Movin' On

Hey! This site has been very good to me and all, but I'm moving over here with "The 20 Tram". If you'd like to keep following, here's where you can find me:

http://the20tram.wordpress.com/

Home again, home again.

So, vacation is over now. It was a good run while it lasted, I tell you. This was my favorite trip to England (of the three total I've taken here), and I bet it always will be, no matter how many more times I happen to drift this way, because of getting to see how my friends do here. Annie, Chris, and Jonathan, in their separate ways, of course. I bet if I came back and they weren't here, it would only be so so.

That said, there are lots of things I wouldn't mind doing more of: the seaside, the markets, the country villages. Those things are so English, and so lovely. The more I think about it, the more I'm starting to realize I may not be a city kid after all, which doesn't make a ton of sense, as that's where I've spent the bulk of my life. But I'm starting to realize that I like a little more space, and growing things, and room for myself. Wonder if they'd take me in Wales...

Today Chris and I puttered around Greenwich Market and the Victoria neighborhood again, getting last minute gifts. I truly hope nobody opens my suitcase, as it's stuffed to the gills with food-based souveniers. My favorite things being the Cadbury mini-eggs. I think the Sainsbury's clerk thought I was an enormous pig, but I felt compelled to tell her that it wasn't all for me, so she didn't think I was a binger. Anyhow, if a remotely hungry security person cracks that suitcase open, he's going to have a sweets buffet. After we got Annie from the embassy (she's been interning at the American Embassy -- it's good to know all of these lawyers who will be able to get me out of trouble some day), we went to Richmond, which is such an elegant and full little part of London that it sort of makes you swoon. Not so many crowds, and lots of pretty little spots. It was big for the Tudors, I believe. I had one last set of scones with slightly sub-par clotted cream. I soldiered through them anyway. We walked through the big public park there, and knocked back a few in The White Swan. We came home and completely pigged out on Indian food at Nouvelle Spice (we've been there three times since I've been in London). The food there is exemplary, I tell you. We made the most of it. The third plate of nan might have been a mistake.

It was strange coming here. I felt like it crept up on me, and sort of like I wasn't at a good leaving point in life and work. Believe me, I got over that quickly once I got here. It's been great. I haven't been thinking about the crappy bad stuff at work, or in life in general. (I wasn't thinking about work, but it still infected my dreams -- I dreamt the women in my department were trying to gather me up and get me to Temple. Weird part? Nobody there is Jewish, but the dreams give me what they give me.) I wasn't thinking about dumb stuff all the time. I know that I don't think or worry about dumb stuff as much as some might, and so I'm better off there than a lot of people. But on this trip, I really got thinking about the nature of happiness.

Traveling and being out in the world makes me really happy. I tried to think about why, and I guess it's twofold. It's that life is a lot simpler because you only take what you absolutely need. The other is that everything's new and interesting. And engaging. I want to do more to make it like that all of the time. Get it nice and simple at home, and then just keep engaged in some way. And travel as much as I can, of course, in the mean time.

It was just nice not feeling like a part of the petty crap that has become a part of my life lately. It was nice to pretend that those things didn't matter, because of course they do in some ways. They wouldn't really bug me if they were all silly and trifling, but unfortunately, all of the things that bother me aren't silly and trifling. But i have to do a better job of deciding what to let go of, because I want to retain this sensation for as long as I can. Unhappiness can go suck a lemon.

So, last night here. It's late, and it'll be a pill getting to the aiport with my suitcase loaded down with Cadbury products, and I'll need some rest. I'll miss this version of England, but the good news is that these things stay with you for a while. Maybe I'll come back affecting a Madonna accent, just for funsies?

See you all soon!

That was the river...

And this is the sea:


Today I'm in Wales, visiting a dear Welshman whom I love. (This photo is courtesy of him, actually.) The seaside is incredible -- the beach is full of hard packed sand and beautiful rock, and stretches out so gorgeously. I would have stayed for hours, but we're off to the pub.

This island. The more I see, the more I like.

Bits and pieces

Yesterday I was on my own for most of the day, which actually made me work a little bit. I've been following Chris and Annie around like a puppy, which has allowed me to be sort of lazy when it comes to navigating. But yesterday, I was using a map and buses and everything on my own. I went down to the Victoria Station area, where my mom and I stayed the first time I came here. I went past our little B&B and the Green Cafe, where I had my first cup of straight up English tea, and then made my way to Brompton Road, which was probably about a mile's walk? Anyway, I was headed that way to see the Victoria and Albert Museum.

I don't even have words to describe how much I liked that place. I need to find out what the building originally was, or if it was built for the museum, but it's enormous and gorgeous -- a huge beautiful mansion filled with galleries and a huge ballroom of a cafe and all of these insane arts and crafts from all over the world and all different time periods. I am not exaggerating when I say that it nearly gave me ladywood. Even the bathrooms were arty and cool. Not just old artsy stuff -- new and cool and modern stuff mixed right in. I could stay there all week.

Very soon I'm off from Paddington Station to Wales, to see a friend from my MFA program. I really can't wait -- not just to see him, but to see his fabled town of Porthcawl. Jonathan warned me that the town's a bit rough, and has lots of dog poo on the street. But at least it's rough with an accent, huh? I really can't wait.

Hard to believe, but the trip's almost over. Today and most of tomorrow in Wales, and then back for just a couple more days here. Too crazy.

Get thee to Greenwich

Today I went to mass with Annie and Chris, Chris being an especially devout fellow. It was an experience like no other -- their parish church is in a neighborhood comprised primarily of African immigrants, and it was a strange fusion. The priest was also African, which was new for me, and so young, which was also pretty unusual in the realm of my churchgoing experience, but as I said: it was an experience. There was a lovely warm lady sitting next to me who really made me feel like she wanted peace to be with me. There was a seriously loud lady in the choir (I'm afraid she might bust her throat out one of these days). And there was a point where a family came up for a special birthday blessing for one of their members. And then we actually sang happy birthday, with the organ bopping right along. Sort of awesome, actually.

After that, we walked to Greenwich. The market there is out of sight. It's the smallest and most compact I've been to, but I think it might be the best one so far. The food there is really eclectic -- Portuguese, organic modern spins on traditional English, Polish, Argentinian, to name a few, with an African nation here and there. I planned my menu carefully so that I could get lots of different things. It took me about twenty minutes of pacing the stalls to put it together, but ultimately, here's what I came up with: a potato, onion and cheese pastry, three sweet potato curry balls, and a cupcake sized chorizo and chicken pie. And then banana cake for dessert. The shops around there were pretty great -- one was devoted entirely to the art of papercutting! And it just sort of had a good feel to it. We took some tea in a nearby shop and read for a while. Then Chris went off to catch a soccer (yeah, yeah football) game, and Annie and I walked up to the meridian. I stood across the middle for a picture, as one ought.

I also got to see Ashley D., who used to live in Prague. We fell into the same circle of friends, and she stuck around for a little while longer than I did. After that, she went to London for an art history program, and is now interning at Southeby's. If anybody is perfect for these things, it's Ashley. She always looks like art to me. She met us in the pub and we gorged ourselves on gourmet pub grub, while gingerly avoiding beer. Well, Ashley and I avoided it, on account of a hangover for her and on account of some unshakable Puritan feelings on my part. Just kidding. Actually, sometimes, and I'm surprised to hear myself say this, you just get beered out.

Tomorrow I have some free time -- no plans from Chris or Annie, and nothing specific on my part, either. Just a knockaround day. I'm not sure what I'll attempt, but I'll consult my BFF Rick Steves. I'm leaning toward a puttering day. Best kind of day.

The Village Green Preservation Society

(This post is actually from Saturday, Feb. 27th -- internet difficulties prevented me from posting it then, though.)

If I lived in England (and I don't know when or why that would ever come to be), I would not choose to live in London. This is a wonderful city with incredible beauty and history. But so much chaos. So many people, so many wide and sprawling parts. Everybody trying to load into a train car at one time. It's just so much to absorb that I can't imagine doing it every day for real life. So, if this imaginary edict of English living came to me, I would choose a village. Not an itty bitty one, necessarily, but I sure wouldn't mind an itty bitty one. Because a pretty little English village isn't like anything else, from what I can see (I say this never having seen a pretty little Scottish or Irish village). Seeing one makes you want to protect it and all it stands for.

Today Annie and I went to Chawton to see Jane Austen's cottage. It was positively wonderful and probably the most fun thing we've done on the trip so far. This includes even the raclette. We set out for Waterloo from New Cross and got tickets to Alton, a small town about an hour southwest of London. From there, we got the bus to Chawton, a really small little bit of a village where Jane Austen lived for the last part of her life and spent her most productive writing years. The house really was amazing ("A cottage is always very snug..."). We got to see how she lived (not just her, but women like her, including her sister), where she slept, and where she salted the slaughtered pig. We walked on the roads she and her sister used to walk (very muddy, though, on account of the rain -- I saw hikers with their pant legs six inches deep with mud).

We even sat in her garden. Actually, this was my particularly favorite part of the day. I packed a lunch for us the night before -- ham sandwiches on sesame seed bread, cheese and crackers, along with apples and cookies. We were touring the top floor of the house and starting to get hungry. We made it through the rest of the house, meaning to find a spot to eat. Unfortunately, it was raining, and I don't think the docents of the museum would have been cool with us plunking down in the kitchen exhibit and chowing down. I don't know why. It WAS a kitchen once...

And on top of it all, it was raining. England and its rain. So. we put up the umbrellas and started to look for a place we might eat our grub. Then I saw a bench in the garden that was tucked under a huge evergreen tree, that was more or less dry. So we kept our umbrellas up and we ate our lunch on the bench. Things were more elaborate than I thought. Not only did I pack the sandwiches and all, but I also had packed some scones, jam and clotted cream. (I admit that I have become obsessed.) The preparing of the scones was sort of involved. I took out a butter knife that I'd brought from home, a raspberry jam jar with only about half an inch of jam left, and a small styrofoam container that once contained hummus but which I had reappropriated into a clotted cream carrier. It wasn't until I realized that people were actually looking that I thought anything might have looked strange about it. We (I) got some stares. But beyond the humiliation of having to hide a scone and its various accessories behind your umbrella while the prying eyes of elderly tourists and museum workers look on, it was a great moment. We ate in Jane Austen's backyard. We saw where it all came from. And it was pretty grand.

We walked back from the house to the bus stop and had a twenty minute wait (no rain by then). So we did Mad Libs (which I brought for Annie from America) and doubled over laughing at the good ones (our best sentence was "I had to run 75 miles every day to strengthen my buttcheeks, but it was all for nothing, because while dry-humping at the tryouts, I fell and broke my earlobe" -- classic!). We ate some of the cookies. And then we got back on the bus (same bus driver, who admired the new totebag I'd purchased, with Jane's face on the side -- he said he had one just like it). We stopped in the town of Alton before getting the train back to Waterloo so we could have a beer in the pub. This turned into three beers apiece. It would be nice if life were full of more things like Saturday afternoon beer, little winding roads and vomit-inducing laughter (that might be taking it too far). But you take what you can get and make what you can from it.

And to top it all off, Indian food. Tomorrow we're bound for Greenwich (just a little way up the road from Annie and Chris' apartment) and a roast in the pub. All this beer is going to give me very shiny hair.

Wherein I discover the joys of the Nat'l Portrait Gallery and raclettes

My feet are killing me, but I'm pretty happy anyway. Today we went to the Burough food market, which was so lovely it could kill you. The produce there is gorgeous and arranged to best advantage, as the vendors well know. I bought a pair of beautiful Comice pears. For an appetizer, Annie and I split a sausage roll (maybe my favorite sort of English food thing, except for scones), and then I had something that can only be called a revelation: a raclette. They have a gorgeous wheel of cheese that they cut perfectly in half, so you have two half moons of cheese. Then they put one half cut-side up and place it under a broiler, where it gets bubbly and gooey. Then they give you a pile of steamed potatoes and dump the cheese on it. You can also get a side of sweet mini-gherkins (shades of Bridget Jones' mum!) and pickled pearl onions.

Did I weep? Well, I would have, if I wasn't so busy shoveling it into my mouth.

Yeah. It was marvelous. I wish there were more things like that at home. I don't know why shopping and cooking and just life in general is so different from what it is over here. I'm not saying it's even bad. I just sort of love that here, you shop every few days for fresh stuff, and you don't really need to keep more in the house than you need for a little while. If nothing else, there need to be more flaming half wheels of cheese.

Then I bought books. Lots of them. I don't know why. I can get books at home, and ever since I"ve been working in libraries, I rarely buy books unless I really really love them. I still collect them, and I always will. It's just that I can get what I want to read at that moment pretty quickly, so I just do. (Plus, I like improving circulation statistics.) But I found some great things out there today. Having to carry them home is going to sort of stink, but them's the breaks.

We also went to the National Portrait Gallery, which pretty much rocks. It's so much more interesting to me, personally, than the National Gallery. The religious art and stuff there is great. But it's just that when you see those portraits, you're seeing the people you've been hearing about forever. It's just sort accessible and cool in that way.

Tomorrow Annie and I are going to see Jane Austen's cottage in Chawton. Which, obviously, totally rules. I just want to do the things that I think will wind up being really important to me, because who knows when I'll be back to do them. You know, I never know when I'm gonna come back to Europe. Every time I give them my passport, I think to myself, when will I be able to come back? Speaking of Annie, pears and loss, I remember the day Annie left Prague. It was about four months before I did, and I took her to the airport (I was always taking somebody to the airport). I got her off safely, and then I took the bus back to our neighborhood. It was August, and late in the afternoon and sunny. Even though it was beautiful, I was exquisitely sad. All of the roommates were leaving, and I absolutely didn't know what the rest of my time there would be like. I would miss Annie a lot.

After I got off the bus, I walked past the metro entrance on my way to the apartment. I saw a few men selling bags of miniature pears. Little tiny golden yellow pears. I bought a bag, and ate one as I walked the rest of the way home. They were incredible, and I remember thinking, I won't be here next August. I won't get to buy these again. Just this one shot with these little pears. Obviously, this is no way to live. But sometimes something is so beautiful that you can't help saying to yourself, this is almost over. And I don't know when anything else quite like it is going to come my way.

A bookish day.

Today I went to the British Library, which I somehow missed on my other trips here. I'm glad I finally went -- the place is astounding, and I loved it on sight -- even before I got a look at the goods. There's an exhibition gallery there that contains the bulk of what people might be interested in -- codex bibles, the Magna Carta (!), maps, and works of literature important to the Empire. So, there was a splendid Alice in Wonderland exhibit (did you ever notice that people who love Alice in Wonderland are always more interesting than people who don't? Not to be a jerk-o about it...). There were several different volumes and issues of the work, including the author's original notebook with his little bits of illustration here and there. And some of the costume designs from the new movie coming out. Pretty lovely.

But the big thing for me was the little case of literature. I like Shakespeare, and think he's a cool dude and all, so was delighted to see some of the first printings pertaining to his plays and the presses of the plays themselves. But the big thing to me was getting to see Jane Austen's things. Her family apparently came across her writing desk in their attic (or something like that) some years ago, and donated it to the library. There was a bit of her original juvenilia. And it was lovely. Lovely to look upon. There was Bronte's notebook of Jane Eyre, and lots of other treasures from the greats. (It was weird how jolting it was to read the words "Reader, I married him" -- I had forgotten that line, but always liked it for its tone, and it came back to me the second I saw it -- a weird side by side moment in my brain.) Being there made me remember how it used to feel back in my innocent undergrad days -- a greenhorn walking around with her Norton anthologies, and just having my mind blown by all there was. Sometimes I wish I could get that back -- that fresh experience of loving the work so much, and all of the fresh surprises that came with it.

I went to Persephone Books today, on the advice of a very wise friend (you know who you are, Friend) and it was the kind of place you could stay all day, for ages and ages, despite how small it is. They do big work, and that's the major point: http://www.persephonebooks.co.uk

And drank a lot of beer. And had a sausage roll. And a delightful (but delightful) ham and cheese pasty. This city strikes me with its sheer size. This place is enormous. And sprawling, and just sort of wild with people. I'm having fun, but looking forward to the country, when we eventually go. I believe we'll go to Chawton (Jane Austen's cottage on her brother's estate) and then of course, I'll get over to Wales to see Jonathan P. I've not been doing well with time -- it's so strange not to always be checking your cell phone (not even your watch!) for the time. And I keep saying it's Wednesday, which it definitely isn't. Can't keep it straight -- who's Alice now?

Tomorrow, the big food market. And there's been talk of a dish that involves steamed potatoes and cheddar. Count me in, Daddy-o.

The price of a cup of tea.

Somewhere, quite some time ago, I remember overhearing somebody talking about this Buddhist saying about drinking tea. It was something about how to enjoy -- truly enjoy -- a cup of the stuff. To enjoy and get the full benefit of that tea, you must be in the moment, as in present for that moment, for that particular cup of tea. Then I guess you are truly Zen. That tea will be able to grant you as much happiness as a cup of tea is able.

Right now, I'm in the National Gallery Cafe, drinking a cup of tea out of a white paper cup. There's a drop of tea that has stained the side of the cup, and it all looks very painterly in the gray light coming in through the windows. There are other tourists in the cafe and a native or two taking a tea break. The cup of tea is okay, to be honest. It's not the best ever, but the scone I'm eating alongside of it is truly exemplary. A pretty little biscuit of a thing, studded with currants and with the heft of a ripe and juicy lemon. The important point, though, was the jam and the clotted cream. (So Britishy.) Pure and unadulterated bliss. Check out the Zen factor.

I love when this happens. It happens at home, too, but there's something about stumbling onto food you won't get anywhere at home that makes it sort of special. I didn't really used to like tea very much (and I still take coffee first!), but this cup of tea in this oh-so-English setting made me remember when my Mom and I traveled to England. It was my first time here, and we were two seconds away from collapsing with jet lag and travel exhaustion when we stumbled onto this little place called The Green Cafe. We went in and ordered a very bizarre meal, but first asked for tea with milk and a lump of sugar. It was a revelation. I'd never had tea that good. And I remember waking up the next morning in our B&B room (as it happened, just down the block from The Green Cafe) and having a cup of Pickwick tea, made with the electric kettle and a little container of milk they'd left for us. I sat in bed and snuggled in under the covers and drank the tea, and it was also remarkable. I've found Pickwick tea at home, but it doesn't taste the same as that cup. I guess you need the travel magic.

Today, I sort of just had a bit of a wander and we're going to head out for Indian food, about which I could not be more excited. I know tonight I'm going to crash like a rock, and in the morning my visit here will begin in earnest. But I want to see what other weird Zen moments are going to present themselves.

Postscript:

There were practical hiccups as well. Life can't just be Zen scones, of course. I also got lost in Heathrow (why is it so sprawling!?!) and surprised a pigeon who had gotten into our train car on the aboveground line back to Chris and Annie's. This pigeon let me know how he felt by pooping on my suitcase. I choose to take this as a sign of good luck.

Flyin' away on a wing and a prayer. Who could it beeeee? (Believe it or not, it's just meeeee...)

I shot this picture when I was coming home from Prague. I had to go from Prague to Warsaw to Chicago, and it was pretty much just insanity the whole way. But once I had gotten settled, and I knew I had all that time to sit there and feel shellshocked, I saw the moon through the window. It looks tinier in the picture than it did just looking through the window. You can see the frost build-up on the glass. (Is that glass? Plastic? I don' t know science...)

I don't mind flying. I don't really even mind airport craziness so much. I always get sort of sad flying home, even if I'm glad to be going home.

Anyhow. There are little flurries here and there outside the window, and hopefully nothing will prevent me from leaving and getting there on time. I think I've got everything I need, and I even remembered to pull out my passport last night.

Now, we wait and see what it all brings...

Tick-tock...

It's almost time to go...this is difficult to believe. I haven't been following a checklist of any sort. I just finished packing up. I hardly have any bizarre things in my suitcase for Annie or Chris. It's easier to live in London, so there's not much they need from the Americas.

I remember whenever we had somebody coming from America back when we were living in our apartment on Rooseveltova Street, we asked for stuff like vanilla extract, and brown sugar, to make chocolate chip cookies. We wanted random stuff, like cilantro. Well, we didn't need it, but we missed making the food we knew how to make, and generally liked to have around. My mother was the one who brought us the cilantro. And they searched her luggage. So that was fun for her to try and explain to the Czech customs officials. I remember my second Thanksgiving in Prague. We asked for a friend's mother to bring us pumpkin puree. And we had a huge crowd of Americans that year in our apartment. There was one apple pie and one pumpkin pie. People devoured the pumpkin. It's the little things you miss.

But in London, you can get what you're generally used to, it seems like. All I'm bringing is peanut butter from Trader Joe's, because it's just so damn good -- better than anything you can get in Europe anywhere. Maybe if more Europeans tried good peanut butter, they'd like it better. Same goes for Americans and tea. If we tried theirs, we'd like it better. Anyhow. There's about six jars of peanut butter in the bottom of my valise, along with the other necessities. Let's hope this gets us through.

My dog, Lou, is sighing unhappily next to my bed. I tried to hide the suitcase from him, but to no avail. I think he thinks any suitcase equals Prague. I've been smooching him and telling him that I'll be back, but he just gives me that reproachful look, and looks sad. Poor boy.

Let there be tunes.

There's nothing like escaping your normal life to make you think about what you really want. And the best escapes have a solid soundtrack. So, a couple of days before I set out for Foggy London Town, I'm posting a Britishy playlist, to which I shall be bopping. I'll probably play it before I land at Heathrow, and maybe on some of my wanderings. Here it is:

Waterloo Sunset, by The Kinks

Downtown, by Petula Clark

Born to Be a Dancer, by The Kaiser Chiefs

Do the Strand, by Roxy Music

The Rose of England, by Nick Lowe

English Music, by Destroyer

All the Right Reasons, by The Jayhawks

Streets of London, by Ralph McTell

Mayfair, by Nick Drake

Darlin' Wait for Me, by Richard Hawley

Half a Person, by The Smiths

Saturday Gigs, by Mott the Hoople

Mornington Crescent, by Belle & Sebastian

The Village Green Preservation Society, by The Kinks

A Foggy Day, by Frank Sinatra

A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, by Tony Bennett

Postcard from London, by Ray Davies

London Calling, by The Clash

Some of these only say variations on the word "England" or the name London, or names of towns. Some are simply by British folk, and just feel like they've got that spirit about them. It's a little Kinks/Ray Davies heavy. But these songs work for my purposes. While in London, walking around the streets, I reckon I'll be listening to a lot of Petula Clark, and when I want some thinking time, I'll probably just return to my usual fare.

I'm calling this blog The 20 Tram because that was always where I got my best ideas in Prague. Or not even best ideas, really. I just had a lot of thinking time on public transportation there. I had an iPod before I went, but it really got a mad workout in Prague. I would walk out of the apartment, and settle the earbuds in my ears on my way down the steps. I would usually walk out into the early morning darkness, because my days started so damn early there. People would be scurrying to trams, buses or the Metro, and I would join them, with whatever playlist of songs I was into at that particular point in time. The best thoughts always came on the 20 tram. It wound from my neighborhood to the neighborhood where my school was located, and rattled past the castle and so many different bustling squares. All the while, those little white earbuds were pumping out music, and thus, the music became autobiography. I like how that happens.

I'm off to visit Annie and Chris in London. They're living there for the year, or have been living there for the year, while Annie's doing her second year of law school. I don't know how I came to know so many lawyers. I met a lot of Californians in Prague. The majority of these Californians were interested in the law as a career. One was interested in pushing the limits of the law. I loved them all. And now I have lots of people to help me beat the rap if I ever get busted for a crime.

I'm going back to Europe again after, let's see, about two years. That's how long it's been since I left Prague. I thought about going to visit Praha while I'm in London. I can't sort of can't stand being so close and not popping over. But on the other hand, I don't know if I can stand setting foot on Czech soil and knowing that I have no apartment there. No life or roots, and that I won't be able to keep it for more than a couple of days. Maybe it's best to go back when I have a better reason and set of circumstances for going back.

In the time since I left Prague, I got a Masters of Library and Information Science (MLIS!) from Dominican University. I'm in youth services. It's been a busy two years. Time is so funny. There are days when I'd tell you, "Oh, I got back from Prague a year ago." And then there are days I might say, "Oh, it's been what, three or four years?" I always feel like whatever point in time I find myself at, I've got this very strong spotlight on me that projects about four years back, and four years forward. And any memory or future hope that the light happens to hit is what's strongest to me, but also the most nebulous. Things aren't always a straight line, these memories and these future hopes. Sometimes they feel closer or farther than they actually are.

Anyway. My present to myself for finishing that program is to go see Annie and Chris. And wander around London for a little while. I like what traveling gives you. I like how it strips away everything but what is true about yourself. Or, it should, anyway. I like the new eyes it gives you. And if you're lucky, those eyes still work when you get back home.