Getting a lay of the land...but still no Halloween here...

Now being in Londres for a few weeks, I'm starting to find my way around, especially within relation to my immediate lil' 'hood, Colliers Wood, where I'm even making friends with the local shop owners. I think I made a really great decision living in this area, though to be honest, I don't even know how it came about. I suspect it started during a conversation with Julian about living "south of the river" and then moved to the option of Wimbledon and the surrounding areas within the SW19 post code, as I'd found on RightMove. Or maybe I just got desperate and took the first place I could after the one flat deal fell through last minute and I started to freak out that Star and I would be homeless wandering around Piccadilly.

In any case, Colliers Wood is a relatively unknown little pocket in South West London. One can name Tooting (just slightly north) or Wimbledon (just slightly west) as landmarks, but say Colliers Wood and you're likely to get a tilted-head, confused look, akin to Star when I pose philosophical questions to her.

There is a nice park, Wandle, just a few blocks from my flat, where dogs are allowed off the leash to run around at will. Star and I enjoy a short, leisurely walk behind the high street to get there, smiling at the quaint little row houses that line the back streets. (Well, I smile. Mainly, she just sniffs.)

While I wasn't sure how our little StarBar was going to do with this off-the-leash bit, I gave her the opportunity to try. Perhaps it's best for me not to note here that it was when I was a bit perturbed with her having ripped open the garbage all over the kitchen. "Go! Find another home, then!" I said, as I took off her leash. She looked at me quizzically (yes, tipped head), as she's never known such freedom before. A few tentative sniffs and then she was off, running around, returning back every few seconds, and sitting in front of me awaiting a head-scratch in approval.
Since then, Star has proven herself worthy of the free-run-of-the-park...and I love it. She prances and chases squirrels, all of the while not (thank goodness!) attempting to bite children. I think this is what has finally made her happy to move here.

That said, I was again none too pleased when last night she decided to jump into the river Wandle whilst playing tag with a dalmatian. Sigh. Wet, stinky dog = not fun.

I'm also loving the local pub, The Colliers Tup. It's very reminiscent of my ol' Al Mike's or even my Selwyn Pub of yesteryear. Akin to Cheers, it's a place to meet up prior to catching the tube downtown (or to Central London...whatever) or just to unwind with a couple of drinks and laugh-y conversation, where you're guaranteed to always find a smiling, familiar face, both in its staff and patrons. Love it.

Trivia question of the day: Without clicking on the 'net, what in the heck is a "tup"? Yeah, it's pretty clear from the sign. I took a survey, however, and only one of the group answered confidently. Who knew? I then learned yet another English word. This whole vocabulary change has been fun..."I don't know her from a bar of soap" was one expression used the other night. And words like "minging" (adj. "dirty") and "nick" (v. "to steal") are now starting to enter my personal lexicon...mainly 'cos I just think they sound cool.

For example, I received a ring from my downstairs buzzer on Wednesday morning. When I asked who it was, I was told, "Royal Mail for delivery." Indeed! I, little ol' Andrea, was receiving Royal Mail? How absolutely fabulous and regal I felt...

I flew down the three flights, opened the door and signed for a package from the parents. Realizing the importance of the upcoming Halloween holiday, Mom and Dad sent me the most fun of care packages, filled with candy, a spooky electric ghost candle that glows, and some other treats. Hooray! A pic is to the left, of course, where one will clearly notice that Mom has yet again won another Peeps battle. Grr...

Wait, Mom. Just you wait. I'm certain they have an English equivalent to Peeps and I will have Her Majesty's Service delivery them personally to you across the pond! (winks)

Internet access? Check! (Finally...)

I'm feelin' pretty good about this moving stuff now...almost.

I finally (!) have Internet access in my flat as of yesterday. I can't tell you how good of a feeling it is to be plugged in again to modern society. While admittedly, it was pretty awesome to work at the British Libary, the only place I found with free wi-fi in London (save for Starbucks, which I personally boycott), it was getting pricey taking the tube each day. The other bummer is that I only found out about the wireless resource last week. Sigh.
Nonetheless, the library is absolutely huge, with children's field trips wondering through on an hourly basis. Zagat calls it "a 'bibliophile's dream' which is one of the capital's 'hidden gems' and therefore 'not particularly busy.'" It's true, too. Not-exactly-hidden next to cool-o King's Cross/St. Pancras (which rises like Sleeping Beauty's castle in the background), on the day I snapped this pic, the weather was absolutely gorgeous, with a Carolina blue sky, yet surprisingly, the courtyard wasn't overflowing with businesspeople eating lunch in the sunshine.
The second floor provides a wide pathway lined with chairs for folks to power up laptops and work away. Dimly lit and quiet with a three-floor wall of books across, it's a perfect refuge in which to send off CVs and search for employment, which is my job only right now. Sigh...

Of course, even with the search for work, one must enjoy the sights of this amazing city. On Friday, Steve and I trekked downtown (which is a word that does not exist in his vernacular for Central London -- "it's just 'town,'" he told me, rolling his eyes). While we were not to step foot in Leicester Square, for fear that he'd turn to stone being with all of those (a-hem!) tourists, we did take a stop at two of my favorite city places, first stopping at Gordon's Wine Bar. I love this place. It's cave-like, offers some of the best wines ev-ah, and boasts all sorts of old newspaper clippings in frames decorating the walls. Steve said he didn't believe they were real. I begged to differ. "Look at the crease in the middle of the paper," I defended. "Of course it's authentic!"
"Now really," he reasoned, "if one were to make a reproduction of a newspaper, of course one would photoshop in a crease for it to appear genuine..." Meh.

After Gordon's, we walked down past Trafalgar to my other fun nightspot, The International. This is the place that Tracy and I hunted desperately for during the entirety of our first trip to London in May 2006, after randomly discovering it the first night of our arrival. The reason we were unable to find it? We were mistakenly told that it was called Metropolitan. Humph. Thus, every time we'd ask, "Do you know where Metropolitan is? We want to go there again!" the response was always, "Um, no -- never heard of it." The last night of that trip we coincidentally fell upon it with some locals. It was then that I learned a very important lesson: When traveling, should you come across a place you really enjoy, take a picture of the outside and its name. Sigh.

Anywho, The International boasts one of the best (read: most American) martinis that I've ever found in this city. Hooray! Added to that is its impressive Pimms drinks, served with a veritable buffet of food in the cocktail itself. Seriously. It's a cocktailer's dream.

Saturday was spent in Clapham at The Avalon for Ruth's birthday celebration. The champagne was flowing at her table and everyone was enjoying the company and the fun surroundings, which included a chain chandelier that I believe was to be in the spirit of King Arthur...Good times.

Now back to work and finding a job. Thankfully, my new sofabed will be delivered tomorrow morning, between (yikes!) 7-9 a.m. I'm oh-so-looking forward to it, as sitting on an air mattress in my front room seems incredibly Bohemian...and not in a good way.

And the ten boxes of my stuff (clothes, kitchenware, shoes)? Still not to be delivered until 27th October...if then. Argh. Five pairs of shoes is just not enough for a month's time. This rots and I desperately want to be reunited with my 78 pairs of shoe friends...

I'm becoming a Londoner...yeah, in my dreams

So...More time has passed, yet I've still no Internet access in the flat. Argh. Apparently, the same sense of urgency is just not felt here at all. I picked up a bed and a sofabed for the flat. The bed was delivered only days after the purchase (thank goodness, as that inflatable mattress was really for the birds!), and the nice man huffed and puffed it up the three flights of steps to my room. The sofabed, however, is another story. Although it was purchased more than a week ago, delivery is up to 35 days. Good times. I'm still sitting on a bathmat on the floor of my front room for my morning paper and cup o' tea...and will be until the 1st November date they've promised. Grr.

Added to this delayed fun is the fact that my ten boxes o' stuff still haven't arrived, though they cleared customs a week ago. They have to be scheduled for London delivery, which, I've been told, will take 2-3 more weeks. In the meantime, I've made good use of the tiny lil' washing machine (pictured in my kitchen) which holds two tank tops and a pair of socks if I'm lucky.

Onto the good stuff...

My first night, I went down to my local Colliers Wood pubs after Julian had left. The first one, The Standard, was very local and everyone was at rapt attention for the football (no, not NFL) game on the tvs. The second one, just yards further, is The Colliers Tup -- and it's fab. It's friendly, reasonably priced, sells nachos, and has a great beer garden ("the best in southwest London"). There I met my new friend, Steve, another Colliers Wood local...though he can't tell me for sure what a "tup" is, either.

Steve introduced me to his friends and last week, a half dozen of us went to the NBA game at the O2 arena, where the Utah Jazz and Chicago Bulls battled it out in front of a packed 17,000-fan audience. The Bulls pulled it off by one last-minute point. Fixed..? Oh, of course not...Note: English fans are not big on the yelling, screaming "wooop! woooop!" thing...

Understanding that I must be the most geographically incompetent person in the world, I set off to find the British Library, where it is rumoured to have free wi-fi access throughout. Yippee! I checked my London A-Z (that's pronounced "zed" -- not "zee" -- thank you!) and saw that it's situated right next to King's Cross/St. Pancras tube station, which is where Harry Potter catches the train for Hogwarts. (No, seriously.) It being so close, I didn't take the A-Z map book. Big mistake. I wandered around for over an hour trying to find it until I finally just gave up, found a book warehouse shop and picked up a sale book of gory fun, Underground London: Travels beneath the city streets to read over lunch at a pub. (It must be noted, however, that I did finally succeed in finding the Library, which is where I'm working on job hunting. How I missed it in the first place, I've no idea. It's huge, with lots of people milling about, and has a big "British Library" sign on it. Um...yeah.)

The funny thing about my geography incompetence is that it does not extend to pubs. Case in point: While wondering around Borough Market/Southwark area prior to meeting up for the NBA game, I very randomly came across The George, one of my favorite pubs. It's actually London's last remaining 16th century galleried coaching inn. Another one of my great pub quest stories occurred just the other night. There was a place that Phil Squirrel and I frequented, typically on the evening before I had to return back to the States. I knew it was somewhere near St. Paul's cathedral, but could never remember where...or even what the name of the pub is. Steve and I ventured out to Central London the other night, grabbing a bite of Greek food at a place on the Thames. Over dinner, I told him how desperately I wished I could find my pub, and he shrugged and said he was up for the quest. Rock on.

We stopped at a pub on the way, met up with some older, drunken rugby/business man, Frank Wright (no Lloyd), who called me attractive -- until he learned I was American. After our quick drink, we asked the pubmaster lady for a pub called The Black Friar, which magically popped into my head. "I know there's a pub called that," I told Steve, "but I don't know if it's MY pub." Sure enough, it was. Yay! And as you see in the pic on the right, we found it!

Steve proved to be a better tour guide than I'd originally thought. (Most times, it must be pointed out, I'm quite sure I know more about London than he does...and that's definitely not much!) We went up to Camden Town, the funky/punky market area where I was hoping to pick up my £1 lucky bracelets (no luck there), and then went further north and wandered through Hampstead Heath, a really pretty green park area. One of the ickies I saw, however, was a bathing area (swimming area) part of a lake that was roped off for folks to use. (See pic on right.) Ew, ew, ew. It was near the sledge-y side where the swans and geese also were swimming and I can only imagine the blue scum and algae that would eat one's skin and make one glow in the dark were one to actually jump into the lake. Indeed.

We continued through the Heath and up to Parliament Hill for the city's best view of London. It was truly magnificent. The fact that the day was crisp and blue didn't hurt, either. You can see for miles up there, including all of the familiar landmarks of the London skyline, from St. Paul's to King's Cross and, of course, the gherkin. The opposite side of the view (er, other direction...whatever...See? I said I was geographically challenged!) was this super-quaint little town, which proved too fab and inviting that we could hardly resist following through the park and into the village to see if we could find (of course) a pub. We did, in a little place called The Bull and Last. One of the things I found truly interesting herein was that the blackboard highlighting its suppliers were all UK ones. That is, this tiny island is so incredibly self-sustaining, from the beef raised nearby to the fruits, veggies, herbs (pronounced with the "h," remember), seafood, olives, vinegars, whatever. That's pretty cool, I should think. The only thing they don't have and can't get? Petrol. But really -- who in the world can? No wonder it's so costly to drive here!

Andrea in London for a week. No blog post? BAD!

After a great sendoff with my fabulous family and a last night in Huntington with Casey and some guys who were SO Brooklyn/Long Island at the local pizza place ("Ok, hold for da shot -- one, two, tree..." Um. Ok), I was ready to leave my home country...kinda. (winks)

Mom and Daddy dropped me off at JFK on Tuesday afternoon. After checking in Star, relatively uneventfully (thank goodness!), we went to the passenger terminal, where my carry on baggage was WAY too heavy (about three times the allotted amount. The young girl at the Virgin Air counter was rather helpful, asking if I could transfer some to my (also too heavy) checked luggage. She seemed much more forgiving after seeing the Chelsea Handler book that Susie had given me for the flight. "Oh! I read that! It's great!" hehe...

Mom, Dad and I had a lovely drink together at the caviar bar in the airport. Once done, it was time to say our sad goodbyes...wait -- they're not "goodbyes," they're "till laters"...

Mom was a little bit tearful, Dad was a bit consoling and I was a bit excited. It's definitely not the last time I'll be in New York, of course!

My flatmate for the flight was a 27-year old rugby player/fireman (er, that is, officer of the fire brigade). He was absolutely huge and fun to talk to and told me to look him up if I'm ever in York. Um...ok.

Julian was awaing my arrival as planned, and we took my HUGE three suitcases and somehow miraculously fit them into his ol' skool Mini (none of that big-new-Mini-Cooper stuff here!). Of course, Star still had yet to fit in, too. Now that proved to be a bit of another challenge. She squashed in amongst the baggage and we were off. (This was, it must be noted, after we'd driven around in circles for nearly an hour trying to find the Animal Reception Centre. Sigh.)

I met Lewis, obtained my flat keys and we were off to see my first London flat. It's phenom and fab...and I love it. Bright, right on the High Street, great bedroom view (a la Oliver Twist or Sound of Music chimney sweeps or something). It's awesome.

Here are a few pics of the view...
The first three are looking from my living room window, then up and down the street. Please do note my fabulous photographic timing in getting the traditional red bus in the shot, thank you!

After getting my uber-heavy luggage up the three flights of stairs, Julian and I went to Sainsbury's to pick up household goods I'd need "straightaway." I picked up cheap plates, towels, glasses, etc. and also some groceries. It's really convenient to have this place up the street. It's like a Super Target, really -- clothes, groceries, home goods, camping equipment, whatever. There's also a huge Marks & Spencer attached, but I didn't go in there...a bit too pricey for my cheap blood at the moment. Sigh. Maybe once I have a job, pray tell..? (winks)

To celebrate my arrival and my newfound digs, Julian took me to Wimbledon, a quick trip up on the 151, 200, 57 buses. We, of course, opted for his car, so we could take Star to a pub with a beer garden. It was lots of fun and it really hit me during a jaunt to the bathroom (I know -- that sounds odd) that for the first time in my life, I don't have to leave in just a week. Like, I'm here for awhile. Of course, Julian then noted that means about 1,000 days, and that I should begin counting them down now. Oh, what fun to have a cynic as a friend. (winks)

We went back to my flat after having a quick spot of food and opened up the newly-purchased Sainsbury's champagne in my flat to celebrate. It really felt as though I've arrived, and I'm not even yet doing what I want to be (e.g. working, living, exploring). That all comes next -- and now -- as I begin to network, look and apply for jobs, try to get a bank account and Internet access within my flat, etc. Truth be told, it's been more overwhelming than I'd imagined. I don't know why I figured this would all be sorted out in just a few days' time, but that's so not seemed to be the case, sadly enough. I feel very unconnected to the outside world (where's my Twitter and iPhone?!?) and have limited use of phone/Internet. Ugh...It hurts for this chick who likes techno fun...


I'll of course write more about my first week's experiences soon (tomorrow?) but just must now find some more pounds -- the currency, not the weight -- to sort out more time at the Internet cafe. This stuff can get very pricey!

I've been overwhelmed, by the way, of the many good wishes and notes from my friends, and am so lucky I've got such great people behind me, supporting this move...most especially my parents. God love 'em for helping me as much as they have! Ah, again -- what would we do without the love and support of fabulous family and wonderful friends?

If anyone wants to reach me, by the way, you can call my new UK mobile. Love, love!

The clock strikes one...and I'm nearly gone.

It's nearly 1 a.m. right now in NY. In about 12 hours, Star and I will be heading out to JFK to catch our flight.

I've been saying my buh-byes to family and friends all weekend, including a fab sauerbraten dinner (thanks, Mom!) on Sunday with the too-fun-for-words tante, cousins, brother and family and, of course, my dear, sweet parents, without whom this would not be possible. The kindness and generosity of my family absolutely overwhelmed me. (Yeah, the cake from Craig and Schmoopie says "Good luck, Andi. London or bust" and was made of the most sinful of chocolates. Yum-mee.)

Tonight was my last Mexican fiesta in the States for awhile. One of the things that will utterly kill me is the lack of Mexican food in England. Aww. C'mon, guys. No chile rellenos? No chimichangas? And no, the fake stuff just doesn't cut it...In preparation for the food drought, Craig and Lauren had us over for wine and (really awesome) burritos this evening. Again, yum...Should I really be wondering why my pants are fitting so tightly?! Argh.

The 'rents and I returned home following the quick monsoon and began packing the two huge suitcases. What fun: upon learning yesterday that Virgin allows me two checked bags and a nice-sized carry-on, Mom and I ran out to pick up another large suitcase. How we get these (plus me, plus Star) into Julian's Mini is beyond me. Pics will be taken and uploaded, I assure you, as it's sure to be a sight. Besides, visibility in a vehicle is overrated anyway...Best tweet response ever to my shopping purchase? Julian's "Worried by proliferating suitcase situation." (Giggle.)

Ah, and Daddy has now received instructions (albeit speedy/blabbering ones) on how to transfer cassette to CD, using this adapter thing. One of his intended transfers to digital? A few tracks in which he's singing four parts of harmony. My fave uncle had recorded it many moons ago, laying down each track on top of the other to create a four-part Daddy chorus. Cool stuff.

Anywho, things are packed. Star's docs are ready. I'm, I guess, ready, too. The thing is, I don't feel like I'm going anywhere. That is, after nearly two decades of living in the Queen City, it's as though Star and I are just returning there tomorrow...not moving across an ocean to begin a life in a completely different country. I'm not quite sure when it will all hit me, but surely it should sometime, no?

Family makes dreams achievable

Amidst reflecting on the last post, and, admittedly, continuing to watch the History Channel on September 11 events, I received a notification that Beth is following me on Twitter. Who knew she was on Twitter? And who knew that not only is she on Twitter, but she's tweeted more than I? Aww...Mental note: look/read/examine before one writes a tweet...sigh.

I tweeted back my surprise and noted that she must now link her blog with her tweets so that we'd all know when she posted a new entry. Of course, with my ADD, I again had to look up her blog once more to see if there were anything else I'd missed. I went through an ex-pat site to find her blog link (yeah, I know, I should be able to manipulate Google better than that). Perhaps it was something I needed to see...akin to the guy who bought my car who said perhaps he had a message I needed to hear. ("You can do this!" he exclaimed.)

The quote under her username?
"Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it."

I sent it to my parents, as my mother has been collecting inspiring dream quotes for me of late, lest I worry that I'm truly making a mistake of gigantic proportions...which sometimes I admit I wonder. ("Please don't let me kill my dog with the flight.") That led me to -- again, keep up with my ADD world -- the conversation I had last weekend with Mom and Dad...

(Wayne's World thing where we go back in time...do-do-do-do music, please)

Mom: Well, it's important to follow your dreams, and if you need help, we're here to help.
Daddy: (almost sternly) Yes, your mother and I feel very strongly about this. You need to do this, if this is what you want. We completely support you in your decision.

How am I so lucky to have such a phenomenal family? It makes me smile -- Mom wants me to do this move for its adventurousness (um...that's not really a word, is it? Wait -- it is!), which is exactly her spirit and influence. Daddy wants me to do it because he's always gone after what he wants toward success, both professionally and personally; that's his spirit and influence. And me? I think I inherited both sides from them and am absolutely astounded that I am as lucky as I am to be born into the family I was. When one has so much support and love, how could one ever not chase one's dreams..?

In a dozen days (or daze?) I'm leaving the Queen City world I've known forever (okay, for a decade and a half) to travel the world in search of happiness...or, at least, some successful adventure. This trying effort that has nearly driven me mad in the past few months will be worth it, whether I stay for six weeks or six years...or else.

Besides...Who ever really knows on which path one finds oneself?

Eight years later, it's still a difficult day

Today is September 11. Throughout the entire world, everyone remembers the tragedies of the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and the doomed PA flight. Just like everyone else, I can never forget this day.

Yes, I was here in Charlotte. Yes, my parents were traveling then. Yes, my sister and brother were nowhere near the city. Thus, I didn't have to worry about my immediate family (though my cousin was right near the Pentagon that day). Nonetheless, it still hits me hard...every year...without fail.

I find it always the case that on September 11 I remain at home, watching the inevitable shows on the History Channel which replay the timeline and footage from the horrific event. I don't know if it's some sort of patriotism I feel, whether it's astonishment at the courage shown by so many that day in their heroic efforts, or the sorrow for the victims and, probably more so, the families of the victims who think of their loved ones daily. I suspect it's all of that and more I've yet to identify.

Earlier this evening, I was linked to a YouTube clip from David Letterman's show, the first following the tragedy (Sept. 17). He appears on the verge of breaking down and gives huge kudos to Rudy Giuliani for being such a good leader. He explains how he felt it so imperative to return to work, as Giuliani had said. For if we didn't try to return to our lives, he knew -- we all knew -- they would have won.

Fark, too, recognized the historic importance of today and linked to the original postings during the event. The last post listed, from Corporate Mofo, notes, "This is Ken's roommate. He is currently stuck downtown in the midst of a bomb threat on the Empire State Building. A suspicious packaged believed to be a bomb has been found. He will update you when he makes it back to the apartment." One wonders if Ken made it back all right. We can only hope.

Yes, this day affects me greatly every year. It's not just because I'm a NYer (still, and always, at heart). It's not just because of the victims that I knew. I think it's because it reminds us that we're all in this together. I remember a few things incredibly vividly from that day: awaiting responses from my friends up there, the rose that my then-boyfriend sorrowfully brought over to me, praying in a church here in Charlotte with a friend that evening. But really, I remember the sense of togetherness, patriotism, and determination that we all felt following the attacks, and how truly strong and united our States felt.

Now, eight years later, I sit here and begin to wonder, have we lost that all..? Or have we forgotten, though we promised we never would?