Sunday, 15 November 2009

Josephine and Armistice Day 2009


Around the first of October Jeannette got word of good Eurostar fares to Paris  (£59 two way).  Anyone interested in a day trip some Federal Holiday soon?  I was.  No waiting around!  We signed ourselves up!  As it happened several of us in the office had been reading a trilogy of historical novels based on the life of Josephine, first wife of Napoleon Bonaparte.  So . . . why not take a Josephine-themed trip?  Good idea! 
So on this past Wednesday, 11 November 2009, we started out from St Pancras, a beautiful, newly-renovated station here in London.  Good thing we started early because just as we got almost to the train station, I had one of those “Oh, shit!” moments.  Yes, I had forgotten the debit card with which I had purchased the tickets online, and yes, the instructions had said I needed that card to print our tickets.  Off the bus, onto a taxi, back to my house, grab the card & we’re off!  With plenty of time to spare, we grab a couple of sandwiches at a restaurant in the station and board the train with time to spare.
We’re off!  My chunnel baptism – not literally, thankfully!  Zip, zip, and we’re there in about 2 hours.
We deboard at Gare du Nord, take the RER (Paris city trains) to Chatelet les Halle, another RER to La Defense, look around La Defense a bit, then take Bus 258 to Rueil-Ville.  There we sought out the church where Josephine and her daughter, Hortense, were buried – L'église Saint-Pierre Saint- Paul (Church of St Peter and St Paul).  On our way to the church we ran across city hall which was decorated for Armistice Day.  We found we had just missed a celebration there in the square behind city hall named Place du 11 November 1918.  A charming patisserie provided lunch (goat cheese and smoked venison sandwich and quiche lorraine) which we ate on the lovely square in front of the church.  And yes, we did regret not buying the scrumptious-looking pastries for desserts.  Inside the quiet church were the tombs, beautiful stained glass windows, and one other person who had come there to pray.
Hopping back on the bus, we rode a couple of stops to “Le Chateau,” the stop that would eventually lead us to Josephine’s home.  First, we took an unintentional tourist detour, having turned right, rather than left when we got off the bus.  Soon enough we were back on track and spent most of the afternoon wandering the inside and grounds of Malmaison.  I had read that the home was very cozy, especially when compared with Versailles, the country home of French monarchs.  Although certainly much more fancy than the home of anyone I know, the Bonaparte dwelling did seem quite warm and inviting.  The ceilings weren’t as high as those of other mansions and neither were the rooms as large.  Since London still has roses blooming, we had hoped that the roses at Malmaison would have been blooming as well, but they weren’t.  Josephine was known for the roses she cultivated; it is said that many of the varieties in Europe today are a result of her intervention.
Retracing our steps we arrived back in the city at La Defense, which is quite the impressive commercial zone.  The crowing glory of La Defense is the Grande Arche which stands directly facing the Arc de Triomphe – the new meeting the old.  I’m not sure how many miles between the two, but it is quite a way.   Most of the photos I took were taken in the morning when it was quite cool and foggy.  You can barely make out the Arc de Triomphe in the distance.  We had to allow time to do a little shopping at the grocery store in the huge mall at La Defense – it seems my friends have developed a taste for Speculoos, a yummy topping that looks like peanut butter, but is, in fact, ground up Speculoos cookies – think very smooth ground up graham crackers whipped up with corn syrup and vegetable oil.   http://www.bienmanger.com/2F3383A3_Speculoos_Spread.html?ope=ggBaseUK&sope=p4410
Oh well, that doesn’t sound very appetizing, but you have to trust me, it’s mighty tasty.  This treat can only be bought in Belgium and France as far as we know, so Jeannette stocked up with a dozen jars for gifts and toted them in her backpack the rest of the journey.  We also bought soft cheeses, salad and a fresh baguette for supper on the train home. 
And I searched for the chunnel the rest of the way.  Possibly saw it – don’t really know!  All in all, one fine day trip, though!


Sunday, 8 November 2009

Rainy Day at Home





Rainy Day at Home 8Nov09
It isn’t always raining in London, but when it does, and I am at home during the day, this is what it looks like. The views of the skylight are taken from my stairwell. Did I tell you that each room of my house is on a different floor? The stairwell goes all the way up and down the 4 stories of my house (basement, ground, first & second floors) at the rear left side or the northeast corner. Through the skylight, I see the back side of an office building that is 55 Baker St, a huge office complex where my landlord resides. The outside view is above the Rodmarton St. mews houses that parallel mine, rear side of Gloucester Pl. flats. This picture was taken from out my bedroom balcony door. I’m home today resting, medicating, and trying to avoid catching the crud that I seemed to have been coming down with on Thursday. So far, so good!

Friday, 6 November 2009

Bubble & Squeak, What a Treat!


Here’s a dish I’d never heard of:  Bubble and Squeak.  I recently went to the Canteen, a restaurant around the corner which I really like, particularly since they serve my favorite meal, breakfast, all day long.  Checking out the menu for a breakfast item, my eyes fell on this one:  Bacon, fried eggs and bubble and squeak.  What’s “bubble and squeak” I ask the waitress?  Sort of a little cake with potatoes and kale (I think she said).  I remembered for sure what it was a few days ago, but now all I remember is that it was a little fried cake that the bacon (ham) & eggs sat on and it was gooooooooood!  And, oh by the way, if you didn’t know before, “bacon” in the UK translates as “Canadian bacon” to Americans.  If you want American-style bacon, ask for “streaky bacon.”  Yum!


What A Day!


We’ve all had them, sure!  No worse when they happen to you than when they happen to someone else, but, still, frustrating!  Yesterday was one of those days.  Here is the message I was typing up to put on Facebook when I found I had no internet access:

Errrggghhh!!!!   20 min train ride & I have left my book at home. Can I just look out the window & enjoy the scenery or must I sit here & stew because of the book & the fact that I had to run to catch the train & I dressed in too many layers this morning.  My hot natured self had thought it was pretty cool last night!   Wembley stadium already?  Be there in a min. "share" "not connected to the Internet". Errgggghhhh!!!  Dadgummed iPhone!”
The rest of the story: 
Almost at work.  Last stop before mine – South Ruislip.  Just a few minutes before my stop…. Now it seems possibly it’s been too long since the train should have stopped.  Yes, indeeddy!  The train didn’t stop at my stop but went all the way to Denham!  Deboard at Denham, buy a ticket because the Oyster card doesn’t work out here.  Wait outside in the fresh air 30 minutes for the next train back, entirely happy now that I’ve dressed in too many layers.  Back on the train & 10 minutes to my stop.  No conductor checks the tickets.  I could have gotten away with not having bought a ticket (£2.50), but would that have been the right thing to do?  Yes, I believe it would.  I didn’t mean to go to Denhem.  That was a mistake.  That train should have stopped at my stop. 
Now, I’m at work and not feeling so good.  Scratchy throat, burning chest.  I believe I’ll take my achy self home, medicate and rest.  Yes, I will.  And by the way the word from the Chiltern Rail folks at Marylebone Station is that the schedule changed a few weeks ago and that train no longer stops at my stop; I need to take the train that leaves 3 minutes earlier than that one.  This I would have known sooner had I made the 7:30 train more often.
See what happens when you leave everything to the last minute?  See what happens when you forget to be thankful that you LIVE IN LONDON!!!!!!!!!


Monday, 2 November 2009

Walking Home from Marylebone Station & Stuff

Walking Home from Work
My friend Jeannette says she thinks that in years past the fan lights over front doors were used to identify the houses sort of like a numbering system (“scheme” is a more appropriate British term than “system” – a lot of schemes going on over here). I didn’t research this, so can’t swear to it. Jeannette qualified her musing with “or something like that.” Maybe there were a large number of immigrants or illiterate people for whom this system was useful. It’s an interesting notion anyway, isn’t it, to think that maybe your home was “outside edge scallop fanlight house” or “12 pane/3 row fanlight house” or something like that.

On this night as I was walking home from Marylebone station, I thought about Jeannette’s comment & decided I’d share a few fan lights with you. Would have been better pictures had more people been home, but perhaps I’ll get those fanlights another time! Most of these houses are on Gloucester (“Glouster,” of course) Place, the street that runs parallel to Baker Street. Looking down one of the connecting streets (between G & B) yields the view of the pretty white-painted, pink up-lighted, Sherlock Holmes Hotel. Maybe if I’d used my real camera and messed with the settings about 5 minutes, you’d have a prettier view of the hotel, but just work a little yourself & use your imagination!

Another side-street view shows the BT (British Telecommunications (think AT&T or Ma Bell)) tower, a well-known silhouette on the London Skyline. And high above Baker Street and my street shines the big bright blobby moon!

Now here is my street which is an alley or “mews” street between Mama Gloucester and Daddy Baker. My neighbours (guess I must have turned on “British” English at some point; my spellchecker no longer likes “neighbors”) and church friends told me that much of the area where I live was bombed out during World War II; thus for a long time, my street was a big wide vacant pavement stripped of it’s old “mews” houses until recently my (leasehold – see Portman blog post) landlord put up this row of brand new mews houses.

And what the heck is a mews you may be musing to yourself? Well, a mews is an alley or small street behind or to the side of mansions (now mostly rented flats, but Madonna’s place somewhere near here could most likely still be called a mansion) where servants lived and stables were maintained. They’re usually narrow row houses where all floors are rented as a singular unit, as opposed to a flat which is commonly one floor of an old mansion house. (A flat might be a wide as a mews house is tall!)

On the other side of my street, just before you come to my house, notice the recording studio on the right. Obviously refurbished, it’s huge round windows are reminiscent of the 60s or 70s and stand in contrast to the little neighbouring mews houses with their stable-looking garage doors. (My friend who lives near here in an authentic mews house couldn’t get her first-bought car in the garage & had to sell it & get a skinner car!)

Finally we have arrived at my house with its bright red door and when you open the door you see the very modern kitchen to the right and the very lovely soft-toned oak stairs straight ahead. I have not been able to bring myself to discard the sad pair of Clarke clogs on the steps. I do love my Clarkes. At least 10 years old, these were my second pair of Clarkes ever and apparently the heat from being shipped over here & stored in who knows how high temperatures was more than their poor soles could bear. On a recent shopping outing, I thought my feet felt airier than normal. When I looked down I saw that my poor Clarkes were yawning at me! The tops are still good and have served me so well, I may look up one of those brass plating outfits that does baby shoes & see what they can do for my beloved, trusty Clarkes!

A few more pieces of trivia. . . . 1) Oyster Card: This is what gets me to work & back daily. I “top it off” at Marylebone Station whenever it runs low & can use it instead of an individual ticket on anything that’s part of London Transit (trains, buses, tubes). 2) My coin purses: I carry two – one with American money & one with British money. If I’m going to the continent (oh, so sophisticated, now, aren’t you, country girl?) I replace the American money with Euros. 3) Electricity: This deserves its own paragraphs.

Electricity: After reading up on the electrical situation here, I got rid of all my 110V stuff except an extra sewing machine I had and a couple of things I brought inadvertently (really hard to go completely through all your stuff). So the UK surge protector has plugged into it the kind of converter you need (this particular one can be used most places worldwide) to essentially convert between the differing plug styles. You only use converters for things that already have the capability of using either 110V or 240V or anywhere in between. That big boxy looking thing you see is an actual transformer that reduces the voltage coming out of the wall to something a 110er can take. This is for short term use only, though; they say long term use will eventually eat the 110er up!

Electricity2: Notice the very nice modern, guest bathroom. How many electrical plugs do you reckon you’ll find there? To my surprise the answer was ONE AND ONLY ONE PLUG THAT CAN ONLY BE USED BY AN ELECTRIC RAZOR!!!!! Too dangerous to have electrical appliances in the bathroom. Period; end of statement. Although other countries with 240V flowing through their walls reckon that it’s not too dangerous to use a curling iron or blow dryer in the bathroom, UK knows better. After that big fire in the mid 1600s, they are taking no changes here! (p.s., that big fire is why all the buildings here are now brick.)

And here’s a bonus comment: What do you call a half bath near an entry for guests to use? Powder room? Half bath? Toilet? Loo? None of the aforementioned is correct. This room is called a cloakroom. Why, I am not sure. You may be able to hang one cloak on a door hook, maybe two, but that’s about it. Maybe it’s too unseemly to mention real function of the room to guests, requiring one to “cloak” its purpose with a more polite term.