Eggstraodinary, eggceptional, EGGTASTIC!

In the middle of Bailey’s Tour of London, after my dad got his much sought after ham and cheese crepe (nothing like the ones Awat and I got in Paris!) on our way to see the changing of the guards – we’re super tourists I know – we smacked chest first (yes chest first, to give you the full visual of just how large we’re talking here) into this larger than life, incredible, non-edible, fully painted, glorious EGG. Upon closer examination it turns out this is just one of 209 Lady Gaga like imperial eggs strategically placed around London as part of the Fabergé London Easter Egg Hunt.

Not ones to turn down a challenge, this became a new pastime of ours as we toured the city.

It was a very pleasant reminder that Easter is just around the corner! Visit the website to find out more about all of the fun details, or to gain inspiration for a city near you. Honestly, I think all major cities should recreate this fun-filled, family event. The 40-day hunt for all 200+ eggs is just another reminder that religion in this highly Christian country is so out in the open on display for all to partake, pun intended.

 

 

We didn’t capture them all but we were on hyper alert as we walked the city. It was always a welcomed surprise to come by a new and exciting one. We really did love them all equally, bizarro ones included – but we typically made my dad examine those first for fear of unsuspecting Gloryholes!

I couldn’t help but be reminded of all the childhood years spent dying Easter Eggs, seemingly never in the same place twice with family all over the country and softball weekends moving us from one Easter location to the next. Where to this year for Easter? Italy of course! I wonder if the House of Fabergé made it all the way to Italy’s Lake district? Perhaps floated an unwanted egg down the river in a basket…

 

Mixing religions there aren’t I? What can I say, I only made it to 1^st grade of my Episcopalian elementary school, what do you expect?

 Let the game begin!

 For my London friends, I’ll race you to the finish! Here’s a hint, check out the 12 zone maps, the more eggs you find, the more chance you stand of winning a fabulous prize: The Diamond Jubilee Egg!

English word of the day: Since we’re talking chickens and eggs here I came across this terms in conversation with a colleague, one that I probably should have known, and I’m sure have heard in the past, but the popular reference to “Hen Night” as a UK traditional metaphor for a Bachelorette Party. I like the tit for tat with Stag night vs. Hen Night used in the UK, well played.

Spitalfields Market

As I moonlight as a tour guide during my parents visit, I figured I’d post this well overdue trip to Spitalfields Market. If everyone is still standing at the end of “Bailey’s Tour of London” (please email me in advance for rates and availability, and plan to bring your favorite walking shoes!) I will detail their visit – but let it be known, they were on a very strict excel timesheet of activities. More to come on that…for now let’s journey back in time a bit to the weekend after the big storm.

Finally a break in the cold weather, I guess I now have to resume my running “regimen.” I decided I wanted to make it a nice long one on a sunny Sunday morning. I chose the route carefully, along the tube line of course, just in case I decided that was enough for me! The end goal – Spitalfields Market! I had heard amazing things about their market, and even better things about their nearby infamous Brick Lane Indian food. Seeing as it was circa 10am by the time I got there, I decided to do the market first and wait for a more respectable hour to try my hand at curry.

 

I got to the market (7 miles later, and a few internal battles with myself as to whether or not I should give up and get on the tube) right as they were setting up shop. Or so I thought. The clientele was a little scruffier than I imagined and a lot of the “treasures” were coming from garbage bags that seemed to have fallen from trucks beholden of some less than legal wares. It was like a EURO Canal Street, complete with your whispering vendors telling you the real goods were just behind the truck if I were to follow him a ways down the street.

After giving it a few more blocks, chalking it up to it being the European way, I realized it wasn’t getting much better the farther I went, and this was certainly no market I had been expecting. Stop in place.  U-turn. Out of there.

So I finally found my way to the real market and began my walk from stall to stall. This place had everything (legally) for sale! Something for everyone!

Yum yums for Kate (on her birthday!!!)

Fancies for Annie! (This may have been were the original in fact came from!)

And a very special little purchase I made which had my very own post code on a card holder – a necessity for my daily commute and Oyster Card holder/work ID. It's cooler thank it looks. Hand stitched from the pages of a London A-Z Guide. 

 

English word of the day: Lorry = truck. Like the ones that housed the stolen wares of Spitalfield Canal Street sidewalks. 

Back to the spreadsheet grind...my parents should have invested in pedometers.

First snow, the BIG FREEZE, and treacherous travel

News channels with 24-7 Superbowl hype or BBC TV with 24-7 “SEVERE” winter weather warnings…which of the two evils would you choose?

Tis true, it does in fact snow in London proper. A scenario, which, apparently is cause to shut down the entire city! Perhaps it is my fault for ignoring the warnings that were issued on the tube over the PA, at work via corporate emails, on the telly breaking into the news, and on some of my favorite British blogs, but all of these warnings were only calling for around 5cm in the city (2 inches my metrically challenges friends), 5cm MAXIMUM! The “storm” started off looking like this nice serene first snowfall…and I thought, oh how nice and British.

And it was endearing to find people roaming about the streets making street angels in the dusting that covered the road, grown men and women sticking out their tongues to catch the falling flakes. It was like these people had never seen snow before! I was appreciative of the naivete that characterized the first snowfall, and somewhat scorned the Bostonian nonchalance of trudging through 4-foot snow banks to get a cup of Dunks on a Saturday morning. As the snow continued to fall, and the men, women, and children reverted back to primary school snow days, I was somehow talked into preparing myself to make the trek south of the river to go to a friend’s birthday party followed by a night out in good old Clapham.

Clad in what I would hardly call “snow appropriate” attire, I set out through the centimeters of white stuff to get to the tube. Getting there was fine, but again I heard grumblings in the station about how they were already starting to see delays and it’s only going to get worse. Again, I ignored. After all I was Infernos bound! You don’t let a little snow stand in the way of you and London’s Greatest Disco! Off I went, and didn’t look back.

Since we started early, two of us decided we were going to try and also get an early jump on the getting home situation and try to catch the tube before it stopped running. Or so we thought. We both made it to our first train to take us to the good side of the river Thames, and parted ways while I headed to make my connection. There I was, sanding on the platform with 50+ people, and the TFL makes an announcement that, you know what, this line I need is no longer running, and we should just go ahead and find alternate transportation. What?!? It’s well past a respectable hour and I’m only at point B on the map below, and I need to get to E where my nice warm bed awaits. As a self-proclaimed tube extraordinaire, I just easily switch to another line and await the next train that will bring me closer to my final destination. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30 minutes go by. By this time there are about 100+ people on this new platform waiting for the train they say is coming momentarily. It finally arrives 45 minutes later, and of course it’s not the one that will take me all the way home, but I can get closer, so I sardine in and settle in for what I assume is going to be a long ride. Luckily for me, I can’t say everyone in the car would agree, but luckily, the train decided that a lot of the stops on the line are just not suitable for stopping given the “adverse weather conditions,” AKA 2 inches of snow on the tracks. Before I know it I was at the closest stop to my home I could feasibly get to via tube, point C, and it’s time to look for a cab. Of course there were none to be found… 

I set out walking to try and get myself in a position to flag one down. Feeling all Jo March-indignant as I walked through the snow to get anywhere warm, I had the ingenious idea to duck into a hotel to have the concierge call me a cab. I was desperate. What would you know? No cabs running at this time. Back to the streets.

Walking, walking, walking (only on well-lit streets, don’t worry mom and dad!) I spot a man disembarking a cab a few blocks up. SPRINTING I catch my new best friend, Cabbie. Pleading with him to drive me home I promise him a serious tip if he will bring me the rest of the way. Let it be known it was at point D I was finally rescued by my own little RMS Carpathia and I was on my way, of course not without a struggle…

Cabbie – “Lovey, I really should not be driving on these roads.”

Me – “You’ll be fineeeeeee just a little bit further” (There isn’t even enough snow to make tire tracks!)

Cabbie – “They said they were going to salt, I don’t see any salt”

Me – “Yea, you would think they would have prepared better for this.” (You don’t see any salt because there is no ice or snow to put the salt on!)

Cabbie – “I’m not going to be able to make this turn, I’ll have to let you out here”

Me – “That’s fine, thank you, get home safely.” (No big deal, I already walked 2 miles in this, what’s another 50 feet! Weenie Cabbie!)

Lesson learned, when they predict even the slightest accumulation of snow, I will be nowhere near the southern side of the river, and I certainly won’t be putting any of my good friends the cabbies in such “grave danger.”

English LESSON of the day: In light of the snowy, chilly weather I decided to make myself a cup of hot cocoa, only I decided to do a little experiment. Getting a little greedy and overly gluttonous I wanted to make my hot cocoa with milk instead of water, and seeing as my electric teakettle boiled water so quickly, why not use it for my milk? WRONG! It worked a little too quickly and I ended up with a burnt teakettle bottom and my whole flat smelling like candy floss (see previous post for definition). I was actually pleased to find out that burnt milk smells kind of nice! It could have been worse. But I did ruin my hot cocoa.