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.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Underground

Funny, that is, for all those around me who witnessed it. Let’s begin the recap of my day…

London has this strange way of always looking like it just rained. You hardly ever see the rain, but the ground seems to hold this moistness that makes you grateful for your timely departure, like, “SCORE, I just missed the storm, this is going to be my lucky day!” So today began just like that. I get to the tube, my feet still damp from “the last hour’s” rainstorm, I make it to the bottom of my first flight of stairs, my shoes lose all traction, and there I go Kristi Yamaguchiing my way across the station only to land on my right shoulder, cushioned by my rather large purse. And the kicker…no one said a word! I mean I’m sure they all continued on their way to work and told the best water cooler story ever once they got there, but come on!! Granted I probably said some American profanity under my breath that completely ruined my guise as just another Brit on their way to work, but still! No one moved an inch to help remove me and my, then soaked, leather bag from the floor. I think it’s time I invest in some Wellies (Christmas present idea number 1).

I successfully made it through the rest of the day on my feet, put in a hard day’s work and was ready to head home. Completely engrossed in my 3^rd book since I’ve been here (Christmas present idea number 2), I was rounding the corner following my “Way Out” crew and it hit me! Running full speed, same height, same blindness to the crowds, only with eyes for minding the gap and making the train, a Brit…and we smacked right into each other, face to face. If it weren’t for my complete devotion to the latest twist in my book we would have landed mouth to mouth. Thank you Kindle, wasn’t really feeling like crossing off “make out with complete stranger in tube station” from my list.  

Just when I wanted nothing more than to be home, the last incident of the evening occurred. Fighting the crowd to get up and out with my newfound aggression, taking pointers from my mystery makeout man, I found my way to the front of the queue. Now, escalator rules are very strict here. It’s always stand on the right, walk on the left. No exceptions. 

So off I go, passing the long train of people standing on the right. I can’t help it but every time I choose to be one of the up-walkers rather than the standers I have this unwarranted sense of pride and accomplishment. Almost self righteous in that I am getting a workout while these lazy people just watch. (On the flip side when I am on the right, all I think is “Overachievers!”) So, nearing the top I think I’ve made it, and I’ve beat all those standers who didn’t even know they were in competition with me, and BAM! I trip over my own two feet and put myself right back at the scene of the crime from the morning, people stepping over me as they go.

Made my way straight to the pub for a well-deserved pint.

English word of the day: Pinched = Stole! So one of my colleagues came by the other day to discuss a marketing plan for one of our new data cube products. We had been discussing getting branded Rubix Cubes and he said he found one at a corporate event so he pinched it to show me. I was not sure how pinching something can help show it to me, what kind of metaphor was that? Like pinch me, to make sure I'm not dreaming? Pinch the cube to make sure it's real? Low and behold, he takes me to his office and showed me the cube in the flesh, which apparently he STOLE from the event! Got it now.

Queuing is serious business

Contrary to the streets and subways of America, queuing here is taken very seriously. From the time the Brits are little they have been ingrained with the notion that cutting a queue is forbidden. This is my daily exposure to the queue phenomenon encountered on my journey home from work. Every day from the hours of 5pm - 7pm these serpentine creatures self-create, streaming from all entries. 

Although I was born with hips made for the American way of loading and unloading, it is kind of nice really, not to have to worry about boxing people out in order to push your way on the train. Very orderly indeed. 

 

As an aside, weather here the past two weekends has been gorgeous! 60s and sunny! How does that feel, snow-covered Northeastern America?

English word of the day: curtain twitching = spying, eavesdropping, peeping tom. Apparently along with queuing, curtain-twitching is a big part of the British culture!!

Are you ready for some football??

So for my first weekend in London I decided to do something very American. I went and saw the Chicago Bears play the TB Bucs at Wembley Stadium. I guess I decided I wasn’t entirely ready to leave the states and all that I associated with them yet.

Expecting there was no way to un-americanize American football, I met some fellow Yankees at a central tube stop and we were on our way. Welp, much to my chagrin, I was made highly aware of just how far away from home I really was. Turns out you can take the game out of the states, but with it goes most of the states! Reminders that I was, in fact, not in Kansas anymore…

1.     English people don’t really know how to tailgate. In fact I’m not even sure there was a parking lot, let along cars with large enough “boots” to become tailgates as we know them? Everyone came by public transport – this will become important later – and most fans only showed up shortly before kickoff (after visiting many a pub of course). LUCKILY, NFL to the rescue to set up the area seen below. Mind you this was taken once we had our American fill; I promise you it was packed with foreign revelers donning every team jersey in the league. Typically American of ESPN though to come and swoop in mother-ship style to impart the American knowledge and show them how to properly spectate the American game on their own turf. They even handed out beer helmets!! Ok maybe they didn’t go that far.

 

 

2.     It was weird seeing so many people root for some pretty lousy teams. And they were so invested!! AND rooting for the Bucs! It was weird, and I’m sure had a lot to do with the free paraphernalia the “home” team left in our seats, plastering them with pirate booty. I must say, however, I was quite pleased to see that anyone who owned anything NFL-related wore it to the game. It was a big NFL melting pot. I was just sad I left my Chrebet jersey at home.

3.     I’m pretty sure a majority of those at the game had no idea what was going on. Not to mention that the Bears threw a touchback in there! The collective “huh?” from the crowd was deafening.  These teams were really there to give the Brits a show. Trust me my English mates, that was a rarity. 

 

 

4.     Fantasy Football is kind of a big deal over here, and maybe that’s because betting is legal so they take it in all forms – equal opportunity betters? Even though the kids next to me had not much of a clue what was happening, they could tell me every player on the field and his stats for the past 6 weeks. Impressive.

5.     Fish and Chips at the stadium! Now that’s just silliness.

6.     Okay, and now for the most horrifying realization of them all…they used horses as crowd control. I know this doesn’t sound all that novel, if you’ve seen a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade or a Yankee Ticker Tape Celebration you have seen this technique employed. But they actually used them. More than just a scare tactic, these beasts became the turnstiles that corralled the crowd to the tube at the end of the game! And you all know how much I LOVE these larger than life, scary, crush-you-with-one-misstep animals…picture my excitement. The official attendance was announced at halftime, something to the effect of 76,868 so you can imagine all those people heading out at once destined for the same tube station to ride on trains that resemble miniature Disney monorails. Even though we caught the turnstiles in the open position, I did see one inebriated chap walk straight into the chest of black beauty, not sure if it even registered with him. Here’s a view from the good side…

If you look closely you can see the horses turned sideways blocking the crowd from moving forward.

Scary, eventful, all around great first weekend.

English word of the day: Crisps = chips of any flavor! Or “chip-ays” as someone I know lovingly refers to them.

Streets of London

In my first official, full weekend in London I was almost stiff-armed on the tube.

Here’s what happened. Leaving this really cool cocktail bar run by a couple of mates - as a sort of fun endeavor that they didn’t seem to take too seriously, but where the drinks were to die for and the pace was just right after the crazy Friday night we had where I learned first-hand about the true English drinking culture - we are walking to the tube so we could all go our separate ways and out of nowhere I hear;

“BAILEY!!!!! STIFF-ARM WATCH OUTTTT!”

Not knowing how to react to an exclamation like that I stay put and look straight ahead. Before I know it my friend physically picks me up (hernia, I’m sure) and moves me over as I see some guy come barreling through the sea of people with his arm extended and ready for battle. Who does that??? These people are nuts! But I guess they take their crowd control/tube journeys seriously.

English word of the day: Flatmates = Roommates and NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND. You see, your flatmates share a flat with you….your roommates share the actual bedroom. You get the drift.

Droids and Maps

So I got a new phone the other day. After a few valuable workdays of internet research and talking to my London-technology-guru (Thanks Glenn!), I set out to bite the bullet. I heard the actual process of picking out and paying for the phone, in a very un-American way was extremely speedy, like 3 seconds or less. I was skeptical. But I set out anyway. The one service provider I needed for the “best plan” was allegedly only a train ride away from work. I set out to navigate the maze that is Canary Wharf Estate…see below…(and I know it looks like a straight line, that’s what I thought, but it is nothing of the sort!) 

 

There are like 200 levels and even more twists and turns in there, I swear! So, whatever, I finally found the rail line I needed. I thought that was the hard part….

I pop up like a little prairie dog, or turtle-head, whatever metaphor you so choose, with no clue where I am. Turns out I had broken my number one rule too, “Thou shalt not leave home without the A-Z London Street Guide book.” So here I am, middle of The City, trying to find an obscure phone store, and believe me it was obscure, because I asked many a passerby and they had no idea what I was talking about. Language barrier I presume. All the while, I'm phoneless!! Using the girl scout skills I never obtained, thanks mom (knowing me, I probably protested the stupid jumper and sash and that’s why I was never enrolled, so I take that back mom), I knew I had to go north, so I read the sun! And then I walked straight into the nearest Deutche Bank to ask for directions because they seemed friendly. Two free printed maps, four more “I’m a lost American” stops, and I finally found it. 

And true to tale, in and out in less time than it took me to explain to the Kebab man what I was looking for in the first place! Fully equipped and phoned, I typed in my next address and went back to work. Only took two hours (nice long UK lunch break) and I was back at work and in touch with reality.

Now, if only I could get used to using the Droid I’d be all set. If my mom can do it so can I! (I just need to work on these fat fingers…)

English word of the day: Cakes = cookies, or really any type of sweets. Guy across the cubicle from me brought in “cakes” which I heard and thought it was extravagant to bring in multiple cakes, only to turn around and see a tin of bite-size cookie things – picture snack bite sized 7-layer bars. Megs, your specialty.

Baby on board

In the annals of weird observations on the streets of London, today while heading to work I noticed a woman wearing a pin that read;

Apparently this is Transport for London’s (like the mbta) way of bringing back chivalry. The ingenious plan is to encourage Tube passengers to give up their seats to mothers-to-be without having been asked to do so. As if a woman with a protruding child inside her body isn’t enough to encourage someone to willingly relinquish their coveted seat on a long subway ride…these silly pins have been put in place.

I can’t even necessarily get on board with the signs that women put in their rear windshields, let alone when they plaster them to their chests. I guess the British culture lends itself to fear of offense, and men would rather be spoon-fed the confirmation that yes, indeed this woman is pregnant and should be offered a seat.

“Mind the Bump” research justifies that the pins are designed for women in hopes of giving the impregnated the power of voice that will encourage them to ask for that seat – and I guess also to serve as a congratulatory prize so that all know they are in fact with child (and not just packing on some holiday weight). It’s the suffrage of the subway.  Moral of the story…British selfishness front and center here, and their “solution” to help curb it.

What would my feminist American friends say about this one…

English word of the day: Flapjack = no translation!! My coworker was on the phone and told an American he just rang her while she has a mouthful of flapjack. When asked she couldn’t describe it. I looked at it trying to assess the situation and offer up a word…I mean it’s kind of like a granola bar but chewier and syrupier (yep that’s a word). I will work on finding the American equivalent and report back.