Serves You Right

For some time now the Hub has been telling me that I am becoming more and more English culturally. But it's hard to know. These changes happen so slowly sometimes. When you grow up somewhere you often really identify strongly with the beliefs and attitudes of that culture. And I think (and hope) that the American tenaciousness and optimism will never leave me.

But the other day I had a moment when I thought: I cannot believe I just did that. I cannot believe that I have done such an about face.

To understand what happened you need to know the background.

During my first year here (in 2002), the World Cup was on. And it was happening in Japan and South Korea so there were matches on during the day U.K. time. My editor and I were out in the City at meetings, discussing derivatives, because that was the very fun subject I covered at the time. And after one meeting we popped into a pub to watch some football and eat lunch.

We ordered our lunch and waited. And waited. I guess it was really busy. It was the World Cup after all.

There were two women sitting near us, who had come in after us, and I noticed that they surprisingly got served their food before us. As I watched them -- because I was very hungry -- I noticed they were looking at their plates in a sort of puzzled manner. But they picked up their forks and started eating anyway.

I waved the waiter over, because of course I had an inkling that they had been served our food. After all, it was what we had ordered. There was a kerfuffle and the waiter realized his mistake. I cannot actually remember how it all got sorted out, but it did, and eventually we got our lunch.

But I was enraged. I ranted and raved at my editor. How could someone just eat food that wasn't theirs? How would you not say anything if you had been served something you hadn't ordered?

Well. The other day I was having lunch with an old friend. I ordered a tartine with parma ham and mozarella. And then I changed my mind. I told the waitress, hang on, actually I wanted the smoked chicken one instead. She wrote it down and off she went, as we went back to catching up and having a great chat.

When our food arrived the waitress served me a tartine with parma ham and mozarella. I looked at it and shrugged. It looked good anyway. And I didn't feel like it was nice to point out her mistake. It was certainly not going to make any real difference to me what I ate that day.

When we had finished our meal, the waitress came over and started apologizing profusely. She had realized her mistake and was very worried. I told her it was not a big deal, that my lunch was delicious and joked that maybe that was what I really wanted all along anyway. And then when she was gone I told my friend the story I have just told you.

English people eat what they are served. Happily. It's a good way to live, I think. I guess if you have a food allergy it's a different case. Or if the mistake had involved seafood it would have been a different story (I hate fish & seafood). But it didn't. She gave us a 10% discount, which was nice, but really I didn't care. I was just happy I didn't ruin her day by getting her in trouble in some way for a mistake that anyone could have made.

It's just funny how much people really can change.

Photo credit: frederic.gombert Holidays ambiance via photopin (license)

0

The Great Applesauce Mystery

There is a lot of debate among my family and friends back home about whether or not my accent has changed in the many, many years I've lived in the U.K. My 15-year anniversary in this country is coming up at the end of this month, so it's amazing that I've retained as much of an American accent as I have. I often do get congratulated by people here that I still sound "American". I'm not sure how else to sound, but I am secretly pleased to not have developed a transatlantic affectation.

But the vocabulary that I use, that certainly has changed. In my view, there are at least three levels to usage of the words in U.K. parlance.

The first are the words that every American knows. Included in this category are words like lift (elevator), chips (fries), petrol (gas), car boot (trunk), loo or toilet (restroom).

Then comes round two. The everyday words that you would just never know from watching movies. But it's useful when you live in a place to know things like kitchen roll (paper towels), loo roll (toilet paper), washing-up liquid (dish soap), cling film (saran wrap), crisps (potato chips), pound shop (dollar store) and of course, bin (garbage can).

There are also colloquialisms that you have to learn. Bad neighborhoods are "dodgy". If you "table" something you put it on the table, not off. Not to mention "quite". This is the trickiest of them all. Americans use "quite" to mean "very" whereas Brits actually mean not-so-much.

If someone says this blog post is "quite good" it means: it was O.K., I guess.

So far, so good. But for me, there was one mystery that I just couldn't solve. It took me over 10 years to figure this one out:

What do the Brits call applesauce?

You see, in the U.K. there is something called apple sauce. You buy it in a small jar in the supermarket and it's a sweet sauce you might dip your pork into. But it's not like American applesauce. I kept looking for jars of Mott's at the store and couldn't find anything like them. And when I would ask people what it was called here they just looked at me blankly and said "apple sauce?".

But it wasn't the same thing. Eventually I just kind of gave up. I also realized that I never ever saw anyone eating it anywhere.

And then, one day, my in-laws were trying to get us to take excess apples home from their orchard. They had had a bountiful year. My father-in-law casually mentioned that he had been making a big batch of stewed apples. I said, "what do you mean? what is that?" thinking, oh my God, he's talking about applesauce! And he was. I couldn't believe it.

Mystery solved. I knew I married the Hub for a reason.

Photo credit: wayneandwax 1st applesauce 2014 # via photopin (license)

2

Your Choice: Burn Or Freeze?

I've had a reader question: Why in so many places in the U.K. (and in Ireland) are the hot and cold taps still separate?

Or precisely how she put it: How do people wash their hands in these double faucets? It's so annoying. I'm constantly burning or freezing my hands by accident. 

I told her I'd investigate it and write a post. She told me to call it: "Burn. Freeze. Not Cool."

I do see her point. And I've been here for so long that I hadn't even noticed recently how often I wash my hands in cold water -- and not just in old Victorian houses like mine, but in recently refurbished upscale gastro pubs. So why are they still installing separate hot and cold taps? 

The historical reason is that Victorian houses had open water tanks to heat for the hot supply, so they could be contaminated by rats (ew) or even dust particles or mold. The only water that was safe for drinking was the cold water, attached to the main water supply. Therefore, the two could not be mixed. 

That, my friends, is no longer the case. From someone who owns a Victorian house, I have yet to find evidence of this open water tank somewhere. But yet, as you can see from the picture above of our upstairs bathroom, the people who lived in the house before us installed two separate taps in a refurb done sometime between 2000 and 2014. (For the record, our downstairs bathroom and the kitchen sink both have mixer taps.)

I think there are two reasons why. The first is just a matter of taste. Because this is the way sinks traditionally looked, there is a desire for this kind of retro look. In a lot of pubs and restaurants the taps even have those old porcelain hubs at the center that say "hot" and "cold" and do look pretty cool. 

The second is that this just falls into the camp of the way things are done here or maybe "people can get used to just about anything." It's similar to the fact that barely anyone in the U.K. uses a dryer for their clothes. Most people hang them on drying racks. This really drove me batty at first -- what sense does it make to hang up your clothes to dry in the what is possibly the dampest country on Earth? But now I don't even think twice about it and I have even been brainwashed into thinking it's actually better for my clothes.

When I asked the Hub about the taps, he didn't see why there was any problem with washing your hands in cold water. He said the only time he used our hot water at the sink was to shave. 

And then he gave me his reason: energy efficiency. For some reason he thinks the Brits are just really green. I'm not totally convinced. I think this is a rationalization of the fact that this is just the way things are done. People -- and countries too -- seem to be creatures of habit. (Well, except when it comes to staying part of the EU apparently.)

This conversation started making me really nervous. The Hub seemed way too comfortable with cold water usage. I just hope he doesn't get any crazy ideas about limiting our use of hot water even further -- I am not a fan of cold showers. 

0

Summertime

Summer is fast approaching and these days I really do try to embrace the English summer. With my bright green summer coat (if you are an expat and still find dressing for the English summer baffling, read this) and summer scarves, I am now ready to spend time outside.

I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts the other day and the idea of designing your summer was floated. The concept: to mark your summer in a different way. Take on a new activity, schedule your days differently. You get the idea.

This really appealed to me. Living in the U.K. one is highly aware summer is different, mostly because the days seem to stretch on forever. You will also know because there is much discussion over whether or not we will 'have' a summer, which still baffles me to some extent. Summer comes whether or not the English think it was hot enough.

Designing my summer seems to jive with my zen approach to the English weather, which is to be prepared for any kind of temperature and don't get disappointed if what you expect doesn't happen. Instead, mark your summer in other ways. 

For me, this means making an attempt to do more outdoorsy stuff with the Hub, like golf and bike riding. I do really like these activities once I am doing them, but like most introverted writers (I think?) I am a bit of a homebody. (Strangely enough I actually feel more compelled to go outside in the winter here, to catch a glimpse of sunlight when it's so scarce. My winter walks seem much more important.)

Other ways I plan to enjoy this summer? Eat more English berries. Last night's cheesecake at dinner was topped with strawberries and it reminded me of the outstanding quality of fresh berries here. Replacing most of my desserts over the next few months with fresh strawberries, raspberries and blueberries sounds like an excellent idea. And must not forget to make some blueberry muffins at least once.

Which brings me to eating generally in summer. I love eating (and drinking) outside, and need to find ways to do more of this. When out for lunch or dinner, I will be more gung ho about sitting outside, even if it's not that hot -- why else do I have my summer coat? 

When it comes to home life, we are not planning on doing too much to our garden this year as the kitchen extension is in the works (the architect is drawing up plans as we speak), but one thing we have discussed is at least putting in a swing chair -- like a porch swing without a porch -- at the end of the garden. Although we never manage to actually eat dinner outside, I would love to be able to sit out there with the Hub on late summer evenings chatting with maybe even a G&T in hand. 

And then there's the sacred holiday. We are taking a lesson from the French this year and taking a huge amount of time off in August for an epic Stateside trip to see many friends and family. Planning our summer holiday, including packing and all the other admin involved is definitely a way I mark my summers. There's nothing I enjoy more than the anticipation of the holiday. It's all part of the joy for me. 

It's funny that even though our modern world requires us to work all year round and everything seems 24/7 that we still view the world through the lens of the current season. We are physical beings affected by the temperature, the light and the rhythm of the natural world. We shouldn't forget that and actually take some time to enjoy it. 

Photo credit: Empty Swing via photopin (license)
Photo credit: Ovocný trh market via photopin (license)

0

Hamburger Helper

When I first moved to London, my flat mate Emma and I would spend hours talking about the differences in language between our two countries. Both being countries, in which, allegedly, the same language is spoken.

I've lived here for so long now that I don't really notice the differences as much anymore. I speak 'English' English more often than not (as opposed to 'American' English), writing 'loo roll' on the shopping list and always using 'trousers' to describe those things you wear on your legs. I don't even realize anymore when a word or phrase isn't said in America.

"What does 'dodgy' mean?" one American friend said to me.

But then, sometimes there's still a comical language moment. This happened recently in the context of discussing 'Hamburger Helper'. I was watching an American T.V. show with a friend when a box of the 1980s instant cooking mixture was shown.

"What is 'Hamburger Helper' anyway?" she asked.

I tried to explain that it was a powder alongside dried noodles that you add to mince meat to make it into a different kind of dish.

"There are different flavors," I tried to explain the mysterious food, and it was much harder than I thought it would be. "I think there's an Italian one that's supposed to taste like lasagna."

She looked at me blankly.

"So what does it have to do with hamburgers?"

And then I realized the confusion. Americans often call ground beef (mince meat to Brits) hamburger meat, sometimes even shortening it to 'hamburger'. So a product that is marketed to Americans using the word 'hamburger' would also bring up connotations of the meat used to make a hamburger, as well as the completed sandwich itself.

Whereas to Brits, the word 'hamburger' means only one thing: the alleged main staple of the American diet.

By the by, whenever we do have a barbecue, guests are often shocked that I make my own burgers. They don't realize how easy it is. So here's another use of the phrase 'Hamburger Helper' -- it can refer to me if you want a lesson in how to make your own burgers from scratch.

Photo credit: slider bar madness : hamburger macro, upper market street, san francisco (2013) via photopin (license)

0

The Iconic Red Phone Box

I've been thinking a lot about my first year living in London as I work on my book based on this experience. There was a very sad episode (which has definitely made it into the book), that took place on the Fourth of July during that first year.

It involved a call home to my family, who were all gathered together at our lake house, and they passed the phone around to all say hello to me. By the time the phone made it to my Uncle Doug, who I think was the last person to come to the phone, I was hysterically crying. But the weirdest part of this story is that I made the call from a red phone box with a calling card because I was at a party that day -- in Richmond, of all places. (It was this century, I promise.) 

So you can imagine my shock when during last week's bank holiday weekend the Hub and I took our new bikes to Richmond for a ride along the river, and on our way back, right before we crossed over Richmond bridge, I stumbled on what I think was that phone box, right in front of me. It must have been one of the ones that got saved -- it's so rare to actually see them these days. 

And I had just been reading that scene that very morning, even though I had written in months ago. Talk about foreshadowing.

If you had told me back then, when I was on the phone crying, that my future self would eventually be riding by and would no longer feel like the loneliest person in the world, I would not have believed you. 

It made me think about the way life works like that. When you're down in the dumps and things feel like they will never get any better, maybe it's good to think about those times when things were really rough and how they eventually passed. How you hung in there and felt sad or scared or jealous or embarrassed -- and you had to go and cry in a phone box -- but then things were O.K. again. 

Who knew a little bank holiday bike ride along the Thames could be so philosophical?

2

Being A Tourist In Your Own Town (And Country)

My parents recently stayed with us for slightly under three weeks. I'll just let that sink in.

In all seriousness, it was a fun and busy visit. They saw our new house, walked around our neighborhood, ate in our local pizza place, our curry house and shared pints with us in our favorite Irish pub (although the music, sadly, wasn't as good as usual). 

But there was one day that struck me in an unusual way. I took a day off from work and booked us a tour to see Stonehenge -- a special private tour where we would be allowed to walk "among the stones" after all the normal sucker tourists had gone home for the evening. One of my other American expat friends came along too to complete our foursome (the Hub hates coach tours so I didn't even try to convince him).

And as we sat together on the bus as it pulled out of London, I felt transported to another place altogether. We were still in the town that we live and work in everyday, but given a different vantage point high up on the coach as we traveled West, with the tour guide giving us a running commentary in her strongly German-accented English. How many nights had I spent in West Ken when the Hub lived there? But yet I knew nothing about the "Famous" 3 Kings Pub on the corner -- never even realy gave it a second glance. Nor did I ever notice the fabulous windows indicating some famous artists' studios running along the A4.

We even got some vital stats on Heathrow airport as we whizzed by. And then we were rolling further Westward towards Bath, which was also a stop on this whirlwind day tour. Before I knew it I was looking out the window at emerald green fields and little white dots jumping about their fuzzy round mamas.

Frankly, it felt miles and years away from my usual daily view out of the window in Canary Wharf. There is a certain kind of undercover feeling to being a tourist where you live. A few of my fellow expat friends and I often go on walking tours in London and with our accents we are usually taken to be normal American tourists on vacation. It's something I would highly recommend for anyone, even those without a foreign accent. Take a random Wednesday off from work, get on a coach and see a part of your home in a way you don't usually do most days of the week.

I'd also highly recommend doing one of these private Stonehenge tours. They aren't cheap, but I can't imagine standing on that windy Salisbury Plain and being penned in the roped off bit only looking at the stones from afar. And here's our stone selfie to prove just how cool it was.

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0

Riding The Bus

We've started to have some really nice spring days in London. On a recent Saturday I needed to get from Clapham Junction home to Streatham and decided to take the 319 bus Eastward. I sat on the top deck and looked out the window the whole time.

People are always shocked and excited by the sun in this city, and they crawl out of the woodwork, filling the streets and the parks. But I'm always struck by how the rest of the city looks shocked too -- the buildings and pavement can't seem to believe that they can see the bright blue sky above. The dirt shows a little more, but the red and rusty orange brick that comprises most of London has a more dramatic hue.

On that Saturday I was happy to look out the window and let the mix of sunshine and people enjoying it reflect back onto me. I was buzzed with the warmth of the day and the energy of the city.

But I didn't always feel this way about the sun in London.

When I first moved to England, the unpredictability of the weather and the way residents acted like it was the Saturnalia when the sun came out irritated me. I couldn't understand why a rise in the temperature of a few degrees pushed all the Friday night pub goers out onto the sidewalks. I was annoyed that going to lunch at someone's house on a chilly day in May meant eating outside -- if it wasn't raining. I was always cold and cross at constant discussions of the weather, in particular, the big question on everyone's lips: Will we have a summer in Britain this year?

Maybe I am mellowing. Maybe I am getting used to life here. Maybe I just now know how to dress for the weather (see When A Cardigan Is Not Enough).

No matter what it is, I am now caught up along with everyone else in the joy of the spring weather arriving on the days we are lucky enough to have some sun. I walk through our neighborhood and smile at the smell of the barbecues firing up at a moment's notice so friends can sit outside and enjoy the warmth and sun together. Even if it is April.

I will gladly sit in my friend's garden in the middle of July wrapped up in my lightweight coat with a scarf around my neck, sharing a bottle of wine. I welcome the stretching of the days at the moment and await the time in a month or two when we will have to try to go to sleep while it is still twilight outside.

When I first moved to this country I wanted adventure and excitement, but I guess on some level I also wanted everything to be absolutely the same. When it wasn't, I gnashed my teeth and struggled against it. But as I rode the 319 bus through South West London recently I realized that things had changed and now I know what I didn't know then -- you can't have it both ways. And it's the differences and the challenges in life that allow us to also experience the joy. And, of course, the sun.

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2

Emma, Who Saved My Life

There's a book a friend lent me called "Emma, Who Saved My Life," and I always smile to myself when I think of the title. When I moved to the U.K. I shared a flat with my wonderful friend Emma.

Well, we weren't friends when I rang her buzzer that day in Clapham, but I hope she'd agree that after she showed me around and we had a cup of tea we were already on our way. And if it weren't for Emma I probably would have high tailed it back home to the U.S. shortly after my arrival.

Now a lot of people have saved my life -- on many different occasions -- but back in 2002 Emma was my sanity. She adopted me, so to speak. If she went to see her family, along I went. Emma got me hooked on gin and tonics and explained football (soccer) to me. She made me a bacon bap while we watched an early morning World Cup game that first summer. And she made sure I watched The Office and didn't say "pants" when referring to my trousers. (In case you don't know, "pants" means underwear in the U.K.)

I had the chance to hear Elizabeth Gilbert speak at the Southbank Centre a little over a year ago. I wasn't sure what she'd be like in person, but she far exceeded my expectations. And there was something she said that really struck a chord with me. Ms Gilbert explained that she has written all her books with someone in mind -- as if she is telling the story to him or her. I love this idea. It also lets you get out of your own critical head as you type away.

I'm currently working on a non-fiction writing project inspired by my novel attempt (through NaNoWriMo). As I was re-reading my coming-of-age story of an American girl who moves to London, I realized how much of my experience and observations of the expat life I was trying to crowbar into the narrative. It didn't work because it got in the way of the story. So I've decided to split these writing projects into two: the first being to rework the novel in a different setting so I can focus more on the story and secondly, to write a non-fiction book structured in a series of essays on my experience moving abroad.

I am finding Ms Gilbert's technique particularly helpful at the moment, because if you haven't guessed already, it's Emma whom I have in mind as I write. It's the least I can do, since she did save my life.

Also it means that I better have something to actually show her when she comes to visit. Deadlines are good for former journalists like me.

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0

What, This Old House?

Finally, I have evidence of my increasingly English communication style. Before Christmas I sent out an email to friends and family overseas wishing them happy holidays and trying to give a brief summary of what we have been up to recently. And I described our new house as “a big and drafty Victorian house.” And although I used the American spelling (as opposed to the British draughty) my sentiments proved entirely British.

My American aunt, responding to my email said, “Your description of your home sounds like you don’t like it much…”Ah. Well that would be because I couldn’t possibly admit that I was happy with it, or proud. That would be bragging!

When the Hub and I purchased our first property over four years ago – a flat in Earlsfield, sandwiched between the more well-known London areas of Wimbledon and Clapham (remember Squeeze’s “Up the Junction”?) – he referred to us moving to the “ghetto” and constantly talked down our pending purchase with whomever we were discussing it. And it incensed me. I would always ask him later what was wrong. He should have been incredibly grateful that we were buying such a nice flat and stop acting like there was something wrong with it.

But now I get it, and apparently I’m on the bandwagon. Just for the record: I love our new house. Including its drafty old nature and even the friendly slug that visits our kitchen at 3 a.m. (Sorry, Dad, haven’t yet brought myself to drown him in beer! Also, we probably should stop calling him Sammy or it will never get any easier.)

I just want to be humble and not act like there’s any reason I deserve this nice house other than the fact that I am incredibly lucky – and I think that’s what’s behind the English tendency to talk down achievements and windfalls in life.

In other cross-cultural communication topics: I noticed a clear distinction in the Christmas cards this year. My American friends and family tend to send newsy letters and photos of their kids. These are great as being so far away I love to hear about what’s going on and see how their children are growing up. But the English way is nice too: typically a beautiful card with a short note inside, a simple wish that we are well and that they are thinking of us.

And they look so pretty scattered around the house.

Of course no way is better, just different. And I hope that those who communicate with me these days in person, over the phone or via Christmas card recognize that I am trying my best. Even though after my American upbringing, and nearly 12 years here, I’m increasingly confused.

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0

American Girl

We will be "completing" on our house next Friday and moving in. When I talk to friends and family back home about this process I say things like: "I think this might be the same thing as a closing?"

This has got me thinking about the fact that I barely know how to be an American adult. The older I get, the more I realize that my grown-up experience in the U.S. is limited to graduating from college and getting my first apartment and job. I may know how to tip in a New York City bar, and the where the best hangover food is located, but I've never bought a property, had to sort out a health insurance nightmare or even had the experience of quitting a job in my home country.

Sometimes this really starts to feel scary. Perhaps this has to do with the fact that I am adding "house" to my list of permanent British connections -- a list that so far includes passport and husband. And all my worldly belongings are now in this country after the enormous box arrived from my parents this summer with all my childhood items.

I no longer remember if certain expressions originate in the U.K. or the U.S. -- we write in American English at the office, and I am no more a good reference for people asking if a phrase would be understood on the other side of the Atlantic. I finally know what pulling up stumps means. I use loo roll and washing-up liquid. I wear trousers and jumpers. (I also am aware that Ireland uses the euro.)

I find it disconcerting that when I do return to America, that local newscasters I grew up with look older, the hosts of late-night talk shows have changed numerous times and I no longer know much about pop culture there, including reality T.V. programs (probably a blessing). It's funny how it's a global world these days but there are still some things that stay local.

But one of the very important things I've learned being an expat for so many years is that identity and culture are a very fluid concept and well they should be. Holding onto one cultural identity and believing it defines you can be very dangerous indeed -- it's ego-driven in a way that doesn't allow you to see that people may be different, but ultimately we're all human beings just trying to get by in this world.  

So I may be an American girl and a British adult, but it's probably not helpful to even think this way. Wherever I live and whatever happens, I'll hopefully be able to just figure things out as I go -- day by day. Which is an important thing to remember generally when you're embarking on something as big as a house move.

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0

When A Cardigan Is Not Enough

It's that time of year again: summer in Britain. And it's great, with BBQs, picnics and of course strawberries & Pimms. And no matter how much the Brits complain, the weather isn't bad -- not too hot, not too cold. But for a long time, summer here made me miserable. I was caught off guard when the good sunny warm weather hit and was often either freezing or uncomfortably warm. In short, it has taken me a long time to get used to dressing here (nearly 10 years - I am slow on the uptake). If you are new to this country, this post is for you. Or if you have lived here a while and still find yourself awkwardly dressed this time of year, read on. 

Here goes:

A cardigan is not enough. During a sweaty New York summer a cardigan is perfect for an air conditioned restaurant or the office, but it just doesn't cut it in London. It can be very chilly on some summer days here. Think jean-jacket weather (those of you who are also children of the 80s). For work, a suit jacket can work, but I have four more versatile summer outerwear items* at the moment: a short khaki jacket with a belt, a summery blazer, an old fall-back jean jacket (not from the 80s, but doesn't actually work fashion-wise every year) and a blue longer spring coat for those much colder days. These trusty items are  so important because you are expected to be outside in the summer and if you don't have something warm, you won't have fun experiences at BBQs, picnics or while sitting in friends' gardens drinking wine and eating crisps. And that would be miserable! It's light until 10 p.m. this time of year - being outside is essential!

But don't be fooled by the fact that you are wearing a jacket. Don't even think about wearing a long-sleeve shirt or sweater underneath. Short sleeves or sleeveless dresses are essential for when you are inside. Even the air conditioned shops/offices/restaurants are not over-air conditioned like in some hot climates. Also don't forget that public transportation is not air conditioned at all - so even if it is mild outside you might be sweltering on the tube or bus.

And what if the temperature is inbetween? This brings me to my next tip.

The summer scarf. An oxymoron? I think not. It's the best thermostat around - makes your coat that bit warmer, or you can wrap it around your bare shoulders if it is too warm for the coat and too chilly for your sleeveless top. I've got a whole collection of cotton and linen scarves that I break out just for the season. 

Throw the scarf in your bag even if you think it it "very hot". Conditions are changeable. Make sure your scarf is kept company by a pair of sunglasses and umbrella. They both come in handy most days.

Then, get yourself one really cute but comfortable set of ballet flats. I resisted these for a long time as they do nothing for a woman's legs (in my humble opinion). But I clearly misunderstood. They are so useful when it has been cold and rainy for days and suddenly the sun comes out but you haven't had a pedicure. With a sundress or skinny jeans they work just fine. Also, they can be worn with tights to work on those cooler days before changing into heels - bonus. Sandals, not so versatile. It took me a while to find some that didn't tear up the back of my ankles, (thank you Dune!), but I am now a convert. (Many women here have lots of pairs but I prefer just one that I really like and goes with everything. You can really only wear them a few months of the year anyway - I prefer to have lots of nice pairs of boots!)

Coming back to tights. I know, I know, they are just not in the spirit of the summer. But sometimes it is too cold! Also, when you are in the habit of wearing them it feels weird to be in the office without them - I feel suddenly exposed, like the puritan I am. Which made it even funnier that my compromise -- flesh-colored small-knit fishnets -- was met with horror from one colleague. She told me they were slutty, which I found hillarious and made me want to wear them even more.

If you are English, Irish, Scottish or Welsh, this post may be met with the universal "duh". But for us Yankees it's just not that easy.

*Windbreakers, I find, don't work. They make you look like you really should be sailing or playing golf. Which is fine, but not on the streets of London.

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The British Gold Star

I love the British expression "well done". I am always surprised by the enthusiasm of the uttered phrase, and for a long time it puzzled me. Sometimes it is used as the understatement of the year. For example, I am sure if I were to win the Nobel Peace Prize, a tempered "well done" would be the most common reaction. In a way, in the U.K., this makes total sense – because the British are notoriously self-deprecating. Achievement and success is often seen as embarrassing, it's something to be played down at all costs.

But the flip side of this is that the expression "well done" is often reserved for the most mundane tasks. For example, the Hub and I planned to go to the movies on a Sunday evening. Because you can now save 10% on the ticket prices at our local cinema by booking online, I pre-booked them. When I told the Hub, he said "well done" in a very enthusiastic manner (for him), as if doing such a thing required a lot of skill, effort and time. "That's O.K.," I said and walked out of the house to go off to run some errand or another.

The exchange stuck with me though, and I found myself thinking about when people here say it to me. I wracked my brain, remembering that my mother-in-law always says it when the Hub and I come down for a visit. In a way, getting to their home in the suburbs of London is actually easier than our commute to work. It consists of taking a short bus ride to the train station and then a 30 minute direct train ride. I often buy a coffee at the station and maybe even a glossy magazine if I feel like a treat. It's not a particularly difficult or trying thing to do, but the Hub's lovely mum always greets us with a big "well done", as if this trip began in the Outer Hebrides (those remote islands off the West Coast of Scotland).

I used to find this puzzling, but now I think I get it. In an understated culture, "well done" is short hand for "thanks for making this small but really appreciated effort". It's my mother-in-law's way of saying thanks for taking the time to come and see us. It's a subtle way to express gratitude for something that may seem small, but actually is really big.

And the best part about these well dones? In a world where people often fall into the trap that in order to be happy, accepted and loved that they have to accomplish certain and very specific things, it might not actually not true. You don't have to win a Nobel prize – you just have to order the cinema tickets online. Well done, lovely Brits, well done you*.

*A derivation of "well done" often heard here is "well done you". I think this might be Northern? My physio says it and she's Northern, so there's my evidence. (Leave a comment if you actually know!)

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The Expat Lurgy

I have an American friend who has lived in this country for about a year and half. And she has had the most horrible autumn in terms of colds and illness. I told her, "Don't worry, you just just have the expat lurgy!"

The term "lurgy" is one of those British-isms that I love. It is the approximate equivalent of the American playground highly-infectious "cooties", although now it is used by adults to describe any sort of undefined infection malady, in my experience usually the common cold. It's a fair description -- a cold is highly infectious with no known cure and although not life threatening, most people have to keep working and functioning, all the while feeling pretty much like death.

Moving to another country, in so many ways, is like going to kindergarten, school, nursery or daycare for the first time. You are suddenly exposed to a variety of germs that you have no immunity to yet. And so, the first few winters with the expat lurgy can be quite wearing.

Along this vein, in a sort of get-better-soon post dedicated to her, I thought I'd observe a few differences in illness terminology between English and American English.

First, when you aren't feeling well in England, you would say, I'm ill, or I was ill. In America you would say I'm sick or I was sick. You might want to avoid saying that in England as "being sick" means vomitting, specifically. In the lift at work if someone asks you where you were yesterday and you say, "oh, I was sick", they might be taken aback at your overshare of bathroom-related information.

Second, you don't go to the emergency room here, but accident & emergency (fondly called A&E). And you aren't in the hospital, you're only in hospital. I'm not sure where the definite article went to.

Third, if you're baffled why they don't sell Tylenol (or acetaminophen) in this country, it's because it's called paracetamol in the U.K. Both names are derived from the chemical compound: acetyl-para-aminophenol.

And on that note, I leave you with my best U.K. cold tip (which I credit my friend Erin for sharing with me years ago): buy Sudafed behind the counter at the chemist (drug store) and not on the main shelves. That's where you can get the original decongestant made from pseudoephedrine, which is the stuff that actually makes you feel better. The other stuff (phenyleprine hydrocloride) is less effective, in my opinion.

P.S. And do you know why the pseudophedrine is only sold on request, and similarly restricted now in the U.S. as well? It's because pseudoephedrine is used as in ingredient in the stimulant methamphetamine, or speed. The last time I bought some when I was home in New York, they asked for my driver's license and took down all my details. It's funny because I find both countries inconsistent in the precautions they take to insure our safety. They don't ask for identification here when buying Sudafed, but they won't sell you more than two boxes of ibuprofen at the same time and the tablets are wrapped in foil pop-out containers, which seems completely unnecessary. Contrast this with the fact that they sell pain killers here that contain codeine over the counter, which is highly addictive. The only thing they ask you when you buy it is "have you taken this before?", which almost seems to encourage serial use.

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What's The Deal With Halloween?

The Hub and I recently spent a week in Ireland. It was the week before Halloween and I was struck by the sheer volume and frequency of Halloween decorations and Halloween chat on the radio stations as we took in the scenery while driving the Ring of Kerry and around the Dingle Peninsula. It wasn't even just atmospheric pubs that were in on the action - even the most mediocre of restaurants had paper goblins hanging from the ceiling. We were particularly impressed by the decorations in The Grand in Killarney, which we stopped in a few times for their toe-tapping tunes.

The skeleton bat in the next photo looked even more spooky when I snapped its picture than it was in person. But what skeleton bat isn't scary?



It got me thinking: did Americans get Halloween from the Irish? Something I often hear from Brits is that they celebrate Halloween, but not like we Americans do it.

After we returned home I did some basic research. Interestingly enough, Halloween didn't develop as a holiday in the U.S. until the mid 19th century, around the time of mass immigration from Ireland and Scotland. The origins of Halloween are not clear cut, but one theory is that it originated from early Celtic traditions of Samhaim (pronounced SAH-win or SOW-in), a festival that welcomed in the dark half of the year. The festival coincided with the end of the harvest season, but more eerily was a time when it was believed spirits could come back from the dead and visit their earthly homes and loved ones. Our modern Jack-O-Lantern actually has its roots in a carved turnip with a candle inside, used to either ward off the evil dead spirits (since it wasn't just the friendly ghosties that came for a visit) or to light the way when outside during the festival. When immigrants came to the new world they adopted the tradition using the bigger pumpkin that was readily available in North America.

Of course the Catholic Church co-opted these sorts of harvest festivals as holy days, moving its All Saints Day (which was originally in May to co-opt a Roman festival of the dead) to November 1st and adding All Souls Day (Nov. 2) to allow people to celebrate the life of their dead loved ones, in addition to the more holy saints. All Saints Day was originally called All Hallows, which made October 31 All Hallow's Eve (you can see where the current name originated from).

Halloween celebrations reached a crisis point in the U.S. in the 1930s in the depression when the tradition of trickery started to cause more serious financial problems. For rural areas, putting carts on top of haystacks might not have been that bad, but letting animals out of their pens could cause financial ruin for farmers during the already bleak economic times. So it was civic organizations that tried to get young people going to parties and good old capitalism took hold -- companies started making paper decorations and paper costumes. The phrase 'trick or treat' was born as adults tried to distract the youth by handing out treats in lieu of disruptive behavior. (The tradition of going door to door may have been inspired by the medieval tradition of poor children collecting soul cakes from people in return for praying for their family members stuck in purgatory ahead of All Souls Day.)

What interested me the most, however, was the fact that Halloween in Britain may have been supressed by the reformation, as it was considered a Catholic tradition. Plus, marking Guy Fawkes' thwarted attempt to blow up parliament with Bonfire Night could have usurped Halloween celebrations, since November 5th is so close to October 31.

Today the practice of celebrating Halloween in the U.K. has grown. There are always parties the Saturday night closest to the holiday. But as far as I know, it is nothing like the way it is celebrated in America (and Ireland!). And, dressing up is strictly limited to 'scary' costumes, such as witches, devils and the like. I have a personal theory about this. In the U.K. dressing up is a big thing. There are many 'fancy dress' parties, with themes (remember Bridget Jones and the vicars and tarts party?). In the U.S. Halloween is it -- the one day you get to cast off your identity and assume another. So all types of costumes are acceptable, the more creative the better.

But however you celebrate, in whatever country you celebrate, have a Happy Halloween!

(I leave you with an a photo of your average restaurant in Ireland last week.)

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Refrigerators And Shower Curtains

Who needs an American-style fridge when you have a perfectly good spare shower curtain?

I'm not sure if it will ever happen, but someday, in this country or the next I'd love to have a big American-style fridge. I'm pretty lucky as the Hub "allowed" me to buy an extra refrigerator in addition to the dorm-style fridge that came along with our flat. We also have an extra dorm-style freezer, so I probably have the same amount of space as an American fridge/freezer, but in three separate units. I do alright.

So what does this have to do with shower curtains?

Silly question. A few summers ago I made an amazing discovery. If you are planning to go to a concert in Hyde Park -- the kind where you bring a picnic and sit on the ground -- if it has rained recently and the ground is dewy fresh, it is very effective to buy a cheap shower curtain to put under your blanket to keep the seat dry. It really does the trick.

But the other day when I decided that we needed to defrost our freezer, since we live in a country where these things still happen, I found another very effective use of the shower curtain. When you need to go to work and there are still chunks of ice waiting to melt, and pretty much every towel you own is soaking wet, it protects the faux wood floor ever so well.

I can't remember how much this shower curtain cost me, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't over 10 pounds -- it really was money well spent.

Perhaps some day I will have my dream of an American-style fridge (would asking for an ice maker appear greedy?), but until then, at least I have my spare shower curtain.

P.S. If you're wondering why I'm writing about the expat life on this blog and not the new expat blog, it's because I've done a total about face and decided to go back to being a one-blog girl. I may explain myself more in a separate post, or not, but all you need to know for now is this blog is all you need to know about.

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Top Ten In Ten Years

If you can believe it, it was my 10 year anniversary of living in this country last Friday, May 25. I've learned a lot over the past 10 years, so thought I'd do a top 10 list to commemorate it. 

Here it is. 

10. Military time. In the U.K., train timetables and digital clocks (usually) read the 24-hour scale. Now I know that 20.00 is 8 pm without even thinking. This still amazes me sometimes.

9. If you are ordering a burger in the U.K. and you don't like mayonnaise, ask if it comes with mayonnaise. It's not worth the risk -- chances are -- it does.

8. If you thought you knew how to drink, think again. Drinking is a competitive sport in this country.

7. When an English person says "oh, incidentally" or "by the way", that means they are about to get to the primary purpose of their discussion with you. If you are not careful you might miss very important pieces of communication with the English. It takes a little detective work, but eventually the subtlety won't be lost on you.

6. In the U.K., I am not considered 'pasty' or 'pale'. In fact, in this country I even sometimes look 'tan' after a holiday. Did I mention how much I love the U.K.?

5. If it rains at the beach, just get a cup of hot tea to warm up and ignore it. It's better that way.

4. No matter what country you live in, people are fundamentally the same. No one country has a larger percentage of people who are perceived to be 'unclassy', 'stupid' or 'uncultured' or those who think they are better than this group. Pretty much, everywhere you go, people like to judge others (It's sad!).

3. When you get invited to someone's house in England, you've made it. This could take years in some cases, so don't despair. It will eventually happen and it will be lovely.

2. If it's sunny outside, no matter what the temperature, and you're at a party/pub/someone's house/wedding, you are required to be outside. Invest in a good summer coat and scarf, as it's better to be warm so your teeth won't chatter and you can actually enjoy the sun. Because if it's sunny now, it might not be later.

1. You can have more than one home. Home is a fluid concept – it's where your life is – and that's not always a constant.

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Coming Home (Again)

Before Christmas I had been feeling homesick – really homesick. If you want proof, you can have a little read this of my ridiculous posting on sandwiches. The homesickness had clearly reached crisis level.

But what I found is that the only cure I needed was three weeks at home in New York over the holidays. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of things that I genuinely miss about my life in the United States, mainly the people – my friends and family – and pizza by the slice, and of course meatball sandwiches. (Mozzarella sticks also rank up there, but let's not go too crazy.)

I loved my time at home, but like any three weeks of my life there were ups and downs. There was exhaustion from jet lag, work stress (I worked from my New York office for some of it), and adjusting to my parents' love of a chilly abode. Christmas day even included a hearty snooze in my parents' walk-in closet, which to clarify for those English readers who have been asking me about it, is more like a little dressing room. But there was also lots of time to see – nearly – all of my friends and family based locally. It was truly great to be there for such a long time. I'm just never there long enough usually to actually miss London.

Which is what happened this time. I started yearning to go 'home', to get back to my own house (where I control the thermostat) and the air is damp enough that my hair has less static electricity trouble.

This is a recurring theme for me ('home' not static), and one that I've been thinking about a lot recently. Is it because I am approaching my 10-year anniversary of life in the U.K. in May 2012?

Perhaps. But what I decided this Christmas trip is that home is where your life is – and at this moment, for me, this is London.

So what is homesickness, really? Is it longing for home or is it just longing for life as you would prefer it to be? When I used to come to London for work, long before I actually lived here, I would fantasize about what life would be like living here. And it wasn't a complete picture of course, just a flashy image of an exciting ex-pat life, nothing like the rich complexity of life as it actually is, including the tough stuff. 

In that case, homesickness is probably just the common yearning we all have as humans for things to be easier and better, instead of focusing on the good things we already have.

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Pre-Made Sandwiches?

I have a dream. I want to start up a New York deli in London, where anyone can get any sandwich they want, made-to-order. The deli would, of course, also sell pizza by the slice.

I've been feeling a bit homesick recently and it seems to have manifested itself in a real irritation with the British love of the pre-made sandwich -- particluarly pre-made sandwiches heavy on the mayonnaise. With no choice in the manner. Even ham and cheese sandwiches are coated in mayo, while they should so clearly have mustard on them, if you have to choose a condiment.

I probably wouldn't have become so irritated were it not for the fact that the one sandwich place in Canary Wharf that I liked and that actually made sandwiches to order (although they would still give you the hairy eyeball if you asked for anything even slightly wacky) struck my favorite sandwich off the menu. It was essentially the closest thing to a meatball parm sub that I have found in London and I believe I was probably the only person in all of Canary Wharf ordering it. Sans spinach of course (which was their 'recommended' combination) and with cheese instead.

Did I handle it with grace? No. I screeched, "but that was your BEST sandwich!" followed up by a scathing, "Well, you've lost a customer." I don't think the people at 'Baguette' even batted an eyelid as I turned on my heel and walked away. People are never surprised by the behavior of Americans abroad, really.

Thing is, although I'll definitely miss my pseudo meatball sub, I think it was a bit of a scapegoat for my general feelings of homesickness lately. For some reason, I seem to associate Italian-American cuisine with my love of America, which is strange because I have no Italian roots. I suppose it's
just my comfort food. When the Hub and I had our brush with watching Jersey Shore last summer (we loved to analyze Sammi and Ronnie's complex relationship) I believe I enjoyed it mostly because they were constantly chowing down on things like Chicken Cutlet and Baked Ziti – dishes that when mentioned here elicit a blank look.

Why the homesickness? It could be that this past week was Thanksgiving, which, like Fourth of July
always makes me a little sad. Or that I have recently been thrust into a new role at work, which although a good thing, is new and therefore stressful and my routine has gone amok (more on this soon). Or, maybe it's just because I haven't been back to the States in a year.

What's interesting, however, is while most people might just say they feel a bit sad or in a rut, ex-pats have a very convenient scapegoat. There's always something concrete to blame the malaise on. For me it's the loss of the meatball sandwich. And tomorrow it will be mayonnaise-coated ham at Pret. But the truth is that sometimes we just feel sad or stressed for no real reason at all -- and sometimes that's hard to stomach, almost as much as excessive amounts of mayonnaise.

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As The Nights Draw In

Sunday was my favorite day of the year. Getting an extra hour in the day is the most glorious thing. The Hub thinks I'd prefer to be a bear if I could. I like sleeping so much that hibernating a few months of the year would suit me just fine.

I do appreciate the extra hour of sleep, but I also feel like the extra hour we receive on this weekend every year is a small gift that makes the blow of next week easier. Autumn just seems to get busier every year. Christmas comes faster and I seem to be involved in more at work as the years go by.

And next week the darkness in England really arrives. By mid-December I usually start to notice signs of the sun setting by lunchtime. I don't know how people in Scandinavia and even Scotland survive as the days are short enough for me in London. If you didn't know, London is much further north than New York (Madrid is approximately the same latitude line as New York). I had no idea about this when I moved here (apparently I don't pay much attention to maps). On December 16th of this year, the sun will rise at 8 a.m. and set at 3:52 p.m.

I don't really mind the darkness that much. I'm lucky – I know people who really suffer in London winters. I actually like the fact that winters here feel completely different than the summers. Although we don't get too much heat in the summer, we get plenty of light and it makes the days feel long and full of possibilities.

But I'm not so great with change and this week I'll feel disoriented. When it starts getting dark at 4 p.m., I'll feel sad. It's the shock, I guess, and the feeling that once again, time is passing. Things have happened to me and friends of mine recently that has made me think a lot recently about how little control we have over our lives.

The only thing we do have control over is the way that we react to our constantly shifting lives. We can take the challenges and difficulties in stride and focus on what we are grateful for and enjoy the small things that we love daily – for me: morning walks, reading books on my commute, writing, cooking and being able to exercise again (more on this next week). We can choose to be tenacious, to approach life with humor and joy.

It's not always easy, but it's at least something to strive for. And as the nights draw in we can appreciate seeing friends, eating good food and drinking nice hot drinks, like mulled wine or hot cocoa. Light a candle in the darkness, so to speak. How do you cope with the winter blues and our lack of control in life generally?

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