London by Night

In the words of Sinatra, "London by night is a wonderful sight."

I'm not sure why it happened, and I don't know exactly when it happened - but tonight I realized that I love this city. 

I love London. I really do. 

Perhaps I am high on Olympic excitement, perhaps it's due to the fact that we've finally had nice weather, or because I finally have friends. A whole group of them actually. A gaggle, if you will. 

After work I headed to South Bank to meet up with my pals for "supper." Though I planned on getting something sensible like a salad - I couldn't resist supporting team USA by ordering the USA style burger with American Cheese and sweet potato fries, and also ended up with a bramble and par-taking in the demolition of a caramelized banana split. I blame peer pressure.

As we all get up to leave and prepare to go our separate ways, the "where are you headed" conversation begins. All my group was headed to Waterloo Station, and I needed to get myself back to Chelsea. 

"Well how are you getting home then, they ask, bugged eye?

I've learned NOT to ask an English person how for directions, anywhere. No matter what, they will always begin and mid-sentence someone else will chime in, and then another person, and then the first person will argue their route, and someone else will bring up a road closure, or some problem with their plan. After 5 minutes your head is spinning and your so completely confused that you don't want to go wherever it was that you were asking for directions to anymore!

So I replied, "Haven't decided yet I'm thinking of just walking....." but before I've finished by sentence a deep discussion has begun directed at me, but completely amongst the Brits.

Person 1: You know what you should do - you should go to Waterloo and get a train to Clapham Junction, then from there you can pick up the C3 to World's End. 

Person 2: No, no, no - you should cross the bridge and get on the Northern Line at Charring Cross, get off at Fulham Broadway and walk the rest of the way.

Person 3: No, not Charring Cross! Get on at Embankment and take the District Line to Sloane Square, then catch the 22 bus to World's End. 

Person 4: Nah - not the underground! I reckon' she should take the overground to Imperial Wharf station and then catch the C3 bus. 

Person 1 (again): Actually, if you catch the 211 bus behind Waterloo, you can take that all the way to Chelsea and change to the #11 at Duke of York Square. 

Person 2 (again): Could do. Or catch the 211, and change to the #22 at Duke of York Square and get off at Edith Grove. 

Person 3: Actually, you should hire a Barclays and cycle to Duke of York Square, and then pick up the bus the rest of the way!

I wish I was exaggerating. When they'd finally finished, I said,

"Thanks guys - I'm just going to walk." Which baffles them, since any walk that last longer than 5 minutes is quite a feat for anyone English.

The city looked gorgeous, completely lit up and people out and about on the streets, which is highly uncommon past 8pm on most nights of the week. As I crossed Waterloo Bridge the London Eye was glowing in changing colors, and Big Ben stood on the opposite site fully lit. The bridge was colored red and blue for Team GB, and paper lanterns and twinkle lights hung from the pop-up outdoor beer garden on Southbank. 

Hanging around Southbank with my mates

Waterloo Bridge, Team GB style

London by Night

I couldn't resist walking home, it was too beautiful to not soak up the sparkling landmarks and people-filled streets. When I finally walked in the door, I dropped my bag, kicked off my booties and went right for the TV to watch the gymnastics team final which I had recorded. I knew in advance about Team USA's victory since my Olympics app sends me updates medals are awarded, but I was dying to watch it happen! 

Watching the Olympics with English commentary, or "common-tree" as they pronounce it, is quite funny. They say things like, "well done for Jordan Weiber. The uneven bars is not her favorite appar-a-tus, but she managed a smashing performance none-the-less."

They also remain charmingly optimistic for Team GB in cases where they clearly do not stand a chance of winning a medal. I watched the swimming after the gymnastics, to get my daily dose of Lochte - and was in awe of how amazing our swimming team is! It was incredible to watch as Michael Phelps got his 19th Gold Medal, breaking the record for most medals earned by any single Olympian, 15 of them Gold, 2, Silver, and 2 bronze. The crowd went mental, and even the British announcers called him a "super hero" and "the greatest Olympian that ever lived." Unfortunately, the stupid BBC interviewed the loosing Brit team instead of the him. But Lochte was in the background of the shot rejoicing as the English bloke was going on and on so I didn't mind.

So now at 2am, I retire to bed with sweet dreams of marrying an Olympian and naming our first child Hercules, and our dog Pegasus. 

Olympic Fever

After not giving the Olympics a care my entire life, I find myself smack in the middle of all the action, and completely obsessed with the 2012 Games! How things change.

I don't know how I am going to get anything at all done in the next two weeks with all this going on!
When I'm not watching live, I am checking for updates on the Olympic App, and checking for ticket updates every 30 minutes - desperately trying to get a ticket to the swimming so I can be in the same room as this guy...

TEAM USA Olympic Gold Medalist Ryan Lochte

Do the Olympics award Gold Medals for being the most attractive athlete at the Games? If not, they should, and give Lochte the Gold, Silver, and Bronze. This American has made swimming my favorite Olympic sport.

Lochte won the USA their first Gold in the 400m yesterday. If you look close enough at his pictures  with the medal you may notice he's sporting 2 pieces of bling. His medal, and his American Flag grill.

That's right - Lochte put on a stars-and-stripes, jewel-encrusted grill across his top row of teeth for photos. He wasn't allowed to wear it during the awards ceremony on the podium, but popped it on afterwards - making all the other Olympians even more terribly jealous - particularly the English with their infamous dental impairment. I can just imagine them all thinking - "Bloody Hell, that lad has got a Gold Medal AND diamond teeth!"

I think the mania began for me when I realized this Friday night when I watched the Opening Ceremony projected on a huge screen on the Kensington Roof Gardens among a lot of drunken Brits.

 I had my doubts about Danny Boyle's £27 million spectacular, but overall I think it went down as a success (ish). Which is a pretty good review for something executed by the English. 

The criticism I've heard is that the rest of world didn't "get" a lot of it,  but I would blame that more on people for not being aware of important moments in English history and culture, than on Britain for attempting to pay homage to it. 

And anyone who doesn't know who Mr. Bean is - well that's their loss. 

When the lights came up on the Maypole dancing and grazing sheep I was worried, but by the time we'd reached the NHS tribute and the enormous Lord Voldemort materialized, I was won over. 

Despite some rather odd moments, like the one pictured above - I think it was a good show. And what's most important is that it really portrayed the English - a bit strange, a bit charming, a bit silly, a bit mental, a bit organized, a bit chaotic, and a bit cool. 

I think watching it among the English - in an English garden, in the city where it was all happening made it extra exciting. I couldn't tear myself away from the screen, and when Team USA finally appeared - I went bananas along with the few other Americans in the crowd. 

Friday afternoon I got invited last minute to the Beach Volleyball by a client and was thrilled! I had wanted to go to something but tickets were impossible to come by and rather pricey, so imagine my glee when I was asked to go, and treated to lunch before!

I guess there are some perks to the working world. I was wined and dined pre-show at The Massimo Oyster Bar inside The Corinthia Hotel, which was a quiet a treat on it's own because it is gorgeous inside and my peppered tuna with fried courgette blossom was heavenly - and that was just the appetizer. Yes, I think it's fun to be corporately spoiled every once in awhile.

 Walking around Westminster towards the game, I literally got goosebumps as I looked around and realized the entire city was transformed in Olympic glory. The volleyball took place in an enormous stadium built in the middle of The Horse Guard's Parade, and the entrance was from The Mall - closed down to traffic and covered in Olympic Flags and Union Jacks. Walking around there you really felt like you were witnessing something big, and it looks amazing!

I checked who was playing the match beforehand, and sadly Team USA was not in my block, but Team GB men's was playing Cananda in the third match, so since I was going to the games with Brits, I decided to support them - and had the perfect handbag to do so. I had quite a lot of people stopping me and telling me how "smart" my "little boxy bag" was. 

Supporting team GB at the Beach Volleyball Match with my Union Jack Timmy Woods.

Inside the stadium was amazing! While the Beach Volleyball is not exactly one of the main events, the venue built for it has been named the coolest of all the Olympic venues. It is literally smack in the middle of London. From my seat I had the London Eye on my left, Big Ben straight head, and the buildings of Parliament off to the right, and to top it all of, the sun was actually shining.

The Volleyball was surprisingly exciting to watch. I saw China loose to the hunky men of Switzerland first, then the girls of the Czech Republic beat Austria. The men of Team GB lost to Canada next - which was very sad, and then the Brazilians clobbered the poor girls of Morissius, who were at the Olympics for the first time and had the unfortunate luck of playing Brazil in the first round. It was all very exciting, and after leaving I was officially hooked. 

Today I rushed home from pilates to catch the girl's artistic gymnastics and was in awe as Team USA dominated without so much as a quiver! Team GB won their first medal this afternoon in the women's cycling, and their second later in the swimming. But the surprise of the swimming was the Frenchies. France has never won the Gold Medal in swimming before, so it was quite a victoire when they suddenly inched in front of Lochte to finish first!  It's fun having 3 teams to route for, because your odds are much better for winning! Although American lost - I was very happy for France. I literally leaped off the sofa and screamed "VIVE LA FRANCE" to the surprise of my flatmate. 

It seems that London is such an international city that while Team GB is obviously the top team to rally for, there are several people - English and not English, cheering for other countries too. 

While I thought this was a sign of sure commradary, today I learned about this commemorate tote bag for sale in several shops and online. 

That's right - it says "I'm renting my flat to a fat american family."

They are currently sold out, so put your wallets away Londoners. 

While I do find this tote completely hilarious - like, milk coming out of your nose hilarious - it is a bit offensive.  These are apart of a small collection called the "Reality Check Souvenir Bags." Well, I've got a reality check for you Britain - you're not exactly the fittest race on the planet either. That fish and chips diet comes with a price! I've definitely seen some British bellies that would win Gold in the Fat Content Competition if there was one. At least some Americans go to the gym on a regular basis and eat vegetables, which is more than you can say for yourselves. 

So the 2012 games are off to an exciting start! I'll try to not reveal any results for they hit America - but I can't help it that I'm 5 hours ahead and have a hard time keeping my emotions in. I'll try to offer a bit of English insight into the events, and continue to cheer for Team USA, GB, and France while trying to get my hands on one of those tote bags....

A Week of English Summer

Another work-week over!
With the exception of today, it's been a beyond beautiful week in London! And that is a rare statement to make. This week has made me realize that this city is not prepared for hot temperatures in anyway. It has been quite funny to observe how a city that is used to eternal rain handles 85 degree sunshine.

The Londoners don't own summer clothing for one thing. Most men here do not own a pair of shorts, and women do not have work-appropriate summer clothing, since the only time they purchase anything sleeveless or short it's with vacation in mind. So, you see men walking around with strange alterations made to their ensembles in attempt to dress for the weather, and women belting their beach cover-ups and pairing them with heels for the office.

What I've found problematic is that no form of public transportation is air conditioned, so if I need to enter the bus or tube I have to be prepared to bake until I get to my destination!

Finally, there is a complete lack of cold summer beverages available.
Lemonade, Iced Tea, and Iced Coffee do not exist in London.

They have something yellowish in color and bottled which is called "lemonade" but I'll eat my hand if there is actually any trace of a lemon in the concoction. Their version is carbonated, sour, and has pulp in it. It is the least refreshing thing I have ever had a sip of and bears no resemblance to real lemonade at all.

Iced tea cannot be found aside from the occasional place that sells bottled, imported Arizona Iced Tea. How, I must ask, it possible that the country that is so obsessed with tea that they schedule tea breaks into their daily agenda, has not managed to figure out that this beloved beverage they all consume daily can also be refrigerated and served cold with a slice of lemon?

If I mentioned my favorite summer beverage, an Arnold Palmer (half iced tea, half lemonade) to an English person they would look at me baffled at the inconceivability of it and I think their head would explode.

Iced Coffee is just as elusive to the English. You cannot even order an iced coffee in Starbucks here. Iced Latte or Mocha, yes  - the 'Bucks can do it,  but they do not sell just plain Iced Coffee nor does anyone else.

I start every winter morning with a vanilla latte, and every summer morning with an Iced Coffee, so this is really sort of a problem for me. There is a little coffee shop in our building which makes really amazing lattes, and so I thought I might ask if they had figured out that coffee could be sold chilled and happened to have some on hand.

"No, sorry" replied by Barista buddy. "But I think the cafe next door makes them."

"Brilliant," I thought. "A place to get my morning fix!"

So I skipped over the cafe next door and asked, and sure enough the man behind the counter nodded and said "that'll be £3."
Now I can get an iced coffee for a buck in New York, so the idea of a $5 iced coffee did not thrill me, but I proceeded to dig out £3 from my purse, paid in advance, and then stood, helpless in shock and horror as this man spent the next 10 minutes making an "iced coffee" using the following steps....

Step 1: Pour 1 gallon of milk into blender.
Step 2: Add approximately 3 ice cubes
Step 3: Blend
Step 4: Make 1 shot of expresso
Step 5: Add expresso shot to the gallon of iced milk.
Step 6: Add 1 more ice cube
Step 7: Blend again
Step 8: Pour tinted milk into world's smallest plastic to-go cup, put on lid.

What I got for my $5, was a small glass of expresso-flavored milk with a gross frothy top that was a result of the blending. Lesson learned - I will not be ordering any more iced coffees in England.

Yesterday made 4 straight days of 85 degrees and sun, and tomorrows forecast is thunderstorms - just in time for the Opening Ceremony of the Olympics.

I have been enjoying every moment of this unnatural occurrence. I've worn my bikini in lieu of undergarments to work everyday this week, so that I can walk right to the park, lay down my towel and sunbathe for a full hour. My co-worker thinks I am nuts, but also brilliant -  and she did the same thing today.

Yesterday my sunbathing was cut short however, since the Olympic Torch Relay was passing by the street outside our office and I figured it was a once in a lifetime chance, so I joined the cheering crowds to watch it pass by.

It was oddly exciting! I find myself suddenly interested in the Olympics for the first time in my life.
I think it is largely to due with the fact that's it's all happening here, and the city is a buzz with Olympic fever. I also couldn't help but jaw-drop at the sight of Tower Bridge in the sunset with the Olympic Rings.

I think it's really good that I am suddenly interested and excited, because the Games are going to cause massive inconvenience to my life here in the following weeks - and maybe it will help me remain calm and understanding.

The postman was walking around our office distributing this flyer saying, "just a leaflet warning about the chaos that's going to ensue."

Lovely.

It is definitely going to be chaos. Josh escaped just in time, leaving yesterday morning to go back to America. I waived goodbye as I watched him walk into the station towards the tube, tear eyed behind my big sunglasses. We had a wonderful London stay-cation the past 3 days, the grand finale Wednesday night was dinner at the Delaunay and tickets to Svengali, the West End mentalism show by the famous Derren Brown, who I have long heard Josh rave about but had never seen.

Since I started dating my own real-life Harry Potter, I have become quite the critic of magic shows and extremely difficult to fool. I was less than thrilled with other acclaimed magic shows I've seen in New York and Vegas  - but this, was amazing. Svengali is only running for another few weeks, so if you are in London and fancy a fun night out - get yourself to the Novello Theatre! If you are in America, then sit tight because there is chatter about Derren bringing his illusions to Broadway in the near future.

So, with Joshua gone and Greece now behind me - I am a little pouty and puffy eyed. But thankfully, next Friday I am meeting my parents in Munich for ze pretzel eating and ze bier drinking! So I won't be lonely for too long.

And although the weather is due to return to the 60s and rain next week, I suppose that's the perfect excuse to snuggle up on the couch with some tea and biscuits and watch the Olympic Games! With 3 countries to support, my celebratory odds are looking pretty good!

The Return of Annabelle Goldentan

I'm back. And I'm black.

Well, more deep golden brown, all thanks to the past week in Greece. 

95 and sunny everyday with not a cloud in sight! Water so clear and fluorescently blue you feel like the ocean is an enormous pool. Fresh swordsfish souvlaki, pita, tzakti, and olive oil that makes you want to cry it's so delicious. Secret caves and the most beautiful beach in the world accessible only by boat. And best of all - no other Americans in sight. 

Two years ago Josh and I decided to plan a trip to Greece and started researching which islands to choose. I had my heart set on Santorini, but after my expert travel research I learned that from June-August, it is a crowded zoo of tourists. While I am one myself, I hate being surrounded by other tourists in a foreign place. I want to be surrounded by the locals. I want to eat where the locals eat and do as the locals do. 

So we headed for a lesser known, much smaller, island I discovered called Zakynthos and it's neighbor, Kefalonia, and had found exactly what we were looking for and more. Josh and I reflect back on our travels often and discuss our favorite trips and experiences. While we agree that hot air ballooning over the vineyards of the Loire Valley and staying in a french chateaux was our favorite trip, we always said the one we would most want to repeat was our time on the Greek Isles. And so we did. 

As much as I love to go to new places, it's also wonderful to revisit old ones. We arrived and felt like we were locals as things sparked memories and we instantly remembered how to navigate the winding roads on our four wheeler. We stayed at the same, wonderful little village of villas run by three Greek women who are as sweet as baklava, and went back to our favorite haunts in town for fresh fish dinners and baked feta. They must truly not get many Americans - because people remembered us! By the end of the week we were embracing the fit bartender at "The Two Brothers," where we had our daily cocktail. Or mocktail - if you are Josh.

We spent most of the week on various boats cruising around the Mediterranean to secret beaches, eating insane amounts of Greek food, having gin tournaments, and getting so tan we barely recognized ourselves in the mirror.  We even took up our old nicknames - Captain Whitebeard and Annabelle Goldentan. I gave us these names on our last visit when Josh shaved his scuff mid-trip to reveal a white tan line where his beard was once. Since he was now a pirate, aptly named Whitebeard; I had to be his wench, Annabelle Goldentan. 

We couldn't possibly have had better time. Of all the places I've vacationed - the Greek Isles has the most stunning scenery. And Captain Whitebeard, who has sailed the Seven Seas and beyond, agrees that there is no beach he's seen that is more gorgeous than Shipwreck Beach.

While we revisited a lot of old, we also found some new things. Whitebeard was utterly obsessed with tzatziki the last time we were in Greece. He had it at both lunch and dinner, everyday. This time around the tzatziki obsession was trumped by his newfound love for baklava. Josh had baklava with ice cream everyday, sometimes twice a day. It was surprisingly a little hard to find, so before we would sit down at a taverna he made a point to ask the waitor  - "Baklava - you have?"

For reasons unknown to me, whenever we are in Europe Josh stops speaking proper English and instead speaks what I have come to refer to as 'European English." He speaks English as if he took a few years of it in high school and never really nailed it down. He even takes on an accent, unspecific to any exact country, and usually throws in some charade-like hand gestures. To be fair, I think he is trying to speak English the way that Europeans speak broken English, so they will understand him better. While this is actually, a very smart tactic, it cannot be overlooked that he sounds hilarious.

For example:

Renting our four wheeler: "Hello. You rent to us 4 wheeler? 7 days, we keep. Good price - ok? Opa!

Getting the check after dinner: "Scuzzi (which is Italian - not Greek) bill now, ok? We need. Thank you.

Ordering dessert: Baklava, you have? No!?! Where I buy? Where I buy the baklava very good?

Meanwhile, I've got my legs crossed and am rocking back in forth in attempt to not wet myself because I am laughing so hard. Oh, we make quit a pair, Whitebeard and I. 

I have never really liked baklava, so I found his new obsession rather unfortunate because we usually share a dessert. So rather than getting half a cheesecake, or half a banofee pie, I ended up reluctantly eating half a baklava that I thought was gross, and then being annoyed with myself afterwards for wasting calories on it. 

"If you don't like baklava, why not order your own dessert sweetheart," Josh would say.

While this is a perfect and generous suggestion from my very considerate boyfriend -  the thing is, I don't want to eat a whole dessert, because I've already had Nutella at breakfast and an ice cream bar or two at the pool and don't really need a dessert at all - but I want a little something. So I share his sticky, flaky, nut torte because I literally cannot have something sweet in view and not take a bite of it. I found it strangely grew on me, and I even mildly enjoyed our beachside baklava sundae on our last afternoon.

We had a lot of fun at the villa, interacting with the other guests. There were lots of little european families on holiday. We particularly liked a cute french family that we spoke only french with, and a Dutch family whose adorable children were all either swimming naked, or bottoms only all week. I was splashing in the pool with them and they asked their mom in Dutch what language I was speaking, she replied, "the same language as Mickey Mouse," and their eyes lit up like christmas lights.

Watching children play in the pool inspired us to do the same. We had handstand contests, breath holding contests, and played washing machine, an old pool game favorite of mine.

I never wanted the week to end. Vacation is the best idea ever. Why are we not all in a permanent state of vacation? Why not sell our homes, belongings, and just own what fits in a suitcase or two and just travel from island to island, city to city, year-round? 

I was dreading leaving Greek perfection and landing in England. So I nearly died from shock when we got off the plane and encountered 85 degree weather. Did we get on the wrong plane? Is this really London?

Yes!

We are having a heat wave here! And I am LOVING IT! We got back yesterday, and went on a Thames River Cruise and then to dinner and I wore shorts! It's especially nice that is warm and sunny here because it makes it feel like our vacation is not totally over. It's just become a stay-cation. Josh leaves Thursday so we still have 2 full days for stay-cation fun in London. And because we are back on English-speaking soil, Josh can interact with people in normal English again.

Let's have an Opa! and a "Cheers" to that!

Back to Blackpool

Most Americans visiting England will (rightfully and thankfully) never visit Blackpool. 

I, unfortunately am on my way there for the second time.

Blackpool is the British equivalent to Atlantic City. Tacky, scuzzy casinos and bars, beaches that look more like ponds, and lots of pleather, bad bleached hair and lipliner... 

It also happens to be where the magicians choose to congregate. 

I should be thankful, because this town has forced my boyfriend to cross the ocean and visit England twice this year. The only downside is, I end up in Blackpool with him.

The first time he had to go, I figured I'd rather be in the worst town in the UK with the one I love than in London alone. So I tagged along. 

I felt that way before I'd actually been to Blackpool. Now that this is my second time going....alone in London doesn't sound all that bad.

But alas, I head to Blackpool for the second time, and to my third magic convention this year. 

I never thought  I'd be able to make that statement. 

Or that magic conventions were a real thing.

On the brightside of this journey - I booked myself a ticket in First Class on the train, and I am finding the experience completely enjoyable. 

The dimly lit first class cabin has cushiony, extra large seats, little reading lamps, free WIFI, and apparently a puddings trolley from which I may take as much as I like. Same with wine!

Maybe this trip isn't so bad afterall! It would be especially lovely if the gentleman to my left was not strangely chugging Ribena and making awful slurping sounds. Hopefully his stop is soon. 

I have been waiting for this week to be over since I woke up Monday morning. Knowing Josh is in England but not in a close enough proximity to cuddle is very disheartening. Enduring the 60 degree and rain weather Mid-July is even more disheartening.

I am so sad that I can't wear any of my summer clothes. Sundresses makes up about 75% of my wardrobe, so it's really becoming a problem. I want to wear my florals and pastels instead of blacks and greys. But no sooner do I attempt to leave the house without a jacket, than I am marching back inside to grab it. I've noticed nearly every photo that exists of me from the past 7 months I am in a green safari rain jacket that I wisely purchased before coming here.  One might think I was simply posing in front of various backdrops instead of actually visiting these places since I am always in the same outfit: jeans, oxfords, sweater, rain jacket. 

So I couldn't resist buying these jeans at Anthroplogie yesterday. They fulfill my desire to dress in floral, yet are practical for the elusive "English summer."

Citizens of Humanity Mandy Jeans

It was a good week at work. I finally accumulated 10 punches on my frequent customer loyatly card at the cafe in the building which warranted me 1 free brownie. I also got my second giant check of the month, putting me well above my sales goal. This week I also celebrated 1 year in the working world. I began my job on July 11th, 2011, and never thought I'd make it July 2012, but here I am. I remember sitting at my desk that first day, and honestly fighting back tears. 

"This is my life now," I thought. Joining the working world and becoming a contributing member of society was truly a horrible realization for a girl who lives for fun. But I've made it. And it hasn't been all that bad....

My window from my desk looks out on the Thames. I get a month's paid vacation days. I get to leave the office at 5 on the dot and don't have to come in until 9:30. Yesterday I spent an hour helping Kate Hudson with her flat in London. I get to go to Monaco Yacht Show in September, where I plan on be-friending the largest yacht-owner there and conning them into taking me for a cruise. And turns out, I nearly trippeled my sales goal for my first year -  so I guess I'm good at all this, even though I find working (in any capacity) rather painful. I got several calls from my Manhattan co-workers wishing me a happy 1 year on the job and expressing their excitement at my impending return.

So to celebrate one year on the job - I'm going on holiday!

After Blackpool, Josh and I are going to the Greek Islands. Back to our little island we discovered and the enchanted little villa there we like to think of as our vacation home. Back to drives around the island on a 4 wheeler, dinners of lamb kleftiko and feta cheese, and spending all day Mediterranean sea-side reading wonderful books and bronzing ourselves silly. Oh, it's going to be a glorious week. 

I guess never really glad a clear vision for what I wanted my adult life to be like. I didn't, and still don't, have a 5 and 10 year plan. But if you had told me my life would include attending magic conventions with my boyfriend, daily trips to the pub with my English mates, and discussing interiors with one of my favorite celebrities - I would have laughed in your face. 

I never pictured myself in London, and definitely not doing what I'm doing. But it's sort of fun that I ended up here, somewhere so unexpected. It reminds me that truly - anything is possible. You never know where life is going to take you. And for all my whining, I'm so glad I took this crazy job and moved to England. It was scary to make such a rash decision without really knowing where life was taking me -  but as October approaches, I'm starting to get excited and wonder what adventure is in store for me next. 

I always thought I wanted a life plan - but instead I've realized I don't mind flying by the seat of my rose-print pants. Not at all. 

Keeping Score

I had a wonderful weekend with Josh in town, proving that this city marginally improves when you have someone cute to stroll around with!

Sadly, Josh hates London for a variety of reasons, but mainly because of the weather - and is extremely vocal about it.
Every 5-10 minutes there is a casual compliant from him about the wind, the rain, the fog, the grey sky, - and these complaints are generally directed at me instead at London in general, like I am solely responsible for the fact that the city has been cursed in the warmth-department.

Now I agree, and there are days I hate London too. But I think I also secretly love London in a way. The weather may be crap a majority of the time and everything is backward, and the people are totally loony bins, but it also has some very redeemable qualities. While it is certainly not my favorite place to live, I do think it is an amazing place to visit. This is Josh's second visit since I've lived here - and I'm lobbying for another before November rolls around.

So, I have made it my personal mission to get Josh to like London. I made a goal to find 10 redeeming things throughout the weekend I could point out to him being here. I figure 10 reasons is enough to prove a point that this city - is actually - well sometimes, good.

But when Josh arrived at 8am Friday morning to a downpour of rain I knew it was going to be a challenge. On top of the brewing tsunami, he also had to combat the out of control shrubbery to get inside.

There is a shrub that grows next to the little path from the road to our door. When I first moved in I thought this shrub was so charming, with its cute twisty branches and fresh green leaves. But, in the past 3 months the shrub has spiraled out of control. It's branches have grown long and pokey, and it is now practically blocking the walkway all together.

It's become a bit of a Little Shop of Horrors scenario to be honest. I feel like it's going to eat the house.

In order to get into or out of the flat, I have to fight through the branches of this enormous, man-eating plant towards the front door. This is particularly a problem when it's raining, and the shrub is wet because water flys of the leaves and all over whoever is trying to trespass.

I mentioned this to our landlord, who said "shrubbery maintenance is not his affair, we are responsible for tending to the plants." Surprisingly, as much as I would enjoy hacking the thing to pieces or shaping it into something lovely, like a bunny,  I have no desire to waste my hard earned money on a hedge trimmer when it could go towards other things. Like shoes.

All the sales are on in London, and one of my favorite things about Josh is that he loves to shop. Especially shop sales. Sales only come but twice a year here, but when they come - they are good! Surprisingly, as I was chauffeured all around London Friday during work and Josh slept away his jetlag under my duvet, the sun started to peep through the clouds and by the end of the afternoon it was a nice-ish day! I get out early on Fridays during the "summer," so by 4pm we were hand in hand strolling up Kings Rd towards 3 of his favorite spots - All Saints, Reiss, and Ted Baker.

I had no intention of making purchases, but I nearly died when I walked into Ted Baker and found my Dorthy-dream shoes on sale for £45! 

Lions and tigers and bears - Oh my!!!

As a child, I loved the Wizard of Oz. I watched it daily, in a blue and white costume with my stuffed dog stuffed into a wicker basket, and my feet stuffed into plastic ruby slippers my mom bought me. They were the cherry on top of my outfit, my prized possession. 

For reasons I will never understand, my older brother hated these ruby slippers, and one day he stole them, hid them, claimed he could not remember where he hid them. They were lost forever. My dreams of passing them onto my own little girl someday - ruined.

Ever since, I have had a red shoe complex. I tend to gravitate towards ruby-colored heels when shoe searching, but never have a seen a pair so close to the real thing as these beauties. It pained me to walk out without them, but unfortunately my discretionary income for the month had already been spent on Greece bikinis and I had to pass.  It was a very sad moment for me. 

Josh was lucky in the shoe department though, finding a very nice pair of boat shoes on sale which I convinced him he needed to add some variety to his Converse collection. Josh has become a bit of a compulsive shopper since he started dating me - and it's getting worse each year. He has quite the ensemble collection. If we ever had to share a closet it would be a serious battle for free hangers and empty drawers.  

So, Josh finding a killer sale deal = 1 point London.

As the sun continued to shine, and we continued onto Reiss - Josh was clearly enjoying the break from the 99 degree heat he came from, and I even got him to admit that the weather was "perfect."

That makes 2 for London!

Josh's other main complaint about London is the food. So Saturday I was on a mission to show him just how wrong he is. We started off at breakfast at  Joe's Kitchen, an adorable cafe my sister Amanda frequented while she lived here.  

I ordered a delicious and inventive breakfast salad, while Josh decided to try the Eggs Benedict. 

It came looking a bit unusual to me, so I was sort of worried about the outcome. But two bites in he looked up at me and said, "I think this is the best eggs benedict I've ever had..." then continued eating away in complete glee without even offering me a taste. 

3!

Josh <3's Hollandaise

I picked this restaurant because it was conveniently located by Bourogh Market, and since 1 breakfast plate could never be enough to feed Popeye the Sailor Man, we went to get him a post-breakfast snack after he had licked his plate clean.

While there are hundreds of ridiculously delicious things at Borough, everyone knows the star of the market is the Raclette stand. The giant wheels of gooey, bubbling, cheese are hypnotic, as is the accompanying smell. They pick up this enormous wheel once an inch-deep layer of cheese is ready, and tilt it so that a bubbling-stream of wonderfully stinky raclette runs down onto a pile of cooked potatoes and cornichons, and top it with fresh ground pepper. It is cheese heaven.
Josh was freaking out.

Hooray for 4!!

If you think he stopped there, then you don't know Josh. 

He sampled just about everything savory, while I sampled just about everything sweet, eventually decided on an ice cream cone from The Greedy Goat for dessert. We left properly stuffed. And at number 5.

With breakfast and lunch a success, later that night I knew what to do for dinner to really make him happy - pasta. 

At 10pm when we finally had an appetite again, we cozied up in the window table of a cute little authentically italian locals-only restaurant in my neighborhood with a big bowl of homemade pappardelle to share, and I think it's safe to say that Josh no longer can complain about the food in England.

We're now at 7. One awarded for food, another for atmosphere.

The one thing Josh does like about London is the many free museums.  So I wisely planned a visit to both a classic and a hidden gem. We first wandered around the wonderful Tate Modern before continuing onto the Churchill War Rooms.

I'd been to the Tate before, but the Churchill War Rooms were new, and totally awesome. I am fascinated by WWII, and this museum is the actual rooms that Churchill ran the war from. Things have been preserved and recreated exactly as they were, and it is unlike anything America has to offer. A little Picasso, a little WWII, and did I mention Josh is a huge art and history buff?

9!! So nearly there!!

With one more point to go, I attempted his other weakness - hilarious television.

I recently learned about an English show called "The Inbetweeners," which is about 4 high-school aged geeky boys attempt to become cool and get girlfriends. It is SUPER english, which is why I enjoy watching it. I pick up a lot of lingo and day to day things that I find useful. It is also tearfully funny, so I gave it a shot and played him an episode while I made us warm chocolate chip cookies.

Success! He loved it. When the episode was up, he wanted more!! More Inbetweeners, and more gooey cookies. 

That made 10 great things about for London!!!  I'D DONE IT!!!

I even got him to admit it was a nice weekend in jolly England. Well, he didn't say jolly. 

I was so pleased with myself by the end of Saturday evening! But the weekend ended the way it began - with a downpour of rain as I got Josh into a cab headed towards the train station. He's spending the week at a big magic convention in Blackpool, the worst English town of all time - so basically all my hardwork will be undone in the next couple of days. 

But overall, I think I made a lot of progress. 

So Cheers, London! Even you're toughest critic admitted you're not so bad afterall.

American Independence Day

We, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by the authority of the good people of these colonies, solemnly publish and declare, that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be free and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the state of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as free and independent states, they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which independent states may of right do. And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor."


- The Declaration of Independence. Signed July 4th, 1776. 

Though I was forced to spend my holiday among the Redcoats, this may have been my most patriotic 4th of July yet!

At home, it had always been about grilling hot dogs and making strawberry shortcake to me, and less about celebrating the actual day and what it means. But this year I fully understand just how wonderful and important this holiday is. What a glorious day in history! The day we become free from the British, free from England, free from saying "swimming costume" instead of bathing suit.

I woke up and read the Declaration of Independence to get in the spirit. My favorite excerpt is above. I particulary like the bits where it says "absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown."
Three cheers for that!
Hip Hip....HOORAY!!
Hip Hip.....HOORAY!!
Hip Hip.....HOORAY!!

I always try to dress like a modern day Betsey Ross for the holiday.
I have a number of red, white, and blue themed sun dresses that I rotate each year and of course I brought them to England with me. But, wearing these outfits require the weather to be a minimum of 75 and sunny, and I woke up yesterday morning to 55 and rainy. So, I had to be inventive and settle on a navy and white stripped skirt, white blouse, and bright red lipstick.

When I got to work, I made my 4th of July playlist, which included "Proud to be an American," "Sweet Home Alabama," "Empire State of Mind," and "Born in the U.S.A." and the musical stylings of Johnny Cash, among others.
I listened to this all day, and my American colleague even joined in singing along. She was clearly influenced by my enthusiasm -  because by the end of the day she stood and declared, "I'm moving back to America!!!"We treated ourselves to lunch on the company in honor of the holiday and had Red Velvet cupcakes for lunch-dessert.

But the real party began when the workday ended, as it always does.
I got together with my American friends at an "american pub" on Kings Road called Henry J. Bean to celebrate our sweet land of liberty as best we could from England.
On top of having Mississippi Mud Pie on the menu, there was a live band playing  and American flag bunting covering the inside. We loved it instantly.

My American friends here happen to be from the South. I have a Texan and a Tennessian
Also in our party was a Belgian, and our English friend who loves America. They both decided they wanted to pretend they were from Mississippi. So after a barrel of Lynchburg Lemonade, out came the accents - southern, instead of British. Something about the South seems more stereotypically American to me than any other region of the US, so I was happy to embrace it, and I done got myself a chilli cheese hotdog and curly fries fo' dinner.

While we waited for our food we played American trivia, like naming the original colonies, singing the 50 states song, and saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Our food ended up taking nearly 2 hours to come, so we told the waitor what would happen in America in this situation, and he comp'ed our food and gave us another round of drinks! To which I say, God Bless America!!!

The live band was playing all my favorite American tunes, and it was only a matter of time until we were all on our feet dancing to "Sweet Caroline" and obnoxiously screaming "SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!" like any good American should.

The band was actually British. But I give them an A for effort, even hough they could not play our request "Wagon Wheel" because they did not know who Tom Petty was.
So that shot down my hopes of hearing "Pretty Woman," but I was a little too far into my 4th Lynchburg Lemonade to really care. I don't think that British Band has ever seen 3 girls dance like we danced.

It was a rowdy crowd, with occasional chants of "USA! USA! USA! from the many ex-pat and american enthusiast patrons. Everyone would cheer when they spotted another native...
For example:
Person 1: "Hey - you don't sound British, are you from the US?"
Person 2: "Yeah!! Ohio!!"
Person 1: "Ohio?! YEAHHHH!!!!'
Person 2: "YEAH!!!!!!
Person 1&2: "USA! USA!USA!"

When the band finished their final tune of the night, which was the full 8 minutes 36 seconds of Don McLean's "American Pie," a group of Americans stormed the stage and started singing the Star Spangled Banner. I may or may not have been one of these Americans.... but the idea was a hit because soon the entire pub was screaming the  Star Spangled Banner like the proudest countrymen you've ever seen.

It was the perfect way to end the night. I almost felt like I was in America!
Until I got home...

One of my flatmates is Spanish, and some friends and family arrived for a visit, so I came home a living room full of Spaniards crazily speaking Spanish at each other at a speed no human could possibly understand. When my flatmate saw me she popped up and eagerly introduced me to them all in her Penelope Cruz accent,

She started with, "Anna, this is my cousin Maria."

I half expected her other cousin to be named Bernardo. Apparently, I had left the bar and walked into West Side Story.  I contemplated asking them to perform the musical number "America" with me, but decided against it. They're all from Granada anyway, not Puerto Rico.

So I started my 4th of July in England among the Redcoats and ended my day among The Sharks.
I recited several excerpts from the DOI, correctly named the original colonies, dressed in honor of Betsey Ross, ate a chilli cheese dog and curly fries, and drank alcohol out of a Jack Daniels Barrel. I sang the Star Spangled Banner, and danced to Lynyrd Skynyrd until the band quit on us, and screamed "USA! USA! USA!" more than any person ever should.
I think spending this year away has made me realize just how proud I am to be an American.

Yes, there ain't no doubt I love this land, God Bless the USA!

Island Getaway

Turns out, there is a place in England where the sun actually shines.
Or, my selfish prayers to God were answered.  Which is probably more likely.

I had a wonderful, quintessentially English weekend on the Isle of Wight, filled with nature, beaches, thatched cottages, pubs and farmhouse cream teas. And most amazing of all, it was 70 and sunny the entire time!

I had not even heard of the Isle of Wight until I prodded my English co-worker for tips on a location for nice weekend away with my friend. It's not mentioned in any guidebooks I have or travel blogs I read, and is absent from every "must see in England" list out there. Below is a picture of the Isle of Wight.

Alum Bay, Isle of Wight

Yes, why would anyone think to mention this....?

I learned most Londoners don't go to Isle because it is "really far" from London.
"Really far" to the English apparently is a 2 hour train and a 20 minute ferry. But I have found in general the Brits have a very skewed perception of what is "far." Most Americans would happily travel the distance that a Brit would consider "far" to go to a Chikfil-A. So I have learned to take everything they say with a grain of salt.

 As our ferry approached the Yarmouth the annual sailing race was passing through, and hundreds of sailboats spotted the water and I gave our host, Sue, a call.

I seem to have incredible luck finding accommodations. Particularly B&Bs, which is my new favorite type of place to stay.

For a long period of time I had two sisters working for hotels, one for The Mandarin Oriental and one for The Ritz. Anytime we traveled, we stayed at one of these properties for friends and family rates so I became accustomed to a certain standard of excellence.
Now, according to Josh I am a big hotel snob. And though it pains me to admit my boyfriend is right - in this case, he is right. I am a hotel snob  - but when you're used to The Ritz with fluffy robes and someone looking out for your every need, it's quite hard to downgrade to a Comfort Inn that doesn't even put chocolates on your pillow.

My sisters are now retired from the hotel business, and so my 5 star days are more or less over. So my opinion is, if you can't splurge on a fancy hotel, you are far better off in some cute local person's cozy home than a scary budget motel that is likely crawling with bed bugs and diseases. But the local person must be cute (and so must their home) for this to work out. It takes some research, but I have successfully found an incredible B&Bs in Paris, Amsterdam, and now the Isle of Wight.

Sue, our host, turned out to be as sweet as her homemade jams she served at breakfast. And our accommodations were larger than both of our flats combined with 2 double bedrooms, a sitting room, library, an enormous bath, and a full tea service complete with a fully stocked "biscuit box" for our enjoyment. And boy, did we enjoy it.

She even had a copy of "Wightlife Magazine," for us. A magazine whose title, when taken out of context, sounds extremely racist.  I flipped through looking for activities to do on the island, and found Godshill, a "chocolate box" village with thatched cottages from the 16th century, ice cream parlours, and tea rooms. We were on the next bus there.

Someone actually lives here! 

The view of the town of Godshill

As if the scenery wasn't enough to make you melt, we found homemade blackcurrant and cream ice cream. The village was like a page out of a storybook and I started imaging myself quitting my job, moving to the Isle of Wight, and running a scone shop out of a little thatched cottage. It sounds like a nice life, right?

We spent the rest of the day exploring the Southern bit of the island before heading back to Yarmouth to the local pub, the Wheatsheaf Inn, where we got pint of cidre, fish and chips, and throughly enjoyed being the only tourists in sight. It was packed with Wightians on dates, hen-dos, and of course getting completely and utterly drunk. After devouring a raspberry crumble with custard sauce, we checked the clock and realized it was 11pm! Sweet Sue had offered to pick us up from dinner since the bus stop was about a mile from the house, but it was far too late her to call her and none of our new pub friends were in a condition to give us a ride either.

We reluctantly hopped on the bus, thinking the walk from the stop surely couldn't be that bad. It was quite dark, so we checked with the bus driver before the exited to make sure we were at the right stop.

"We're staying at the Golf House, do we get off here," we sweetly asked?
The bus driver's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he said in a concerned tone, "that's miles from here!"
"Well Sir, we don't have any other way there," I replied. "Is it just straight ahead?"
"Yeah," he said, and then after a long, pensive moment he added, "it's scary..."

This bus driver was a 60 year old, grown man.
"Maybe the dog'll protect you," he said as the doors closed behind us.
Little 5lb, 2 ounce Herbie was passed out in my arms.

I don't think I've ever walked down a long, country road in the pitch black alone before. It was kind of scary, but also kind of exciting. I was more afraid of a cow popping out of the shrubbery than an attacker, but luckily neither did and we were tucked in our cozy beds before we knew it.

We woke the next morning and had the breakfast of our lives!
Sat in the sunny porch room, at a fullly set table with doilies and china - our feast began.
Fresh squeezed OJ, fresh fruit salad, greek yogurt, french press coffee and of course - teas to start.
The next course was toast. Thick, freshly baked, warm, delicious, wholemeal toast with sweet cream butter made on the isle and Sue's homemade jams: gooseberry, raspberry, blueberry, and orange marmalade.

After eating 4 slices of toast (one with each type of jam), I was stuffed - but it was time to select which cooked breakfast we wanted. I just went with some scrambled eggs, eggs straight from the hens in Sue's backyard - which came accompanied with a basket of freshly baked croissants and pain au chocolat - but in one of the rare times in my life, I was too full.

Afterwards, we needed to do some walking. Alot of walking actually.
The Isle of Wight is known for it's gorgeous costal paths, rolling hills, and sandy beaches - so we went to see all three. We started with a walk to the beach, where we let Herbie run free like a loon, then continued all the way to Alum Bay, where we saw what is called, for reasons I don't understand "The Needles." We walked all the way down the costal path to the tip of the cliff overlooking it, and the views were simply stunning. It was hard to believe it was England at all! We were so high up that the wind was quite intense, and as a result little Herbie needed to be carried along the path since we sincerely feared he might blow away.

Herbie was not into the hike

After 4 hours of hiking uphill, we had our appetites back just in time for tea. So we took a detour off the costal path through the meadowy hills towards The Warren Farmhouse, which has one of the Top 10 Best Cream Tea's in the whole of Britian, according to "The Guardian. " 

Naturally we had to go and judge for ourselves. 

The scenery on the isle was like a painting. The strong winds so fiercely blew across the tall grass as we walked along the path that it looked like the hills were alive. The little farm was the only thing in sight, like a stone mirage in the green oasis. Sometimes it is so wonderful to get out of the city and just immerse yourself in nature. To be somewhere where you only see blues, greens, and browns and the air is so clean you becoming conscious of how wonderful it is to simply breathe in and out.

The Warren Farmhouse

We each ordered a strawberry tea, which was 1 scone (instead of two) a pot of tea, a bowl of fresh british strawberries, all accompanied by homemade jam and clotted cream. I thought one scone would surely be enough, but when we'd both finished we looked at each other and agreed a second was in order. It was simply to delicious to not go back for seconds. Everything from the flour, the butter, and the milk was farm-fresh - and what a difference it made. The Delft chinaware put an extra little smile on my Dutch face as I soaked in the beauty around me, felt the sun shining, and savored each bite of Britain's best scone.

Jolly Good Cream Tea at The Warren Farmhouse

We knew we were the only tourists at tea, because everyone else munching on scones was casually chatting with about their sheep and swapping homemade jam recipes. We sat at our lacey table for an hour after we'd finished discussing how cream tea is definitely the best idea that England ever had. 

With just a few hours left until our ferry departed back to the mainland, we headed back to the Golf House and Sue drove us into town where we hung out in our local pub, The Wheatsheaf until we boarded the ferry, The crowd was almost exactly the same as the night before, so everyone recognized the two Americans and Herbie the wildly cute dog instantly and be were able to say goodbye to all our new alcoholic friends. 

I was very sad to leave the Isle of Wight. I found the Wightians to be the friendliest English people I have met yet, and so enjoyed an authentic experience in a quiet English town. I have since told every English person I know that I visited the Isle, and they all are all now planning weekends away of their own. I guess it takes someone American to tell them what is worth seeing in their country, no matter how "far" away it may be.