July Recap

I'm a bit behind on my blogging, so here's a quick recap of July adventures.


Spooner was here for a couple of days -- days that had to be the hottest and muggiest on record. To beat the heat, we drove up to North Adams to Mass MoCA. It's sort of a tradition that we go every summer that Spooner is stateside. There was the usual range of exhibitions -- some really cool, some creepy, and some that just left us scratching our heads. More photos here.

ScribeGirl also blew into town on part of a whirlwind roadtrip to New England (optimistically thinking it would be cooler here -- if just marginally so -- than in North Carolina). We drove up to Turners Falls, an old industrial village with a canal and factories dating from the 19th century. Blue skies, puffy white clouds, a bit of a breeze, and industrial decay -- all perfect ingredients for a photo ramble. We picked up a map at the Great Falls Discover Center and followed the historic walking tour. Photos here.

This just in from London

Image by ☞ John McNab via Flickr

Spooner sent me a most excellent postcard of the Obamas and the Queen. It's this photo, but they've wisely cropped the Duke out of the postcard because he looks sneaky and too much like Klaus von Bulow.

I've booked my next trip to the UK (in September, so that I can do Open House Weekend again). Apparently, Spooner will be moving before then. I'll miss Primrose Gardens -- I'll either have to learn to like his new patch (wherever that turns out to be) or I'll have to stay with the nuns at the women's hostel in Belsize Park. Hmmmmmm....

The Eagle has Landed

Hey Mates! I arrived in London at 7 a.m. this morning and walked in the door of Spooner's house at 10. A long but uneventful trip. After taking a quick nap and shower, I headed into town to meet one of my Flickr mates at the Royal Academy of Arts to see "From Russia," an amazing exhibition of French and Russian masters, mostly impressionist and post-impressionist, from the Russian collections (i.e. stuff that was in private hands until the Russian Revolution when the state seized it all). Virtually none of this stuff has been out of Russia since, and Putin almost didn't let it out for the exhibition.


Afterwards, we walked up to Newman Street to see the newest Banksy. It's fab.


Then, I came back to Belsize Park and did some shopping -- soap (forgot mine, don't like Spooner's), cello tape (for wrapping prezzies), the essential HobNobs, and some cake for Spooner's birthday. Prezzies are now wrapped and he should be home any minute.

Tomorrow, Islington (weather permitting).

Pssssst. Don't tell Spooner!

I'm not taking any Zud to London on this trip. I've got other stuff for Spooner.

Brilliant!

What a difference a year makes. This year's arrival day was a complete 180 from last year's -- the key worked in the lock on the first try, not a drop of rain, and I had a pal to meet up with so I didn't have to wander around in a disoriented and jetlagged state all by myself. After a nap and a shower, I met one of my Flickr mates in St Pancras Churchyard, then we went to the British Library and the Wellcome Collection. No trouble figuring out the bus, didn't get lost, had a good time -- couldn't be better. Saturday and Sunday were equally brilliant days. Spooner and I went to Kew Gardens on Saturday to see the Henry Moore sculptures. They looked fab in the natural setting, but after walking around and looking at over 20 of them, I had to say "No more Moore. Let's get snacks." We had tea at a very old-timey English tea room, where Spooner and I argued about how to use silverware (he's trying to learn how to eat like a Brit, i.e. use his knife to shovel food onto the back of his fork.) I tried to tell him that his ancestors left the persecution and damp of this isle so that he could grow up in freedom and eat like an American. We covered large sections of the East End on Sunday -- Bunhill Fields, Shoreditch, Brick Lane area, and eventually the Isle of Dogs. We saw a ton of street art, walked through Columbia Road Flower Market, looked at the old Huguenot houses in Princelet and Fournier Streets, found El Chivo and Banksy graffiti in dark alleys, bought stuff at UpMarket, took the DLR to West India Quay, went to the Museum in the Docklands, and came home exhausted. All along the way, I saw things that I'd seen in pictures in Guess Where London -- it was really freaky to see things I knew, but had never seen in real life, and I even often remembered who took the photo. Now it's Monday morning and Spooner has gone off to work, leaving me on my own for the whole day. It's cloudy and damp for the first time since I got here -- much more like what I expect of London weather. I'm heading to Kensington today to go to the V&A and to walk through Holland Park. Tonight is the meet up at a pub in Waterloo with the rest of my Flickr mates. I'm really psyched to be meeting them. Hope they like the gifties from America.

An Unresolved Journey

I had a bit of a problem with my Oyster card today. As Spooner would say, I "didn't understand the system." I knew how to use it on the Tube: when you enter the station, you tap the Oyster card on the yellow touch pad at the front of the cattle shoot. The gate then opens and a screen tells you how much money you have left on your card and/or how much will be debited for this journey. In order to leave the station at your destination, you must tap your card at the exit cattle shoot/gate. If you transfer to a different line at a station, you don't have to touch your card. You only use it when you enter or leave a station.

So, I had no problem taking the Jubilee line to Canary Wharf. It was my transfer to the Docklands Light Rail to go down to Greenwich where I got screwed up. I got off the tube and followed the signs to the DLR, assuming this would be like other transfers, but before I knew it I was going through a cattle shoot and I was outside. The signs to the DLR pointed me through a plaza, across the street and down a block. When I entered the DLR station, I looked for a cattle shoot but didn't see one. Signs pointed to an up escalator, so up I went and found myself on the platform. Thinking something wasn't right and maybe my Oyster couldn't be used here, I went back downstairs to look for a ticket agent, but there was just a ticket dispenser machine with nearly incomprehensible instructions and some indication that Oyster cards were okay on the DLR. Back up the escalator to the track, where the train was arriving and I got on.

When I reached Greenwich, I saw a sign that said that failure to tap Oyster card when entering and exiting would result in a £20 fine. Yikes! Then I saw the yellow Oyster tap pad mounted on the wall. I tapped and I exited.

Periodically as I walked miles and miles, uphill and down, around and through Greenwich and the park, I worried about my Oyster card and whether I'd be stopped as I tried to get on the return train. Worse yet, I worried that I'd be alright today but would be docked the £20 when I took the tube to Heathrow at the crack of dawn tomorrow. Maybe I could get Spooner to switch Oysters with me, so he'd get stuck with any fine when he next used the card. This probably isn't a realistic plan.

Dead tired, I got back on the DLR in Greenwich at around 4 p.m. and was thrilled that no alarms sounded when I tapped my card to enter. Exiting the DLR station on the other side of the Thames, I then noticed at least half a dozen wall-mounted tap pads that I must have walked right past on the way in this morning. Still mildly worried about the whole thing when I entered the Canary Wharf tube station, I saw a ticket window with a real person and decided I should get over any of my usual shyness and ask for assistance.

"I think I did something wrong with my Oyster card," I told him. I explained that I'd missed a tap on my DLR ride.

He read my card and said, "Yes. It seems you have an unresolved journey. I'll take care of that. No extra money will be taken off your card."

Whew! I got on the tube and rode to St. John's Wood where I met Spooner.

My journey on the DLR may have been temporarily unresolved, but I'd say that, on the whole, my trip to London has been fully resolved. I've done nearly everything on my high priority list (the Pearly Harvest Festival, Brighton, a few new markets, some Banksy sightings, dinner with Jamie H-B), and much of my medium priority list (Charles Dickens' house, a return to Frognal in search of the house with topiaries, a few new museums). I've had some favorite Brit foods (fish and chips, Indian take-away, tuna and sweet corn sandwich) and found some excellent new ones (Wagamama noodle dishes, veg burgers at Red Veg, veg pie and mushy peas, HobNobs digestive biscuits). I took a ton of pix, some of them pretty good. And I got around just fine on my own, despite my little Oyster screw up.

A Gift from America

Spooner Marley Holmes receives the offering of Zud, a most powerful substance brought from the States. He is wearing his Marley's Ghost scarf knitted by moi and examining the Zud through the magnifying glass he purchased when we went to Portobello Road Market.

"You can never have too much Zud"

That's what Spooner says, so at his request I'm taking a can of Zud to him in London. Mind you, when he was here in July, we went to the one hardware store that sells it so that he could stock up (see Adventures in Spoonerland). I suggested two cans, but he only bought one. I don't know if he's hording it or if he goes through it really quickly because he cleans the tub after every shower. "Out, out, damn lime scale!"

Rosenbeans says, "Pack your underwear in a mesh pouch. You don't know whose hands will be going through your luggage when they inspect it." I've done that. And, at her suggestion, I didn't just throw a handful of Tampax in my bag, but put them in a zip lock baggie instead.

I've taken a picture of my packed suitcase, but Blogger won't let me upload it right now. I'll try that again later.

Other things you might be wondering about: The plumber came today and installed my new kitchen faucet. It's the kind with the faucet and the sprayer integrated into one unit (the sprayer pulls out). Where the old sprayer used to be, there is now a liquid soap dispenser. Fabulous! As for the toilets, they still run intermittently, but I'm content to just jiggle the handle when they do. Sadie is cured of her most recent UTI. Her second urine sample was all within normal limits and she was, for the most part, a good girl about having antibiotic liquid squirted into her mouth twice a day for three weeks. That second urine sample was really hard to get. I pleaded with her for 13 or 14 hours to pee on the plastic liner in her litter box before she finally gave it up. That's probably way more than you wanted to know.

Adventures in Spoonerland

Posted Tuesday: There's a story here, but I'm too exhausted right now to write about it. Stay tuned. Meantime, look at the Flickr page for pix of our Holyoke Canal and Chesterwood adventures.
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Updated Wednesday: I've now had a day of R&R, including swimming, lounging and cocktails, so I'm ready to tell the tale of Spooner's last day in the Tofu Valley.

We took his laptop, with the new airport card, down to the Haymarket so that he could get online and find a rental car. The car places in town wouldn't rent one way, with drop-off at Logan, so he reserved a car at Hertz in West Springfield for pickup that afternoon. While we were online, we set up a Flickr account for him (screen name = exspatula).

That done, we did various errands in Noho. We went to the hardware store where he purchased two cans of Zud. Apparently this cleanser is uniquely powerful enough to tackle the lime scale that adheres to any surface touched by tap water in the UK. When Molly and I went to London to visit Spooner two years ago, we each had to take a can of Zud in our carry-on bag. The expressions on the faces of the two baggage inspector women as they looked at the Zud, at each other, then at us, were priceless.

Next stop was the storage facility at the Industrial Park. I love watching Spooner open the door and set his eyes on some crap that he hasn't seen in the past year. "Look, it's my _________!" Even though he threatens repeatedly to take a match to the whole pile, he always finds something that he just can't live without and must take back to the UK with him. Last year it was pots and pans and a kitchen scale. This time, the first thing he spied was his Webber grill. He pulled it out from under some old boots and picture frames and said he could really use it in London.

"What? They don't have grills in the UK? Can't you buy one there?" I asked.

"Yes, but not like this one. And I already own this one."

Sanity prevailed and the grill went back into the storage unit. But the carpenter's level and the vintage tin Rainbo Bread sign went into the MINI.

Back at my house, the packing commenced. Spooner rounded up all his stuff from upstairs and added it to the pile in the living room. Not only did he have the things he flew over with -- laptop, external drive, camera, books, clothing -- but he now had the things he had acquired at the factory outlets and the crap -- er, I mean precious stuff -- that he had pulled from various storage spots around Massachusetts: the John Lennon-esque portrait of himself done by a former student, some photo albums, and a salad spinner.

"What? They don't have salad spinners in the UK? Can't you buy one there?"

"Yes, but not like this one. And I already own this one."

The photo albums and the salad spinner disappeared into my cellar where they joined his other precious possessions, packed three years ago into boxes labeled "Treasures" and "For Future Antiques Roadshows." The other stuff, including the portrait, carpenter's level, Rainbo Bread sign, his new Randy Deihl painting and 3 bottles of some nasty Magner's cider, went into the MINI. We headed off to West Springfield so that he could pick up the car. That's when the nightmare began. Long story short: Hertz wouldn't let him put the car on his debit/credit card because they said it was a debit card even though it is both debit and credit. I could rent the car and put him on as the second driver, but he'd have to pay for insurance and that would bring the cost (highway robbery) up to $400+ for 3 days. Fuck that.

We activated Plan B, which involved him taking the Peter Pan bus to Newton where his friend Jen would pick him up and drive him to pal Steve's in Billerica. In the parking lot of the bus station in Springfield, we pulled all the stuff out of the car and consolidated. It was quite amazing to watch the bottles of cider, can of smoked almonds, books and whatnot disappear into his suitcase and backpack. When it was all done, three things were coming back to Northampton with me: the Rainbo Bread sign, the carpenter's level, and the portrait of himself.

That's the story.

Over the Andes to Peru

I should have handed him the keys to the MINI. Instead, when Spooner suggested that we drive back to Northampton via a different route, I gave him the book of maps of western Mass.

The drive to the Berkshires had been normal -- a gentle uphill climb on the Mass Pike, exiting at Lee to hit the factory outlets, then an easy cruise through Stockbridge, ending up at Chesterwood where we saw the contemporary sculpture exhibit. We had fun pretending to be all artsy-fartsy with our cameras. There weren't many people on the sculpture walk in the woods, so no one looked at us like we were crackers.

It was the return trip that quickly got hairy. Spooner thought it would be good to go through Becket to Washington. He navigated, and I turned left onto Summit Hill Road and suddenly found myself driving up a very steep hill, like a 50 or 60 degree angle.

"You didn't tell me we were going over a fucking MOUNTAIN. How long are we on this road? The sign said 'Summit.' Are we at the summit yet?"

"Stop your bellyaching. Do you want me to drive?"

"No. That would mean I'd have to stop. I'm not stopping on this hill. No way."

We went through Washington, turned onto Washington Road and crossed the line into Peru.

"Is this the Andes? Where's the continental divide? When is it downhill to Northampton?"

"You're perseverating. It's the Berkshires -- you know, the Berkshire Mountains. Just keep driving."

We were on East Washington Road for a while and then turned onto Smith Road, for no good reason other than that Spooner's last name is Smith. It was a gravel road, the steepest road yet, wide enough for the MINI but that's about it.

"'Road Closed.' Did you see that sign? What are we going to do? I can't turn around."

"That's only in the winter. We're almost to Peru Center. Just keep driving."

In Peru Center, we got onto Route 143, a proper state road with lane lines. Next came Worthington, which looked like a real town, and Chesterfield with a traffic light! And at last we were going downhill.

"Where's the sandwich shop? You promised me a sandwich shop in Washington. I still haven't seen one."

"We're almost to Williamsburg. You'll know the way from there. Just keep driving."

We finally got to Burgy, and I did indeed know the way but there was still no sandwich shop. We stopped instead at Mad House Minis to look at all the old Astin and Morris Minis that they're restoring. My MINI had been very brave on this mad adventure, braver than I. From now on, I'm hiding the map book.