July 25 - September 5th

Everywhere you look in London, something new is being built. Cranes dominate the skyline and resemble beanstalks growing up from the cracks in the street. One recent count from the panoramic view of the Tate Modern yielded over 35 crane towers. This city is really a unique blend of Christopher Wren's classical style, post-war concrete mistakes and contemporary glass and steel. Although the skyline is rather tame compared to other cities, the style and grace of some of these structures is very well balanced.


One would think airplanes racing above the river Thames would be a fabulous treat for a spectator. But leave it to a corporate entity like Red Bull to lease out and cordon off all public viewing space and charge exorbitant amounts of money for a grandstand ticket. Not to be out done by a sickening energy drink company (whose product, when mixed with Vodka is known as an 'instant asshole') we scoured and discovered a proper viewing spot on a bridge. It was packed shoulder to shoulder with beer drinking locals. So strange to see the cops standing right next to the natives who are pounding beers and just leaving the litter at their feet. Inspiring really. The planes were screaming in at 15 feet above the water flying slaloms between 9 meter tall inflatable cones . The stretch of river they chose to perform the areal acrobatics presented a hugely ironic twist. Located at the center of the course is the O2 Dome, a gigantic white tent with yellow towers poking out at a sixty degree angle. Basically, it looks like resulting offspring if the Denver International Airport had a reckless one night stand with a crane factory. This dome could not be a more formidable structure for aircraft. It literally resembles a fly trap for humans.

In England life really does orbit around the pub. So many of them seem to possess a dual themed name: The Anchor and Hope, the Horse and Coach, the Hand and Scepter, the Fox and Hounds. Almost all of them have an literal picture or symbol out front. The answer to this phenomenon had eluded me until I read that these names originate back to a time when the majority of the clientele were unable to read before they arrived at the pub. The more clear and distinct the sign was to represent pictorially, the easier the customers could remember and return. Strange to think about a whole society having to navigate around a massive city without the aide of literacy.

The commuting life has gradually taken hold of my instincts. There are unwritten rules one must follow which includes not talking on the phone while in the train car. This is obvious on the tube--where it does not work (but you are being bombarded with radiation from every passengers mobile still on and searching for a signal). Eating is usually kept to a minimum and when they do its pretty tidy and discreet. After the peak commute hours all bets are off. So often, a bus or train car is hijacked by little punks with a speakerphone setting on their mobile phone/mp3 player. The polite masses all suffer equally in total silence. For as much as the British love to gripe about the system (British Rail, National Insurance, the weather, the National Football team, Tim Hennman, the weather) no one does anything about the scourge of midday public transport . Much of this silence is just the cultural norm of pressing on in adverse conditions. But some of this silence stems from a fear of the dreaded "hoody". These packs of teenagers wearing hooded sweatshirts purposely board trains and buses looking for trouble (and almost always leave a trail of trash and beer cans behind). When a violent event occurs, the papers and news programs exacerbate the story and contribute to the fear. If these kids tried the same stunt in New York--they would definitely get a talking to.

My new favourite multi-meaning word in England is: Bollocks. Basically, it means 'balls' but not in the "of dough" or "of fire" [great] kind. This is the Anglo-speak for one's own testicles (Margaret Thatcher included, Tony Blair excluded). For example, one could be justified shouting, "bollocks" if one just realized they took the wrong train (again), or filled out a form incorrectly (yet again). Another use is to describe a person lecturing or dressing down another person. For instance, the form I may or may not have filled out correctly could then be used as a reason for the form's handler to, "give me a proper bollocking." Strangely, the third use of this word maintains its obliquely spherical reference, but puts a positive spin on things but in a non-human way. For example, as a co-worker was espousing the attributes of the brand new video game of FIFA soccer on Play Station 57, he said, "It's the dog's bollocks mate!" How does one version invade the lexicon as a way to vent frustration or denote negativity, yet another use likens a dog's testes as the paragon of cool? This causes me great distress, but then I remember reading about American dog owners who pay to have their post-castrated canine receive prosthetic . . .bollocks! Lets not forget the guys who hang a couple of billiards balls in a swimming cap and tie it to the back of their jacked up truck's trailer hitch (strangely, I see these trucks pulling out of Veterinary clinics all the time).

I recently had the honour of viewing the England vs. France Rugby match in a lively pub serving all-you-can-drink-andpayfor-beer. Were it a football (soccer) match, it would be called a 'friendly.' This being Rugby, it was a war. That being said, I am now a firm believer my friend's comment about Football (soccer) vs. Rugby, "Football is a gentleman's game played by thugs and Rugby is a thugs game played by gentlemen." The fans of the two games serve to prove this point. England has a rather infamous history of producing the sporting thugs known as "hooligans". These fanatics are devoted to deviance and disrespect. A watershed in the history of English football hooliganism was the Heysel disaster of 1985, in which a "charge" by Liverpool fans at rival Juventus supporters caused a wall to collapse, resulting in 39 deaths. English teams were banned from European club competitions until 1990. This is not to say that football is not fun to watch in the pubs, its just marked with a different reputation than that of Rugby. Rugby fans may drink as much or more, but they are really respectful and polite. It is truly electrifying to be in a packed pub and hear the whole place erupt in a passionate version of the national anthem. With the advantage of international competition, nations get to add pride and devotion to their resume. The States just gets to call a big baseball match a "world series" by beating up on some hockey rejects from Canada. It really is a shame that Football or Rugby will never be a huge success in the States. My own theory is that these two games share a similar Achilles heel: they operate on a continuous running clock. There is no huddle, planning strategy, chat with the coach . . . Think of all those commercial breaks that will never be shown! Baseball now has obnoxious advertising behind home plate, and I seem to remember Spiderman base pads during one playoff game? The corporate sponsors have weaseled themselves into the sports over here by pasting a logo on the uniforms. No one is safe. With the Rugby World Cup looming, the viewing, atmosphere and international competition will get fierce. Due up this Saturday is the inevitable spanking of the USA rugby team by way of England. I will sing Francis Scott Key's anthem with all my heart just for all of YOU! It being a Rugby match and not football, I will be joked at instead of spit on and beaten to a pulp.


Along with Rugby, the monetary superiority of the Pound Sterling versus the US dollar is also glaring. Thanks to a 2:1 ratio, there will be virtually no visitors for me over here. But here are a few things that may change your minds: We just got our street re-paved. New asphalt folks. Another would be that the Imperial pint carries a hefty 20 oz. while we Americans boast a skimpy 16oz. Think of that $10 dollars going to that extra 4 oz! Mmmmmm, drink it up! Usually it is the US that boasts something bigger and heavier. One of my favorite ways to sum up America's weight problem goes like this: One out of every three Americans weighs more than the other two combined. England is not entirely off the hook here. At least we measure our fat asses in one consistent (inferior) system. They still mix inches with millimeters (much to my profession's confusion). Weight is usually in kilograms, unless talking about personal weight. Most British adults can tell you exactly how many stones they weigh. A "stone" is the representation of 14 pounds--yet they are at a loss to tell you in pounds or kilos. Seems odd, but when you get to describe your personal heft as "twelve and a half" instead of hundred(s) who can blame them. My British friend knows his weight in stone, height in feet and inches, distance in kilometers, speed in mph, liquid by the litre and weeks by fortnights. He couldn't guess any equivalent measurement for the life of him.

We were lucky enough to be invited to a beautiful traditional English Wedding in the nearby countryside of Kent. The church was terribly old and festooned with well-dressed and mannered English wedding guests. The formula is virtually identical to the traditional American event, but with a bit more pomp and tradition thrown in and the church can collapse on your head at any moment. Most of the women sport some impressive hats with plumage galore. The men in the wedding party wear the penguin-tailed coats and fancy pin striped vests and trousers. Every guest has to be met by the bride and groom's family before the reception. This is taken care of in the form of a greeting line. The only thing I could think of was the beginning of a basketball game where they announce every one and high fives are passed around. I started to run out of things to say to all the strange faces, so I just stuck to a patented few and rotated every other person "such lovely weather" and "I like your hat."

Stay tuned for a special posting on our recent holiday to Croatia!

June 26 - July 24

It seems the most popular topic of conversation in London is the complete lack of a summer. Remember those rain delays at Wimbledon? Still raining, with Roger Federer-like intensity. Parts of England have been devastated by flooding. There has been one pleasant weekend for the past month, and pleasant includes a cloudy, drizzling Sunday. The only thing that has managed to camp successfully in England this summer has been the Jet Stream. It has pitched a tent and cracked open a few beers and is content on delivering low pressure systems right on top of us--with no end in sight.
Yet the British are so resolute about it. It is really a defining characteristic of the culture. They press on with very minimal grumbling and manage to throw in some morbidly wounded optimism like, "well at least its not a freezing driving rain, now that would be dreadful." Emily and I just sit there and scream back in our heads, "Are you insane? This is JULY! How could you reasonably expect a freezing rain!" But a quick weather history check reveals some frosty conditions in England in both July and August. I have been quick to remind myself that I did not move over here for the weather.

Emily had the good fortune to attend the Wimbledon tennis tournament. A colleague at work happens to belong to the club (thanks to his grandfather playing professional tennis). She made sure to bring her umbrella and dress as sharp as possible. Her seats were unbelievable on Centre Court just above the players opposite of the "royal box." They were able to view the women's match where Serena Williams encountered muscle cramping and had to battle the pain and hope for the rain to fall (this IS England and the sky soon began to weep). The drama queen managed to squeeze off a few aces and hold serve before the rain came and enabled her to fight another day.


That rare, not-so-rainy weekend did allow me to see South Wales, specifically the Gower peninsula. It is a beautiful land, with an abundance of sheep, rock walls and unspoiled coastline. The Welsh are proud of their unique language, and manage to share English and Welsh words on public road signs. To the untrained ear, it resembles someone delivering a sonnet with a mouth crammed full of peanut butter and habanero chili-dipped marbles. It goes a little something like this, "Wlch ylch rgh ybsy cwm." The aforementioned abundance of sheep and rocks seems to counteract a serious lack of vowels other-than-y. The Wheel of Fortune would have significant problems convincing contestants to purchase an "e" or "i"--perhaps needing to result to coupons (which makes sense considering the target audience). Since every public sign is printed in both English and Welsh, I was tempted to be the Robin Hood of English grammar. Why should one language have so many when others have so few? There is enough animosity between the two cultures and my meddling would only inflame the situation. We will just leave it at dirty sheep farmer jokes and Rugby bragging rights.

Back in London, the pace never relents. Between dodging raindrops, working and commuting home, the evenings are relegated to laundry, house chores and cooking meals. Even in the one of the world's most exciting cities life tends to orbit around the mundane and necessary. Weekends provide the best chance to experience the culture and plan activities. A few weeks ago, Emily and I took in an sculpture exhibit at the Hayward Gallery. This particular artist (Anthony Gormley) situated 27 life-sized bronze statues in, on and around the museum in random places and surprisingly far off the museum's grounds. You can be on the train crossing the Thames and see what appears to be a very tan and very naked man perched on the edge of a tall building. Then you will spy a few more then several of them all over central London. I keep hoping to read about a frustrated police unit attempting to 'talk down' a stubbornly deaf, statuesque jumper. My favorite part of the museum was the gift shop which contained the complete works of the street artist known as BANKSY. His work first started appearing in an area of London called Brick Lane. He creatively alters familiar images and paints them on various walls and billboards. These are just a few of his many clever works that can be found on a Google images search:















His work is endlessly entertaining and while looking through it, I was struck with the same simple kind of satisfaction that Gary Larson delivers with his approach. Good stuff.


On a semi- related topic, banking here ranges from innovative to frustrating. London is arguably the banking and financial capital of the world. They have managed to introduce this fancy looking chip to their debit cards. This chip enables every restaurant and vendor to have hand held, wireless machines that take care of any purchase. Its really brilliant and a nice step forward. Points for innovation that only Apple has managed to duplicate in the States. You can also "top up" your cell phone (mobile) with your ATM card at almost any machine. Very convenient and straightforward. Personal banking and customer service here is another story all together. For instance, you are not able to deposit a check (checque) in an ATM machine (cash point). You have to either fill out a terribly repetitive deposit slip and wait in line at the teller windows, or place the check(s) in an envelope and enclose the slip, and repeat the same numbers two more times on one envelope. Then, you place it into a drop slot located on the inside of the bank. All banks close at 5pm. What they don't tell you is that the teller windows close at 4:30. So, if you want to cash or deposit a check, you have to do it on your lunch break (this causes massive lines at all Banks during lunchtime). On Saturdays, most banks drop down to a 10% capacity in the city (if you are lucky). This means only one bank in a 10 mile radius is open. Again, the lines are massive for most of these days due to the compounded need vs. availability.

Emily and I felt adventurous for an afternoon and rented a Dorry for a row on the river Thames. This particular stretch of the river (Richmond) has a nice tranquil atmosphere that only money can buy. It is one of the more posh areas of London. We rowed downstream and enjoyed the willow trees, old steam boats and barges parked along the banks. These barges used to be the trucks we see on the roads today. They would wait for the tides to advance enough to fill the lochs that controlled traffic and upstream movement. This is why so many 'old' pubs are located near the 'old' lochs. Sadly, there were no such lochs in operation for us and we had to row back against the tide and current. This proved to be an arduous task, requiring many corrections in steering and judgement. The good news was that the old pubs were still very much in operation. The particular one we visited (the White Cross) had a high and low tide entrance. As the beer level receded in my glass the tide advanced. It just flows right on into the beer garden. Much more effective than any last call. It was a grand day out and nice to feel the flow of the river that gives this massive city a pulse.

Our most recent adventure was a trip to the southwestern tip of England known as Cornwall. Our friends invited us to stay and surf the coast with them. This we could not pass up, no matter how unstable the weather. The departure proved to be a major challenge. Due to the severe weather, my train was delayed due to mudslides and Emily's was canceled and re-routed. In all, it took us 10 hours to get about 250 miles from London. It was finally successful by midnight through a combination of trains and patient friends who own automobiles. All the toil and stress was worth it though. Since I have been in England, I kept hearing amazing things about Cornwall. It appears to be the surfing mecca of the island. Well, after an introduction to the rocky and wild coastline, I can conclude that the surf must be impressive when there is a swell. When we were there, it was roaring in at a height of upper ankle to lower calf, with the occasional rouge set threatening the lower knee joint. Hardly a big wave day, but at least it wasn't hailing whilst we were surfing! The temperature of the ocean is actually significantly warmer than the Northern California waters I am used to. So we had that going for us. It was hardly a secret spot and the masses were out with the foam-topped boards. Emily actually got a little surf tutorial from me and we both marveled at the irony of her having to come from California to England to learn to surf. After a few hours of paddling and fooling about, we were famished. We strode over to a coffee shop and filled up on the local specialty: the Cornish Pasty. This baked pocket of delight is the quintessential meal for anyone who requires a quick fix. Usually filled with steak and potatoes, these Anglo-calzones do the trick. These pasties can be found in any English train station, and usually fill the stomachs of the drinking crowd after a long night out.



Cornwall used to be a quiet, isolated peninsula filled with cows, sheep, rocky coastline and fishermen. Then, the big city folk with big city bonuses arrived with obscene amounts of money. They began to buy up any and all real-estate until the locals were pushed out and priced out. Now the area boasts serene farmland, quaint villages with at least two fancy coffee shops, surf shops, hip restaurants and art galleries. Every other vehicle is either a Porsche 911 or an over-sized SUV. Beautiful places attract wealthy people the world over. Fortunately, no stucco high-rises have made their way here as of yet.

The drive back home was scenic and relaxing. There is a high concentration of military bases dotted throughout the southwest, and occasionally you would come across signs such as these. You see geese, you slow down and swerve. You see a tank, you pray. We zoomed past beautiful wheat fields sharing space with red poppies. Wide open, beautiful countryside that has not changed in centuries. We even got to drive past Stonehenge, which literally appears out of the trees and resembles a fenced-in rest stop. We respected the ancient Druid's site so much, we slowed the vehicle to about 60mph.

Back in London life returns to normal (with flooding). At home its all planes trains and automobiles. With five major international airports surrounding London, you are always hearing or seeing an airplane. One friend counted 13 in the sky at one time while at the local park (Clapham Common). This becomes a normal thing here, and soon the Boeing 747 powering down becomes white noise. Since we live near the train station, we also get to hear the trains coming and going from Victoria and Waterloo station. Add this to the busy bus lines running up and down the street and you have constant movement surrounding us. Hard to get used to the first night back from the country. Amazing what one gets used to. Soon we only hear the screeching of the foxes, sirens in the distance and the sound of the alarm clock for another new morning in London.

May 16th-June 26th

Well, its official. London is no longer the world’s most expensive city. According to the MERCER HUMAN RESOURCE CONSULTING’S 2007 COST OF LIVING STUDY, Moscow has de-throned this mighty city on the Thames. Sadly, this second place finish has no positive effect on the reduction for the price of a pint of beer.

One consolation prize is that a smoking ban is about to be enacted. As of July 1st, all public spaces will be smoke free! This is a VERY welcome change for us and many other people who prefer to come home after a night out and not feel like a walking ashtray wearing over-priced shoes. Fines are steep for offenders of this smoking ban, the equivalent of $400 U.S. dollars (roughly 5 pints of beer). London will no longer need to divide its pubs and restaurants into; non-smoking, smoking and chain smoking.

Emily and I recently decided to accidentally explore the English countryside. We were aiming for France, and hit Canterbury instead. Plans were altered after discovering the exorbitant (even for England) prices for the car ferry. The next 72 hours of automobile stewardship would prove to be an enormous challenge to our mental fortitude. Driving in London is simply exhausting. We rented a car in London, and attempted to drive it out of the city. It is an amazing thing to discover how massive London is. The heart of the city boasts 7 million residents, but if you factor in the surrounding areas, this number swells to more than 12 million. Driving out of Europe’s largest city requires skill, luck, courage, a sense of humor, various finger gestures and 231 “U” turns. London has the unique ability to swallow up the worlds best- laid plans. You can print out a detailed map, alternate routes, local advice . . . and you will still end up lost. In just five turns we managed to get completely lost in our own neighborhood. The directions to get out of town took up 2+ pages of stationary.

It took about 2 hours to achieve that “countryside” feeling. Once on the open roads, the scenery was quite pleasant. Overall, the quality of driving is very high in this land. English drivers are incredibly patient, forgiving and they use their turn signal! It is as if everyone is simultaneously taking their driving exam. The roads began to open up and follow beautiful rivers and streams. Driving in England was just beginning to become a pleasurable thing when . . .SPEED CAMERAS! These clunky boxes are a blight to humanity and the bane of England’s motorway existence. Traffic flows along nicely, until suddenly everyone ferociously jumps on the brakes, as if a pack of blind toddlers wandered out into the roadway. It can be quite a hazard if you don’t expect it. These cameras seem to be everywhere. They are spaced apart just enough for you to forget for a moment that big brother is watching you (hence the well- behaved driving?). This surveillance culture is really going overboard. I am sure the suicide rate for Porsche owners is 4 times as high in the U.K. (stock brokers excluded in the calculations) than the rest of the world.

We are happy to report that the cliffs of Dover are still chalky white. The castle that overlooks the harbor is still standing impressively tall (and has equally formidable and lofty admittance prices). We did get to see a Roman lighthouse which is argued to be the oldest structure still standing in England. As far as we could tell, life in the Castle was pretty gloomy and cold. Combine that with the English weather, traditional cuisine and a few of sieges from the French, and you have perhaps the reason why England is such a “boozy” culture.


The real treats are found in the small medieval towns dotting the southeast coast. Most noteworthy was the town of Sandwich. It boasted quaint cobblestone streets, narrow ('bring out your dead') cart-path wide side streets, thatched roofs, canals surrounding houses and vertically challenged doorways. Its as if every structure were custom made to exclusively accommodate Yoda. You really get a feeling of how long these buildings have been around. A quick stroll down one street will reveal an optical illusion of a wave disguised as a Tudor-style pub that is about to wash up on the hairdresser’s door.


Canterbury is a charming city surrounded by some impressive old walls. Inside these walls rests England’s most important cathedral. This church is quite a monument and it is easy to see why so many religious pilgrims flocked to the area. All it took was King Henry II to tell a few knights to whack Thomas Becket in 1170 who then got a fast track to sainthood (just 3 years later—what a deal!) and the rest was history. Chaucer’s subsequent work sealed the city’s place in history. It was interesting to read that during WWII, the locals often set fires to the surrounding courtyards after the Luftwaffe’s bombings—to fool the Nazis into thinking they scored a direct hit on the chapel. Sixty-five years later a caffeinated cluster bomb has been dropped on the city. Starbucks struck a direct hit and one is literally growing out from the front gate. The Germans have changed their tactics and are now stealthily sipping lattes and sporting Birkenstocks with black socks—obviously abandoning conventional warfare and instead resorting to a unique terror campaign.

At the close of that weekend, we were all too happy to return the car early. Driving around London instills a new appreciation for public transportation. That being said, there certainly are some difficult days with the Underground, especially during commute hours. Aside from line closures on the weekends and signal delays during the week, just getting aboard is sometimes a hassle. During peak hours, you have to wait on the platform and let train after train pull up, stop and open its doors to reveal human cargo resembling a packed sardine can. Only once in a while you will be able to jump into a car that is 98% full and just shoe horn yourself in. Not one word is exchanged, you just sort of ‘grow’ into the collective shape that is given to you. Good times. When given the option, the train and bus are the preferred methods of transport. Good rule of thumb: if at all possible, during commute hours, stay above ground.

We finally visited Harrods—the famous department store in Central London. Its atmosphere closely resembles that of a really snooty museum. The security guards / salespeople size you up and somehow do a full credit analysis before speaking. There is this strange vibe there, like you just walked into a fancy cocktail party wearing a Speedo and snorkel mask (both of which can be found on level 4 and come in both chrome and gold-plated styles). It is quite an experience and very eye opening to know that they sell hats made of bird feathers that cost $1,200 and offer as much shade as a tropical drinks' cocktail umbrella. Emily was kind enough to model the hat until some Harrods jerk (twat) yelled at us for having both a sense of humor and camera and we were ushered on to the next department.

We also had the privilege to straddle time and space. . .in Greenwich. The prime meridian was observed and we can confirm that it too has been commoditized and made into a tourist trap. There was a line on the line to get a picture of your buddy under the line (a queue on the Meridian to capture a snap of your mate). Greenwich is a really pleasant part of outer London with a great market and superb pubs. We enjoyed walking around the huge green park and adjoining hills.

Other than a few random sunny days, of which we took full advantage and hiked the coast, England has yet to cough up a proper summer. It seems intent on raining and producing muggy, wet weather. Even the Wimbledon tennis tournament can’t coax the sun out. The most optimistic the weather reports gets is “sunny spells” in the forecast. Californians don’t usually do cartwheels upon hearing this, but we are so desperate to produce some Vitamin D we will resort to calisthenics and tell the Brits that it is a Native American “Sun” dance.

April 16-May 17th

Just over two months into London, and I am already missing certain things. Sure, there's your garden variety American-in-England-missing-stuff list: Mexican food, morbidly obese people, armed police men, armed citizens (not really missing that actually), reasonably priced items. . . What I am talking about goes deeper than the usual stuff. Words. Words I took for granted. Grammatical comfort food if you will. Case in point; "zero." It simply does not exist here. I strain to call it a number, for I don't think it actually is one. The beloved 'goose egg' has been blandly replaced by "Nil". One syllable of pure nothing. So its a "Nil-sum game" then? This winter, the weather could dip below "Nil." Works great for soccer (football) scores. You can watch a barn-burner with the final score of "Nil / Nil."

Ah but the new words I am learning are quite the multi-taskers. My favourite so far is "pissed". The first, and most obvious use can be for the literal, familiar reference to the act of urination. The second use is to describe being drunk, "We were pissed that night". The third use is to describe one person making fun of another, in a playful manor, "I'm just taking the piss out of you mate. Let's go get some tea." They do respond to, but don't use the term, "pissed off." Another way I have heard it used is to describe something that is not level, or wobbly, "This floor is really on the piss, mate. Lets get some tea and think about it some more." I am confident there are more applications to this word.

Accompanying the language is of course, culture. I can't think of a better guide than England's favourite adopted American, Bill Bryson. In his book, "Notes from a Small Island" he so eloquently sums up the British, "They will queue patiently for indefinite periods and accept with rare fortitude the imposition of rationing, bland diets and sudden inconvenient shortages of staple goods . . .They are comfortable with faceless bureaucracies and, as Mrs. Thatcher proved, tolerant of dictatorships. They will wait uncomplainingly for years for an operation or the delivery of a household appliance. They have a natural gift for making excellent jokes about authority without seriously challenging it, and they derive universal satisfaction from the sight of the rich and powerful brought low." I take this book with me on my 20 minute train commute. I must say, I do not miss driving very much. That being said, having a vehicle for carpentry purposes would be very convenient. It takes a lot of energy and planning to rely on wheeled baggage and public transport. Both of which have failed me this past week.

After two rental car experiences under the belt, my driving record is still flawless. How I wish my pedestrian record was on par. It is difficult to navigate on the sidewalk (pavement) with any consistency. Outside of the Underground, staying to the right or left is open to interpretation. Many Londoners are actually from another country, so they are used to staying to the the right as well. I find myself bobbing and weaving in and out of slower foot traffic, street merchants, leering tourists and locals.

London is used to a fast pace, so constant movement is the key. This past weekend Emily and I found ourselves bogged down in a slow lane that transitioned to the end of a queue for a ATM machine. I am confident half the participants in line had no intention to withdraw money. They were just standing there. The supermarket seems to be the most intense place to experience this phenomenon. On average, I do a little "shall we dance" jig with at least 2 people a day. That's on a good day.

I never knew how much I dragged my feet until I moved to London. The sidewalk is composed of brick or stone that pre-dates the Thatcher 'dictatorship' by at least 300 years. Needless to say, things are not so smooth, which leads me to the conclusion that it would be impossible to sue the Queen if you trip on her sidewalk. As with the left-right pavement jig, I must bang my toe on an uneven piece of sidewalk on a daily basis. Often times the same damn brick catches my boots every morning. Lift and plant. Lift and plant.

As an American, you suddenly become an ambassador to a nation of (lets face it) Bush-voting Nascar-loving, gun-toting homophobes. So the Virginia Tech shooting was a real hoot for me. I had everyone convinced that we all carried guns and Ford and GM made glove boxes specifically to fit the 44 Magnum that was featured in the film "Dirty Harry." I had the boys at work convinced for about 3 hours. It was beautiful. Truth be told, it is really shameful. I tell them the counter argument from the NRA goes something like: had one responsible citizen with a carry permit been on the campus, the body count would have been a lot lower." As long as the US has firearms openly available, shootings like this will continue to occur. You would think an island nation that has a history of invasion would be the other way on the debate. Yet they are adamant about there being strict gun laws in place. The problem is, in the states, if you arm one idiot, you have to arm them all! Or so goes the logic. The despicable fact is that a well-documented, mentally disturbed man was able to go out with a credit card and purchase a handgun that day! He faced a tougher approved process for the credit card than the gun. What does that say about our society? Unfortunately, after all the outrage and loss of life (not sure if it's a state-wide record or national record) nothing will be done about it. The news media will focus on Paris Hilton's jail term.

Did you know, that every 'able bodied' citizen of SWITZERLAND is required to have a rifle in their home. Why? I do not know. I do know that it is a beautiful country beyond comparison. Yes, yes the blog says "life in London" but we just can't help ourselves. England is so 'bloody' expensive. A trip to Switzerland isn't that much more than a weekend getaway to Bath, or Oxford. That was one of our goals whilst over here. See as many places as we can. Seriously, give me one good reason not to visit Switzerland. If there were any justice in the world, when you looked up "serene" or "tranquil" in the dictionary, it would say, a: "SEE Switzerland. No, really, go there!" Absolutely stunning. As a country, it is incredibly well kept, quaint and relaxing. I am sure there are others, but Switzerland is the only country I can think of that does not have an 'official' language for the natives. They speak German, French or Italian depending on where they live.

We flew into Zurich, so German was the dominating dialect. But you could easily get away with French (if you had a command of that language), and people switch back and forth. And of course, everyone speaks English.

It did not take very long for our daily cheese intake to multiply sixteen fold. You simply can't avoid it. When the local gas station boasts an entire cheese aisle that shames Whole Foods, how can one resist?

Emily and I were fortunate to get a free "upgrade" with our rental car. A sporty Alpha Romero 147. Perfect for the mountain roads we were planning to tackle. What a joy to row through the gears with the right hand again. I was a tad disappointed when my left hand did not bang the door panel when I came to a down shift opportunity. It is strange to switch from driving on the left side of the road (Countries with the Queen on the currency) to the aptly named right side (95% of the rest of the world).

We spent a wonderful day walking the river in the downtown area. Cobblestone streets, narrow passageways leading to bridges across green glacier fed waters.

Its a really sad economic indicator when you can shop in Switzerland and think of everything as a bargain. The British pound is just so strong at the moment. We couldn't help ourselves, we had to shop. Thanks to Globalization, the same stores are everywhere in Europe, with each country offering their own unique, tasteless sunglasses. After passing on the sunglasses but taking the Swiss for all they were worth, we hopped in the Alpha and departed for Lucern, and then to Interlaken.

Into the heart of the alps we go! Quite a place, where time seems to stand still. You can tell the Swiss really take advantage of the sunlight. The sweeping glacial valleys get about 3-4 hours of sunlight a day, so there is a flurry activity when the towering peaks allow the precious sun to peek through. Suddenly there is a blizzard of laundry and sunbathers. The former is a sight one is well accustomed to, the latter, well lets say it was disturbingly early in the season for that. The laundry was dry, but the Swiss were pink.

We devoted one afternoon to hiking up a river valley and fly fished (well, I fished, Emily sunbathed). The water was shallow, cold and clear. The fish were not biting, but it really did not matter. It felt like a million miles away from London. Just what we wanted. The next day we embarked on a glorious hike up through little villages towards Grindelwald. What a place. Again, frozen in time. With every corner on the trail, I half expected Julie Andrews to jump up, spin around and offer us a 12 course meal consisting of nothing but cheese. I think I just figured out that Swiss gun requirement! Apologies to any Sound of Music fans.

One thing I noticed about Switzerland is that their villages are arranged thoughtfully. So often they consist of small towns on a steep mountain slope. Surrounding the houses is lush green grass, with cows, a few trees for shade, then a dense forest. They clear out just enough trees to live comfortably. The forest no doubt doubles as a snow break during the winter.

Another thing about the Swiss: They have a penchant for underground highways. Add tunneling to the accomplished list of: watch-making, cough drop lozenge experts and handy knifes from a neutral army. We were constantly raising the sun glasses, then lowering them. It got to the point where we made an inside joke about it in reference to our friend's Internet video: http://videos.thelonelyisland.com/tli/TheBuEp01.mp4
Lots of, "Glasses ON!" "Glasses OFF!" We originally thought the tunnels were going through mountains. But we would look back and see flat land behind us. They like that uninterrupted open space I guess.

Back in England, life is pretty good. Work is very busy and always interesting. England keeps breaking its own former records for weather. The last two months have been the hottest on record. I am sure it is just a coincidence and that Global Warming is just a liberal scare tactic!

Since I am living in the country that formed the Magna Carta which lead to Habeas Corpus, I would like to invite EVERYONE to listen to this FREE story about the United States' pitifully dark, under reported story of Guantanamo Bay. It is eye opening and not that surprising, frankly. Here is the link:

http://www.thisamericanlife.com/Radio_Episode.aspx?sched=1185

This story won the Peabody award for journalism in 2006. Every American with half a brain should listen to it. Ok I am off my soapbox now.

Things are well and life continues to be wonderful. Please take care and feel free to berate me on my spelling, grammar and content.


cheers

Jon

April 1 - 15

Spring does exist here in England. Everything that can bloom has been going full blast for the last three weeks. It is quite beautiful and a real treat after the cold and rain.

Emily and I are settling in quite well at the new house. Cooking some great meals and being 'city people.' We have recently 'invested' in a espresso machine, due to my disruptive and early morning routine for work. We worked out the numbers and after a few weeks the machine will pay for itself! Mind you she was the economics major. . .so I have to believe her. It is a brilliant piece of machinery, really. It chambers these little 'bullets' of compressed coffee and spits out precious liquid crack in a matter of seconds. Sounds like a cheap cafeteria dispenser, but it is really quite good! Come over and see for yourself. It will help you through the jet lag.

The Brits take holidays very seriously here. So we decided to do a bit of travel ourselves. Like most people, we imagine far off places like Greece, Croatia, Turkey, Morocco and Northern Ireland. Well, actually easyjet made the decision for us. Flights to the 'exotic' locations were insanely marked up. Surprisingly, flights to Belfast were cheap. We soon found out why.

To say Northern Ireland is a vacation destination would be like saying "Iraq is a great place to take the kids to." I was wary after we booked our tickets and told the curious English natives where we would be going on holiday. They would respond with a face one would make if you just bit into the worst meal ever made, but it was prepared by your grandmother, so you have to be polite. I considered the English reaction to the location as if an American couple told you they were visiting all the Native American Reservations.

The Northern Irish are quite friendly, although it is hard to tell if they are actually saying friendly things to you. They speak fast, omit any and all pauses and periods that are usually present in normal sentence structure and the accent is thicker than a pint of Guinness on a moonless night.

Most of Belfast has been rebuilt or is a giant construction site aimed at modernization. No European narrows, cobblestones or fountains. We quickly adapted our minds from the traditional European history (Celts, Romans, Royalty) to the more contemporary stories of the 'troubles.' We ingested statements like, "The hotel EUROPA has been bombed 70 times--making it the most bombed hotel in Europe." GREAT! Drive faster please! The city's claim to fame is that they built the Titanic--but the locals are quick to add that it floated just fine leaving Belfast's harbour, and an English captain was at the helm when it sunk. Since we missed the 'troubles' by about 9+ years, there was not much 'action' going on. This is a good thing. There is a whole tourist business based on the 'troubles'. We took a "black cab" tour (ours was red) all around the city that showed us the history of the uprisings and conflicts that took place. Interesting stuff; Fenced in neighborhoods with still-abandoned and burnt out buildings that mark the edges of the communities. Lots of graffiti boasting pro IRA and pro England stances. Large, tall fences erected to prevent rocks or other debris from being thrown over at the opposing side. Giant, elaborate murals depicting painful scenes or faces of fallen 'heroes' are everywhere. They take on a macabre presence and begin to resemble tombstones for entire neighborhoods. Leaves you with the impression of a fragile peace being stitched together with an even more fragile hope. One good sign was a recent rugby game played at the site where "Bloody Sunday" occurred. The match was England vs. Ireland and miraculously, the English national anthem was not booed. So there you have it. Ireland won the match by a huge margin.

After a full day, a great meal and good nights sleep we visited the Giant's Causeway. Quite a unique and mythical site about a 2 hour drive along the coast from Belfast. A first-rate geological highlight in my book. Irish folklore says that it was here that the first kegs of mead were formed and stacked in a brilliant hexagonal pattern. . .until St.Patrick's evil cousin "Carl" made a deal with the devil and the kegs were turned to stone. . .and then there is something about basalt cooling at a certain rate from a volcanic eruption. I like the keg explanation better. We drove on to Slieve League, which boasts the tallest sea cliffs in Europe. Fortunately there have been zero bombings at these cliffs, so it made for rather dramatic scenery and no shrapnel.

The countryside is very pretty. And to paraphrase my Uncle Marc: "If the world ever had a shortage of rocks, Ireland would quickly become the richest nation." I would like to amend that statement and add sheep to it. Miles and miles of rock walls surrounding fields containing sheep. In between the sheep and rocks lay very small and sleepy towns. Our Ireland travel book had this to say about one particular shire, "According to the tourist literature, Cookstown's greatest attraction is convenient parking." Compared to the Republic of Ireland, the North is a bit run-down. Grim and working class. This has much to do with its economic isolation from the mainland of England and the 'troubles'. Overall, an interesting trip where we learned a lot. But not a destination to warrant a return trip. Great food and abundant parking though!

Now we are back to the 'grind' with Emily taking several day trips to Switzerland. We recently attended a 'costume party' but over here it is a 'fancy dress' party, for a 'costume' is a bathing suit. So we found our fancy dress-outfits at the "fancy dress shop"just down the street. The theme was water, and Emily and I attended as sailors. I was pushing for some kind of Iranian sailor vs. handcuffed British sailor, but we decided it was a bit inflammatory for the evening. We soaked up the sunshine along the river at a pub in Hammersmith and then partied inside at the local rowing club. The Sunday hangover was almost worth it.

March 10 -31 Arrival and Adjustment

After a long and bumpy flight, I landed at Heathrow without incident. Empowered with a British Visa, I was under the impression I would casually walk through some special stall and be asked a few questions and then off. . .WRONG! The line wa. . .sorry the "que" painfully long. Took about an hour and 20 minutes to go 30 feet. So glad Emily was still waiting on the other side, with a car to carry my 3 suitcases.

The most effective strategy to fight jet lag can be summed up like this: the best offense is a great defense. And so I defended my natural clock with as much beer and pub food as I could get. This was after Emily and I packed up her possessions and moved out of her flat about 300meters, sorry "metres" down the road. The shortest move I have ever done!

Our new "Flat" is actually a house. It is a 4 story Victorian house that Emily and I share with 4 other women. None of which are English nationals. We have an Irish woman named Una, a French/Vietnamese woman named Mai-Lan, a Danish woman named Laura and an Australian named Kat. We all get along well and the house is really nice. Our room is up at the top, on the 4th floor. Emily and I call it "the Tower" due to the many steps up. It is a big room, with a wonderful bathroom--like a hotel really Beday and all.

The first thing about London one realizes is the cost. The pound is aptly named, for it slams you in the head with ridiculously high prices. Unfortunately, the exchange rate is about $2 : 1GBP. This is even worse, because all you have to do is do some quick math in your head and realize you are paying double for a cup of coffee ($4.50). It hurts. No way around this one. How I wish it was 1.7 or some kind of off number where you could round up but then reassure yourself it is a little cheaper than you are tricking your brainbank into accepting. All the more incentive to begin earning the pounds!

After a few more days, the feet begin to protest. Walking is the way of things here. Our particular location (Clapham Junction) can be summed up like this: SW11. Postcodes rule the landscape. It denotes boroughs throughout London, and has for quite some time. About half of the places in this city have a "ham" at the end. Yet, like "cheers" they seem to omit the "a" when pronouncing and just say "hm". I am told it has something to do with denoting a town or shire. More on this later.

The English take immense pride in their system. Methodical and practiced, they act like machines. I must hand it to them, the public transportation is first-rate. Trains and buses are usually on time, and give a digital readout of when they will arrive. The best way to orient yourself is by riding the buses. I found myself looking at the map and riding on the top floor up front, fixing my location around train and tube stations. It works quite well. Still, after 22 days, London is still so new to me. I am told it will take at least a year for this feeling to abate.

The weather here has lived up to every reputation. Quite manic really. I was impressed with the warmth at the start. But that gave way to the chilly arctic air and we had some snow flurries for about 3 days. The cold wind cuts right through you in a way no San Francisco winter EVER could. It was then I learned to appreciate the scarf. Never had so many body parts been so thankful for so few fibers. My scarf is never far when you travel outside.

I am having fun learning and adapting to the local methods and traditions. Cheers seems to be the number one word to know. You have to pronounce it like you are racing through those two e's. The second word to know is, "sorry". Bump someone on a train, or ask someone to repeat a question, or ask someone to move out of your way, all the same.

It is difficult to be the American who is not familiar with American pop culture. I have no clue who is on "American Idol" or "The OC" or "CSI". . .but that is what they know of us. Sad, but true. British television is pretty much ignored when a soccer game is not being aired.

Pub life is one to adapt to as well. All these new beers to learn. (Insert pity here). Unlike Ireland, England still allows smoking in Pubs. But all this will change in July. Smoking will be disallowed in most pubs, much to our clothes excitement. After visiting a pub for dinner and drinks, you have to hang out your clothes for 3 days to rid the smell. Imagine the savings on water bills after the law goes into effect. Emily and I live just downhill from a great "Gastro" pub called "the Lavender". These pubs serve up food--anything to the fish and chips to proper meals with soup and salad. Many pubs seem to have double names, like "the Fox and Hound" or "the Anchor and Hope". Most offer lots of charm and good beer on tap.

Working as a carpenter has proved to be more similar than different. They call carpenters "Chippys" here. Don't know if it has anything to do with fish and chips, but they have been called this for a long time. The crew I am working with are a cockney motley crew. Quite a few "northerners" whose accents are markedly different than the London lingo. Throw in a Ornery Scotsman (are there any other kind?) and you have Jon repeating the often said word, "Sorry?" Come again? What was that? You call that tool what? I have learned so many new words, most of which I am ashamed to type on this blog. You know how the Eskimos have 100 words for snow? Well the English seem to have the same for a co-worker they do not like same goes for female genitalia.

Sorry to be so short, I am leaving quite a lot out. Look for more installments in the future.


Hope all is well. Keep eating those burritos for us. They are here, but cost US$15 and are not spicy or fresh.

Up next, my best description of Cricket.



Much love to all


Cheers

Jon