Back in the UK

After two weeks in Texas and Louisiana, we have returned to London and I will return to updating the blog. I even will add some pictures of our good times back home...but I currently have jet lag and lack the patience it takes to upload pictures, so this will be a pictureless, but descriptive blog.

Yesterday we headed to the Houston airport very early, because that is our way. So, with three hours to kill before our flight, we each had a beer and eavesdropped on some people in the Houston airport bar and grill and then made some Happy New Year phone calls.

Unfortunately, our flight was REALLY full. There were about sixteen screaming babies and children, a number of sick, hacking people, some body odor, very little air conditioner, and my seat was broken, so I couldn't lean back for the entire 9 hours. We were VERY happy to get off the plane and then, after a car sickness inducing cab ride to our hotel, were even more happy to be out of moving vehicles completely and get some much needed sleep.

Refreshed after a four hour nap, we picked up the keys to our new flat and headed over to check it out. Our new neighborhood is quiet and quaint. Our flat, which we finally saw for the first time without an estate agent hanging around, is charming, with big windows and lots of natural light. Our new landlord left us a nice note and guide to where things are to who to contact when we need help. We haven't met our neighbors yet, but our landlord said (in his note) that they seem to be nice and have been helpful.

There is a romantic looking restaurant around the corner from our new flat, a coffee shop, a pub, a little market and, with about a fifteen minute walk, we can get to West Hampstead, which has more restaurants, coffee shops, etc. Regents park isn't too far away and Hampstead Heath is also close, so I will have no excuse for not running. Tomorrow I will start "Mission Get Some Furniture" and hopefully we can get into the flat by the weekend.

Stay tuned for pictures from our holiday visit at home. Happy New Year!

Hallelujia!!

Now that we're back in Houston, we got our flat! The wire transfer came through, of course, AFTER we left London, but that's ok because we actually were starting to think that getting a flat was not in our destiny and that we were going to have to keep living out of our suitcases indefinitely. Hooray! Now we just have to figure out how to pay our bills without a bank account!!! Maybe we'll get one of those, too, before we head back.

Our fox

Tonight is our last night in Greenwich and, as we were walking down the sidewalk, back to our house, our fox, who we haven't seen in a few weeks, walked out of the bushes and onto the sidewalk in front of us, where he stood and stared at us for a few seconds, before heading off down the street. I don't know if foxes traditionally are good luck, but I think this one is. We're glad we got to say goodbye to the urban fox before moving on.

Dan and Meg's Christmas Brunch!

And finally, today, I can post some pictures of our dear friends Dan and Meg who are not only letting us store all our stuff at their house while we go home for the holidays, but also cooked us a delicious brunch complete with Christmas Crackers! I got a fabulous eyebrow brush as my prize, which has come in very handy, as Jim's eyebrows tend to get out of control.

Meg slaves in the kitchen. She made potato latkes with salmon, creme fraiche, and caviar. YUM!


Meg and Dan


Everyone enjoys brunch and Christmas cracker prizes, jokes, and, of course, our crowns!


I love my eyebrow brush.


Jack the cat, future friend of Emma and Chowder.


After we left Meg and Dan, we stopped off at Camden market and strolled through the many mohawked and pierced people. The market is full of very funky stuff and lots and lots of food. It was a totally different scene than the quaint markets we had visited before. We loved it!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! We might not be blogging so much while we're home for the holidays, but we will try!

Our first British Work Party

Last night, we attended Jim's work party. And what a party! The Brits take their office parties very seriously. Whether or not your office party is a success, is, apparently, a reflection on your business as a whole. So, there was dinner, dancing, and DJ, and lots of booze. I was horrified at the debauchery going on around us. There was groping, inappropriate dancing, make out sessions, and all kinds of stuff that you don't usually see happening at a work party. It was great...almost like being out in a club! One guy, in particular, was making his rounds with the scantily clad younger ladies. This afternoon, we were talking to our cab driver about it and he said that his first three passengers had been still drunk from their office parties the night before and that one of them, who was the boss, had a big bump on his nose and didn't know how he got it. So I guess what happens in the office party, stays in the office party. Being new at this, we were on our best behavior. We placidly ate our Christmas Pudding (SO GROSS) and only danced to songs that were appropriate (not Beyonce..but Scissor Sisters were ok!) We left the party at 11:45 so that we could catch the last train home and it was still going strong.

Jim looking dapper in front of our oh so velvety red curtain (which is in our temporary flat's living room)


And me, dressed up for my first London party.


Christmas pudding is a bread pudding type concoction, except it contains treacle, which is really thick and sweet and all those dried fruits that make up fruit cake. It's served with brandy sauce. Personally, I am not a fan. Nor am I a fan of mince pie, which is a pie with mushed up fruit from fruit cakes inside it (and, in some cases, mince, which is ground meat). In the interest of being diplomatic and not ethnocentric, I will say that these desserts are different than what I am used to. Traditional English Christmas dinner is a lot like our Thanksgiving dinner--turkey, a stuffing type paste, roast potatoes, and vegetables, all smothered in gravy (BROWN gravy, it was pointed out to me, not WHITE like the Americans!)


We didn'tknow many people at the party, but we did know these good people--Jim's new co-workers! They are all very nice and fun and some are Americans and some are Brits. None of them were groping each other or acting inappropriately.


Jim with his Christmas Cracker crown and Christmas Popper graffitti! Christmas Crackers are this fun little packages that pop open when you pull them. They contain a surprise (like a game or, in one case, some fingernail clippers), a crown, and a joke. Christmas poppers shoot confetti strings out with a pop when you pull their strings.


Dancing by myself to some acceptable song...Jim wasn't in the dancing mood. The couple to my left were alternating between groping each other while dancing and lying on top of each other at their table.


Waiting for the tube. Moments later, on the tube, Jim stepped in vomit. Then a very loud, Italian woman(we think), teetered onto the train, slipped in the vomit, and toppled onto an unsuspecting man, seated below her. There's lots of drama on the drunk train.

Waiting for the Docklands Light Rail (DLR), the last leg of our long trip home.


Jim concentrates on the last DLR of the night(which was full of even more drunk people than the tube), as the doors close behind him.

Visiting the US Embassy and other fun stuff.

So, on top of STILL not having our own flat, due to beurocratics and barriers placed upon us by the estate agency, we were told by some people that if our passports were within six months of expiring, our visa application would be rejected. Of course, Jim's passport is within six months of expiring. So we took a little trip to the American Embassy in London in hope that they would help us. They didn't, but I'll still give a description.

Outside of the embassy, there were three lines, with nothing identifying what each line was for, of course. Never too shy to ask, I approached an official looking person who informed us that the line to our left, "the very long one," was the line for passports. So we got into it. We were checked by security, checked by security again, had to turn our camera in, got into a third line inside, and, when Jim finally made it to the window, no one had even heard of the six month rule, so we had to go make some phone calls. Really the people we needed to talk to, were the UK visa folks, but, of course, they weren't answering the phone. The really nice American Embassy guy (who actually was American, but wasn't actually nice), informed Jim that because he has a perfectly good and valid passport, he was not entitled to get an Emergency passport, which is good for a year. So the lesson that we learned is that we should have lied and said he didn't have a passport at all.

Determined not to be brought down by the man, we took a nice walk through Hyde Park and checked out some funny little birds called Coots, who swam along beside us and made little squeaking noises and, occasionally, went under water, causing lots of bubbles and swirls, and then popped, comically, back to the surface. We saw a TV show being filmed in the park and were amused when some guy with his dog walked right through the middle of it, causing the director and all the crew members to frantically wave their arms and then exclaim exasperation. Then we went to Notting Hill, where we visited the Books for Cooks shop (floor to ceiling cook books from around the world)and perused the market.

Then, on our way home, we got a wild hair and decided to visit St. Paul's Cathedral. It is majestic and the dome is incredibly high and huge. We climbed up as far as we could and looked down over the cathedral floor, whispered to each other from across the dome (we could hear each other) and then climbed some more to have an outside view of the city from the top of the dome.


Climbing up to the top of the dome..an illegal picture taken away from the security guards.


ancient graffiti on the walls of St. Paul's.


multicolored houses along Portabello Road.

So, all in all, despite the fact that we might not be able to get our visas and we still don't have a home, it was a pretty good day.

The Hell better known as Harrod's

I will never go to Harrod's during the holiday season again. That place, even on a Tuesday afternoon, is a mad house, full of tourists and ex-pats looking for that perfect, overpriced, "staple of London" Harrod's gift for their loved ones. In the "arcade" area, where all the teddy bears, coffee mugs, teas, chocolates, bags, key chains, tee-shirts, and anything else you can come up with that can be stamped with the Harrod's name across the front of it are located, the mobs of people are incredibly dense.

Unsuspecting and thinking that I was smart to go on a Tuesday instead of waiting until Jim could go with me on a Saturday, I strolled into the massive department store. I was carrying a backpack, which I also thought was pretty smart, since my right shoulder has a new pain after lugging my bag full of maps, books to read on the tube, ten pound change purse full of really heavy British money, an umbrella, water, and whatever else I happened to pick up...all over London. Well, I wasn't allowed to carry my backpack on my back in Harrods. Nor was I allowed to sling it over one shoulder. Oh no, I had to carry my heavy backpack IN MY HAND. That, plus the crowds, plus the fact that they keep it about 100 degrees in that place were a recipe for exhaustion.

Then I got in trouble because, with my backpack in hand, my coat thrown over my shoulder, and a Harrod's basket full of Harrod's goods in the other hand, I made my way from an arcade on the bottom floor to an arcade on the main floor. Apparently, you're not allowed to carry the basket outside of the arcade..or from one arcade to the other. I think, though, that my convincing plea that I was lost and just needed to get to the other arcade and find my friend (kind of a lie. I wasn't lost. My friend was meeting me in the original arcade.) and my American accent helped the security guard feel sorry for me and he directed me, with my illegal basket, to the arcade I was seeking. When I finally was ready to pay for my goods, a chatty lady talked my ear off about her lack of vacation time. This is really rare, actually. Usually no one wants to talk to me here. SO, I should have enjoyed it, but by that point I just wanted to get out of there.

So, I've done Harrod's. Never again...at least not until I have to.