Spotted: Tudor Time

Soho Square
September 18, 2010

To volunteer or not to volunteer

So, for a while now, I've been considering becoming a volunteer for the London 2012 Olympic Games.

The Olympics are big news here in London, and it feels like they have been forever. Ever since London won the bid to host the 2012 summer games, there is a story on every newscast and in every day's paper about the preparation, the construction, the budget, the drama, the controversy - it just escalates the closer and closer we get. The mascots were launched a few months ago, and publicity is just tremendous about every facet of the event.

Personally, I'm not really a fan of the Olympics; I thought they were cool when they came around every 4 years and it was an "Olympic year" and everyone got really excited - now it seems like there is always another bloody Olympics happening. I mean, didn't something just take place in Vancouver? I've seriously thought,if I'm still here in 2012, of leaving the city during the games to avoid all of the chaos it will cause.

But I can't help but think, if I am here in London in 2012, it may be my only chance in my lifetime to experience an Olympics up close. And you can't get much closer than volunteering. But apparently there are strict rules - you have to be over 18 (check), English speaking (check), have right to work (check), be available for 10 days (err...), and take whatever job you are given - which can range from giving water to athletes (cool!) to directing traffic in parking lots (uh, have you seen my driving?).

So the jury is out. What about you guys? Any readers here ever volunteered for an Olympic Games? Good stories? Horror stories? Thoughts? I wanna know!

Oh, Beeeeeb

So, I just got home from yoga (my first class in a while, ouch) and the Irishman is out with workmates for a leaving do. I don't really expect him home any time soon which means the TV IS MINE. Helpfully, the BBC is on my side and one of my favorite girly flicks is on - Serendipity. The movie takes me back to snuggling under blankets with my ladies from college, sighing over Lloyd Dobbler-I mean, John Cusack- and his adorable nerdiness, and the-actor-who-plays-Aidan-in-Sex-and-the-City as a ridiculous new age musician. Of course, being set in New York it reminds me of being a single lady looking for love in the big city and some of the best years of my life. And so, with the BBC announcer's admonishment to "get yourself a glass of something, get yourself some chocos, and get ready for a movie you're going to love - a movie about love", I'm armed with Dairy Milk and red wine and I'm going to get stuck into one of my favorite things: a cheezy romcom. Irishman, don't hurry home xx

Embracing autumn

This past weekend was the start of the new season for me, and I welcomed it with open arms. It was squash and root vegetables at the Farmers Market, crisp mornings and sun-baked afternoons, a shift from rosé to red wine, and a lot of layers. It means hibernation, warming soups, and crackling fires. I made chicken stock, we ate a stew, I bought some sunflowers, and the Irishman and I were naughty and bailed on an out-of-town obligation in favor of curling up in front of some of the DVR'd tv shows we'd missed while on holiday. < eeps! >

As I sit here typing this at 5:30pm, the sky is already closing in and in the mornings it is noticeably darker longer. Though it's colder and the sun won't shine as much as in the summer, I do love the fall and I am really excited for some brisk walks through crackling leaves and settling into the pub for an afternoon. I have a few days out planned to various areas of town for lovely strolls that I'm looking forward to, and I am craving this delicious red lentil soup that I might make this week.

It is slightly frightening, though, that the year has gone so fast. Only this time last year was I getting back from my holiday in Croatia and Italy, and planning for my visit home to the US. It's nuts that I haven't been back since last November, so I'm also really looking forward to seeing the family and my friends and just being American for a while. I am starting to feel like autumn, while usually a season of twilight, a time for endings and closure and preparation for the stark death of winter, may actually be my time for reestablishing myself and my identity and my person by returning to my homeland and reconnecting with everyone I love. I am kind of excited about reclaiming the season as one of renewal, rather than one of ending. It's already the season of the Jewish New Year (shana tova, peeps!) and that of the harvest, so I think I'll start really celebrating the bounty in my life - of my friends, family, health, and happiness. I'm sure it will do me good.

The ubiquity of the summer house

Last post about my holiday, I promise (can you tell I loved it?).

One thing I didn't mention in my previous posts was our "small world" encounter in Biot: the Irishman's aunt and uncle, who we met in Villefranche for dinner, were actually on the Cote d'Azur to spend a week with friends who own a house in Biot and several other couples who have known the Irishman since he was a lad. Though we were intending for our holiday to be more of a romantic getaway than family reunion, when faced with four sets of Irish parent-types inviting us to a big communal dinner we couldn't really say no. We ended up having an amazing meal at Chez Odile - Odile herself admonished all of the men (including my Irishman) to eat their vegetables. Adorable.

But I couldn't help but be struck at how similar the whole situation was, running into families one has grown up with in a beach resort area miles from home, to how the Jersey Shore and similar places work in America. While at first I was really impressed that this Irish family spent all of their time off in Biot, going swimming in the sea and finding little local restaurants to frequent, I realized that it's no different to all of those friends I knew (and still know) whose families own a shore house, or rent a splace "down the shore" , and use any excuse of a long weekend, public holiday, etc, to flee to the sea. The only difference here is, well, Ireland doesn't exactly get hot, and doesn't really have guaranteed sun. So it's understandable that families who crave a real summer would seek it abroad. And with a 2 hour flight the only thing separating Britain and Ireland from the Cote d'Azur, it's really not much different than driving to a British or Irish coast.

It's easy to forget, as an American, that comparatively speaking, Europe isn't actually that big; when you live in the US, you know there is this magical world across the ocean that holds so much history and culture and wonder but you don't really comprehend its geography. When you become an expat, and avail yourself of Ryanair and Easyjet and Eurostar, you start to realize that France - while linguistically and culturally still a million miles away - is actually a similar distance from the UK as New York is from Boston. The close proximity of European states makes all of the differences in food, lifestyle, fashion, everything!, so much more fascinating and intriguing - and easy to enjoy.

And the other shoe has... dropped.

Well! I must have been on a holiday high or something yesterday because I breezed through the (somewhat) sunny day in a lovely summery outfit, showing off my tan, rising above the stress of thousands of commuters freaking out about the tube strike and smiling the whole time. Today, however, I woke up to cloudy skies and cold weather and I was just plain exhausted. I was distinctly not with it for most of the morning, stooping to the level of blanking out on the number 19 bus and nearly missing my stop. I wore flip-flops for the commute, and had that weird feeling when your toes are so cold they can't grip the soles, and I noticed that all of the girls I passed had their boots on already. It's only 8 September but I guess it's properly autumn now - Waitrose is selling pumpkins, for goodness sakes! - and therefore my summer holiday is officially over. Yet at the same time, even though I'm wearing layered shirts, cardigans, and scarves (and I changed into heels in the office so, you know, my toes are covered), I feel really zen. Like I really absorbed all of that French sun, and it's powering me from the inside out. It's a lovely feeling, even if I can't quite get moving in the mornings, and I'm hoping I can keep it going for a while. In that spirit, here are a few choice pix from the holiday to inspire me (and you).

J'ai retourné

Allo! I'm back, everyone!

The Irishman and I flew in last night from the amazingly beautiful and sunny Cote d'Azur and were greeted properly by a torrential downpour and a Tube strike. Of course. But despite the chilly weather and reception, I'm properly maintaining my holiday glow; reactions by my colleagues all centered around me looking "calm, rested, and relaxed" with some tan in there as well. Which is excellent because my holiday definitely was all of those things. We spent the first week in Antibes, a historic little town on the edge of the Mediterranean with a small beach, cobbled streets, and excellent markets. We rented a small studio apartment and had a routine that went something like this: wake up, pop down to the boulangerie for pain au chocolat and baguettes, eat breakfast on our balcony, wander up to the market for olives and veg and browsing, then mosey back for lunch, then I'd go to the beach while the Irishman pottered, and then he'd meet me at the beach for an hour or so before we went for a pre-dinner beer at "our" cafe overlooking the square. Then we'd shower and go for dinner and repeat. It was glorious.

We broke the routine on our last full day in Antibes to get on the train and head to Monaco. Train travel in France is ridiculously easy, though notoriously unreliable, but we were lucky and everything ran smoothly. For €12, you can get a day pass that lets you go anywhere on the Cote d'Azur line, from Cannes to Italy. We went to Monaco, and then stopped in Eze on the way to Villefranche where we met the Irishman's aunt and uncle for dinner. We found out after we booked our trip that they were also meant to be on the Cote d'Azur at the same time we were, so we decided we would all belatedly celebrate the Irishman's birthday.

The break in routine signaled an end to our beach holiday and the beginning of touring the hills of Provence. We picked up a rental car and drove up to the little village of Biot, known for a tradition of glass-blowing and crafts. We stayed at the most delightful little B&B, absolutely amazing room and delicious breakfasts and really welcoming and charming hosts. We used the B&B as a base to explore the hill country, stopping at towns like Vence, St Paul de Vence, Valbonne... it was beautiful, steep cliffside hill towns that seem to just appear on the sides of mountains. The foliage was beautiful and the flowers and the olives and vineyards and orchards... the whole place smelled delicious and looked just as nice.

Our last day, yesterday, we drove all the way to the Italian border and up into the hills to the tiny tiny medieval village of Sainte-Agnès. The ascent is windy and, frankly, terrifying, but the payoff is a magnificent view all the way out to Corsica, a decommissioned pre-WWII army fort, and a lovely restaurant that served food that wasn't quite French, wasn't quite Italian, but was definitely amazing. After stuffing ourselves, we climbed like mountain goats up to the very top of the summit where there are ruins of a castle being lovingly restored by a volunteer society. I was absolutely amazed that people chose to build something so complex at such a great height. It was mindblowing.

And then, as they all do, our holiday came to an end. We returned our rental car at Nice Airport and boarded our flight back to London and now here I am, back at my desk, trying to figure out how such sun-drenched and relaxed place can exist just a short plane ride away from Big Smoke. Even though the sky outside my window is currently blue, it doesn't compare at all to the deep sea blue of the Cote d'Azur. I will definitely be going back. Soon.

So long until September

I know I've been really quiet lately, but it's because I've had my head down at my desk furiously working through so much stuff because I'm off on holiday on Saturday!!! Before that though, I have a massive meeting in Zurich that has needed quite a lot of prep. Today is my last day in the office and I'm furtively writing this in between back to back meetings to let you know that, fear not, I'm not running off forever but just for 10 days to the sunny (hopefully!) Cote d'Azur. I'll be back in September with lots of stories and warm weather tales and lovely photos - I'm getting giddy just thinking about it!!!

Until then, enjoy Bank Holiday and Labor Day in the US and I'll talk to you all very soon! xxx

Long winter looming

Well, it's been great but I fear that summer is over. Maybe not officially, but it's been cold and cloudy with intermittent torrential downpours for about 2 weeks now and I'm losing faith that we'll get a return to sunshine and warmth. I've found myself wishing I could burrow into my sofa under a blanket for the duration. Meanwhile, I'm the last woman standing at my office who hasn't had her summer holiday and I'm eagerly preparing for our 10 days on the Cote d'Azur at the end of the month. I've been religiously applying Johnson's Holiday Sun self-tanning moisturizer, so my feet are orange and The Irishman says my face is significantly paler than my neck and deems me 'ridiculous'. I'm ignoring him and clutching all of my tank tops and summery dresses because I just can't accept that its mid-August and the Autumn fashions in the magazines have more relevance to the current weather outside my window than they do.

Sometimes I wonder why I choose to live in a country with stunted seasons and a default climate of cold and rainy. Not only is it bleak and depressing, but even now, after a few months of record-breaking heat, I feel like my bones never properly got warm in the summer. My internal temperature gauge never got a good baking. If I don't get to lay in sun, soon, so that I can reset that gauge, I might have to hibernate this winter.

The trouble with expat living...

... is that eventually, you're not a tourist any longer. You become a resident.

My friend Mindy has been here in London since May; she works in my company's New York office, but was seconded here for the summer. She has been taking full advantage of her time here, and frankly I am extremely jealous. Not of her travels - I'm very satisfied with my travel itinerary this summer and actually wish for a bit more home-time - but more her freedom to run about London and experience everything at her own pace and on a whim. For what happens when you've lived in a place for 2+ years is that you naturally start to make ties to the place around you. So you start to make friends, make plans with those friends, have obligations and commitments, and then suddenly you find yourself scheduling time in your diary FOR YOURSELF to do WHAT YOU WANT. I was looking at the calendar and saw that the next weekend when I had some free time to go bumming around Liberty was September 13th. Sheesh. And it all came barreling home when I only had 2.25 hours today to go to Tate Britain to see the Henry Moore exhibit - and I couldn't put it off because today was the last day, and I hadn't had time to see it since it opened in February!

Of course it is an enviable position to be in, but one of the draws of expat life is that you're in a new place and constantly discovering new cool places and marveling at all of the little wonders you encounter just strolling through various neighborhoods. So when all of a sudden you're really settled in, you tend to stop doing those very agreeable activities you used to do when you were new to a city because, well, you're not!

So I've decided that this fall, after our vacation and the personal commitments already on the books, I'm going to reserve some "me" time doing things in London that I simply haven't had time to do all summer. Perhaps I will stroll through Primrose Hill park, and have a cappucino at one of the small cafes on King Henry's Road. Maybe I'll visit my old friend Marylebone High Street for a bit of window shopping. Maybe I'll finally treat myself to an afternoon in the Geffyre Museum in Shoreditch! Maybe I'll just go to a part of London I haven't explored and just soak it up.

I have to remember that London is my oyster (and I have my trusty Oystercard!) and that I really need to make the most of it.