The Calm After the Christmas Storm

I didn’t quite understand why there was so much hype around Christmas in England. The lights are over the top, the decorations and celebrations start before Halloween (a very foreign idea to me), and there is a definite “buzz” in the air, as the season gets closer. On Christmas Day, Eastern Boy and I went in search of a Christmas evening service. His parents had sent him a Christmas card with a bread wafer to take part in communion on Christmas Day. So we set out around 5 p.m. with a couple different churches in mind to check out. We assumed that like Poland and the States churches here would be holding evening services. While I am sure somewhere in this huge city there must have been an evening service, there was not an open church to be found in the Aldgate East area. We walked to about five different churches; some of them didn’t even have morning services. What’s the point in celebrating Christmas if you don’t even know the real reason for the season?

The city was like a ghost town, I thought at one point maybe the rapture had taken place in the morning service and we’d missed the trip. Everything was closed, there were very few cars on the street and even fewer people. We decided to find our way back to the hotel and take a walk down Brick Lane. It was there we found an open Indian restaurant where we shared our Christmas meal: spicy chicken curry and rice. The meal was spicier than we had expected and Eastern Boy made the comment that the spices were making his “nose cry”. I laughed and agreed!

After dinner we wandered into a little pub that I thought seemed to come right out of a Sherlock Holmes novel. It was eerily quiet and there were two people sleeping in chairs by a small gas fire. Nobody stayed long and nobody seemed to be talking to each other. Eastern Boy and I drank our pints and left, but not until after he had snapped a few pictures of the interesting scene.

Now the hotel was a pleasant change from my little flat. The bed was fabulous, the pillows were feathers, there was “tele”, and most importantly, the room had heating, which could be adjusted to my perfect temperature. It was quite a treat! I must say, I feel a little indulged now. When I walked back into my freezing cold flat I couldn’t help but wonder how I had convinced myself that it “wasn’t so bad” not having a proper heating system and that I “liked” the fresh air that consistently blows through the old draftee windows. It took me a little over two hours to warm my little living room. This is the only room where the heat works so I shut the door and just don’t leave. No wonder the landlord travels south for the winter!

Excited to see life back on the street this morning I woke up early to go return some things I had bought in Wimbledon, get some groceries and pay rent at the bank. However, I guess shouldn’t have been surprised when I stepped out and saw my little street closed. The trains were running a limited service and I was lucky enough to get a train right away. The grocery store was completely dead compared to the mad house it had been only days before, only a few shops in the main mall were even open and the banks are closed almost all week (they will be open the 29th before closing again until the January 4th – I’m in the wrong profession).

I was shocked that a whole city can shut down for almost two weeks and then it hit me! That’s why the British love this time of year, good food, family, presents and no work! Maybe Americans should take a step back and actually rest and enjoy this time of year. Maybe we have it all wrong? Or maybe I am missing the conveniences that I have grown so accustom too? Maybe I am ready for life to get back to normal? Personally, I think the latter is true.

Mixin' It Up

Well, I really have tried to be a little more “adventurous” since my Creature of Habit post. And I don’t mean the stupid kind adventurous where I roam strange parts of the city at night. While I’m sure good stories would come from such ridiculous behavior, I’d rather live to tell the tale. So I’m starting out small. Step one – cooking dinner. Now, this might seem like quite a small step for life in the “comfort zone,” but for me this is a rather large step. Grocery stores here (and frankly anywhere abroad) intimidate me. When I was in Greece a trip to the grocery store would leave me frustrated, homesick and possibly even in tears. While I do have a small advantage given that the labels are in English here, many times the packaging and name brands are so different that I am left wondering; “Do I really need this item?”

Now sometimes I do get lucky and find something I wasn’t expecting. For example, one morning in the search for eggs I stumbled across real bacon. Not that British ham they call bacon, but the nice crisp fatty stuff. Of course, southern biscuits were not an opinion (I’ll have to be brave and try homemade for those) but after about 30 minutes of walking up and down the refrigerator aisle I still hadn’t found eggs. Frustrated and not willing to concede to failure I finally asked an attendant. He graciously led me three aisles over to the area with cereal where he pointed to the carton of eggs and walked away. Of course! Why didn’t I think to look next to the cereal?

I’ve become a little too comfortable with running down the street to grab a £2 burger, chicken or pizza meal. Besides the fact that I feel like I’m about to be on a first name basis with several of the cooks, last night I dreamed that I stepped on the scale and it read 60 lbs more than when I left the States. I woke up in a panic and made a healthy (ok, well it’s a start in the right direction) grocery list from some hit Rachel Ray meals and headed off to Wimbledon to navigate my way around the “mega” store. More options equal a higher success rate, right? Plus, my runny nose last week had left me completely out of toilet paper and the Wimbledon store is the only place to get twelve rolls for £1.50. Quality is not high on my priority list these days.

Walking into the store I felt a little like I was walking into a jungle. There were holiday-crazed people everywhere. I actually have never seen people literally pushing to get to the brussels sprouts (eww). In order to use a cart here you have to pay £1 pound deposit and then when you put the cart back you get your £1 back. I haven’t figured out where to put the cart back yet, so I usually just use a free basket. This does limit the amount of things I can buy, which I guess isn’t a bad thing, considering I do have to carry them home. I decided to be patient and stick to the list. I collected a bag of small potatoes, an onion, green and red pepper, a tomato (yes, can you believe it? I really am mixing it up). I found my way to the chicken, which was on sale for £3!! What a bargain! I chose not to look at the date and just vowed to eat it very quickly. I stumbled around and found a few more items and made my way to the cashier. I have learned to always bring my own bags because many stores actually charge anywhere from five to 20 pence for a bag (besides, using my own market bags is more environmentally friendly). After waiting in a long line it was finally my turn. I always struggle to prepare my bags, load my bags (baggers are not a provided luxury here) and pay all at the same time. However, for the first time ever, I managed quite well. I had opened my bags before it was even my turn so plopping them down on the counter was quick and simple, my debit card was waiting in my pocket and while the cashier swiped my first items I stuck my card in the slot and swiftly put my items into my bags. The whole transaction took about three minutes, but the line behind me was growing antsier and I was just ready to get home!

Since my flat is actually someone else’s home, an elderly bachelor at that, the dishes, pots and pans supplied for cooking are very limited. However, I was able to make do with what was provided. My first official homemade dinner in England was a Thai Chicken wrap. With no measuring cups the measurements were guessamounts. It might not have been the best meal I’ve ever made (and definitely not the best I’ve ever eaten) but it was edible and enjoyed. Since then I have been brave enough to make roasted baby potatoes, chicken tortillini, Parmesean Chicken with diced tomatoes on top (I know, still a shocker!) and a couple of baked potatoes. Maybe tonight I’ll brave lemon pepper chicken.

The goal: To not eat out until after Christmas and maybe even until next year!

Five Sleeps Until Christmas

London is covered with a white blanket of the second snow of the season! I’ve never liked the cold and I believe the last time I got really excited about snow I was in the 5th grade and a winter storm had covered Kentucky with over two feet of the white stuff. I remember playing for hours outside and never getting cold (or sick). Now, I’ve always loved snow days but once I could drive I much preferred the snow that cancelled school in the early mornings but had melted by the time I woke up. Then I could run around with my friends all day and not worry about the slick conditions. Here I do not have to worry about driving in the snow, ice or even rain. However, transport becomes even more unreliable than a normal day. Typically, my train is always a couple of minutes late; however, many days I count on those minutes. But add a little bit of snow and you might as well give up getting anywhere on time.

Yesterday I had agreed to work a couple of shifts for a local catering supply company. I arrived in the morning around 7 a.m. and around 10 a.m. it started to snow. It snowed and snowed and snowed. The morning shift was a set up shift for the evening event and was being held in a tent. The tent walls were still being put up so the work was basically outside (and cold), but looking out the edges of the tent I felt like I was in a snow globe that had just been turned upside down. It was gorgeous! The whole of London collected between 2 to 5 inches in about two hours and getting home was a booger!

In the early morning I had braved the bus system and actually found the correct bus going the correct direction to the location with little difficultly. I was rather proud of my small accomplishment. However, the task of getting home on an already unreliable bus in the snowy mess was certain to be an adventure I did not want to experience. I chose to take the Tube to Waterloo station and train from there. I ended up having to change tubes three times and ended up at Vauxhall station instead. I jumped on a train, which was a little late and moving a little slower due to the weather, and just watched the snow covered trees pass the window. Everything was white. I realized, I kind of like the snow. I want to take pictures of it. I even kind of want to play in it (although, I never will … brr!) and if I had no place to go I would definitely be singing “let it snow, let is snow, let is snow.” I guess if it’s going to be this cold (for this long) I might as well be able to look at something pretty.

Well the count down to Christmas has begun and as the Brit’s say “only five more sleeps” until the big day. My Christmas is going to be a little less traditional this year. I have rented a room in London at the hotel where Eastern Boy works. His room is already supplied by his employers since he will be working Christmas Eve and Christmas Night and transport is closed on Christmas. We have tickets to see the new Narnia movie on Christmas day and even found a 3D theatre in walking distances from the hotel. I am still not sure if it has hit me that I will be away from family and tradition this Christmas or if I am just choosing to not think about it. However, for now, I am dreaming of the possibility of having a white London Christmas.

Creature of Habit

Today started off to a bad start…

I am beginning to wrap up my semester (although I will be working through the break on several group projects due after the New Year, ugh!) and have multiple group presentations this week. The biggest presentation was this morning and worth 70% of my final grade; needless to say - a big deal. The group comprised of nine people and miraculously we all got along and worked well together. We all agreed to meet on Sunday afternoon and do a run though of the 45-minute presentation. I woke up Sunday morning feeling great. The sun was shinning and the weather was warmer (37 F is considered a warm day now). I cleaned the flat, washed the dishes, took a shower, gathered my things and was off to the meeting. I should have checked the train times because I had to wait on the platform for a good 20 minutes before a train to Kingston actually arrived. I hopped on the train and the carriage was hot and stuffy. A big difference from the cold air I had just sat in for 20 minutes. I started to feel my chest getting heavy and my nose started to run. Ehh, it’s nothing I told myself! As the meeting progressed, so did my symptoms and by the time I got home I was feeling quite grim. I took (what I am sure my mother would say) entirely too many cold meds and was in bed, asleep by 9:40 p.m. Well the meds worked because I slept like a Nyquil commercial suggests (minus the Nyquil – can’t get it here…) and woke up with a clear head and a very heavy chest. I think I skipped the “head cold” part and went straight to the “it’s in your chest” part. So, today got off to a bad start…

I must have sweat a lot in my sleep because I woke up late smelling icky. My bedroom still smells like a locker room (not quite sure how to fix that – Febreeze?). After a quick shower I realized there was no way I would be able to make my train and would have to take the late train. No biggie. Well, I couldn’t find my Oyster and then I realized, there was no money on it and the lines for the tickets were a mile long. I ran to the nearest Oyster shop and waited in a long line to top up. Then I ran, chest heaving in the freezing cold; the train pulled away from the station right as I reached the platform. Great! I wished I could pull an Indiana Jones move and ride the train from the outside, but didn’t think getting arrested (or killed) was really in the schedule for the day. Plus, jail would not be a good place to have a cold. I bet they wouldn’t even give me tissues!

Anyway, the next train wasn’t for another 20 minutes and it was already 8:26 a.m. at that point. Now the train to Kingston makes about six stops before reaching my designation and takes about 25 minutes. From there I typically walked to school to save the £1.50 (I can get a whole chicken dinner at the dodgy kebab stand for that) bus ride. The walk takes about 15 minutes depending on the speed. Given the bowling ball I’m carrying on my chest I was calculating it would take much longer! At this point my presentation would be over by the time I arrived. I started to panic and jumped on the next train to Surbiton instead. Granted, I’ve never been to Surbiton and I don’t know how to get from Surbiton to Kingston, but we’ve talked about it in class and I know people who live there. I thought it must be close. The train made one stop at Wimbledon and then reached Surbiton station. I hopped out of the station and saw Bus 71 at a stop across the street. This is the bus I would take from Kingston Station, if I weren’t cheap. I thought, “Self, would you rather walk aimlessly up the streets of Surbiton or suck it up and pay the £1.50?” I paid the £1.50. Admittedly, I got on the bus going the wrong direction first but quickly realized and dashed across the street just in time to catch the correct bus. I did almost hit a car in the process – no, the car did not almost hit me… I almost hit a parked car. The nerve of it getting in my way! Not four stops later the bus driver announced my stop (about three blocks down the street) and as I rushed into the school I realized it was only 8:55 a.m. I was five minutes early. I actually arrived to the school sooner than if I had caught the 8:26 a.m. train to Kingston station. God is good!

Oh and it turns out the professor decided to not start class until 10 a.m. today to give us a chance to review and prepare – figures!

So what did I learn? Surbiton station is shorter train ride and a shorter walk to school. So what did I do when I was leaving at the end of the day? I walked the 25 minutes (with the bowling ball heaving in my lungs) to Kingston Station and took the longer train to the same station where the Surbiton train would have brought me. I really debated which station to leave from and as I was regretting the long walk through town all I could think was I am a creature of habit. I took the route most familiar, even though it might not have been the fastest option. (Granted I don’t know how often trains leave from Surbiton to Earlsfield and how reliable, but it’s a safe bet that they are more frequent or the same as Kingston).

I find that I am more a creature of habit here than I ever thought of myself as being when at home. I always take the same set of escalators in the mall, or go to the same kebab shop, or order my pizza the same way, ride when I could walk, take a train instead of a bus (still trying to figure out the whole bus thing), go with friends when I could find it by myself, pay more for the American brand cereals instead of the British brand (when it’s the same thing). The list could go on forever.

I guess I need to ask myself; do I like it this way? Or am I ready to mix it up?

Through These Walls...

Though I’ve had many troubles with the flat where I reside I’ve begun to become attached to it; and, for the time being, everything is fixed! I should knock on wood. It has its quirks and things still break often, mainly because of poor installation and lack of proper care. For example, several nights ago I was happily washing my dishes when a heard a loud “Boom”! Not quite sure where the noise came from I continued to wash. It was then I heard water running and something wet touch my feet. When I opened the cabinet below I discovered the walls of the cabinet had pulled apart causing the shelf that wrapped around the sink pipe to fall and bring the pipes with it. Pots went flying, water was everywhere, and I could not manage to get the shelf away from the pipe. In panicked frustration I called Kris to come save the day. He was able to untangle the pipes, remove the shelf, and reattach the pipe so that it worked with no leaks while I used three towels to wipe up the pond which had overtaken my kitchen. Just another day in the life of my complicated existence here in London!

I often hear noises in the flat that are from outside but sound so close, for a while I was convinced the place was haunted. So when the shelf came tumbling down my first thought was that it was outside. The walls of my flat are quite thin and many times when I am lying in bed I can hear people outside on the street, far from my bedroom, laughing and talking below. Many times I’ve grabbed the scissors I keep in my bedside drawer (I know, strange, but I always need to cut out something when I’m warm in my bed) and tiptoed into the other room expecting to see these party animals having a cup of tea and enjoying my living room.

However, it’s not the people outside that I enjoy the most through my walls, but the neighbors above me. They are a young Indian family with two small children. The oldest daughter is probably around three and the baby is just starting to walk. I don’t know this because I’ve met them, although I have tried, but because of what I hear through the walls. They are a family of four gathered into a one-bedroom apartment. When in the living room I can hear the children laughing, crying, playing and running. The children also sleep in the living room and the parents use the bedroom. I know this because the dad is quite the snorer. Most nights I try to fall asleep before he does. However, on the rare occasion I am awake longer I wonder how any of them sleep in the same flat! The other night I was drifting off to sleep to the sound of his snoring slightly seeping through the floorboards when I heard a loud “Blaafffff.” I sat straight up wondering if that was really what I thought it was! I heard his wife start to cough a little and then I heard him get up and open a window. Yes, he had passed gas loud enough to not only awaken me from my light sleep, but to also awaken himself and his wife. As I lay in bed I couldn’t help but giggle, and hoped that they never hear the same from me.

Oh the joys of living in close quarters – welcome to the city!