Marks & Spencer is a big department store chain in the UK along the lines of Macy’s except that they have launched a series of food outlets. Not far from Rebecca’s apartment is Paddington Station and inside the station is a mini shopping mall called The Lawn. There are two food stores there, one is a more traditional food market called Sainsbury’s and the other is a Marks & Spencer Simply Food Store. What’s notable about the M&S store is that just about everything is a pre-packaged meal. Even the stuff that’s not a prepared meal is wrapped in some kind of plastic. But their specialty is this meal on the go for those that want others to cut, dice and slice. It’s the ultimate TV dinner store. They advertise for example a meal for two that’s less than 10 British Pounds including wine. Long lines of commuters stop off at the store to pick up dinner. It’s a plastic wrapped smorgasbord of international cuisine from moussaka to tandoori and everything in between. I was inexorably drawn in, filling my hand basket with things irresistibly ready to heat and serve.
My mission however was to find a dust pan and broom and I cruised the M&S thinking they might have a neat little cleaning kit, you know, pre-packaged. After all, eating requires cleaning up under most circumstances. Unfortunately as the sign says “Simply Food” it really means that. So I walked up to a gentleman who was standing at the entrance. He was wearing a uniform and appeared to be something of a security guard for the M&S store. He was not very tall but had an unusually long dark beard and one wandering eye. “Edgeware Road” he said in response to my inquiry about a broom and dustpan.
That’s a 15 minute walk and out of my way I thought to myself. Should I trust this guy? His cryptic answer to my question led me to believe otherwise but then I realized he was probably telling me that M&S store on Edgeware Road would have it. I walked up to the check out and repeated my question to the cashier and got the same response “Edgeware Road” so it must be true I thought.
One thing you quickly learn in London is that everything costs extra. Things that we take for granted in the US free of charge like water or bread at a restaurant will cost you. I had to pay 5p for each plastic bag to carry all my plastic wrapped food that I bought and slugged out of M&S passing the Boot’s Pharmacy and the Sainsbury thinking I should check them out for the broom and dustpan. The weight of carrying my plastic bags, two on each hand to keep things in balance, rolled my shoulders into an apelike stance and I thought better of trying to add to my burden. I headed back to the apartment.
Look right, then left, I muttered to myself as I crossed the first intersection. The one thing most disorienting in London is the opposite direction traffic is going. It’s like looking in your rearview mirror all the time. One hears stories of out-of -towners plucked off the road by a passing taxi or bus. The evidence is visible at most crossings with the words “Look right” with an arrow and “look left” with an arrow painted right there on the curb. I am compelled each time to read these warnings in fear of ending up at the nearby St. Mary’s Hospital.
I had this route which avoided as many street crossings as possible and took advantage of a one-way street that required only a singular look left. It necessitated however passing a Burger King and Kentucky Fried Chicken paired together side by side like two beacons of American culture. The thought made me feel self conscious. My shorts and Hawaiian shirt were dead giveaways. As I get older it seems I can no longer blend into looking like a native unless it’s of course back home. Just then a woman rolling a suitcase out of Paddington approached me for directions to the Hilton. She had a heavy East European accent. Carrying grocery bags she said gave her the impression I lived nearby. I happily pointed out the Hilton right behind her and found a bounce in my step as I passed the Pub at Paddington Station. The usual array of London drunks were out in front intermingling with the tourists. I felt for my wallet in a wily acrobatic move, which I now kept in my front pocket since Rebecca’s purse was stolen, and continued down Praed which turns into Craven past the two Italian restaurants, pastry shop, the Spanish tourist office, the “Cheap Bed and Breakfast”, the wine shop and a souvenir store and money exchange. I waved hello at the wine shop clerk where I routinely picked up a bottle of London Pride. Thinking dustpan and broom again, it dawned on me that there was a little hardware store on Craven two blocks past Westbourne Terrace near the Mitre Pub where Rebecca got robbed.
When I dropped off the groceries, JJ was lost in BBC 1,2,3 or 4 in a buzz of talk and game shows interspersed with news and weather. The weather was forecasting the usual partly cloudy, rain and sunshine. Ever since the stolen purse incident our 14 year old son was content to watch British Television even though he was limited to a handful of stations. If the TV world was ok, the real world might be easier to re-enter. I was not helping matters getting lost with my constant wanderings around town. He was resting on his makeshift bed out of the couch cushions and I was reminded of the need to buy an airbed. Do you want to go out? No. Come on, let’s go out. No. Ok I’ll be back in a bit. I’m hungry he said. What’d you get? As I put the food away I looked down at the wood floor with specks of crumbs and said I would make him something when I got back; won’t be long.
Out the massive black door of the building to a blue sky (look right, look left) to the hardware store, I passed a street sweeper with a rolling garbage can and tools of the trade. I took it as a sign that I was about to fulfill my mission. These sweepers are everywhere and London streets are spotless. I moved quickly passed the Lebanese and Indian Restaurants, a couple of hotels and corner groceries. There it was, I hadn’t imagined it, a hardware store. A skinny shop keeper with a massive head of hair, about my age, said in a high pitched foreign accent, “Right this way,” and led me to an assortment of cleaning devices, cleansers and what I was looking for…a neat little packaged stand up dustpan and broom that clipped together and was short enough to store in the cabinet at the apartment. You wouldn’t know where I might find an airbed, I asked pushing my luck. “That would be over here.” She pulled open a step ladder ascended to the top rung and in a single motion placed one foot on the window seal and lifted a box off the top shelf. “Double or single” she said. Uh double, yes, double will do.
Just then a woman walked in and excitedly explained that their guests had been robbed, her woman friend had lost everything that was in her purse, her passport, credit cards, everything she explained. I watched the shopkeeper teeter slightly and I said “I’ll take that,” reaching for the airbed in a box. I was about to join the conversation when the thought of getting back to feed JJ entered my mind and I paid for my wares and left.
The sunshine was gone again and as I made my way back it began to drizzle. JJ buzzed me in. The TV blared. Can you turn it down a little? I switched on the oven and tested out the broom and dustpan as JJ blew up the bed. We watched the Super Nanny expertly put a family’s life in order. I stuck an “American style” pepperoni pizza from the M&S in the oven. Everything here in London was clean, neatly wrapped, ready to serve but no matter how efficient things seem, it’s hard not to worry a little about what lies beneath the surface.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
London Images 2
Full burqa is common in London
Duckling nest at the Italian Gardens fountains in Hyde Park
On the Hungerford footbridge with the London Eye in the background
The Italian Gardens fountain in Hyde Park
Bench sitting playing the game of "what language was that"
Burqas and the Unemployed
While walking over the Hungerford foot bridge that crosses the Thames there were a group of women dressed in full black burqa gowns and veils who stopped to take a group photo. It was odd to see them pose with each other one indistinguishable from the next and I could not help to wonder for whom the pictures were intended. It was to me sadly preserving a memory of some nameless, faceless moment without character or context. It is a common site to see women in full Burqa veil in London with only their eyes showing and very common to see Islamic woman in the headdress scarves covering their heads and necks but not their faces. The latter in many cases are made of beautifully colored patterns in sharp contrast to the black head to toe anonymous burqa.
This July the House of Parliament in France in July overwhelming passed legislation to ban the burqa veil in public and there is similar legislation making its way through Britain, Spain, Belgium and the Netherlands. Nearby Rebecca’s apartment is Edgeware Road a wide diagonal avenue that begins at Marble Arch near Hyde Park Corner and is known as Little Beirut for its Lebanese cafes, hookah bars called shishas and Middle Eastern shops and markets. The new David Cameron Conservative government campaigned heavily to limit immigration and there is on one side of the issue businesses unhappy with new stringent regulations for hiring non- UK/Euro staff on work visas. On the other side of the argument is Labor saying jobs are lost to expats that could be filled by local Brits. A recent article I read in the Guardian sited a dramatic rise in the past year of unemployed 50 plus year olds who have little hope of finding work.
After a long walk through Hyde Park, Rebecca, JJ and I sat down on a bench to eat some ice cream and watch the parade of people through the park. We played a game trying to guess the multitude of languages and nationalities of people who walked by. A wedding party was making its way down our path to the take photos in front of the fountains at the Italian Gardens. The bride was in a long white off the shoulder gown followed by bridesmaids in tight elegantly fitted dresses. The men wore tuxedoes. A group of young girls in full burqa swarmed the party with cameras quickly snapping shots and then running in front to stay ahead of the wedding party. It was hard to tell if the girls had anything to do with the wedding party but it was clear they were infatuated with the full reverence and exposure of the bride’s femininity. The sun broke through after a little rain and lots of cloud cover. An elderly man sat with his shirt off reading the newspaper, perhaps one of the over 50 unemployed. A nest of ducklings in the Italian Garden fountain was a big crowd pleaser with lots of people sitting on the edge of the pool just watching.
I couldn’t help to think how fortunate we were to have a new beginning. Yes, we were now living 5,000 miles apart. It is going to be hard at times. Rebecca, over 50, working as an expat in the UK is free to do what she wants. There will be no veil for her.
This July the House of Parliament in France in July overwhelming passed legislation to ban the burqa veil in public and there is similar legislation making its way through Britain, Spain, Belgium and the Netherlands. Nearby Rebecca’s apartment is Edgeware Road a wide diagonal avenue that begins at Marble Arch near Hyde Park Corner and is known as Little Beirut for its Lebanese cafes, hookah bars called shishas and Middle Eastern shops and markets. The new David Cameron Conservative government campaigned heavily to limit immigration and there is on one side of the issue businesses unhappy with new stringent regulations for hiring non- UK/Euro staff on work visas. On the other side of the argument is Labor saying jobs are lost to expats that could be filled by local Brits. A recent article I read in the Guardian sited a dramatic rise in the past year of unemployed 50 plus year olds who have little hope of finding work.
After a long walk through Hyde Park, Rebecca, JJ and I sat down on a bench to eat some ice cream and watch the parade of people through the park. We played a game trying to guess the multitude of languages and nationalities of people who walked by. A wedding party was making its way down our path to the take photos in front of the fountains at the Italian Gardens. The bride was in a long white off the shoulder gown followed by bridesmaids in tight elegantly fitted dresses. The men wore tuxedoes. A group of young girls in full burqa swarmed the party with cameras quickly snapping shots and then running in front to stay ahead of the wedding party. It was hard to tell if the girls had anything to do with the wedding party but it was clear they were infatuated with the full reverence and exposure of the bride’s femininity. The sun broke through after a little rain and lots of cloud cover. An elderly man sat with his shirt off reading the newspaper, perhaps one of the over 50 unemployed. A nest of ducklings in the Italian Garden fountain was a big crowd pleaser with lots of people sitting on the edge of the pool just watching.
I couldn’t help to think how fortunate we were to have a new beginning. Yes, we were now living 5,000 miles apart. It is going to be hard at times. Rebecca, over 50, working as an expat in the UK is free to do what she wants. There will be no veil for her.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
London Images
US Embassy in London
The Eye
Rebecca and JJ in Trafalgar Square
An couple asleep on a park bench in Regents Park
London Part 2 - The US Embassy
August 2, 2010…Constable Beaton is a tall blond man with empathy that made explanation of the evening’s events easier. He took copious notes. Did the pub have CCTV? Do you remember seeing anyone suspicious? What time did it all take place? What did she have in her purse that was stolen? His hat sat on the seat next to him. He wore a bullet proof vest but carried no firearm. “London is one of the safest cities in the world,” he explained in a cockney accent. “Unfortunately there are elements that make a living stealing pocket books and purses.”
We had immediately called Bank of America and Chase to notify them of the stolen cards. Amazingly they already detected illegal activity with attempts nearby in Notting Hill and Bayswater to advance cash at ATM machines. Operators were available 24/7 and could access and cancel the card information immediately. Contacting the UK bank and cell phone company was not so easy and it took several attempts by phone. Once we connected Barclay’s couldn’t locate Rebecca’s account in their records and Orange couldn’t see if any attempts were made on using the phone. Notifying the US Embassy proved entirely fruitless. No one answered the 24 hour emergency number.
All this put something of a bad spin on what was so far a good experience. Rebecca arrived on June 14 and looked at the apartment another woman by chance was vacating. She got the apartment no problem and it’s a great 1 bedroom with a modern kitchen and bath. She figured out how to get to work on the 94 bus she picks up at Lancaster Gate at Hyde Park, just a few blocks away. Work started out well. The office is located in the heart of Soho with lots of interesting sights and restaurants.
Monday, we spent the morning at the US Embassy. It was a four hour ordeal first getting lost trying to find it and then waiting for her number to be called.
We had immediately called Bank of America and Chase to notify them of the stolen cards. Amazingly they already detected illegal activity with attempts nearby in Notting Hill and Bayswater to advance cash at ATM machines. Operators were available 24/7 and could access and cancel the card information immediately. Contacting the UK bank and cell phone company was not so easy and it took several attempts by phone. Once we connected Barclay’s couldn’t locate Rebecca’s account in their records and Orange couldn’t see if any attempts were made on using the phone. Notifying the US Embassy proved entirely fruitless. No one answered the 24 hour emergency number.
All this put something of a bad spin on what was so far a good experience. Rebecca arrived on June 14 and looked at the apartment another woman by chance was vacating. She got the apartment no problem and it’s a great 1 bedroom with a modern kitchen and bath. She figured out how to get to work on the 94 bus she picks up at Lancaster Gate at Hyde Park, just a few blocks away. Work started out well. The office is located in the heart of Soho with lots of interesting sights and restaurants.
Monday, we spent the morning at the US Embassy. It was a four hour ordeal first getting lost trying to find it and then waiting for her number to be called.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
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London Part 1 - Westbourne Terrace
We reached the Mitre Pub at the corner of a quiet residential street, minutes on foot from our flat at Westbourne Terrace. At the corner above a double door entrance the pubs name in large gold letters, masts the building like most London pubs emboldened by a deep red background. We chose to go in the side entrance just past a small hotel and local shops. Rebecca started her new job in London working for The Motion Picture Company and JJ and I arrived for a two week visit to help her settle in.
The area commonly referred to as Bayswater is bordered on the south by Hyde Park, on the north by the Westbourne Bridge, on the west Notting Hill and east by Marble Arch is quintessential 19th Century Victorian. At the center of it all is Paddington Station, the quickest way to get to Heathrow Airport and central to the Underground lines including the Circle, Bakerloo, Hammersmith and other destinations I haven’t figured out yet. The area around Paddington station is not well known for great food but in searching for best fish and chips the Mitre seemed to be a good choice close by. We were greeted by a stout barmaid with thick glasses and bright rosaceous cheeks. She advised us to have a seat and a Young’s bitter along with the cod fish and chips. We navigated a table between the two entrances tucked up against a wall covered in deep mahogany paneling. I was thrilled to have my first beer and fish and chips at a pub in London and the three of us, Rebecca, JJ and I sat back to enjoy the warm homey atmosphere.
The homes nearby were built in the 1840’s and 1850’s and according to one report our street Westbourne Terrace was considered the neighborhood centerpiece in its time: “The most spacious and dignified avenue unrivalled in its class in London or even Great Britain.” Typically four stories the white stucco houses built side to side sport large portico entrances with massive wood doors and neatly framed balconies on top with black railing. Roof tops are reminiscent of Mary Poppins with varying sized chimney peaks and tutor roofs with plenty of hips and valleys. The neighborhood has had some famous inhabitants including writers William Thackeray, James Barrie, and Bret Harte, politicians Winston and Randolph Churchill, as well as numerous well known socialites, artists and businessmen. Down the street from our flat are the headquarters for the Royal Parks and the home for Conservatives Friends of Israel. An antiquity bookstore used to be located somewhere close by as was the world’s first bicycle shop. It was important to find a neighborhood where Rebecca felt safe, easy to get to work in Soho on public transit and close to the famous sites of central London. Westbourne Terrace seemed to have everything going for it.
Our fish and chips arrived, an impressive golden brown crisply fried in beer batter. A crunch of bodies coming and going was neatly penetrated by the barmaid who suggested a darker brew and I succumbed to a flat warm beer, something I am not particularly fond of. I cut into the fish and a puff of steam revealed a soft white cod cooked to perfection. I spiced it up with a splash of vinegar and stuck a fork into the crisp cover, scooped up the white fish with a couple of chips and savored the moment.
The London 1800’s had its underside. In its Victorian grandeur and wealth the real villain that lurked among the Mews and fog was a city gripped by cholera and sewage problems, and a sharp contrast between rich and poor. Just two Underground stops away from Paddington Station is Baker Street, stomping ground of the fictional London sleuth Sherlock Holmes made popular at a time when the notorious mass murderer, Jack the Ripper stalked the ladies of the night on London’s East Side. In the 1850’s and 1860’s a sensational press wrote often about street robberies termed “garroting” where Londoners were accosted, beaten and robbed even though the actual practice was not that wide spread.
We were satiated and a little tipsy from the beer. Happily we got up to leave. Rebecca looked for her purse and it was gone. Her camera, iPod, credit cards, California Drivers License and US Passport all gone from the back of her chair where she had put it. We were stunned and despair fell on us like the darkness of the London sunset.
During the day the weather changes from cloud to sunshine and back again constantly. At night seagulls can be heard still cruising the waterways that were once rivers but are now canals or culverts paved over with development. Pigeons are plentiful but not a single bug could be found. A fat little church mouse sat preoccupied on the sidewalk as we left the Mitre in search of the Paddington Green Police Station.
The area commonly referred to as Bayswater is bordered on the south by Hyde Park, on the north by the Westbourne Bridge, on the west Notting Hill and east by Marble Arch is quintessential 19th Century Victorian. At the center of it all is Paddington Station, the quickest way to get to Heathrow Airport and central to the Underground lines including the Circle, Bakerloo, Hammersmith and other destinations I haven’t figured out yet. The area around Paddington station is not well known for great food but in searching for best fish and chips the Mitre seemed to be a good choice close by. We were greeted by a stout barmaid with thick glasses and bright rosaceous cheeks. She advised us to have a seat and a Young’s bitter along with the cod fish and chips. We navigated a table between the two entrances tucked up against a wall covered in deep mahogany paneling. I was thrilled to have my first beer and fish and chips at a pub in London and the three of us, Rebecca, JJ and I sat back to enjoy the warm homey atmosphere.
The homes nearby were built in the 1840’s and 1850’s and according to one report our street Westbourne Terrace was considered the neighborhood centerpiece in its time: “The most spacious and dignified avenue unrivalled in its class in London or even Great Britain.” Typically four stories the white stucco houses built side to side sport large portico entrances with massive wood doors and neatly framed balconies on top with black railing. Roof tops are reminiscent of Mary Poppins with varying sized chimney peaks and tutor roofs with plenty of hips and valleys. The neighborhood has had some famous inhabitants including writers William Thackeray, James Barrie, and Bret Harte, politicians Winston and Randolph Churchill, as well as numerous well known socialites, artists and businessmen. Down the street from our flat are the headquarters for the Royal Parks and the home for Conservatives Friends of Israel. An antiquity bookstore used to be located somewhere close by as was the world’s first bicycle shop. It was important to find a neighborhood where Rebecca felt safe, easy to get to work in Soho on public transit and close to the famous sites of central London. Westbourne Terrace seemed to have everything going for it.
Our fish and chips arrived, an impressive golden brown crisply fried in beer batter. A crunch of bodies coming and going was neatly penetrated by the barmaid who suggested a darker brew and I succumbed to a flat warm beer, something I am not particularly fond of. I cut into the fish and a puff of steam revealed a soft white cod cooked to perfection. I spiced it up with a splash of vinegar and stuck a fork into the crisp cover, scooped up the white fish with a couple of chips and savored the moment.
The London 1800’s had its underside. In its Victorian grandeur and wealth the real villain that lurked among the Mews and fog was a city gripped by cholera and sewage problems, and a sharp contrast between rich and poor. Just two Underground stops away from Paddington Station is Baker Street, stomping ground of the fictional London sleuth Sherlock Holmes made popular at a time when the notorious mass murderer, Jack the Ripper stalked the ladies of the night on London’s East Side. In the 1850’s and 1860’s a sensational press wrote often about street robberies termed “garroting” where Londoners were accosted, beaten and robbed even though the actual practice was not that wide spread.
We were satiated and a little tipsy from the beer. Happily we got up to leave. Rebecca looked for her purse and it was gone. Her camera, iPod, credit cards, California Drivers License and US Passport all gone from the back of her chair where she had put it. We were stunned and despair fell on us like the darkness of the London sunset.
During the day the weather changes from cloud to sunshine and back again constantly. At night seagulls can be heard still cruising the waterways that were once rivers but are now canals or culverts paved over with development. Pigeons are plentiful but not a single bug could be found. A fat little church mouse sat preoccupied on the sidewalk as we left the Mitre in search of the Paddington Green Police Station.
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