flat is located on Albert Street in the Camden Town section of London. It's a leafy street of Georgian townhouses, and feels a bit like home as J has rented two other flats in this same building. The flat is on the 2nd story (3rd story for Americans) and the sunny living room (at left) and bedroom looks out onto trees and the street. This is both a blessing and a curse as the view is inviting, but the noise from the street can be pretty jarring. The Jewish Museum is directly across the street and is undergoing an $18 million expansion that will last into next year. There's a lot of hammering, sawing, drilling, etc., during the day. Then there are two pubs on the nearby corner: the Spread Eagle and the Earl of Camden. The crowds from these pubs add a constant din in the evening into the night. And when a staffer dumps all the empties into a dumpsters outside, there is a brain-shattering sound.

Today we managed to find one of the few supermarkets in the area. There are a lot of small scale stores/shops, but very few things on the scale of an American supermarket with reasonable prices and selection. Well, welcome to Morrison's! They even had caffeine-free Diet Coke! A rare find! We will be back.

After shopping for provisions, we took a walk around the Camden Markets. Here along a picturesque canal you find merchants selling cool clothing, jewelry, artwork, knickknacks and inexpensive street food. We had some success in finding purchases and walked out of other stores empty-handed. We ended up sampling the beer at the Crown & Goose and the aforementioned Spread Eagle. The latter is usually subdued, but this evening there were crowds enjoying the fine July weather, Wimbeldon on the telly and imbibing. We can hear them still...

Not too much notice being taken here of the 232nd anniversary of American independence, but a London paper did have a piece about where to have an American meal on the Fourth. In observance of the day, J and I ate dinner at a good Indian restaurant in solidarity with another former British colony that fought for its independence.

Departure Day

I am packed (mostly and ready to leave home for four and a half months.

I leave for JFK very shortly. See you on the other side.

The Adventure Begins

I am off tomorrow to live in London, England, for several months. My husband, J, has a job that requires him to be in London for a time. Being in between jobs myself I decided to tag along. I am looking forward to his sojourn in another country albeit one that shares the same language (mostly) with the United States.

The last few days have been hectic with packing and preparing our New York apartment for my departure. Furniture is being covered, plants are being farmed out to neighbors, the refrigerator cleaned out, etc. I must be truly mentally ill: I found five opened jars of salsa in the fridge with varying dates of expiration and amounts of remaining salsa. In addition there were several nearly empty jars of old preserves at the back. Why? I vow to live more simply and efficiently.

I am flying on Aer Lingus tomorrow for the first time, via Dublin. I am curious to see how it compares to other airlines.