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.
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Taking or picking some guest up at the airport!
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