Recap: #Ladyweek2012

Those of you who follow me on Twitter were probably scratching your heads last week, wondering what the h*%£ I was on about with all of my #Ladyweek2012 tweets. Well, I had the week off from work and my bestie visited to check out my new house, new hood, and drink a lot of rosé. She came bearing gifts from Trader Joes and an old-school friendship bracelet (mine is the pink one!).

We pretended we were Patsy and Edina from AbFab and drank before noon, and especially copious amounts of rosé at fancy restaurants. Our first full day together, we went to lunch at Ottolenghi! We also got cultural and saw the Heatherwick and Ballgown exhibitions at the V&A. I highly recommend both – especially Heatherwick. He is a genius!

One of the things my friend specifically requested we do was the Emirates Air Line. It's pretty great! You get an amazing view of the East End, including the Thames Barrier, even though it's sort of a trek to get there. 

Besides eating in restaurants, we also indulged in nights in drinking rosé (of course) and British TV. I got my friend hooked on the Great British Bake-Off over four types of cheeses and three types of meat.

And of course, we just wandered... up and down the streets of Stoke Newington, Dalston, Islington, Clerkenwell, Oxford Street, Soho, and Bermondsey Street... we went into shops, markets, cafes, and generally were ladies about town. It was an amazing staycation and we're already planning #Ladyweek2013 – maybe in America, maybe someplace in Europe... the sky is the limit because #ladyweek can take place anywhere with sun and rosé.

4 years and counting

Today is no ordinary Thursday. Today is the fourth anniversary of my arrival in the UK.

It's very interesting timing for me. When I think back to landing at Heathrow with 3 suitcases and a bike, I never thought I'd be a) still here, b) in a long-term committed relationship, c) trying to buy a house four years on – and yet it all feels completely natural. I guess what I mean is that I never thought I'd have eased into such a comfortable routine for myself in London.

Moving abroad often carries with it the dreams of travel, new experiences, excitement around every turn, and while there is definitely an element of that spice, I've also found a myself embedded in a rather normal domesticity that includes weekly veg boxes, dry cleaning runs, loads of laundry, HBO TV serieses, and occasional meals out with couple-friends. In essence, my expat life looks surprisingly like the life I probably would have had back in the US – except that I have a postcode with letters in it rather than a zip code with numbers.

And yet I still don't feel fully settled here in London. My recent trip home to US was an eye-opener for me in terms of realizing how much I missed simple American pleasures like driving through the farmlands of New Jersey, sitting out on my parents back deck in the sun, calling my grandmother without dialling a complicated access code and doing math to figure out what time it is for her. I don't know that I would be living in the 'burbs if I were in the US right now, but I do know that I wish I could have better access to the rolling green hills and hayfields of my childhood than I do now.

Even harder was seeing my friends at the wedding in Florida. I haven't been able to give you all a full debrief of the week because it was a rather bittersweet reminder that our respective lives have been changing in parallel, sometimes too much for me to bear. I listened to them recount all of the lovely details of weddings, vacations, nights out, that I've missed over the last several years with an increasingly sinking heart, knowing that unless I move back I will continue to miss out on these simple joys. On the one hand it was wonderful to arrive in a place and greet them as if no time had passed, and I felt so honored and secure in knowing that our friendships are still strong despite time and difference, but on the other hand it was desperately hard to leave them, yet again, to leave the sun and sand and get on a transatlantic flight to a cold, rainy, seemlingly isolated life.

So I am trying, on this anniversary day, to think of all the good in my expat life, rather than what I left behind. I am looking forward to travel to Barcelona, Ireland, the Middle East, around England and maybe more this year. I am looking forward to plans with lots of UK-based friends this summer – new friends who maybe didn't know me when I danced on tables in bars in Syracuse, or who ran wild with me through the streets of New York, but people who recognize the person I am now and find me endearing despite my rather American earnestness and volume levels. I am looking forward to hopefully finalizing a house purchase (more on that soon for everyone's reading delight) and I am hoping the place we find is a home not just for The Irishman and me but also a place for me to welcome all of my friends from far and wide – a little oasis in this big city I now call home, where we can pick up the conversation wherever it was left off.

That is my resolution for year 5 in the UK. I think it's probably going to be a pretty good one.

Easter in the depths of Devon and Cornwall

My favorite perk of living in England is the 4-day Easter Bank Holiday. Just as spring has sprung and you're dreaming of distant shores and sunshine, you get a nice big long weekend for free. It's amazing. We always try to take advantage of it, usually tacking on a few extra days of vacation before or after, but this year we decided to keep it simple; the ongoing house-hunt and saving, combined with the fact that we're going to the US next week for a wedding, meant we wanted to just chill out and be a bit frugal.

So we decided to hit up The Irishman's friend whose parents bought a second home in Devon and head down there with him. It sounds a bit cheapskatey but to be fair he's been giving us a hard time about how we haven't gone down to the house with him in the past 2 years since his parents bought it so it was more a case of "no time like the present!" 

Our friend had actually been in Norway the week before, so we met him at Gatwick Airport first thing Saturday morning when he and some other friends were due in and then we all piled into a car and drove to the ends of the earth. Well, not really, but Devon is bloody far away. We ended up at this lovely cottage.

After restorative cups of tea, we all bundled up and went for a short walk around the neighborhood to get the lay of the land.

After our walk, we went home to prep food for dinner which we did on the BBQ. My first BBQ of the year! Too bad it was freezing outside and the grill, predictably, took 2 hours to properly heat up. My contribution were these very exciting vegetable kebabs – the local Waitrose didn't stock wooden skewers so we used rosemary stalks to hold them together! Very good idea for anyone out there with a) a grill, b) a garden, c) no skewers.

Easter Sunday we woke up and headed down into Cornwall to a town called Wadebridge, where we rented bikes and cycled 5ish miles down the Camel Trail to the town of Padstow. Padstow is famous for being the home of celebrity chef Rick Stein's restaurants and other ventures. When we arrived, we headed straight to his posh fish n chips shop to get lunch.

The highlight of our visit to Padstow was my chance to pet the statue of Rick Stein's late, famous dog Chalky. It's infront of his restaurant, in case you want to make a similar pilgrimage.



The village of Padstow was cute and very touristy, but is also on a really lovely beach so we walked around the harbor and out onto the beach as the tide gradually came in.

Then it was back to the bikes and back home to cook Easter supper.

Monday was pretty miserable – cold and rainy – so we leisurely got up and packed up the cottage, and then headed deep into the countryside to find a tiny country pub located and recommended by our friend's parents.



There we shared one final lunch together before departing – we were in separate cars, and with long rides ahead we were all eager to get on the road. We got dropped off at the train station in Exeter for a mere 2 hour journey back to Paddington; only problem was, everyone else got that train and we had to ride sitting on the floor in a vestibule. Sigh. But it didn't take away from the fact that it was an amazing weekend in the Southwest full of good friends, good food, and good views.

If you go:
First Great Western trains depart regularly from Paddington for Exeter and points south in Cornwall. There's even an overnight train! Campsites, house rentals, and B&Bs abound but unless you're in an actual resort town you will definitely need a car to get around.

The unknown expat dilemma

I've written about this before, about how hard it is to be far away from your friends and miss out on their lives. This becomes especially important when they get married and start having kids – unless they live in a country adjacent to yours to where you can get decently cheap Ryanair flights.

The sad truth of it is that I have now tiered my friends. I'm not worried about writing this and posting it in the ether because I've told them all before. Basically, I have had to be coldly rational and mentally sub-divide my friends as follows:

- People who, if they get engaged and invite me to their wedding, receive a card

- People who, if they get engaged and invite me to their wedding, receive a card and gift

- People who, if they get engaged and invite me to their wedding receive me in person at their wedding

The number of people in each category diminishes the farther you go down the list.

I haven't done this out of cruelness, but out of necessity. I'm at the age where every day brings another Facebook relationship status change to "engaged" and a subsequent "if I invite you will you come" email. And I can't go, most of the time. Airfare has gotten so expensive, and hotels are so expensive, and it's not fair to The Irishman to have to use all of his money and all of his holiday days to jet over to America for my friends' weddings.

This is coming up because one of my friends is getting married in Florida in April. She is in the bottom tier, someone whose wedding I will not miss despite only having gotten engaged 6 weeks ago thus giving me 5 weeks notice (it's okay, she's ALWAYS late). But now my challenge is to decide whether to go to the wedding for the weekend, or morph it into a week's vacation in Florida. This is definitely a "first world problem" but one that is important - to me - as I'm trying to make it to see my friends get married on the beach without breaking the bank, and get the most value out of a 10 hour flight.

This is the sad reality of expat life: weighing the pros and cons of jetlag, hotels, and baggage fees just to share your friends' big moments. It's another sad reality that I desperately wish, at moments like this, that I traveled more for work so that I had more frequent flyer miles in the bank – even though business travel, especially the up-and-down- in-and-out-in-a-day type, is absolutely exhausting. But at least I could redeem some miles for an upgrade or something.

This part of expat life is not glamorous, nor is it exciting; it is exhausting and tedious and often heartbreaking. Yet had someone actually given me this heads up before I moved abroad, I'm not sure I would have taken it seriously. It's just one of the things you have to accept with the visa, like being called love all of the time and standing in long immigration lines. 

Bank Holiday in Brittany, France's Emerald Coast

One of the saddest things about being an expat is missing out on sharing in milestones with those dearest to you, often due to sheer cost. But the upside is when those people are ALSO expats, and you get to share in their big days BECAUSE you are dearest and nearest. Such was the wedding of my buddies Jon et Alix. Jon and I went to Syracuse University together, where I relied heavily upon his Mac nerding skills to reformat my hard drive and rescue all of my design work at 4am when my computer crashed. He relied heavily on me for homecooked food. Bargains all around.

When I left New York, he was just embarking on a transatlantic romance with une jeune fille s'appelle Alix who he asked out on a date three days before she left New York after an internship at his company. Three years later, he had quit his job, moved to Paris, studied French to fluency, earned a MA in Sustainable stuff at Europe's most elite business school, and generally was in that sickening sort of perfect love everyone loves to hate. I for one revel in them, their general adorableness, and joie de vivre.

So when they announced their marriage in the seaside town in Brittany where Alix's family has vacationed for years, The Irishman and I jumped at the chance to celebrate with them and explore a part of France new to both of us. The wedding celebrations were held in a sleepy village called Saint Briac sur Mer, close to Saint Malo and Dinard on Brittany's "Emerald Coast."

Jon et Alix were officially married here on the Thursday, which we missed due to Ryanair having only 1 flight per day to Dinard, the closest airport. But the mairie, or town hall, is absolutely evocative of Saint Briac sur Mer overall: stone buildings, beautifully planted gardens and flower boxes, and epic, changeable skies. The church wedding took place in the town's stone church on Friday, with the reception in an old manor house a few miles away.

Little did I know that French weddings are epic events; we left at 1am when the dancing was just starting due to tummy upset on my part ( I think I had too much paté) and the groom informed us the next morning that they didn't really make it home until 6am. Sheesh. But the reception itself was amazing; much more personal than an American or British wedding. They have a tradition of interventions when friends and relatives make little skits and entertainment about the couple. So we had a few songs, a few photo montages, a video, all about Jon et Alix and their relationship (this was also why we didn't eat until 8pm and didn't start dancing until 1am). But it made for a really wonderful celebration of them and their love.

Hangovers were remedied the next day at a brunch hosted by Alix's parents where I ate the most amazing olive & ham "cake" which was possibly the most exciting thing I've ever eaten. This recipe here seems close to replicating it but I think I need Alix to teach me the secret French way.

One of the other wonderful things about this wedding, besides the oyster bar at the reception, was reuniting with several friends that I hadn't seen in several years. After the drinking and dancing and general merriment of the wedding, we spent the next afternoon exploring the seaside port of Saint Malo together. There is nothing quite like reminiscing over ice cream on the seafront.

Sunday we said goodbye to all of my friends and headed off on sightseeing adventures of our own, specifically to Mont Saint Michel.

Visiting Mont Saint Michel has been a childhood dream, ever since reading ancient textbooks in French class recounting how it was built and how it has become a symbol of France. So I was actually a little bit disappointed when we arrived and the five mile drive to the fortified island was a strip of tourist trap restaurants and "articles authentiques." I was under the impression that you still had to plan your trip according to the tides and that it was still a working monastery and that the whole thing would be a pristine wonder of the world.

Once you made it past the choke of touristy shops and snack bars, the monastery was beautiful. Looking out into the tidal pools through arrow-slit windows made me dream of being a Lady in medieval France, hiding away during sieges and battles. Mont Saint Michel survived the constant onslaughts from the English during the 100 Years war without being taken, and I can't imagine how life must have been hunkered down on that island.

 

Despite my disappointment at the reality of Mont Saint Michel, I was very glad to have visited. And even happier when later on that night we visited one of the best crepe restaurants in the region, L'Hermine, for farewell galettes and boules de cidre. 

We spent our final day in Brittany saying goodbye to the happy couple, who were jetting off to Corsica for a few days break, and touring the tiny medieval walled village of Dinan (notice a trend?). Yet another cute touristy village built around showing tourists "authentic" Breton culture and cuisine while trading on the vast history of the region, it is a charming little town to spend a few hours strolling. Which we did with gusto. Somehow our holidays always end up with us climbing fortifications and then walking back down.

And then we flew home from the very cute Dinard airport, that does not have a boarding lounge – only a << Café irlandais >> before security on the top floor of the airport where you can watch your plane land before you board it. 

The best part of the weekend, besides seeing my very lovely friends get married in a very lovely ceremony with all of my friends around, was the fact that 4.5 days of vacation felt like a week off and I returned to London restored and relaxed. I never thought of Brittany as a "must-do" vacation spot, but I can see how staying on the coast for 1-2 weeks, reading, sailing, swimming, and lounging would do anyone a world of good. And if that doesn't float your boat, well the food definitely will!

If you go:

Ryanair flies once a day between Stansted to Dinard, flight time of 45 minutes. There is some public transport around but you'll see more and get around more easily if you rent a car. There are many B&Bs and rooms to rent (chambres des hotes) around; we stayed about 1km out of Saint Briac sur Mer at Le Clos Josephine which was beautiful with a really lovely pool and amazing breakfast. There aren't that many restaurants in the town, but several around the region that are worth the trip, so renting a house/apartment where one can cook is a smart and budget option.

My 30th birthday

Was fabulous.

That's all I can really say.

My parents were here, my dear friend Jon and his fiancé Alix who live in Paris were here, our new-parent friends stuck their babies with the grandparents and had one of their first baby-free nights out, and so many more good friends joined me to celebrate turning 30.

We spent the evening at The Albion and ate suckling pig with the trimmings; the pig was stuffed with sausage which sounds wrong but was so so good.

The bar staff was nice enough to share the head with me, as it was, in fact, my birthday.

The Irishman surprised me by ordering a cake - chocolate, on chocolate, with layers of chocolate. Bless him. He even got a sparkler in the shape of "30".

And I had to make ANOTHER speech! But at least I had a large amount of wine to help.

The pub kicked us out around midnight, which was perfectly timed for those of us who didn't have to worry about last trains to head over to Club de Fromage for Boy Band Night. Nothing like dancing to Take That and NKOTB to finish off an amazing evening with friends and food. Honestly, I don't think that I can imagine a better way to celebrate a birthday. The evening was pretty much perfect and I wouldn't have changed anything about it.

Except maybe seeing that pig head. Ew.

A hot and crazy summer

You know when life is just crazy, and there is so much going on that you want a vacation just so you don't have anyplace else to go? Yeah, that's me! This summer has been hot and heavy, with my weekends just as scheduled as my workdays. Last weekend my parents stopped by on their way to France, so Saturday evening the Irishman and I snuck in a quick date by going to ClerkFeast - an open air urban picnic that was part of the London Festival of Architecture. Held in an old, unused gas station, it was a big buffet of lovely food donated by restaurants like Hix Oysters, The Modern Pantry, and St John's. We drank English wine from Chapel Down, which was a revelation it was so good, and sat on blanket on the carport and watched the sun go down. It was magical.



And a good thing too because I then spent all day Sunday with my parents. Somehow I got a severe sunburn after sitting in my garden for all of an hour, which was unpleasant, but I was actually okay with it because it meant that I'm not dreaming the amazing summer we're having here. After a nice roast at The Albion, we went up on the London Eye, which I've never done and am pleased I did but I think once was enough for me. I had a bit of vertigo at the tippy top and every time the Irishman and my dad leaned over to look at something I got a bit freaked out. Amazing views though.



My parents left for France on Wednesday, so after meeting them on Monday and Tuesday nights I was happy to return to my yoga class. I haven't actually stretched like that in so long and I left on my bike resolving to renew my personal vow of making my Wednesday yoga class a priority. Speaking of bikes, I've been riding my new steed for a few weeks now. Meet Diana Ross!



Diana Ross was my friend Rose's bike. When she left London about two months ago to return to New Zealand, I took custody of her and have been getting to know her and her quirks. She is a true ladies bike, with a very low cross bar, so I don't have to throw my leg over the back and embarrass myself in a skirt. She only has 3 speeds - flat, little hill, big hill - and basically she's just really cute! I'm enjoying riding her around town.

I'm sitting here writing all of this with a lovely skinned knee and the remnants of hangover, thanks to this year's 2nd annual 4th of July kickball game (held a week late due to scheduling difficulties). It was violent match, much like the World Cup Final I've just been watching, and yet again the Colonies were creamed by the Commonwealth. I just don't get it. Anyway, I have to go get some first aid cream so I don't have yet another scar. At least the World Cup is over - I can't take this much sport. Especially when I lose!