I saw these California pistachios in an abandoned aisle at Tesco in London, and thought how could I not take a photo of this salty reminder of home?
Portobello Road, London.
A giant hanging teapot and an old-fashioned taxi - my favorite british combination.
Shortly afterwards I bargained down a pair of 6 pound earrings down to 5. Not because I wanted to be cheap about 1 pound, i just honestly didn’t have it but still really wanted the earrings. The old little lady thought it was the former and said no, but i went back and offered her the difference in euros or dollars. that was how much i wanted them! she said to me, “you’re making me feel very mean,” which in turn made me feel very mean. but i knew i had her then.
as it turned out after i gleefully bought those earrings for 5 pounds, i had a 1 pound coin in my back pocket!
so then i even more gleefully used my last pound to buy these strawberries and they tasted ever so sweet
Great shopping. I-want-everything shopping. Why-does-everyone-look-more-chic-than-me shopping. Oh-I-have-run-out-of-money! shopping.
Jenna and I were making brownies from a BBC Good Food recipe one night in London when she busted out this old-school scale to measure the butter.
Can you say L.O.V.E.?
Already dreams of these
These strawberries were exactly as good as they looked. I normally do not like eating strawberries plain, but I could not turn my backs on these small, perky, fire engine red sweeties. There were loads of sellers on Portobello Road selling them, and they made sure to point out that their fruits were grown in England.
I meant to save the strawberries for home, but later that day, I made an impromptu picnic of them with a sandwich I picked up at Hyde Park. It was sublime.
I spent the afternoon wandering through the Tate Modern’s fabulousity today. Beyond the great Voyeurism exhibition I saw and the permanent collections, what I loved most about this museum is how it exudes warmth. I got the feeling that it’s a super friendly community of regular folks who come to the museum, see some art, have a sandwich or pot of tea, chat with folks, and then donate a few pounds. If it makes me feel like that in one day, I imagine it must be quite special for people who actually live in London and like art.
My other favorite part is that it’s free, which I think all museums should be. I had a cup o’ tea and saw the exhibition compliments of a couchsurfer, though. I hope to write more about this network of people showing incredible hospitality soon.
Complete reversal
In September 2006, I wrote:
having a layover in london makes me not look forward to france even more. honestly, i can’t understand why i feel this way. I suppose if i had mastery of french i wouldn’t dread it so much. The thought that I won’t be able to verbalize exactly what i want to say all the time makes me positively shudder.
In October 2006, I wrote:
I want to go back to Orange County or L.A. where I know everything and have a car and have people I love. I can live without the grandiose architecture and the pain au chocolats. I’ll settle for the Getty and madelaines from Trader Joes. I don’t even think it’s the language problem anymore, my French isn’t as bad as I remembered it and we have been getting along fine, especially in Troyes where practically no one speaks good English. It’s just a perpetually hovering feeling that right now is not the right time for me to be away. Is it possible to be homesick for a place I’ve only known for three days? Because I miss London badly. I miss British English and the city’s ubiquitous kindness.
Today, July 11 2010, I am feeling what is the complete reversal of my sentiments back then. Tomorrow I’ll be leaving for a london/france trip again, and it’s been a bit hard drumming up enthusiasm for the former.
It goes like this: London? Fish and chips. Tate Modern. Topshop. Visit my parents’ old apartment. South of France? OMG THE AZURE BEACHES! THE TOPLESS SUNBATHING! THE SHAMELESS LAZINESS! THE STUNNING VIEWS ON TRAIN RIDES! THE INTENSE FLAVORS! THE UNBELIEVABLE MARKETS! THE GELATO! THE SALES!
See the difference? I suspect this sentimental switch has to do with becoming intimate with one country and not the other. Living in France, where I spent some of my loneliest months, along with multiple trips back and a French partner whose parents keep sending treats in the mail kind of ties you to a place. Like, I can’t not think of CD’s and my wonderful road trip to the French Riviera 2 summers ago when I am planning for my trip back next week, even though this might be a completely different itinerary and experience.
To be fair, I do expect a lot of good times in England. I’m staying with a former roommate and will be seeing a couple old friends as well meeting some Couchsurfers. All of which sound marvelous. There is just no sense of home, which is ironic since I was born in Westminster Hospital, right smack dab in the middle of Central London.
