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Tube Strike

Published June 11, 2009 Uncategorized Leave a Comment
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I don’t envy my friends in London, struggling with another tube strike. On Facebook, it was the only subject anyone in London had anything to post about.

Here in Atlanta, I am impressed by the MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority). It’s clean, air-conditioned, and has working elevators that don’t smell of urine.

When I told mothers in my play group that I had had a positive experience with the MARTA, they gave me blank looks. None of them had taken the MARTA, even though they had lived in the city for years.

My Dad took it to the airport when he came to visit (his stay with us coincided with our daughter’s lice attack, so driving him to the airport was just not possible). He loved it. As a New Yorker with 50-odd years of subway riding experience, he wisely proclaimed: “It’s the only way to get to the airport.”

That prompted a tirade about why New York should have a subway that goes all the way to the airport, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish.

I suppose my fellow play group moms don’t feel the need for the MARTA, because they all have cars. In London, millions of people — myself included –don’t have cars, and have to take public transport.

Thanks for ridingThat’s why this sign from London Underground, thanking riders for taking the tube, makes me laugh. On principle, the high cost of a ticket (nearly $5), the seemingly annual strikes, the almost constant stoppages, might deter tube travelers, except for one thing — they don’t have a choice!

We Have Arrived

Published June 11, 2009 Uncategorized Leave a Comment
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After hearing about it, reading about it, and watching it happen on the Hallmark Channel, it has happened to me – a neighbor came by to welcome us to the street with a platter filled with what she called a casserole.

CasseroleIt was fantastic. Not only was I blown away that she had taken the time to make this platter (the word “casserole” is misleading. To me, it conjures images of baked tuna covered in cheese. This was more an array of enchiladas); I was enchanted that she had walked across the street with her young son to deliver it in person.

The only interactions we had with our neighbors in London were as follows: a drunk 20-something Russian woman, screaming obscenities at her roommate, who had locked her out, asked if she could use our toilet; the self-appointed chairman of the residents’ committee informed us by letter that all washing machines needed to be replaced, because they were prone to catching on fire (a fact proven when one did catch fire, forcing an evacuation, and fire department visit. No one was injured); and the woman who lived in the flat next door for just a few months, but took pleasure in telling us what a terrible building it was when she moved out (she objected to the train station nearby. So it was a little loud, but hey, it’s London! You want serenity, move to the ‘burbs!).

So here we are, in the ‘burbs, without trains rumbling past, or the neon billboard across the street, or the double decker buses racing by. Every five minutes or so, a car will drive by. A dog walker will pass about once every 20 minutes. It’s calmer, but a lot less entertaining.

Things I Don’t Miss

Published June 9, 2009 Uncategorized 1 Comment
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I am glad I am not in London for the latest tube strike. The 24-hour-long ones were rough enough — this one threatens to last 48 hours.

I once biked the three mile trek to work, dodging hundreds of other first-time bike commuters, along with buses, cabs, and cars. During a 2003 strike, my husband walked four miles; a former flat mate waited an hour for an overland train, which was overflowing with people.

On average, the strikes seemed to happen once a year. But when you throw in rain, or other inclement weather that tended to coincide with tube strikes, you end up with memories of an inconvenience seared into your mind for months beyond the next strike.

Transport for London never seemed to add extra buses or trains to make up for the missing tube service. But I suppose it’s a testament to the tenacity of Londoners that no one rioted. People grumbled, but then they got on with their commutes, trips to the pub, etc. They even joked about it. That I do miss.

I’m not sure how an American suburbanite, who is used to driving to work in temperature controlled comfort, would react to news that they had to walk more than three miles in the rain to work.

New House

Published June 7, 2009 Uncategorized Leave a Comment

So we bought our first ever house. It is three times the size — literally — as our flat in London (and yet, it is about 25% cheaper).

The kids love the yard. I love actually having space to put our things. During each move in London, we would become more and more perplexed as we realized that our clothes and kitchenwares would have to be stashed in nooks and crannies of closets, under sinks and on top of the refrigerator, because there generally wasn’t enough room in the logical places for clothes and kitchenwares.

But there are a whole new set of worries. There is a jungle of weeds that someone needs to mow (that someone will have to be a hired person for the moment, until we get used to lawn work). And there are all sorts of strange sounds coming from the garage, which could be healthy house noises, or perhaps something more sinister (a dying boiler? Trapped rodents? A poltergeist?).

As someone who grew up in an apartment, all this space is daunting. But I’m not complaining. After living in a two story house with a yard, I will find it hard to go back to a two bedroom flat.

The Oldest Pub in Town

Published June 2, 2009 Uncategorized Leave a Comment
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Bluebell
You just don’t find old buildings in the US like you do in the UK. I mean really old. While visiting my in-laws in the Midlands last week, my husband and I went to dinner at a pub that dates back to the late 15th century.

Bluebell columnsThe Bluebell Inn, on the main drag in a lovely town called Henley-in-Arden, still has the oak beams from the original building. The owner told us proudly about the building’s 500-year-plus history, and how it was the oldest building — not in the country, or even the county — but in the village.

But the Bluebell isn’t flanked by fast food establishments, drug stores or other garish reminders of modern life. The tudor style architecture on the town’s main street make you feel like you’re walking into the 1500s.

But the pub’s age isn’t unusual for these parts. Not too far away, there’s a drinking establishment that makes the Bluebell look young.

There’s a pub in Nottingham — Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem — that is said to date back to 1189.

I miss these ancient watering holes. What they lack in modern amenities (like, for instance, air-conditioning) they make up for in character. There’s nothing like sitting in the Bluebell, eating the signature comfort food (we enjoyed their fondue) and pretending the reason your cell phone doesn’t work is because it wasn’t invented yet (actually, there just wasn’t reception in the place. A nice, if accidental, anti-modern touch).

I’ll take culture over convenience any day.
Bluebell seat

Flying Fear

Published June 1, 2009 Uncategorized Leave a Comment
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We flew back from a week’s holiday in the UK yesterday, and were thrilled by an unexpected upgrade to business class. But it seems a bit frivolous now, in light of the probable crash of Air France Flight 447.

The decadence of the free flowing drinks, the frequent hot towels and extra crawling space for the kids Business class makes you forget that you could easily fly into harm’s way.

Most air catastrophes seem to occur early in the flight: it looks like this one happened three hours after take-off, when passengers were probably snoozing, or happily buzzed on the free drinks.

So maybe the moment of terror, when people realized that they were experiencing more than just turbulence, was brief.

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