The big freeze

Britain has finally thawed out and temperatures are positive again (although still single digits). I've noticed I no longer pay any attention to the weather reports, a far cry from when I first arrived in London, and I've stopped carrying an umbrella everywhere--it's just too much of a hassle, and the rain will probably stop in 10 minutes, anyway.

One particularly weather institution that I'm fascinated with, however, is the shipping forecast. This is just a radio broadcast of the weather around the British Isles, but it's read out in a very particular (and peculiar) way: An irregular grid marks 31 areas, each named something ridiculous like 'Viking,' 'Dogger,' or 'German Bight,' which are read out clockwise followed by wind direction, strength, precipitation, sea state, and visibility -- with no intervening descriptions!  For example: "Rockall. Southwest gale 8 to storm 10, veering west, severe gale 9 to violent storm 11. Rain, then squally showers. Poor, becoming moderate. Southeast Iceland. North 7 to severe gale 9. Heavy snow showers. Good, becoming poor in showers. Moderate icing."  The result is almost hypnotic, and since the last report is at 12:48am, many Brits use it as a sleep aid.

Since I mentioned Britain's poet laureate the other day, it seems only appropriate to reference another of her works, the last line of which made no sense when I first read it.

PRAYER by Carol Ann Duffy
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So a woman will lift 
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift. 
Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child's name as though they named their loss.
Darkness outside. Inside the radio's prayer -
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre

Britain last week

House hunting

When I first got here, I complained about how hard letting (renting) is in the UK, because each flat (apartment) is registered with a single agent, and each agent is a slimy scumbag.

If you know exactly where you want to live, it's fairly straightforward--you call all the agents in the area, and bug them regularly because they will never, ever call you back. But if your needs are a little more esoteric (ie "two bed near London with a water view") it's pretty impossible, unless you're willing to ring every agent in London and the surrounding home counties on a weekly basis.

And even that's not feasible, because agents will show you every hovel on their books, apparently in the hope that you'll forget your requirements and fall in love with the one-bed over a garage.

The only tool I have on my side is a web site called globrix.com, which consolidates listings from various agents and displays them on a map. (Who would have thought!) The only problem is that I still can't judge driving distance, and what I thought was going to be a leisurely Saturday turned into a frantic 7-hour race to see 5 properties.

• We started at 9:30am in Maidenhead, at a beautiful modern flat right on the river - but on the ground floor, with a large hedge that blocked any view. Funny how the agent didn't mention that...
• At 10am we were in Marlow, looking at the outside of a flat because the agent never showed. It did have a nice view...from the 4' x 4' living room that we could see.
• At 11am, we were in Weybridge, waiting for an agent who was 20 minutes late and brought the wrong keys. She went back to the office and then called us to let us know she couldn't find the keys, and we'd have to come back another time.
• At noon, we were in Staines, looking for parking on what had to be the busiest road outside of London. We got to the flat 10 minutes late, but the agent was 10 minutes later. The "luxury penthouse corner flat" did have a gorgeous view of the river, completely obscured by long, skinny windows and a horrible layout--I would basically be working in the kitchen in order to see anything.
• The same agent took us across the river to look at another flat that had a much nicer view, was £300 month cheaper, and would have been fine...if it hadn't been in Staines.
• The same agent had one other property that he didn't want to show us, but since it happened to be right next to another place we were going to look at, we insisted. It turned out to be a charming little house with a lovely garden and a brook running by. Jess and I agreed that it was the only place worth considering.
• We went down the street to see the final place, and it reminded me of "The Money Pit" -- outside it was absolutely fantastic, a solid brick house with a turret and leaded glass windows, a large yard, on a quiet street between the brook and a reservoir. On the inside, however, it was a complete nightmare, with mouldy bathroom tiles, DIY partitions, and several areas the landlord has locked off for his own storage! I told the agent I'd consider buying it, but not renting it, and she agreed with me!

On a brighter note, I finally met an agent who did not use the phrase 'to be honest with you' every 2 minutes. (I had one agent say that when discussing the weather!) I would have rented from the man for that reason alone--except that was the flat with the hedge. I wish he had been honest with me.

This isn't too much to ask for, is it?

Words, wide night

I can't decide if the world is too big or too small.

Just looking at a map of British Airways routes is humbling: Cairo, Nairobi, Bermuda, Rio de Janeiro, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Delhi, Bangkok, Vienna, Paris, Berlin, Athens, Rome, Madrid, Bucharest, Istanbul -- a who's-who of history and romance, all less than 12 hours away! The world has literally become an oyster, and with four weeks off per year (and no B&B to deal with), I have more free time than ever.

Yet, making holiday plans today proved just opposite: Even if all I did this year was take a few weekend trips (3-4 days, plus travel time) to see my family in California and Georgia, that would take 15 days; add in a few days to see friends in Los Angeles, and my holiday time is gone! Jessica is already planning trips to Israel and Australia without me, because she has 44 holidays this year (some of it carried over from last year).

I moved to England so I could see the world, but now I just want to see my family.

I don't have any answers, but I will leave you with the words of Carol Ann Duffy, Britain's poet laureate:

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us. I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Seasons

All my life, I'd heard about seasons, but being from Los Angeles, I hadn't actually experienced one.  I've visited snow, of course, but that's not the same as experiencing it, and frankly I didn't see the point.  Naturally I assumed having great weather year-round was ideal, and anyone who said "I miss the seasons" was delusional.

Three years ago, I got my first taste of fall foliage in Pennsylvania, and I suddenly understood what everyone was talking about.  It felt like I was experiencing the landscape fresh every single day, and I was hooked.  That was when I realized I could never return to Los Angeles.

Today I was reminded of that driving down the motorway with a heavy snow falling under a bright sky, flocking the bare trees.  I should have been terrified of the icy road, but instead I felt like a child, sticking my tongue out to catch the flakes.  (No, it doesn't work inside a car.)  The fields looked like water, flat and still under the snow.  It was stunning, but even more remarkable was knowing that in six months it will be a different world, familiar in shape and place, but fields ablaze with rapeseed, lush trees full of birds, the silence a deafening chorus of animals, the melted snow just an overflowing stream.  I now understand what everyone meant, and how addictive it can be.

Now, I'm not about to move to Norway so I can experience this regularly.  In fact, part of the charm of England is that while it gets all of the seasons, it doesn't do any of them particularly well.  But for me, it's absolutely perfect, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

The view from my flat the next day

Snowdonia

The train started with a jerk, then a slow chugging motion, before quickening the pace and smoothing out the ride.  Out the panoramic windows, snow-capped mountains competed with green fields, sheep grazed placidly beside the tracks, and choppy water reflected a million suns.  We were served tea in wing-back chairs as we kicked off our shoes and jumpers and relaxed for the four-hour round trip.  We pressed our heads against the cold glass to see streams disappearing beneath us, the engine snaking along ahead, or the long trail of steam overhead.  We held hands and spoke of other places and times, and waved back at the hikers on the trail.  On the return, we watched the snow fall, snoozed a little, and took funny photos of ourselves.  The next morning, we checked out of the lovely B&B and drove through the sea front of Llandudno, the walled town of Conwy, the waterfalls of Betws-y-Coed, and along a scenic road to Abergele, pelted by hail, before heading home to London.  It was, in short, an amazing start to the new year.

 Postcards from Wales

Stranger in a strang(ish) land

I love being in England, though I'd be hard-pressed to tell you why. After all, it's crowded, expensive, cold, and wet. But I've been thinking about this and realized, while I do love the history and architecture, the Thames, and even the accents, what really attracted me is its...foreignness.

Taken individually, the differences between American and English culture are petty, often more annoying than interesting. But collectively, they constantly challenge my assumptions, my experiences, and my point of view. I could cite hundreds of examples, but that wouldn't help you understand how I feel at the end of each day, knowing I've learned something new, or just recognized that what I thought of as a constant was just a convention.

But what I really feel at the end of the day is privileged, and lucky, to be living here, and am looking forward to everything the new year brings. (And I expect it to bring a great many things.)

Jessica is taking me to Wales for the new year (a steam train through Snowdonia--how cool is that?) but I want to wish everyone a safe and happy new year!

2009 wrap-up

I started 2009 unemployed, stone broke, and practically homeless—I was renting a flat while the owner was in Africa, and she was due back January 15. My savings were gone, and I was taking cash advances on my credit cards, before finally taking some money out of my 401k. And the news about the “credit crunch”—and the job market—was getting worse every day.

It was a vicious circle, made even worse by the fact that I didn't even recognize it. I mean, I still had a place to live, I wasn't going hungry, I had a gorgeous girlfriend, and almost every morning I bundled up and walked through a private park and along the river Thames to my gym. It seemed idyllic, but in between those moments I was desperate and depressed, and I didn't even realize it until I could no longer cope with anything.

Of course, that happened in March, in the middle of a trip to Israel with Jessica's family for a wedding. Not surprisingly, we broke up, although it wasn't long before we were back together. (To be honest, meeting Jess felt so much like...if not fate, then inevitability...that I'm not surprised we're still together, and even stronger for the experience.)

In April, after much searching, I found a decent one-bed flat in Ealing, but because I was unemployed the landlord demanded six months up front, which took – almost to the penny – my remaining funds. So I was no longer homeless, but still unemployed and broke.

Then the gods decided I had enough, and in May I got a job with a small consulting firm. Actually, small may be an overstatement—they've been in business for six years, and I was employee #9. They didn't even have an office—all of their employees worked from home. A few years ago I would have jumped at the chance, but being in England, living alone, and not knowing many people, I'd been looking forward to going to an office. Instead, I spent the days sitting on my sofa with my laptop, which felt exactly the same as when I was unemployed, and didn't do anything to help my depression.

In July, I finally sought help, and have been seeing a therapist to work through a lot of old issues (divorce, anyone?) and regain my perspective. It has been amazingly therapeutic, and I am once again excited about the future, enjoying the present, and I have no regrets about the past. (I am also learning how to deal with my family, and love them as much as they love me.)

In October, British Airways responded to the recession by asking all of its employees to take a month off without pay. Jessica went to Namibia, which she'd always wanted to see, but of course I couldn't get the time off, so instead I took weekend trips to Georgia and California. (It's a long way to go for a weekend, but thanks to Jessica I can fly standby for very little.) I also visited Edinburgh for about an hour, and Jessica is taking me to Wales for New Year's.

In December, Jess and I agreed to move in together, but since we both have one-bedroom flats, we are looking for some place a little larger, a little closer to her work, and (I hope) something along the river. We've already seen one place we both liked, so this may happen pretty quickly.

I'm not sure if 2009 was the year I accomplished nothing, or the year I learned everything. Perhaps its because I turned 40, perhaps its because I hit bottom and came back, perhaps its because living in England forces me to challenge all of my assumptions every single day. Whatever the reason, I am joyful, and I want to wish you the same, and hope I will see many of you in the new year. (My door is always open.) In the meantime, count your blessings, love each other, and above all, have fun.

Happy holidays!

Telly

You may think of British television in terms of Fawlty Towers, the Saint, and Doctor Who, but you may not realize that all of these programs originally came from the UK: American Idol (X Factor), The Apprentice, Dancing With the Stars (Strictly Come Dancing), Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, Deal or No Deal, Weakest Link, Whose Line Is It Anyway, Big Brother, Antiques Roadshow, The Office, Trading Spaces (Changing Rooms), Supernanny, Survivor, Wife Swap, Hell's Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares, and Meerkat Manor (the voiceover is changed to an American accent--really!).

In fact, British exports are at an all-time high, so expect to see these shows sometime soon. (You may have already seen some of these; I haven't been keeping up with American television.)

• Come Dine With Me - Four individuals take turns hosting a dinner party, with the guests secretly rating each other. The highest score wins £1,000.
• Cast Offs - A "scripted reality show" (or "mockumentary") about 6 disabled people on a deserted island: A blind man, a deaf woman, a paraplegic, a dwarf, a woman with cherubism, and someone with a thyroid condition (or something).
• Cash in the Attic - People sell household items at auction in order to splash out on concert tickets or new golf clubs.
• Peep Show - a comedy based on the unspoken thoughts of the two main characters.
• Argumental - two people argue for and against random stuff, like nuclear power and cotton sheets.
• The World's Strictest Parents - unruly middle-class teenagers are sent abroad to live with strict families in undeveloped countries.
• How To Look Good Naked - middle-age women agree to be photographed in the buff, and those pictures are displayed in prominent public areas.
• Being Human - a vampire, a werewolf, and a ghose live together in a flat. (Oddly, this is a serious drama.)
• Home and Away - a British family is sent to Australia for a week, where they look at different properties and meet several potential employers, and then have to choose to stay or move.
• Springwatch - 2 hours a night for 3 weeks, in prime time and on a major channel, hidden cameras capture local wildlife
• River Cottage - chef Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall raises his own animals and vegetables, inviting guests to harvest the food and prepare a large meal.
• QI - A quiz show where points are awarded for answers that are 'quite interesting' and deducted for answers that are not.
• Prime Minister Questions - Members of Parliament ask questions, and the Prime Minister gives unrelated answers.
• Bargain Hunt - Two teams are given £300 to spend on antiques, which are then sold at auction and the winning team keeps the difference. (Usually it's less than a tenner.)
• House Swap - Two families looking to move to different areas are shown each other's homes, and then decide if they want to swap.
• Countdown - Two contestants are given a series of letters and 30 seconds to come up with as many words as they can. (Bonus points for the longest word.)
• Don't Tell the Bride - a couple are given £5,000 to plan their dream wedding, but the groom has to make every decision with no input from the bride.
• Homes Under the Hammer - houses bought at auction, sight-unseen, are evaluated.
• Heir Hunters - a team of PIs track down heirs to unclaimed estates (for a portion of the award).
• How Clean Is Your House - Two women clean the dirtiest homes in the country, then make the owners promise not to let it get that bad again.
• Take Away My Takeaway - Teenagers outside fast food restaurants are taken to see where the food comes from.
• Dragon's Den - Would-be entrepreneurs pitch to 5 venture capitalists, trying to get them to invest £50,000 - 250,000 in their business.
• Don't Get Screwed - A consumer protections show whose tagline is "We take customer service to a new low, to show you your rights."
• Mock the Week, Have I Got News For You, 9 out of 10 Cats, and Never Mind the Buzzcocks - game shows based on current events, which are then syndicated and re-broadcast years later, long after the material is relevant).

This week, I've been enjoying The Queen (a 5-part dramatization about...uh....the Queen), Life (a 10-part documentary about...uh...life), and Toy Stories (a 6-part series using toys from the 70s in large-scale applications, such as a full-size Lego house, a 3 1/2 mile slot-car race track, and a 37-mile electric train track).

On turning 40

It's a grey and dreary (ie, typical) day in London, perfect for contemplating my latest trip around the sun. (That, and my work is both frustrating and tedious, a deadly combination.) I'm drinking a cup of tea and eating a slice of birthday apple streudel--an inside joke, and a subtle reminder of how clever Jessica is; she has a long memory and a dry sense of humor. She also gave me a hot water bottle, a scarf, and a bread maker, which were all well and truly appreciated, although a less charitable person might note how practical these gifts are. (For her birthday, I may get her some athritis rub, warm underwear, and a vacuum cleaner.)

She also tried to organize a surprise trip to Norway to see the northern lights, but I went to see my family instead (surprise!), so that had to be postponed until January. She may hate working for British Airways, but I certainly appreciate it.

So I've been thinking about my life, and how tightly I controlled everything in it. I did some good things over the years, and I certainly stretched myself, but everything was strictly on my terms, and if anyone challenged that, I left -- jobs, friends, family, it didn't matter. After the divorce, I took the opposite approach: Just like I got rid of the few possessions that remained mine, moving to England was my way of getting rid of the few things that were still under my control. It was an extreme (and probably irrational) move, but I've always seen the world in black-and-white. Perhaps its time I began to appreciate grey. (Which would be perfect for an English winter...)

So I've been learning to accept things that I can't control and, ironically, the more control I give up, the more content and less anxious I am, and the happier Jessica is with me. As you may recall, last February we tried moving in together, but when that fell apart (because of the landlord, not us) I wasn't able to deal with it and I had my little breakdown, resulting in us breaking up. (Granted, it was only for a day, but it was a very long day.) Now that I've been settled for a while, we're going to try again, and last week we started looking at some areas in north London. (Totteridge was very nice, but I refuse to live in a place called 'Cockfosters.')

So this year hasn't been particularly productive, I haven't done anything crazy, it was in no way remarkable--except, perhaps, it may be when I finally grew up.

Looking forward

I've been in London for a year now, and am starting to see some of the annual events come around again--Wimbledon, Kenwood House concerts, the Shoreditch festival, Hyde Park Calling, BBC Proms, etc.--but I realized I don't have anything to look forward to.

That is, when I was in downtown Los Angeles for a year, there were many things I looked forward to -- the farmers' market on Friday, the downtown art walk on the second Thursday, Cal Plaza in the summer. If I took the subway in the evening -- to see a movie or play on the west side -- I treated myself to a chile relleno burrito and agua de jamaica at Ye Olde Taco House; if I went to Union Station, I stopped at Olvera Street for taquitos de papa. I spent many hours at Disney Hall, the Ahmanson Theater, and McCabe's guitar shop.

I've done so many things in London, but there's no routine, no structure, no rhythm to my life here. There's not even anything on television that I look forward to. (I do watch the Daily Show just to keep up on American politics.) I think part of the problem is the weather--life is more compressed in LA, whereas here everything is tied to the seasons--and part of the problem is choice; there is just so much more to do in London. But more than either of those, I think the problem is I've been working so hard to 'experience' London, I really haven't spent any time 'living' in London.

These emails stopped being a travelogue long ago, focusing on my own issues and using London only as a backdrop, a bit part in a bit play. So to that end, I think I should stop writing for a little while, and focus my energies on enjoying the terribly brief summer here. And who knows, when the trees are bare, the days are six hours long, I'm wearing five layers and still freezing, and all anyone talks about is taking a holiday to Mauritius to see the sun, maybe I'll have something new to say. (And I will definitely be looking forward to the spring lambs and the bluebells.)

In the meantime, I'm still available for private emails, suggestions, jokes, etc. You can even reach me via a US number -- (678) 389-9123. I'll be back in California in September, though I don't know if I'll have time to see anyone. And if you're going to be in London, you're welcome to crash at my flat.

Have a great summer!