This trip was extremely short-notice. I found out I was going three days before leaving, and the trip itself was a quick one-- just two days in England! This resulted in considerable "travel whiplash," both from taking off so suddenly and in going the opposite direction from usual! Here's what happened:
Are we going west or east? Can you believe it? After all these trips to Asia, I am going to Europe. My brain is confused. We are flying east, of course, over Canada and the Atlantic, but wait... I thought Britain was part of "the West," while Japan, which you fly west to get to, is surely part of "the East." Whatever. All I know is that no matter which way you go (with the exception of Hawaii), it ends up being later than California time, in this case 8 hours later. On the way to Europe, the strategy is to sleep because you will arrive in the early afternoon and need to stay awake until the end of the day. I sat next to a Bay Area lawyer. We chatted a bit before dozing off.
Not surprisingly, the mix of people on the plane was rather different from that on an Asian flight. About half Brits, of course, and the most prominent minority was Indian, followed by Chinese. The food was less than interesting, shall we say. About the only thing I am looking forward to regarding British cuisine is the beer and the sherry trifle. Skip everything in between, please. (Unless it's Indian).
It was easy to tell that this was not an Asian flight. People were noisier and walked around more. And I got a nice introduction to both ends of the scale in British sentiment. First was when I was standing in the aisle and a large guy with a beer belly squeezed past, pretty much in full contact with my back. He touched my shoulder and said some apology (nicely) as he went by. An old lady smiled sweetly at me and said in impeccable British English, "The thrills one gets on a plane flight!" Sometimes I love the Brits.
And then there was the woman who had ordered a vegan meal but was given a vegetarian meal by mistake. She couldn't eat it because it had cheese and egg in it. This caused a considerable uproar where she berated a poor flight attendant for about 10 minutes, holding up everyone else's service. He apologized profusely for the mistake and promised to bring her whatever she wanted to eat, even a business- or first-class serving of fruit, vegetables, whatever. He offered her a complaint form to fill out. She was having none of it. Eventually she filled out the form, but still refused to eat anything, preferring hunger to giving in, apparently. Her husband sat staunchly silent as he chewed through his ham-and-cheese sandwich, obviously a person with much simpler food requirements. Sometimes the Brits really annoy me.
[Now, to be clear, there is nothing wrong with having complicated food requirements. I myself have some preferences both for what I eat and for when I eat. I deal with it by applying two simple rules: (1) if you care that much, bring your own food with you, and (2) be flexible for goodness sake; the world doesn't revolve around you. The woman on the plane was applying neither rule. How hard would it be to pack an apple and a power bar?]
Ah, Britain. At last, we touched down at Heathrow. Britain! I haven't been here in 20 years. I bet there are lots of changes. One thing I noticed right away is the large number of Indians. It's like being in Silicon Valley. Also, there are cell phone ads everywhere, a clear indication that we have left the US of A.
I remember now how odd it is to be in England. It's a foreign country (boy, is it), but still, I understand the language. Well, sort of anyway. My first challenge was pronouncing the name of the town I had to get to: Slough. Should it be "Sluff"? How about "Slow"? Actually, it is "Slau" (rhymes with "wow"), but some of the airport workers called it "Slay." Got that? And then there are the signs that tell you how to get to the "carriageway." I was proud of myself for asking at the hotel which direction was the "lift," not the elevator. And when I ordered some water, I had to specify that I wanted it "still," which means "no carbonation."
Speaking of British food again, check out these items from the room service menu: prawn mayonnaise sandwich (let's assume it's like crab salad, but with shrimp), and my favorite-- wholetail breaded scampi with minted mushy peas. Ooh, they really know how to whet my appetite. I ended up ordering chicken pakodas and a spinach salad, both of which were barely tolerable, and came in huge portions. I had forgotten that it would be like America, not like Asia, where you get reasonable amounts of food. I had to smile, by the way, that the pakodas were listed as "spicy," when in fact they had no heat at all. The bland English palette strikes again.
I have to say that I was disappointed with the bathroom. No heated toilet seat, no whirring sound to mask embarrassing noises, and to top it off, the toilet paper was about a yard away from the toilet, making for a real stretch. I expect minimalism from crass American hotels, but you would think that at least the high-class Brits would have taken a lesson from the Japanese.
(As an aside, there are some details of the "way things look" here that indicate how much the Japanese have imitated the British in developing the Westernized part of their cities. It can't be described, it's just a sense, and I mean more than driving on the left. Something about the geometry, or the colors, or something. Actually, the British and the Japanese do share some commonalities: they both have island nations, a passion for gardening and landscaping, and a fondness for pageantry and class distinction. And of course, the Japanese constitution is modeled on the British one. All of these things somehow add up to a similar "feeling" when viewed from this American's perspective.)
Other hotel details: no hairdryer in the bathroom (argh), free cookies every day (yay!), and a curious substitute for the standard-issue clock radio. The room had no clock radio, but you could program the TV to turn on at some hour, and slowly ramp up the volume. I thought it sounded a little weird, but I tried it, and it was kind of nice.
I went for a short walk near my hotel in the late afternoon. The chilling wind drove me back inside pretty quickly. It's not all that cold in absolute temperature (about 50 degrees), but it's so annoyingly damp and penetrating. Bleah. I did see a couple interesting things. A cool-looking bird, sort of a cross between a crow and a mockingbird in shape (big, but with the up-pointing tail), with striking black and white markings. (I found out later this is just a boring old magpie, but still, it was pretty, and we don't have them in California). And painted indicators on the ground by the crosswalk saying "Look right" or "Look left" for the stupid Americans, French, and Germans who wouldn't be used to cars driving on the left. (Actually, I found them useful. I can never remember which way to look. It's harder than you think!).
Getting turned down. This hotel had something called a "turndown service." I guess they come in and make your bed nice for sleeping. Anyway, at about 7:30 pm a woman knocked on my door and asked if I wanted this service. I refrained from saying what popped into my head-- "no thanks, I've been turned down plenty of times." But still, I didn't bother with the service, although I did accept the two pieces of complimentary chocolate she was offering.
Grayness. The next day was gray. The weather was gray, and I suffered through a long, gray meeting all day. It was up in Cambridge, so we had to leave early to fight the traffic on the M25 (the loop around London), but at least there was some nice rolling English countryside to view along the way. Interesting sight for the day: horses dressed up in canvas "sweaters" to keep them warm. (I thought it was a little silly. I mean, c'mon, horses are supposed to be used to living outside!). After an exhausting, somewhat jet-lagged day, I was happy to return to the hotel.
I thought I would head down to the bar for a nice English ale on draught. But no, the lobby was buzzing with a huge crowd that had just come out of the hotel's meeting rooms from their convention. Most of them were smoking, and they all looked like fashionable London sophisticates. Then I saw the sign: "Paul Mitchell Styling Convention." Oh, great, a bunch of people who study and practice hair design for a living. It might have been intriguing to try to talk to some of them (assuming they would even look at me with my minimalist hair style and less-than-chic clothing), but I really couldn't handle the smoke. I expect some smoke in a (non-California) bar, but this was like a really crowded nightclub. No way.
So I ordered a beer from room service. Ah, a nice pint of Boddington's. It was even chilled! You do have to worry about that in Britain. They make the best beer on the planet, and then they ruin it by serving it at room temperature. It shouldn't be really cold (because that masks the complicated flavors), but it's got to have a good chill to it. Alas, the food I got with it (baked cod and basil pasta) was pretty awful. This hotel is not near any restaurants, and the fact that they have no competition shows in the quality of food. Thankfully, I won't be stuck here tomorrow.
Cool Britannia. London was in decline throughout the 80s. Then the new government was elected, and "Cool Britannia" was the new theme. Innovation was encouraged, new restaurants sprang up with exotic food, and nightlife was reinvigorated. My British colleague told me that all of this worked well throughout the 90s, but now people were starting to get disillusioned again. Nonetheless, I figured the Cool Britannia blush must still be somewhat evident. I haven't been to London since I was a teenager. I saw all the stodgy (but interesting) sights-- the Tower of London, the British Museum, Westminster Abbey, etc-- last time. Time to see what's new!
One thing that's new is the Tate Modern Museum, which was just opened in 2000. Amazingly, the bulk of the exhibits are free. That means a lot of school kids come there on trips, and a lot of ditzy-looking art students come there with sketching assignments. But still, it was pretty calm on a cold Tuesday afternoon. There were pieces by some well-known artists like Matisse, Picasso, and Jackson Pollak, as well as many lesser-known artists (at least to me, who is really just a surface-level art appreciator). I think my favorite was a sculpture by Cornelia Parker, called "Cold Dark Matter: Exploded View." You have to be there to understand it, so I won't describe it. I spent several hours at the Tate, including taking a guided a tour of one section. I usually don't like tours because the guide almost always rubs me the wrong way (what is it with these stupid art critics/teachers/interpreters that is so annoying???), but this woman was good, and in some ways I got more out of having the pieces explained to me.
The Tate Modern is housed in an old power station right at the edge of the Thames, which makes for some interesting architecture. It includes a huge bay called the "Turbine Room" that holds one giant piece of sculpture that they change every few months. This time around it was a big piece by Anish Kapoor (I've forgotten the object's name) that is supposed to symbolize a music contest between a mortal and a Greek god. The mortal lost and was flayed alive. Nice, huh? Actually, it was a nice piece of art.
I stopped briefly by the Globe Theater (well, a recreation of it), but it was getting a little late to start a whole tour, so I headed off on foot. I crossed the Millennium Bridge, a fabulous pedestrian span over the Thames (also new since 20 years ago, duh). I heard it had some stability problems and was briefly closed, but it's all OK now. And what a neat bridge! It's a very open structure with wires and curved beams that almost just feels like a sidewalk. There were high winds, but it wasn't scary. From the center of the span, you can see downriver to the Tower Bridge (all sing along now: "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down...").
On the north side of the river, I went in Saint Paul's Cathedral, but many areas (such as the famous Whispering Gallery) were already closed for the day. I did smile to see the sign telling me that the "Cathedral Gift Shop and Crypt Café" were still open (the crypt café???). I walked along The Strand, past the Royal Courts of Justice (nice architecture, lots of stodgy-looking people going in and out) and other famous sites. As a total non-sequitur, I was amused that McDonald's was offering a "Cadbury Crème Egg milkshake." And I passed three Starbuck's inside of four blocks.
Enough cruising; I was starving, and couldn't walk any farther on my lame leg. I had done a little homework the night before on the Internet, and knew that the opera district (Covent Garden) had a Scottish fish house called Loch Fyne. Actually, there are many Loch Fyne restaurants around the area-- it's a Scottish fishing company that brings in the fish and shellfish fresh from Scotland. They are known for being environmentally conscious fishers. Better yet, the restaurant guides said that "decent fish is hard to find in London mid-week, but Loch Fyne has it." Yay! And on top of all that, I am 50% Scottish. So I knew I should go there. It wasn't fancy fare, but it was indeed good fish. I had the Loch Duan salmon steak, which was pleasantly mild and buttery. It was, however, much too pricey for fairly basic fish. But I guess it is a big improvement over what you could get in London 20 years ago.
On the way back toward the Underground station, I found my natural instincts being activated. You know, the ones that make you walk carefully at night so as not to attract any attention to yourself, and to carry your valuables close to your body. Oh yeah, I thought, this isn't Japan. (Even Seoul is reasonably safe in many parts, as is Taipei). But that ain't true in Europe! London and Paris are safer than New York City, Chicago, or Bangkok, but they're not like Tokyo.
The darker side of London. Not all in Britannia is cool. First, there are the video cameras-- everywhere. Mostly they point at alleys and at the entrances of important buildings. Nonetheless, it is estimated that the average Londoner is caught on tape tens of times per day. I find this creepy. Big Brother may be closer in the UK than in the US, which is a tough claim to make these days.
Then there are the attempts at controlling congestion in central London. This I have mixed feelings about. All cars entering London are now required to pay a 5-pound fee (about $8) for the day. You are caught on video tape coming in, so they'll get you if you don't. If you pay before 8 pm, you're OK, but from 8-10 pm, you log an additional 20-pound fine. Between 10 pm and midnight, it's a 40-pound fine, and the next day it goes up to 80 pounds. Pretty steep! The idea is to encourage more people to use public transportation, but apparently people are complaining that even in London, the Underground is dirty and crowded (I can attest to that), and the buses are unreliable. (And just imagine how much better it is in London than in 99.9% of American cities).
The result is that rich people just pay the fine and drive their cars, and poor people suffer. As usual, the rich can buy their way out of social responsibility such as reducing pollution and congestion. Sounds like another country I know. So my mixed feelings arise from the dual desire to applaud and shudder. Britain is at least making an attempt to deal with the problems of big cities instead of adopting the US's ostrich approach where we don't actually believe that SUVs have any real consequences (and if they do, who cares? We're Americans! We're on top of the world, and probably deserve to have SUVs, right?). Good for the Brits for charging high prices for petrol instead of subsidizing it away so we think gas is like water. Good for them for making people pay for the privilege to use their cars in congested areas.
And yet, it's a somewhat flawed system. As noted above, the rich just pay and don't think about it. The City is apparently raking in half a million pounds per day (holy cow! $800,000/day!). And yet, the law does not have the obvious provision that this money must go to improve public transportation. How much of a no-brainer is that? But without that stipulation, the money could easily go to things that benefit, you got it, rich people. That's usually how it works.
Jolly good for the UK to attempt such a system, though. Even if the first run doesn't go so well, it might allow them to think of ways to improve it.
Just when I was getting adjusted... ...it's time to go home. I was just getting over my jet lag, and even more interestingly, I was starting to speak British English! No kidding. I found my words having a slight accent, a slightly different cadence. And I found myself using British vocabulary more often. I think with a couple of months, I could start to sound like a true Brit.
But it was back to Heathrow for another long flight across the Pond. I landed a seat in business class, which always makes life much more bearable. I sat next to a woman who lives in London but was originally from Nigeria. The flight was 11 hours, but went quickly due to a decent selection of movies and a good book (and a few catnaps).
That was the quickest international trip I have taken. Still, I tried to get out of it what I could (didn't get any sherry trifle, though! Darn). What fun to go to Europe again (8 years since I had been there, and 20 since I had been in Britain).
Copyright © Kim Allen 2003
