I thought that I could handle waking up at 3 a.m. if it meant I'd be spending the day in Paris, France -- one of my lifelong dreams. Our train was due out at 5:40 a.m., and with 3 of us to get ready, it meant an early wake-up call, and an extremely long day ahead. Our cab showed up on time -- early, in fact -- and we were rearin' and ready to go. Sleepiness curbed our excitement a little bit, but not enough to put a damper on our readiness.
The weather called for a rainy day, so Nik and I had spent the day before securing appropriate footwear, which turned out to be worthless. Don't get me wrong, I'm so thankful that it was a beautiful spring day, but I would have really dressed differently.
Our ride on the Eurostar was just over 2 1/2 hours. In the time it would normally take me to get from Louisville to Nashville, I made it to a whole different country. Pretty wild, eh? Anyway, our first mistake was that we had absolutely no plan after setting foot in France. I speak very basic French, and the reality of the language barrier hit me in the face as soon as we stepped off the train and ventured into the station. I became overwhelmed with anxiety and nerves as we made our way downstairs to the information and ticket desks.
I cannot even begin to estimate how many people were scurrying around: some locals, some transients, others just like us. As we made it to the back of the line, I could feel every hair on my body stand up and every nerve ending start to tremble. My frustration reached a boiling point, and I finally just turned around and yelled, "Hey! Do any of y'all speak English? Is there a tour bus or somethin' anywhere?"
Yes, I said "y'all." Nik burst out in laughter, and she nearly peed her pants.
We discussed various routes of navigating through the city, and since we had a pretty limited cash reserve, we ultimately decided to go balls to the wall and buy Metro Day Passes. Phil is a GENIUS when it comes to reading tube maps, so between his map-puzzle-solving skills and my basic French, we concluded that we could eventually make our way back around to the station for our 9:13 p.m. departure.
Our first stop: The Eiffel Tower. We got there, we saw the long, long, long line to go up, and we went past it. There was construction on the tower, so one whole side was out of service, forcing the queue to a 2 1/2-hour wait. Eff that. We made our way along the park, took some pictures, and sat down to make a plan. It was pretty uneventful. We also got a whiff of some yummy food, but we couldn't figure out where it came from, so we kept going. At the edge of the park, there was a glass structure with "Peace" inscribed on it in different languages...unfortunately, it had suffered some vandalism, so appreciating that was out of the question, too. Just past the fountain was "a nice building," according to Phil. It turned out to be some kind of barracks or cavalry building...but at least it was nice. And pretty.
We made our way down some random streets, circled a few blocks, and ended up down a back alley of small shops. This actually worked out for us because it allowed us to save loads of money on food since it was off the tourist strip. We found a cafe that served kebabs, burgers, and pizza, so we went in and grubbed for a bit. Just a few doors down was a shop that sold all American food stuff...Big Red, A&W Cream Soda and Root Beer, Nerds, Wonka candy...LOADS of stuff I was dying to get my mitts on, but paying 2.50 Euros for a can of Big Red seemed a little extreme.
Our next visit was to L'Arc de Triomphe and Champs des Elysses. We began to notice that finding landmarks in Paris was easy because all you have to do is follow the crowds. This is where things started to turn for me. By this point, my feet were so swollen and in such excruciating pain that we had to sit for 30 minutes for the symptoms to subside so I could walk back to the Metro. I felt like a whiny little turd, but I cannot describe the pain I was in. We also never really got a decent view of anything because there were so many tourists...there were people everywhere. More people than a Black Friday line at Wal-Mart. But, we were trying to make the best of it because we were in Paris. THE Paris. We kept saying it over and over to convince ourselves that the trip was worth it.
Next stop: The Louvre. OH.MY.GAWD. Seriously, I thought this would be an event of a lifetime. I was really excited to see some of the most famous works of art of all time. So, we get there, and we stand in line. And we stood in line, and we stood in line, and we moved a little, and a little more, and got to the front, then we're stopped to let people in a priority line go ahead. This line was for people with Museum Passes...nothing anywhere said we needed any kind of pass to get in, and nobody said anything about there being a fee for anything. We finally got through security, and made it to the main lobby of the museum. We took our maps and pinpoint the highlights of what we wanted to see, and made our way upstairs. Well. Whaddya know. There's a fee. We sulked for a moment before ultimately deciding that Nik and I would pay the 10 Euros each while Phil sat in the lobby and waited. We went back downstairs, waited in line again, got our tickets and started our venture. Our main objective was to see Mona Lisa...it was also everyone else's. We had to walk up 7 stories, to the top of the building, to what seemed like HADES from the heat and overcrowding...actually, there are probably fewer people in Hell.
Obviously, there were signs everywhere that said "No Flash Photography," but obviously, there were also idiots everywhere that ignored those signs. They weren't in English; they were picture signs with a big red X over a camera flash. Universal. Anyway, the blatant disrespect immediately pissed me off, so this was already going badly. We followed signs and lines and stairs and corridors, and finally made it to the room where Mona Lisa was hung...in the middle of the room behind a thick double glass frame (for obvious reasons). I was hoping for some sort of spiritual awakening, or some sort of awe to overtake my body as I neared the centuries-old masterpiece. Instead, I was overtaken by rude, brash tourists who reeked of sweaty armpits and had no tact or sense of order. It was seriously like a mosh pit at a Nirvana concert. Seriously. I stepped to the side and let Nik take the pics she wanted to take, and was just hoping to God I didn't go ballistic on some of the douche bags in that room. She emerged from the pit of doom, and we made our way -- quickly -- around some more rooms of paintings...lots of paintings of Jesus and boobies and Napoleon, all in same room.
We decided we'd go to the Greek Sculptures and visit Venus de Milo before GTFO there. I have never seen so many Asians in all my life. I'm not really sure why this is..maybe it's vacation season for them, I have no idea. They were everywhere. And not only were they crowding around each sculpture, but they were taking pictures of each other in front of the sculptures, like they were hanging out with Aphrodite in the museum. It was the most dumbfounding thing I'd ever seen.
Finally, we left. I was so aggravated because I really wanted to be able to appreciate everything in there, but it was so devalued by the tourism and commercialism that I wanted to vomit on that pretty little glass pyramid out front so everyone could see. Of all the places in the world, I never expected the Louvre to be such a miserable place.
We carried on to our last stop: Notre Dame Cathedral. Again, I had a much more enlightening experience in London at Westminster Abbey. There were lines out the wazoo to get to the viewing area of the church. It was completely underwhelming because there was absolutely no spirituality there at all. I wasn't looking for God to come down and open the doors for me, but I was expecting to absorb the history of the place. Psh. Yeah right.
After we spent all of 10 minutes there, it was still about 4 hours before our train departed. We went to a cafe across from the station and ordered crepes and coffee. The waiter spoke little English, so it was up to me to order in French. I pulled it off! I placed our entire order in French, and even managed to impress him a little bit. We spent the rest of the day in Paris at the train station, waiting to leave. We sat in a pub for a while, then checked in at the earliest possible time. Oh yeah, UK Border Patrol gave me a hard time (again) coming back into the country. As if my day wasn't shitty enough. I was interrogated again, warned about not working again, told that I have come to Immigration's attention again...for heaven's sake, just LET ME IN. I can say that this woman was a lot more polite than the woman at my first encounter, but I was over it. Seriously.
We couldn't get on the train soon enough. Thankfully, we made it home at a reasonable hour, and we were safe. We plopped that Wednesday night, and we didn't move until Friday morning. That's right...36 hours of immobility.
Paris: been there, done that, ain't doin' it again. Au revoir.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Civil Wars -- 3/19/12
Monday night, Phil and I went to see The Civil Wars in concert. Most of you know that I have been awaiting this date for quite a long time, since I bought my tickets in October as a birthday present to myself. I actually bought the concert tickets long before I bought my plane tickets, so I was definitely willing to take the risk that my plans would all work out in the end.
I'll give you a little bit of background info as to how I ultimately learned of this heavenly duo. On a random day last summer, I was channel surfing and landed on VH1's top 20 countdown. The video for the group's debut single, "Barton Hollow," started playing as soon as I put the remote down. It simply piqued my curiosity, so I watched the entire video, and decided to investigate further. I went to Amazon.com (WAY better than iTunes) and searched the album...I listened to the samples and decided to buy the album on a whim. That was one of the best decisions of my entire life (seriously--no hyperbole intended!) I've been hooked ever since. I became an instant stalker fan and checked out the band's website and added them to my list of "likes" on Facebook, and as soon as I saw the pre-sale come up for the UK tour, I jumped on the chance to see them live. Aannyyway...
I had to meet Phil after he finished work at 4:30, and I kind of felt like there would already be a line of people waiting to get in at that point, since the doors opened at 7:00. Fortunately for us, we arrived at the O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire to discover only 4 people sitting on the steps. Yessss! We were right in the front -- and I had floor tickets. Epic win.
We bide our time as the beggars stroll past, asking all of us for spare change, which we denied them. My accent became a conversation starter as one guy in front of us began to ask me where I was from and how I got here. From that point, our time was officially occupied by the four lovely people already waiting on the steps when we arrived. We had some laughs and some fun conversation, and as 7:00 approached, we saw the workers inside the venue prepare the doors for opening. We devised a plan to get to the front as quickly as possible since there was a rather large queue for the Stalls Standing area. I had a very swollen ankle from a clumsy incident the previous morning, so Phil decided he'd run on ahead and would save my spot since I was mildly handicapped. Needless to say, Phil made good on his promise. Our little group was able to snag the spots front and center, right up against the barrier.
The opening group, Matthew and the Atlas (I think) made their way to the stage just after 8:00. They were American, and were seriously invested in their music, but the few songs they managed to sing were sort of monotonous and mundane....and they all kind of sounded alike. I suppose everyone has to start somewhere, and they were a nice, 3-person group with a guitar, banjo, and violin, but they just weren't exciting.
FINALLY, Joy and John Paul emerge on stage. Joy is tiny, 6 months pregnant, and was sporting 4-inch strappy heels. John Paul has a great sense of humor. He kept asking us if we wanted to hear them play Iron Maiden...silly JP.
From the second they started their set, the chemistry was obvious. Their voices melodiously and harmoniously join together to create a sound that can only be described as music. The feeling I got when I heard them live could easily be compared to the feeling I get when I listen to Gregorian chants: complete serenity, like all is right in the world. They have this natural ability to play off each other...they don't even cue one another when they pause; they just KNOW when to start again. It's an insanely beautiful sight.
One of our new friends, Sam, asked if we were going to wait outside after the concert to try and get autographs. I haven't attended enough concerts to really know that was a possibility, and since the event ended just after 10:30, we thought we'd give it a go. Mind you, it was fuh-reezing outside, but it could potentially be worth it. One girl in our group managed to find a couple of discarded tickets on the floor inside, and gave me one so I could have it signed (all I had were my computer print-outs that had the barcodes torn off from entry.) I stopped to buy a t-shirt on the way out, of course.
At first, there were between 20-30 people waiting, but as it got later, and colder, and more beggars came around, that number dwindled to about 11. Public transportation here stops just after midnight, so some people had to leave because they wouldn't have a way home. Around 11:45, the pair finally exited the building, having already endured an after-show Meet & Greet and changed clothes. They were so nice, and signed autographs for us, and actually apologized to us for making us wait. Ultimately, it was worth enduring the dropping temps.
Phil and I were able to catch one of the last trains home, and made it there just after 1 a.m. I was still wound up from the exhilaration of having just watched one of my favorite bands LIVE...IN LONDON, so it was near 2:30 a.m. before I was able to sleep. My ankle was swollen and my legs were in pain from standing for nearly 6 hours straight, but it was a wonderful night. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
I'll give you a little bit of background info as to how I ultimately learned of this heavenly duo. On a random day last summer, I was channel surfing and landed on VH1's top 20 countdown. The video for the group's debut single, "Barton Hollow," started playing as soon as I put the remote down. It simply piqued my curiosity, so I watched the entire video, and decided to investigate further. I went to Amazon.com (WAY better than iTunes) and searched the album...I listened to the samples and decided to buy the album on a whim. That was one of the best decisions of my entire life (seriously--no hyperbole intended!) I've been hooked ever since. I became an instant stalker fan and checked out the band's website and added them to my list of "likes" on Facebook, and as soon as I saw the pre-sale come up for the UK tour, I jumped on the chance to see them live. Aannyyway...
I had to meet Phil after he finished work at 4:30, and I kind of felt like there would already be a line of people waiting to get in at that point, since the doors opened at 7:00. Fortunately for us, we arrived at the O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire to discover only 4 people sitting on the steps. Yessss! We were right in the front -- and I had floor tickets. Epic win.
We bide our time as the beggars stroll past, asking all of us for spare change, which we denied them. My accent became a conversation starter as one guy in front of us began to ask me where I was from and how I got here. From that point, our time was officially occupied by the four lovely people already waiting on the steps when we arrived. We had some laughs and some fun conversation, and as 7:00 approached, we saw the workers inside the venue prepare the doors for opening. We devised a plan to get to the front as quickly as possible since there was a rather large queue for the Stalls Standing area. I had a very swollen ankle from a clumsy incident the previous morning, so Phil decided he'd run on ahead and would save my spot since I was mildly handicapped. Needless to say, Phil made good on his promise. Our little group was able to snag the spots front and center, right up against the barrier.
The opening group, Matthew and the Atlas (I think) made their way to the stage just after 8:00. They were American, and were seriously invested in their music, but the few songs they managed to sing were sort of monotonous and mundane....and they all kind of sounded alike. I suppose everyone has to start somewhere, and they were a nice, 3-person group with a guitar, banjo, and violin, but they just weren't exciting.
FINALLY, Joy and John Paul emerge on stage. Joy is tiny, 6 months pregnant, and was sporting 4-inch strappy heels. John Paul has a great sense of humor. He kept asking us if we wanted to hear them play Iron Maiden...silly JP.
From the second they started their set, the chemistry was obvious. Their voices melodiously and harmoniously join together to create a sound that can only be described as music. The feeling I got when I heard them live could easily be compared to the feeling I get when I listen to Gregorian chants: complete serenity, like all is right in the world. They have this natural ability to play off each other...they don't even cue one another when they pause; they just KNOW when to start again. It's an insanely beautiful sight.
One of our new friends, Sam, asked if we were going to wait outside after the concert to try and get autographs. I haven't attended enough concerts to really know that was a possibility, and since the event ended just after 10:30, we thought we'd give it a go. Mind you, it was fuh-reezing outside, but it could potentially be worth it. One girl in our group managed to find a couple of discarded tickets on the floor inside, and gave me one so I could have it signed (all I had were my computer print-outs that had the barcodes torn off from entry.) I stopped to buy a t-shirt on the way out, of course.
At first, there were between 20-30 people waiting, but as it got later, and colder, and more beggars came around, that number dwindled to about 11. Public transportation here stops just after midnight, so some people had to leave because they wouldn't have a way home. Around 11:45, the pair finally exited the building, having already endured an after-show Meet & Greet and changed clothes. They were so nice, and signed autographs for us, and actually apologized to us for making us wait. Ultimately, it was worth enduring the dropping temps.
Phil and I were able to catch one of the last trains home, and made it there just after 1 a.m. I was still wound up from the exhilaration of having just watched one of my favorite bands LIVE...IN LONDON, so it was near 2:30 a.m. before I was able to sleep. My ankle was swollen and my legs were in pain from standing for nearly 6 hours straight, but it was a wonderful night. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Race Relations
I experienced my first brush with blatant racism today. I grew up in a relatively diverse environment, having attended elementary school and most of 6th grade in a well-mixed area. I've always been generally comfortable around people of different ethnicities, and was raised to be kind and open-minded, because everyone has their own story. I won't sit here and say I've been a saint, because everyone makes the occasional race-charged wisecrack -- or has at least laughed at a racial joke.
Phil and I were waiting at a bus stop to go to a grocery store this afternoon, and there were quite a few other people waiting, as well. London is a very diverse area, equivalent to NYC...there happened to be a Muslim woman and her two girls waiting for the bus, also. As the bus arrived, suddenly, this very dirty, scruffy, middle-aged man pushed his way to the front of the crowd and started talking to the Muslim woman (she was wearing the black headpiece that covered her whole face). I didn't hear what he said at first, but I did hear what he said last: "And I hope you're not a suicide bomber." I became paralyzed with shock, anger, hurt, and disappointment. My jaw dropped, and I muttered to Phil, "Oh my God." As we filed onto the bus, I immediately felt guilty for not speaking up and telling that guy what a piece of racist shit he was, but I was just frozen. I had never witnessed such audacity.
We carried on our journey, and I watched the guy as he stared a hole right through the lady the entire time he was on the bus. It was strange that they ended up sitting across the aisle from one another in the front of the bus, but both in window seats. If looks could kill, she'd have dropped dead before the bus made its first stop. Phil and I were near the back of the bus, but not so far back that I couldn't keep my ears on the scumbag. We finally got to his stop, and as the bus came to a halt, he slowly got up out of his seat, and as he walked toward the exit, started aggressively degrading her again. His speech was a little slurred, but I managed to catch the last of his sentence: "You're a cunt."
I became so angry, almost irate, and before I realized what I did, I yelled, "Hey, buddy! Why don't you FUCK OFF!" He looked at me and flipped me his middle finger as he exited the bus, and it was a good thing I was in a window seat with Phil on the outside, because I'd have been liable to get up and chase after him and give him a good solid earful. Some of the other passengers turned to look at me, to see where this American voice came from. Phil grabbed my leg and turned to me, wide-eyed and in shock, and said, "Robin, calm down, calm down." I was shaking and tearing up, so appalled at the vicious hatred that man was so adamantly feeling. This poor woman was just trying to go to the store with her kids, and this ignorant douche bag had to feel like he was King of the Patriot Castle and openly defame her in public. After I had said what I said, one of the two girls kind of giggled and dropped her jaw, and I heard her ask if anyone heard what I said. Phil jokingly said, "That's the difference between America and England." I just couldn't keep my mouth shut twice. Had I not been so frozen the first time, that moron would have been on the butt-end of a bollocking (as they'd say here in the UK.)
Speaking up instantly alleviated the earlier guilt I felt because I stood up for someone who needed standing up for. I took my first real stand against the racism that is so deadly to the human race. It wasn't a world-changing event, but in a way, I feel like I did my part today.
Phil and I were waiting at a bus stop to go to a grocery store this afternoon, and there were quite a few other people waiting, as well. London is a very diverse area, equivalent to NYC...there happened to be a Muslim woman and her two girls waiting for the bus, also. As the bus arrived, suddenly, this very dirty, scruffy, middle-aged man pushed his way to the front of the crowd and started talking to the Muslim woman (she was wearing the black headpiece that covered her whole face). I didn't hear what he said at first, but I did hear what he said last: "And I hope you're not a suicide bomber." I became paralyzed with shock, anger, hurt, and disappointment. My jaw dropped, and I muttered to Phil, "Oh my God." As we filed onto the bus, I immediately felt guilty for not speaking up and telling that guy what a piece of racist shit he was, but I was just frozen. I had never witnessed such audacity.
We carried on our journey, and I watched the guy as he stared a hole right through the lady the entire time he was on the bus. It was strange that they ended up sitting across the aisle from one another in the front of the bus, but both in window seats. If looks could kill, she'd have dropped dead before the bus made its first stop. Phil and I were near the back of the bus, but not so far back that I couldn't keep my ears on the scumbag. We finally got to his stop, and as the bus came to a halt, he slowly got up out of his seat, and as he walked toward the exit, started aggressively degrading her again. His speech was a little slurred, but I managed to catch the last of his sentence: "You're a cunt."
I became so angry, almost irate, and before I realized what I did, I yelled, "Hey, buddy! Why don't you FUCK OFF!" He looked at me and flipped me his middle finger as he exited the bus, and it was a good thing I was in a window seat with Phil on the outside, because I'd have been liable to get up and chase after him and give him a good solid earful. Some of the other passengers turned to look at me, to see where this American voice came from. Phil grabbed my leg and turned to me, wide-eyed and in shock, and said, "Robin, calm down, calm down." I was shaking and tearing up, so appalled at the vicious hatred that man was so adamantly feeling. This poor woman was just trying to go to the store with her kids, and this ignorant douche bag had to feel like he was King of the Patriot Castle and openly defame her in public. After I had said what I said, one of the two girls kind of giggled and dropped her jaw, and I heard her ask if anyone heard what I said. Phil jokingly said, "That's the difference between America and England." I just couldn't keep my mouth shut twice. Had I not been so frozen the first time, that moron would have been on the butt-end of a bollocking (as they'd say here in the UK.)
Speaking up instantly alleviated the earlier guilt I felt because I stood up for someone who needed standing up for. I took my first real stand against the racism that is so deadly to the human race. It wasn't a world-changing event, but in a way, I feel like I did my part today.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Status Quo
I don't know what's come over me today, but I've become rather introspective about some pretty mundane things: wallets, sugar, and school.
I was out and about today doing some grocery shopping, my mind begins to wander, and the planner in me begins to think of things I can give Phil as a gift for various occasions. I started to think of buying him a new wallet, because his is pretty well used up, and I realized how small in size his wallet is. I don't mean the size of his wad of cash...I literally mean the size of his actual wallet. Then I started thinking of my dad's and brother's wallets, American men's wallets in general, and I realized how much bigger American wallets are. All of a sudden, I heard the light bulb click on. It became apparent to me that wallets, in America, are made as a status symbol. Sort of the mantra that the size of the wallet measures the size of the man; wallets in London are made practically -- they're small so it's more difficult to be pick-pocketed, a definite reality here. That's a pretty interesting notion if you really think about it.
If you've kept up with me, you know that I've gloated a little bit on my recent weight loss and overall great feeling of health and welfare. I bought my first pair of skinny jeans today, because for the first time in a really long time, I don't see a giant mammoth whale when I look in the mirror.
I made myself a fruit salad -- a recipe that my mom used since I was a kid: mandarin orange segments, pineapple chunks, shredded cheddar cheese, marshmallows, and whipped cream. I immediately knew something wasn't right when I took the first bite: the oranges were bitter, not sweet. Then I remembered that the peas I had with last night's dinner weren't sweet, either. Again, I heard the light bulb click. It donned on me that fruit isn't canned in syrup, it's canned in plain juice, so the extra sweetness isn't there. Nothing here has added sugar, except for maybe Coke, and even that's less sugar than the American flavor. I never really examined how much sugar (of any form) is in American food, until I couldn't eat American food anymore. That's when I made the connection of diet to exercise. I'm not really dieting; I'm just not ingesting as much sugar. And I'm not really exercising; I just have no choice other than to walk everywhere. It really gave me a new meaning on the term "lifestyle change."
Phil's oldest son had parent-teacher conferences tonight. I had the pleasure of tagging along since Owen's mom couldn't make it (she works at a different school,) and as a teacher, it was an interesting experience. First of all, the building was so cool...brick walls inside...so rustic. As we walked through the front doors, I noticed a quote on the wall. It was from Henry David Thoreau. Even cooler: an American author quoted in an English school. Later on, I noticed a quote from Mark Twain. Sweet.
Anyway, back to the topic. I did sit in on one conference (appropriately, the English teacher's), and right away noticed a major difference: schools here do not grade for effort or participation. They grade for accuracy. It is actually against the school guidelines for a teacher to increase a grade based on effort -- that's how kids in Kentucky survive school!! The standards here are extremely high throughout. Phil's son is 14 and has already read Frankenstein and Macbeth. It really opened my eyes up as to how much we let our kids get by with. We're scared to push them because we don't like to see them squirm, but in reality, students only excel when they're challenged and given high expectations. The parental involvement blew me away, as well. I saw more parents there than I ever did at any parent-teacher conference I had to endure. Not even just in attendance..but the parents were actually talking with the teachers, not just listening and nodding their heads or defending their kid who is failing, yet "can do no wrong." Teachers are respected and have clout here, which makes me think their job is just a little bit easier because they're allowed to be confident in their position and they're allowed to do their job.
Today, the lifestyle of this city really started to sink in. I knew things would be different, because no two places in the world are the same, but I never understood that reality until now. It's a very cool place to be.
I was out and about today doing some grocery shopping, my mind begins to wander, and the planner in me begins to think of things I can give Phil as a gift for various occasions. I started to think of buying him a new wallet, because his is pretty well used up, and I realized how small in size his wallet is. I don't mean the size of his wad of cash...I literally mean the size of his actual wallet. Then I started thinking of my dad's and brother's wallets, American men's wallets in general, and I realized how much bigger American wallets are. All of a sudden, I heard the light bulb click on. It became apparent to me that wallets, in America, are made as a status symbol. Sort of the mantra that the size of the wallet measures the size of the man; wallets in London are made practically -- they're small so it's more difficult to be pick-pocketed, a definite reality here. That's a pretty interesting notion if you really think about it.
If you've kept up with me, you know that I've gloated a little bit on my recent weight loss and overall great feeling of health and welfare. I bought my first pair of skinny jeans today, because for the first time in a really long time, I don't see a giant mammoth whale when I look in the mirror.
I made myself a fruit salad -- a recipe that my mom used since I was a kid: mandarin orange segments, pineapple chunks, shredded cheddar cheese, marshmallows, and whipped cream. I immediately knew something wasn't right when I took the first bite: the oranges were bitter, not sweet. Then I remembered that the peas I had with last night's dinner weren't sweet, either. Again, I heard the light bulb click. It donned on me that fruit isn't canned in syrup, it's canned in plain juice, so the extra sweetness isn't there. Nothing here has added sugar, except for maybe Coke, and even that's less sugar than the American flavor. I never really examined how much sugar (of any form) is in American food, until I couldn't eat American food anymore. That's when I made the connection of diet to exercise. I'm not really dieting; I'm just not ingesting as much sugar. And I'm not really exercising; I just have no choice other than to walk everywhere. It really gave me a new meaning on the term "lifestyle change."
Phil's oldest son had parent-teacher conferences tonight. I had the pleasure of tagging along since Owen's mom couldn't make it (she works at a different school,) and as a teacher, it was an interesting experience. First of all, the building was so cool...brick walls inside...so rustic. As we walked through the front doors, I noticed a quote on the wall. It was from Henry David Thoreau. Even cooler: an American author quoted in an English school. Later on, I noticed a quote from Mark Twain. Sweet.
Anyway, back to the topic. I did sit in on one conference (appropriately, the English teacher's), and right away noticed a major difference: schools here do not grade for effort or participation. They grade for accuracy. It is actually against the school guidelines for a teacher to increase a grade based on effort -- that's how kids in Kentucky survive school!! The standards here are extremely high throughout. Phil's son is 14 and has already read Frankenstein and Macbeth. It really opened my eyes up as to how much we let our kids get by with. We're scared to push them because we don't like to see them squirm, but in reality, students only excel when they're challenged and given high expectations. The parental involvement blew me away, as well. I saw more parents there than I ever did at any parent-teacher conference I had to endure. Not even just in attendance..but the parents were actually talking with the teachers, not just listening and nodding their heads or defending their kid who is failing, yet "can do no wrong." Teachers are respected and have clout here, which makes me think their job is just a little bit easier because they're allowed to be confident in their position and they're allowed to do their job.
Today, the lifestyle of this city really started to sink in. I knew things would be different, because no two places in the world are the same, but I never understood that reality until now. It's a very cool place to be.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Settling In
As I sit here and munch on my Coconut M&M's, something the UK will probably never see, I recall that last week, I was having a difficult time adjusting to life here. I was missing a lot of things from home, the house Phil and I are staying in has practically turned into a free-for-all party house, and my emotions were getting the best of me. I've really been reflecting the past few days, and have realized that moving here is one of the best things I've ever done. I have so many blessings to count, and I am really beginning to enjoy my time here.
One major advantage is the positive effect London's lifestyle has had on my health. Many of you know, or have at least seen Facebook statuses, about my recurring joint pain. Since I have been forced to walk everywhere (and finally gotten used to it,) I have noticed a substantial improvement in my ailments. My joint pain is virtually non-existent. I have more energy, I sleep better (when the jerks upstairs are quiet,) my hands are no longer ashy and bony because my circulation has improved, and I'm staying busier, which means I have basically eliminated my bad habit of eating as a result of boredom. I feel so much better every day than I did before.
I haven't really taken any pictures yet (I know, I know)...and it took me a long time to figure out why I wasn't itching for a snap-a-thon. I think it's because I came here not in a tourist's frame of mind, but a resident's frame of mind. The purpose in my coming here was strictly to get used to the lifestyle, to decide if this will be my permanent home. I've been so engrossed in the daily ins and outs of living that I have not felt the need to capture life with my camera. Now that I'm more comfortable here, that will change. I will begin documenting more as the days progress.
I found some new books for a really cheap price. I finally bought The Hunger Games, and added to my Jodi Picoult collection with her newest paperback Sing You Home. I got them for the equivalent of about $5.50 each....1/3 of what they would cost me in the States. I got some postcards to mail back home to my family; if you want one, you need to let me know.
My new favorite things are these Fresh Cream & Strawberry Jam Doughnuts. YUMMO. Phil got me hooked on them, so it's entirely his fault.
As you can see, he quite enjoys them, as well.
I'm starting to notice some little quirks of the city; namely street performers. On our way back from taking Phil's boys home tonight, just outside the Leytonstone Tube Station, we saw this guy playing a tuba with fire coming out of it. He was playing real old-timey stuff, and every time he blew into his tuba, fire came out the top. I didn't have my camera on me, and I nearly kicked my own ass for it, but Phil captured a photo or two on his iPhone, we threw him some change and took a flier. He's got a Facebook page called Fire Tuba, and as it turns out, you can actually book him to perform at almost any event: weddings, company parties, birthday parties, etc. He was really putting on a show....everyone around stopped for a listen and a photo op, and people were digging change out of their pockets and purses to toss in his bucket. It was a refreshing sight after having to ignore the beggars at the other end on a daily basis.
I'm finally starting to settle in and really absorb what this city is about. Everyone I have met has so generously offered me a warm welcome, and Phil's friends have truly been good to me. I'm much more optimistic about staying here permanently than I was a couple of weeks ago, but I think I was struggling to find my sense of belonging. As I get closer to establishing myself in a job, and the final pieces come together, I really believe I could easily call London home.
One major advantage is the positive effect London's lifestyle has had on my health. Many of you know, or have at least seen Facebook statuses, about my recurring joint pain. Since I have been forced to walk everywhere (and finally gotten used to it,) I have noticed a substantial improvement in my ailments. My joint pain is virtually non-existent. I have more energy, I sleep better (when the jerks upstairs are quiet,) my hands are no longer ashy and bony because my circulation has improved, and I'm staying busier, which means I have basically eliminated my bad habit of eating as a result of boredom. I feel so much better every day than I did before.
I haven't really taken any pictures yet (I know, I know)...and it took me a long time to figure out why I wasn't itching for a snap-a-thon. I think it's because I came here not in a tourist's frame of mind, but a resident's frame of mind. The purpose in my coming here was strictly to get used to the lifestyle, to decide if this will be my permanent home. I've been so engrossed in the daily ins and outs of living that I have not felt the need to capture life with my camera. Now that I'm more comfortable here, that will change. I will begin documenting more as the days progress.
I found some new books for a really cheap price. I finally bought The Hunger Games, and added to my Jodi Picoult collection with her newest paperback Sing You Home. I got them for the equivalent of about $5.50 each....1/3 of what they would cost me in the States. I got some postcards to mail back home to my family; if you want one, you need to let me know.
My new favorite things are these Fresh Cream & Strawberry Jam Doughnuts. YUMMO. Phil got me hooked on them, so it's entirely his fault.
I'm starting to notice some little quirks of the city; namely street performers. On our way back from taking Phil's boys home tonight, just outside the Leytonstone Tube Station, we saw this guy playing a tuba with fire coming out of it. He was playing real old-timey stuff, and every time he blew into his tuba, fire came out the top. I didn't have my camera on me, and I nearly kicked my own ass for it, but Phil captured a photo or two on his iPhone, we threw him some change and took a flier. He's got a Facebook page called Fire Tuba, and as it turns out, you can actually book him to perform at almost any event: weddings, company parties, birthday parties, etc. He was really putting on a show....everyone around stopped for a listen and a photo op, and people were digging change out of their pockets and purses to toss in his bucket. It was a refreshing sight after having to ignore the beggars at the other end on a daily basis.
I'm finally starting to settle in and really absorb what this city is about. Everyone I have met has so generously offered me a warm welcome, and Phil's friends have truly been good to me. I'm much more optimistic about staying here permanently than I was a couple of weeks ago, but I think I was struggling to find my sense of belonging. As I get closer to establishing myself in a job, and the final pieces come together, I really believe I could easily call London home.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
I Miss You Like the Deserts Miss the Rain -- But Not All of You
I've been here long enough to start picking up on things I miss (and some things I don't.) No, 9 days isn't a long time, but it's enough time for things to start to sink in.
1. I miss my dog. Stuart has been by my side since the day I got him, and it's been tough not having him here. Granted, it's all for the better that he's not (at least right now,) but that doesn't mean I don't miss him. I miss his cuddles and his kisses, and even though he would drive me crazy come potty time, I miss taking him for little walks here and there.
2. I miss my nieces, Kotey and Callie. I talked to Kotey on MSN a couple nights ago, and I teared up when I saw her. She's been my little compadre since I moved back home, and I miss her company. She can be a bit of a handful at times, but I love her like she's my own, and can't wait until she's able to come visit me here. I miss Callie's laughs and smiles. She's one of the goofiest kiddos I've ever met, and her smile is incredibly contagious. I have a 10-minute video on my iPod (that I keep watching) of her just shaking a Wal-Mart bag. It's the most simple pleasure, but one of the funniest things to watch.
3. I miss having a clothes dryer. I am limited in how many clothes I can wash at any given time because there's only so much room for me to hang them to dry. It's rather frustrating, given how accustomed I am to having the luxury of a machine to do it for me -- faster and with heat. I'm seriously contemplating utilizing the laundromat around the corner; it's ultimately a choice of walking back and forth with clean, dry clothes, or waiting a day and a half for one load to dry...hmmm...
4. I miss American food. Don't get me wrong, English food has not left me unsatisfied, but there is a difference in flavor and fulfillment. Phil and I had Pizza Hut for dinner. I'm used to our Pizza Hut's tangy, zesty pizza sauce.....this pizza sauce was more sweet, almost like spaghetti sauce. It wasn't completely undesirable, but it really wasn't the same.
5. I miss free refills. This "sip and make it last" garbage is for the birds. I'm a guzzler, through and through!!
Now, things I don't really miss that much:
1. Driving. I have grown to like the public transport system here. And the walking...I have no excuse not to get some exercise. I still feel like I'm on track to lose at least 30 pounds before I return in July; possibly more.
2. Drama. I'm glad I'm away from it all. I love my family dearly, but I need my space.
3. Relying on technology to talk to my Philly. It gets old, people. Real fast.
I knew there would be things I would miss and things I wouldn't before I even left the states, but that doesn't mean I can't still feel this way. More than anything, I'm just so happy to finally have Phil by my side. There's nothing like sharing life with the man I was made to be with. Everything is so much more wonderful, and my life finally has a purpose. He completes me in every way, shape, and form, and I love him more and more every day. I can easily give up everything I have ever known if it means I can spend the rest of my days with him. He has made this entire journey worth every second of heartache, headache, and waiting, and I will cherish every bit of time I have with him.
1. I miss my dog. Stuart has been by my side since the day I got him, and it's been tough not having him here. Granted, it's all for the better that he's not (at least right now,) but that doesn't mean I don't miss him. I miss his cuddles and his kisses, and even though he would drive me crazy come potty time, I miss taking him for little walks here and there.
2. I miss my nieces, Kotey and Callie. I talked to Kotey on MSN a couple nights ago, and I teared up when I saw her. She's been my little compadre since I moved back home, and I miss her company. She can be a bit of a handful at times, but I love her like she's my own, and can't wait until she's able to come visit me here. I miss Callie's laughs and smiles. She's one of the goofiest kiddos I've ever met, and her smile is incredibly contagious. I have a 10-minute video on my iPod (that I keep watching) of her just shaking a Wal-Mart bag. It's the most simple pleasure, but one of the funniest things to watch.
3. I miss having a clothes dryer. I am limited in how many clothes I can wash at any given time because there's only so much room for me to hang them to dry. It's rather frustrating, given how accustomed I am to having the luxury of a machine to do it for me -- faster and with heat. I'm seriously contemplating utilizing the laundromat around the corner; it's ultimately a choice of walking back and forth with clean, dry clothes, or waiting a day and a half for one load to dry...hmmm...
4. I miss American food. Don't get me wrong, English food has not left me unsatisfied, but there is a difference in flavor and fulfillment. Phil and I had Pizza Hut for dinner. I'm used to our Pizza Hut's tangy, zesty pizza sauce.....this pizza sauce was more sweet, almost like spaghetti sauce. It wasn't completely undesirable, but it really wasn't the same.
5. I miss free refills. This "sip and make it last" garbage is for the birds. I'm a guzzler, through and through!!
Now, things I don't really miss that much:
1. Driving. I have grown to like the public transport system here. And the walking...I have no excuse not to get some exercise. I still feel like I'm on track to lose at least 30 pounds before I return in July; possibly more.
2. Drama. I'm glad I'm away from it all. I love my family dearly, but I need my space.
3. Relying on technology to talk to my Philly. It gets old, people. Real fast.
I knew there would be things I would miss and things I wouldn't before I even left the states, but that doesn't mean I can't still feel this way. More than anything, I'm just so happy to finally have Phil by my side. There's nothing like sharing life with the man I was made to be with. Everything is so much more wonderful, and my life finally has a purpose. He completes me in every way, shape, and form, and I love him more and more every day. I can easily give up everything I have ever known if it means I can spend the rest of my days with him. He has made this entire journey worth every second of heartache, headache, and waiting, and I will cherish every bit of time I have with him.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Liverpool or Bust
Yep, we went to Beatletown, which also happens to be Phil's hometown. Don't get too excited -- we didn't have loads of time to go sight-seeing. This visit was strictly to visit Phil's friends and family.
The train ride up was beautiful. Honestly, the English countryside I saw resembled a lot of rural Kentucky's countryside, except in England, it's sheep instead of cattle grazing in the fields. It was overcast, but the grass was a beautiful kelly green -- not the teal bluegrass I'm used to seeing.
Our first stop was to a town called Runcorn, which is a little villa about 10 minutes outside of Liverpool, where Phil's Godfather, Jimmy, lives. Now THAT is a man who can tell a story. I never had a grandfather figure in my life, but I could easily see Jimmy as one. In other parts of the city, I also met Phil's mom, her boyfriend, Phil's sister, her boyfriend, and several of Phil's childhood/teenage friends.
Liverpool is more laidback than London. There is more time to enjoy things but fewer jobs to support the cost of living. It's right along the River Mersey, which brings in a pretty chilly breeze...much colder than what the Ohio River brings us.
I had a fantastic time meeting everyone and shared tons of laughs. I had a grand time explaining some of the differences between England and America in terms of daily lifestyle idiosyncracies. For example, if I asked for two drinks and flashed up 2 with my fingers, palm-side in, people in America would just think I were asking for two drinks. In England, that means "Fuck off." If you want to ask for 2 of something by hand, you have to do it palm-side out or you will highly insult someone.
We even compared grocery store receipts. It was hard for them to grasp our concept of sales tax. In England, all the tax is included in the price you see on the shelf. So, if you see a tag for 3.99 GBP, then you go to the register and you pay 3.99 GBP, no more/no less.
Probably the biggest difference between English social events and American social events is that the English revolve life around tea, whereas Americans revolve life around food. If I drank as much tea as everyone offered, I'd never eat again....then again, that may not be a terrible idea! Just with the lifestyle change alone, I'm probably due to lose 40-50 pounds before I return in July.
Anywho, I better get to the big reveal. I told you guys that your standards were too high, because Phil and I have not gotten married, I'm definitely not pregnant, and no, I have not pooped on myself in public. My idea of a big reveal is that the grocery store cashiers are required to sit down on the job. THAT'S jaw-dropping news. Cashiers can flippin' sit down for 8 hours! Whodathunkit?
I know, I know...there aren't any pictures. Cut a girl a break, will ya? We'll be back to Liverpool in May, and we'll be there for longer than 3 days, so I'll be able to get to some of the sights. I won't leave you in the dark forever -- promise.
The train ride up was beautiful. Honestly, the English countryside I saw resembled a lot of rural Kentucky's countryside, except in England, it's sheep instead of cattle grazing in the fields. It was overcast, but the grass was a beautiful kelly green -- not the teal bluegrass I'm used to seeing.
Our first stop was to a town called Runcorn, which is a little villa about 10 minutes outside of Liverpool, where Phil's Godfather, Jimmy, lives. Now THAT is a man who can tell a story. I never had a grandfather figure in my life, but I could easily see Jimmy as one. In other parts of the city, I also met Phil's mom, her boyfriend, Phil's sister, her boyfriend, and several of Phil's childhood/teenage friends.
Liverpool is more laidback than London. There is more time to enjoy things but fewer jobs to support the cost of living. It's right along the River Mersey, which brings in a pretty chilly breeze...much colder than what the Ohio River brings us.
I had a fantastic time meeting everyone and shared tons of laughs. I had a grand time explaining some of the differences between England and America in terms of daily lifestyle idiosyncracies. For example, if I asked for two drinks and flashed up 2 with my fingers, palm-side in, people in America would just think I were asking for two drinks. In England, that means "Fuck off." If you want to ask for 2 of something by hand, you have to do it palm-side out or you will highly insult someone.
We even compared grocery store receipts. It was hard for them to grasp our concept of sales tax. In England, all the tax is included in the price you see on the shelf. So, if you see a tag for 3.99 GBP, then you go to the register and you pay 3.99 GBP, no more/no less.
Probably the biggest difference between English social events and American social events is that the English revolve life around tea, whereas Americans revolve life around food. If I drank as much tea as everyone offered, I'd never eat again....then again, that may not be a terrible idea! Just with the lifestyle change alone, I'm probably due to lose 40-50 pounds before I return in July.
Anywho, I better get to the big reveal. I told you guys that your standards were too high, because Phil and I have not gotten married, I'm definitely not pregnant, and no, I have not pooped on myself in public. My idea of a big reveal is that the grocery store cashiers are required to sit down on the job. THAT'S jaw-dropping news. Cashiers can flippin' sit down for 8 hours! Whodathunkit?
I know, I know...there aren't any pictures. Cut a girl a break, will ya? We'll be back to Liverpool in May, and we'll be there for longer than 3 days, so I'll be able to get to some of the sights. I won't leave you in the dark forever -- promise.
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