Two Years(?) in Old Blighty

A Weekend in Marrakech

2011-02-15T14:31:00.000-08:00

Morocco is a surprisingly easy jaunt from London. Just 4 hours and you don't even have to fiddle with your watch -- same time zone. So in continuance of our program of meandering around the Arab world while revolution is afoot, Pam, Simone and I took advantage of the winter-break weekend and visited Marrakech.

Local opinion on the unfolding situation in Egypt was varied: different perspectives were proffered by young vs. old, male vs. female, level of education, etc.: just like politics anywhere. But everyone was definitely paying attention -- you almost had to tear the shopkeepers away from the Al Jazeera broadcast in order to conduct business.

It turned out that we were in Marrakech the night that Mubarak stepped down. This was received with general jubilation. But alas the excitement spilled over into some gang violence that we were unfortunate to witness while walking home from dinner. No guns, just fists; some blood though. Despite the pall this encounter cast over the evening, our visit was otherwise without incident.

The walled-in core of the city, the Medina, is a crazily convoluted network of ancient streets and souks. During their brief period of colonization the French eschewed the old city and chose to build anew, outside the walls. A fortunate decision, leaving intact a marvelous labyrinth of medievalism. Wandering the passageways you feel transported in time, yet it is behind closed doors that you find the true delights: inventive modern extrapolations of the indigenous design and color.

Here Simone lounges at the Cafe Arabe, a hip hangout overlooking the souks:

This is the beautifully rendered islamic courtyard of the legendary Mamounia Hotel:

Our somewhat more modest accommodation was a renovated Riad -- a traditional Moroccan home with inner courtyard. Well-located with a vibrant food market just outside the door, and decorated with a very refined (i.e. Pam-worthy) sense of style:

The dining room at the Riad Kniza:

And beyond these modern interpretations, a true highlight was a visit to the Madrasa Ben Youssef, an islamic college built in the 16th century.

The inner courtyard:

A scholar's "cell", with desk and other implements:

Detail of the central courtyard's elaborate bas-relief calligraphy and zellige tile-work:

Just outside the Medina wall is the Jardin Majorelle, later acquired and tended by Yves Saint Laurent. Complete with a succulent landscape rivaling Santa Barbara's Lotusland:

Typical street within the Medina:

Donkey caravans apparently replacing the camel caravans of old...a concession to modern times?

We shopped for ingredients with our cook, who later instructed us in making pastilla:

After lunch it was time to do some serious shopping. We strategically disguised ourselves for better bargaining power. As you can see, this shopkeeper was completely taken:

Sampling the goods:

Antique dealers Mustafa and Abdullah, my new best friends (post-transaction):

On our last day we took a brief excursion into the Atlas mountains, just 50 km from Marrakech. Beautiful and geographically similar to the Eastern Sierra, but with the added interest of Berber villages.

-- fin Maroc --

Jordan

2011-02-07T13:00:00.000-08:00

With the unrest in Tunisia having spread to Egypt, it seemed inevitable that Jordan would be the next to fall. Coinciding with the mid-winter lull, we perceived an optimal time to visit the Kingdom...no crowds!

So Pam and I flew to Amman with a group from London, soon finding ourselves in a jeep heading out to Wadi Rum – one of T.E. Lawrence's favorite slices of desert, located on the border between Jordan and Saudi Arabia.

The landforms are magnificent, the sand is an intense red, and the only inhabitants then and now are Bedouin nomads.

Being February, the temperature was cool-ish – actually very comfortable. We had a chance to climb some of the rock outcroppings. Here yours truly crosses a natural bridge:

Before long we spotted an accomodating beast of burden:

I was too busy wrestling the monster to the ground to take any photos of that action, but suffice it to say, Pam soon had her saddled-up:

We 'camped' in the desert that night – it was incredibly peaceful and fun to hang out with a small number of fellow travelers and local Bedouins.

Later, we followed the path of Indiana Jones (and innumerable camel caravans before him) to Petra. Walking through a narrow slit canyon or "siq" for 2.5 miles, we suddenly arrived at the fantastic "Treasury":

Carved in-situ, from the solid sandstone somewhere between 100-200 B.C., it truly is one of the most fantastic sights in the world. Just incredible that the Nabataeans were able to create it with the most primitive tools while achieving such perfect symmetry and detail. The contrast with the curvy, natural forms of the unadulterated sandstone is sublime.

We dismounted our trusty ride...

... and went forth on foot along the formerly colonnaded main street of Petra, studded with relics from Roman and Byzantine eras.

Interestingly Petra became lost to history before the dawn of Islam (622 A.D.) hence has no islamic buildings nor motifs. For more than one thousand years it was known only to the Bedouins who kept it a close secret. First discovery by the West was in the early 1800's, by an intrepid Swiss explorer who promoted himself as an indian muslim to obtain access.

We hiked up to "The Monastery", so-called as it briefly functioned in this role in byzantine times. (Though like the other magnificent facades in Petra, it was built as a Nabataean tomb.)

After all this excitement, we took a day off to 'chill' on the shores of the Dead Sea:

Doing what we do best, just frolicking happily!

Homage to the Brontë Sisters

2011-01-30T14:24:00.000-08:00

Though it was the midst of winter, Pam determined it time to visit Yorkshire to pay homage to the illustrious Brontë sisters. Joining the other 11 ladies in her book club, we took the train north for two nights in the village of Haworth. Various competing accounts of the Brontë's suffering and genius were proffered by our leader and assorted guides. Much mediocre lamb pie and chips were consumed in debate of the various theories. Thoroughly over-informed, we found the best way to clear our heads was by hiking the moors, just as Emily, Charlotte and Anne did when in search of inspiration...

As Pam channeled the steely determination of Jane Eyre in the crisp morning...
...we surveyed the snow-dusted hardscrabble farms from the hanging moorlands:

Looking back, the forlorn village of Haworth, where Mum and all five Brontë girls would be stricken with 'consumption' (tuberculosis) predeceasing their minister father by decades. Also joined by their over-indulged, n'er-do-well brother Branwell, who did himself in with alcohol and opium, thus ending his reign as lord entertainment at The Black Bull (the village pub).

The church where father Patrick ministered, with well-populated village cemetery in the foreground, as seen from the parsonage where the family lived out their lives:

The countryside is traced by forlorn, beautifully built dry-stone walls from another era:

At last we reached our destination: the ruins of a farmhouse widely believed to be the inspiration for Wuthering Heights:

Could it be Catherine and Heathcliff?

(Click on any image to enlarge.)

We go to a "Ceilidh"

2011-01-23T03:26:00.000-08:00

It was the idea of Simone's soccer coach, Mr. Fern, a lively and fun Scotsman, after having been duly impressed with by the soccer parents wild abandon at the nightclubs of Cairo during the girls' varsity tournament in Egypt: We should have a post-season follow-up in London, celebrating Robert Burns' birthday at a traditional "Ceilidh" (kay-lee), a scottish dance party.

So just 8 hours after my arrival at Heathrow, Pam was slipping on her highland plaid stockings (which were summarily vetoed by Simone). Soon we were on the Piccadilly line, headed for the appointed rendezvous at Hammersmith Town Hall. The public event was well-attended, with some 300(?) eager-to-party types, mostly in their 20's and 30's, most claiming some scottish heredity or affiliation. Quite a few of the men, including Mr. Fern and his friend from ASL were sporting kilts. To Pam's dismay, the many plaid stockings were on display by the lasses.

I would describe the event as "square dancing on steroids", with live band and a 'caller' walking us through each rowdy number. It started with a cafeteria-style dinner featuring Haggis (per Wikipedia "a traditional Scottish dish made from minced offal and oatmeal etc, boiled in the stomach of a sheep etc; traditionally served with neeps and tatties and accompanied with whisky"). Many of the men, who were mostly in their 20's and early 30's, were dressed in kilts. At one point the whole show was interrupted by a bagpiper, leading a processing with a plate crowned with a Haggis. Then one kilted gent stepped on stage to perform a recitation of Burns' Address to a Haggis (English translation below...note the pro forma insult of the French) in the most amazing, fully incomprehensible brogue. At the climax of the poem, he violently pierced the Haggis with a blade, and downed several shots of whiskey. Apparently this whole ritual is part of the traditional Burns Dinner, a favorite holiday in Scotland through which they celebrate their national bard.

We whirled and twirled, swilled beer and wine to chase down the Haggis (surprisingly tasty, IMHO), and had a thoroughly excellent time. Welcome home -- gotta love this place!

Good luck to you and your honest, plump face,

Great chieftain of the pudding race!

Above them all you take your place,

gut, stomach-lining, or intestine,

You're well worth a grace

as long as my arm.

The overloaded serving tray there you fill,

Your buttocks shaped like a distant hilltop,

Your wooden skewer could be used to fix a mill

if need be,

While through your pores your juices drip

like liquid gold.

His knife see the serving-man clean,

And then cut you up with great skill,

Making a trench in your bright, gushing guts

To form a ditch,

And then, 0h! What a glorious sight!

Warm, steaming, and rich!

Then, spoonful after spoonful, they eagerly eat,

The devil will get the last bit, on they go,

Until all their well-stretched stomachs, by-and-by,

are bent like drums,

Then the head of the family, about to burst,

murmurs “Thank the Lord".

Is there a pretentious soul who, over his French ragout,

Or Italian cuisine that would make a pig sick,

Or French stew that would make that same pig ill

with complete and utter disgust,

Looks down with a sneering, scornful attitude,

on such a meal? (as Haggis)

Poor devil! See him over his trash!

As feeble as a withered bullrush,

His skinny leg no thicker than a thin rope,

His fist the size of a nut,

Through a river or field to travel,

Completely unfit!

But look at the healthy, Haggis-fed person!

The trembling earth respects him as a man!

Put a knife in his fist,

He'll make it work!

And legs, and arms, and heads will come off,

Like the tops of thistle.

You Powers who look after mankind,

And dish out his bill of fare,

Old Scotland wants no watery, wimpy stuff

That splashes about in little wooden bowls!

But, if You will grant her a grateful prayer,

Give her a Haggis!

2010-11-18T13:39:00.000-08:00

Kate & Wills! Kate & Wills! Finally something worthwhile to blog about!

OK, Ok. Maybe the Royals are not the center of your life as they are here in Old Blighty. The non-stop TV coverage is entertaining and campy to the extreme. Example headline: "Kate says, 'I Wills!!!'"

It's hard to watch this drivel without involuntarily conjuring the image of Kate Middleton as the new Weight Watchers mascot a few years down the road. But I feel that even if Kate and Wills continue the trend of royal disappointments, unlikely the country will finally give up on it all. It's just too darn fun - just ask Pam, she eats it up.

Meanwhile I'm convinced that the commoners are doing their best to exterminate me. So many close calls just trying to cross the street! Perhaps it's the angst engendered by the unending politeness expected of us all in daily life -- road rage being the one release.

The English drivers are the most wound-up in the world. And everyone is so intent on the rules --both following them and hoping to catch someone else not following them. Like a pedestrian crossing the road outside of a zebra crossing (see Abbey Road album cover). IDIOT! I'll teach you! (Increase pressure on accelerator, alter course for offender...)

Like all strange customs, one finally gets used to it (or in this case, dies). Until you venture to a normal country. Normal being just about anywhere other than the U.K.. For example, Simone and I were just in Cairo. Now the traffic there is insane: 19 Million people and cheap gas. But do they make a sport out of trying to kill pedestrians? Rather not.

About Cairo... We were there for Simone's soccer championships against the other top international schools in the EMEA region. I found the geographic setting, in the middle of bleak desert salvaged by the massive Nile, stunning and powerful. Between games I managed to sneak out for a bit of sightseeing. As forewarned, The Pyramids were smaller than expected:

Actually, it was truly a treat to finally see the Pyramids. I arrived early in the morning and, being alone, managed to get ahead of the armada of tour buses dumping their payloads. So I was able to wander around the archaeological site completely on my own. There is a large area near the pyramids littered with crudely excavated mastabas. Reminded me of the setting for the opening scene of The Exorcist.

It was actually quite dangerous, with gaping tomb shafts just waiting for the careless wanderer:

Down below, 5000 year stone images stand guard over the tomb:

The soccer went well too. ASL finished a white-knuckled third place, very respectable. The final game was a poetic finish for Simone's soccer career at ASL: they won against the well-supported host team (Cairo American College), Simone scored a key goal, was awarded MVP, and did not get hurt! What more could a soccer dad ask for?

Year 1 coming to a close

2010-06-24T12:38:00.000-07:00

Umm. It's no longer February, that's for sure. What has happened, as I understand it, is the earth proceeding some 120 degrees along its path of revolution around the sun. Given our extreme latitude here in Old Blighty (some 50 degrees north) together with the inclination of the earths axis of rotation, we now have absurdly long days, lush greenery all around, scantily clad people out and about, sidewalk dining, Wimbledon, outdoor theatre, and many other delights.

As I recall, the change began somewhere in March. Just about the time the blog entries trailed away. Sorry, but everything just started to click -- experiences piling on top of adventures, one after another, with no down time. I.e., no more dark, cold snowy days spent hovering over the laptop.

Just to bring things up-to-date, here is what's been going on:

March 10: Pam goes to Madrid for an art tour with the Women's Club
March 16: Jon skis Courchevel with Jean-Girard Galvez and his Paris buddies
March 19: Jon joins the Knightsbridge Golf School for a weekend in Spain
March 23: Jon skis with college roommate Alberto Finali in Crans-Montana Switzerland
March 27: We all go to California for Spring Break, visit friends & family, ski excellent late season powder at Kirkwood
April 10: Pam and the girls return to London for Spring Semester at ASL
April 16: Jon and brother Mark go to Fiji for an amazing week of SURF!!

May 1: P, J & E spend a long weekend in magical Bruge, Belgium. S. stays in London to take the SAT :(
May 5: Pam is joined by Kate Ditzler for a biking tour through Umbria, Italy with a group headed by Sarah (Greer) Bertasi
May 13: P & J are invited to a lavish fund raiser (the ARK gala), hob-nob with London's hedge funders, and dance to The Killers
May 15: Jean-Girard comes over from Paris and he an Jon fly on to Barbados for the annual "Caballeros" surf/windsurf/golf week
May 28: Pam goes with the women's club to St. Petersburg, Russia to see the Hermitage and other cultural landmarks
June 16: Girls finish school and we ALL go to Barcelona for a wonderful 4 days -- our new favorite city in Europe
June 21: Simone starts an internship at the Hummingbird Bakery, while Pam and Elie depart for New York to get Elie set-up for her month long design program at Parsons.

So there you have it. Obviously. But rather than attempting to dive into details on the above, lets just revel in the glory that is London at this time of the year.

Everyone here realizes that most of the thrill can be ascribed to our mutual suffering through the winter. Yes, we all agree, its only because of the sheer torture that we've endured that makes it all seem so wonderful when the thermometer breaks the 20C (68F) barrier.

The funny thing is, this realization does not dampen the experience. Damn but doesn't that sunshine feel good on the skin, bring color to the scenery, and make one want to smile upon your fellow man? Never mind that a north wind just kicked in, the temperature has dropped 10 degrees in 10 minutes, and clouds are once again scudding overhead -- lets strip off our shirts and throw frisbees in the park!

For us desiccated Californians, the heady greenness is indeed intoxicating. It seemed the trees morphed from twig-fractal displays to lush, verdant, shade-giving monsters in just three weeks. This happened at the peak of the tulip bloom, these having emerged from secret plantings of military precision in every public space throughout the city. Next up were the azaleas and rhododendrons -- I didn't even realize that we were surrounded by them until they erupted in color. And the lilacs, ahhh -- not to mention the hosts of other intensely scented blossoms. And all the while, the rosebuds push upwards at a tantalizingly slow pace...

So suddenly the outdoors, and therefore every reach of the city is alluring, especially in the balmy evenings. Amongst our favorites were a impromptu picnic called by our friend Colleen Graffy near her home in Battersea Park. She, the consummate hostess, put it together after work, plying one of the nearby trendy delis for a tasty assortment of cold salads etc, and arriving with her nifty traveling champagne kit (holds a bottle and four glasses). We chatted, supped and sipped as the sun slowly sank below the horizon at 10PM.

Another started with a dinner with another pair of ASL parents at "The Providores and Tapas Room" on Marylebone High Street. This is a Kiwi-run modern "small plates" style restaurant, extremely tasty plus an extensive assortment of NZ wines on offer. From there, we walked to the Open Air Theatre in Regents Park for a performance of Arthur Miller's "The Crucible". It was excellent, and the setting, overshadowed by spooky trees wavering in the breeze, was eerily perfect for the Salem witch-hunt theme. We walked home at midnight, not able to cut through the Park as it closes at night, a 45 minute stroll in shirtsleeves. Literally the moment we reached our door, the skies erupted in thunder and rain...perfect timing!

Oh..there is Simone. Just back at 11:45PM. She's been at work (an internship at a hip cupcake chain called "Hummingbird") which then led to a dinner with friends at "Entrecote" -- a one-size fits all french brasserie serving perfectly broiled sirloin smothered in bernaise. She made me a special cupcake, but unfortunately it melted on the bus and had to be discarded. Damn! But maybe for the best as I wolfed down three boxes of similar fringe benefits last night.

February

2010-02-26T10:38:00.000-08:00

I had reconciled my psyche to a monochrome existence, and even found beauty in it. For example, the morning outlook from the upstairs window:

But, with consternation, I find myself forced to adjust to yet more changes.

This morning a foreign yellow orb appeared in a strange colored sky -- blue, I guess you would call it. I ventured out, and found that I could do without the usual gloves, scarf and cap. I stumbled upon this sad tree, apparently infested with some kind of white mold:

...and the Primrose Hill sledding ground has been attacked with a green and yellow slime:

Ah to be back in the Alps, where white purity reigns. Here Pamela, just last week, posed prior to a plunge down the pistes of Verbier, Switzerland:

Thanks to a local's tip, we later joined the pilgrimage to the "Cabane du Mont Fort", serving the finest fondue and raclette to be found at 8,000':

Still, this is 3000' below the peak, which had an awesome view. Sadly, I did not bring the camera, but someone else did. <== check this out.

Yes, the visuals are stunning, but overall we did not love Verbier. In fact, it burst my romanticized vision of 'ze alps'. Yes the mountains are awesome, but the snow was poor by our standards and the crowding extreme. Some authentic quaintness, but a lot of over-the-top commercialism, with entire families running around in $$ridiculous$$ "Moncler" ski outfits. And though I knew it would be expensive, I figure we could have saved an entire village in Africa from starvation in what we spent in one week.

Of course the girls did swimmingly, quickly determining that the apés ski scene was the place to be with no applicable age-limits at the clubs . Flaunting their exotic american accents, they made lots of friends in the wee hours. Life is tough at the top for Simone and friend:

And Simone and I did manage one thrilling run down Mont Gele (home of the 2008 Extreme Skiing Competition) on the one quasi-powder day we had.

Speaking of the girls, this morning they posed just before slamming the door on their way to school flaunting their new hairdo's (unfortunately both a little 'undone' by last night's pillow time):

India Road Trip (a post in-progress, updated Jan 25)

2010-01-20T14:14:00.000-08:00

The Shields family will all remember India as an epic road trip. We covered lots of territory in our chauffeured Toyota mini-van; bobbing, weaving, honking. Breathing smoke, dust, diesel and dung-fire fumes -- all the while knowing that we would eventually crash in a head-on, but rationalizing that the mere 2000 kilometers that we covered would be statistically insufficient for our number to come up. In times of doubt we just inwardly repeated the Indian driving mantra "Good Brakes, Good Horn, Good Luck" -- as instructed by more than one of our drivers.

Our path:

In truth, our biggest fear was that we would be disappointed. Pam and I had both had grandly romanticized our visits to India in the past to each other (Jon: 1973, 1981, Pam on business in 1995-2001). Since our girls were born we have been plotting a return so that they could experience the wonder themselves. But what would India be in 2009? We knew of the robustly growing economy. And of the 1.1 billion people and attendant environmental problems. Would we see subdivisions, fast food, shopping malls and Abercrombie attire? Or would it be just the usual shoddy pursuit of these things at the expense of tradition, culture and religion? How much had been lost in the gain?

We dutifully started our tour with the standard four hour drive along the Great Trunk Road from Delhi to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. Our driver was Jogi (short for Jogindra), was an unflappable, well-groomed, polite and neatly dressed in his Nehru-style suit. Guides would come and go, but Jogi would be our companion and rock, really, for the next 10 days. The first hint that religion was not dead India was Jogi's small pious acts and the changing ornamentation of our ride, including strange talisman made of organic items dangling from the front bumper, marigolds hanging on the mirror, etc. all varying according to the day of the week (did you know that Tuesday is dedicated to Lord Hanuman, the monkey king?).

Every morning Jogi and vehicle would be awaiting us just outside the gates of our hotel (they pretty much all were gated, yes). The car was freshly cleaned and each passenger position was pre-loaded with a fresh bottle of water. Suitably well-slept, properly nourished and air conditioned, we would buckle-in and plunge into the chaos.

Along the way we gazed upon many wondrous, only in-india sights. The wide variety of traffic was a continual source of entertainment. All manner of beast being used to convey cargo, including oxen, camels and even elephants:

Another form of conveyance was not only colorful but also exemplified the "can-do" self-sufficiency of the local population. This is the "Jugaad" or home-made truck:

These beauties begin with a certain widely available diesel engine provided to farmers for use in agricultural water projects. The chassis is built-up from old carts, the steering and brakes harvested from lord knows where. The resulting vehicles are not particularly fast nor smoke free, but do seem to chug along, managing tremendous loads.

Jugaad in Profile

A Jugaad Navigator

There are two economic factors that result in the Jugaad. One is the money saved by not enriching Detroit, Tokyo or (more likely) Tata. The second is the savings on registration fees, as apparently the assessment is by make/model, so unbranded, home-made vehicles get by Scott-free.

And speaking of transit-related fees, we witnessed a little incident that gave us a first-hand insight into the rampant corruption -- estimated at $5B in bribes annually.

On crossing the border from the state of Uttar Pradesh en-route to Delhi, our driver needed to make his quarterly road tax payment. I was curious as to why this transaction took a bit of discussion, so I asked. He explained that he had presented his car's registration papers and tendered his 2000 rupee fee. But the agent then requested 2100 rupees.

"Please give me a receipt showing 2100 rupees, and I'll be happy to pay," replied our driver.

"I am sorry, it will be 2100 rupees if you want me to overlook your out-of-date registration papers," explained the agent.

"No, please it's OK. You can look at my papers. The registration is up to date and everything is in order," replied our driver.

But the agent went on: "But there is a problem, brother. You see, I am not an educated man. I cannot read, and therefore, I am unable to verify that your documents are in order."

The driver knew he had been trumped by this brilliant line of reasoning, and dutifully paid up.

The Great Trunk Road

-----

Eventually we reached Agra, which itself was fairly grim. However, the Taj did not disappoint. We visited twice, sunset and sunrise. The hazy morning light was the best:

Encouragingly, we found that western tourists were vastly outnumbered by Indians. We sensed a definite pride in the locals -- with their newfound prosperity they now have the wherewithal to travel and tour. For example, this colorful gaggle of Indian women queueing to enter the inner chamber of the Taj Mahal:

The next day we drove on, crossing the state border into Rajasthan and landing in Jaipur for the night. Jaipur is the biggest city in Rajasthan and not all that pleasant on its own. Still, some good sights and shopping. But the highlight was the second morning, when we drove a ways out of town. Rounding a small mountain that forms one of the boundaries of the city, we suddenly received this incredible vista:

Completely unspoiled, looming above us in its medieval splendor, the Amber Fort. (Double-click on the image to see more detail!)

The road does not ascend to gate of the Fort, so you had two choices: walk or ride. We chose to ride:

On entering the gates of the fort there was a on-going greeting ceremony, including a small band with drums and bugles announcing our arrival into the main courtyard. We were told this fanfare was identical to that which would have been afforded arriving dignitaries in days of old. It was truly intoxicating; very cool.

The fort itself, including inner palaces, was very elaborate and unique. Here the girls admire the view from one of the balconies in the harem wing:

-----

Our next stop was a welcome respite in a rural setting. This was the Chhatra Sagar Camp, comprising 11 luxury tents offering an updated version of the 1920s hunting parties hosted by the Nimaj family, who have owned the surrounding working farmland for the past century.

The camp is set on the rim of a dam built by Thukur Chhatra Singh of Nimaj and is operated by his descendants. It overlooks the resulting lake which hosts many migratory bird species and other wildlife.

The accommodations, food and hosts were outstanding. The girls luxuriated in their tent...

...and in the morning the crew were at work sprucing-up the decorations on the dung-plastered floor of the camp area:

Snow Country

2010-01-09T06:05:00.000-08:00

Don't know if this is making the news back home, but our little island is covered with snow. This amazing satellite photo was all over the papers yesterday:

Though we are keeping upper lips stiff, it is quite difficult to get around. Hoards have been stranded at the airports. Trains are stymied. Even parts of the underground are down (doesn't make sense, does it?)

Here is the situation on the ground, entrance to Regent's Park:

Speaking of modes of transportation, here is a study in contrast from the neighborhood, demonstrating different styles of self-expression. In the front, a G-Wiz electric; in the back, your basic "Chelsea Tractor":

New Years

2010-01-04T12:31:00.001-08:00

Yes, we did finally make it to India. We're just back now, with a memorable family experience still bouncing around our brains. I will attempt to document it all, or at least the high points – and low points, which may be more amusing. As a first installment, let me recount our 2010 New Year's, this the year of the tiger.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Our wake-up call came early this New Year's eve, 5 AM to be exact. Five minutes later our personal butler appeared with a pot of masala chai, shooing away the monkeys from our porch as he arrived. Outside darkness prevailed, but birdcalls permeated the bungalow, laying as it was on the edge of a grassy clearing with the awakening jungle just beyond. We swaddled ourselves in our warmest clothing in deference to the unexpected chill. For Simone, this meant donning improvised 'sock mittens':

With our grips firm on the cold steel of our anti-tiger weapons (flashlights, actually) we steadied our nerves and set off down the unlit, meandering path through the bamboo and various creepers to the main lodge. Exclamations of "Daddy, this in NOT THE RIGHT WAY" notwithstanding, we eventually arrived at the stunningly appointed common area of Mohua Bothi, the Taj Group's outpost on the edge of Bandhavgarh National Park in the heart of India.

Awaiting was our guide Arwind, originally from Goa. He dove into a chalk talk on the game plan, hazards, and the all important do's and don'ts when confronted with large cats. Duly informed, we happily signed the liability releases, our heads swimming in a pre-dawn fog. Before long we climbed into our three-tiered game viewing jeep – at last I 'get' the vehicle of the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland.

We bumped and lurched along the pothole strewn road through the pre-dawn activities of the local village (mostly consisting of men imbibing chai and ganja), across the shallow river-cum-community-plunge, soon finding ourselves grid-locked with the 44 other jeeps awaiting the 6 AM opening of the park gates. At this point I feared we were headed into a sad developing-world disappointment, overcrowded, strewn with trash, etc.

But I could not have been more wrong. Once we passed the entry, the various jeeps fanned out into assigned tracks within the 1200 square kilometers. The first light of dawn revealed stunning landscapes, with pods of spotted deer along the road, and various other creatures roaming about.

At the dead center of the park lies its namesake, the Bandhavgarh Fort dating from the 2nd century and mentioned in the Ramayana. It is perched on top of a spectacular outcropping, with a winding, steep elephant track carved from the rock as its only approach. Our TATA jeep was capable, and before long we passed through the formidable entry gates.

I was convinced that not only did this place inspire the Ramayana, but also Jungle Book, complete with roots growing through the ancient edifices:

A tablet engraved with Sanskrit was resting in the weeds...

..and nearby a spectacular reclining Vishnu carved out of solid sandstone, alongside a mossy, spring-fed pond carved from the same rock:

It was in a perfect state of neglect and decay, simply marvelous.

We zenned on it all with our morning chai and naan. After warming in the sunrise...

...we again descended to the parklands.

Before long, we spotted rather large kitty tracks along the road:

Following these for about 600 yards, Elie was the first to spot a large beast lounging in the shade of some bushes. Pamela scopes in (follow her gaze)...

...on this magnificent creature:

There was a moment of pure adrenalin when a sambar (large ungulate) wandered by, then scented the tiger and started to run. The motion caught the cat's attention, and he bounded to his feet in pursuit. With three gigantic and incredibly graceful leaps, covering what I estimate to be 20 feet per hop, he closed some distance. But then apparently gauging that he was too late, he just watched the sambar disappear into the bush (above).

Much better than a cup of coffee to get your heart going!

For Pam, there was only one way to complete this amazing day, and finally dispel the chill...

...a marigold-strewn bath complete with sandalwood incense and India's finest Sauvignon Blanc, prepared by the staff immediately prior to our return to the lodge!

The Season is Upon Us

2009-12-18T09:42:00.001-08:00

This morning on first check out the window into the 7:00 AM darkness, there were snowflakes swirling around the streetlights! Soon after we were tromping through the park:

It was a perfect day to do a mad dash around town for last minute Christmas shopping and drink in the atmosphere. Dazzling lights, crowds, outdoor fairs, slippery sidewalks, occasional flurries, hot chocolate on the street corners, carolers here and there. The season is very much upon this town, and it is a great place to be.

But alas, we are bailing out. It is off to India again, but this time with visas. The trip has inflated to grander proportions than the original, aborted version. We'll be two weeks, girls in tow, and a much more elaborate ($$$) itinerary. I will attempt to report along the way.

There - a blog entry, #2 for December (that's double November's output) and the cab is due in 10 minutes. Not sure where the time is going.

A December Morning

2009-12-03T14:56:00.000-08:00

This morning I'm awake by 7:00, but the only hint of the new day is the soft murmur of the city coming to life – the dawn still a ways off. Must get the girls up and off to school as Pam is buying seasonal knick-knacks in Germany with her sister Susan and our good friend Kate Ditzler. A few rumbles and bumps indicate life is stirring in the teenage domain upstairs, so I can congratulate myself on having achieved my first objective without even leaving bed. So nothing to do then but brew my morning tea and saddle-up Pudds for her walk.

As we step out there is a faint glow in the eastern sky making silhouettes of the now barren trees in Regent's Park. The frozen puddles from yesterday's rain give way to our footsteps with a satisfying crunch. Trails of steam rising from the grass guide me to the little treasures left by Pudds. Ah, the many benefits of crisp temperature found in the far north...

The run-off from the rain has created a slight but perceptible current in the canal this morning. It has Pudding completely perplexed; she seems to think the drifting flotsam and jetsam are self-propelled life forms. Barking, running back and forth, wagging her tail, etc. Very silly. A pair of joggers stop to share my amusement.

By 8:30 I am packing myself into a seriously jammed Jubilee line train, heading for the Knightsbridge Golf School. This outfit is hidden in the basement of a sumptuous Georgian apartment complex in Lowndes Square, just a stone's throw (or chip shot) from Harvey Nichols. Not sure if they can help me, but the proprietors are a colorful pair of star-struck golf experts, catering to a high brow clientele including actors, royals, and PGA tour players. In fact (or so I'm told) Sean Connery learned to swing a club here before filming the famous golf scene in Goldfinger. Talk about Groovy, Baby!

After 30 minutes of flailing away I've warmed to the point where the fresh air back on the street feels invigorating. The xmas-themed window decor at Harvey Nicks is absolutely fantastic. But alas the rain turns on again, so I duck back into the tube for cover. Emerging in South Kensington, I dash into a small cafe and arm myself with a cappuccino and the Financial Times – I have no umbrella, you see.

Here's an amusing commentary on the unfolding Dubai fiasco that I found in the FT: "When you start building a third island shaped like a palm tree, intending it to be as big and crowded as Manhattan, you are crying out for a sober voice to bark: 'Stop!' But when that island is just one atoll in an artificial archipelago that would reconfigure the Persian Gulf coast into a thicket of trees, a map of the world, a whirling galaxy, a scythe and a sun that looks like a spider, what you need is some corporate restructuring". --Jim Krane

With the showers eventually abating, I stroll over to the Victoria and Albert Museum for a cultural moment. My objective is the Islamic collection, having become interested in (more accurately "somewhat aware of") Islamic art and decor while in Istanbul last weekend. Oh yes, it was Turkey for Thanksgiving for your intrepid Shields family, so let me conclude with some shots:

Sunset over one of the many mosques

Proffering turkish tea did not lead to increased sales with this shrewd bunch

Byzantine cisterns: a place to save water for the inevitable siege

The fantastic Topkapi Palace. This the Harem section, where Tiger would hang-out

Yes Virginia, there really is such a thing as a Whirling Dervish

Blighty Blackout Ends

2009-11-16T14:06:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the novelty is waning or perhaps it's the lack of monumental screw-ups to memorialize. In any case, I apologize for the blackout of the past few weeks.

In any case, we are now at home in St John's Wood, which I am learning to pronounce properly for the cabbies: instead of the americanish "saint", just say "sent". Very simple.

Today Pam went to her 'Sumptuous Silver' class at the V&A museum which culminated in a private tour of the Goldsmith's Hall. The Hall is the HQ of the Goldsmith's Company: "Founded to regulate the craft or trade of the goldsmith, the Goldsmiths' Company has been responsible since 1300 for testing the quality of gold, silver and, from 1975, platinum articles." Per Pam, it was quite sumptuous indeed. Check out the dining room.

Afterwards we met to tour St. Paul's Cathedral. This masterpiece of Christopher Wren notwithstanding, I was keen to pay my respects at the tombs of Lord Nelson and The Duke of Wellington having had my interest piqued by readings on British maritime power and the conflicts with France (those idiot Frogs!). Nelson's tomb is particularly moving:

The beautifully shaped black sarcophagus sits dead center in the lower floor of the Cathedral. Inside is a wooden coffin, a gift from a fellow officer who had it made from the mainmast of a French ship Nelson blew up in the battle of the Nile. Morbid Nelson kept this treasured coffin by his side everywhere he went for the last 6 years of his life.

We're just back from 3 days on the continent: Pam with Elie in Waterloo, me with Simone in Oberursel (outside of Frankfurt). The occasion was the volleyball and soccer season finales (respectively) in which the girls partook in a tournament of the international schools from Europe and as far away as Cairo and Israel. It was a meaningful bonding experience with the other parents as well as with potato pancakes, schnitzel, and fine german lager. But standing on the sidelines of a northern soccer pitch in mid-November will forever make one pine for the relatively balmy environs of the Beach Chalet fields of GG park, thank you very much.

Between games I found time to hike the nature trail nearby which tracked through a Celtic archaeological site – much more interesting (and more wholesome) than those bushes by the Great Highway. The site, a fortified settlement dating to the late centuries B.C., was carpeted with the last of the fall foliage and in a deep twilight due to the overcast, the forest canopy, and shallow November sun angle. As we stumbled about the remnants of the ancient walls, my companion Sarah (Greer) Bertasi remarked that it seemed a scene from Lord of the Rings. In complete agreement, I could not help but ponder the pro's and con's of living in a bronze-age, pagan civilization in the forests of northern europe. Cool!

Other recent activities of note include a road bike ride out to Windsor Castle and a visit from Tom and Julie Feldstein of SF - the most agreeable of guests, giving us excuse to visit some new restaurants and tour some of the classics: The Tower of London, Harrod's, The Tate Museums, Westminster Abbey, St James's Park.

I sent my account of the ride to Windsor to you biker friends via email already, but here it is again:

It was a very crisp, clear autumn day, 8-11C, I'm told. We experienced some very cool sights. Huge red deer in the Richmond Park. Then along the upper Thames lavish riverside homes, early-birds rowing the river, crew teams practicing. Then on our right suddenly appeared Hampton Court, Henry VIII's sumptuous palace, with majestic formal gardens rolling down to the river bank. Spectacular.

We rode on through quaint riverside villages, eventually up into a manicured parkland. I did not realize it was "Windsor Great Park" (the private hunting ground of Windsor Castle, dating primarily from the mid-13th century) until we rounded a bend and were looking down the "Long Walk", which runs three miles straight to the castle:

Awesome!

India?

2009-10-26T23:40:00.000-07:00

Just in case we had you fooled into thinking that Jon and Pam Shields were just about the most competent jet-setters around, let me burst that bubble with a tale of our trip to India.

On Thursday we awoke with eager anticipation of a week in Rajasthan, intending to join in the 50th birthday party of Pam's good friend Christine Rai from Cost Plus days. Though of Scottish descent, Christine has lived her entire life in India, growing up on a tea plantation in Kerala, moving on to the import/export business and becoming Cost Plus's sole agent for the region. Suffice it to say, the party promised to be a once-in-a-lifetime event.

But quickly things started going haywire. Scrambling to pack our bags, the traveller's checks were nowhere to be found. Then there was an accident on the A4 resulting in hellish traffic to Heathrow, and when we attempted to check-in, it turned out that our tickets had not been issued.

Running around to various airline desks, the minutes started to evaporate. What had started as a calm, competent "we do this all the time" trip to the airport was becoming a nerve-wracking countdown. But cool heads prevailed, and thanks to many amazingly friendly agents, the bags soon disappeared down the conveyor belt with 10 minutes to spare.

As a final formality, the Finnair agent asked to see our visas. We looked at each other: "Visas? Surely with 1 billion people already in India, they wouldn't insist on any sort of formality for just two more?"

Not the right answer.

And calling the Indian visa office in London, we learned that we could expect to wait about 10 days to get them. Next thing you know, I'm being escorted through the bowels of Heathrow in an attempt to intercept our luggage before it gets loaded, truly fouling-up the works.

Thirty minutes later, our new friends at the airport had us all sorted: bags in hand, canceled connections, soothed nerves, etc. By this time, though, I fear they had had just about enough of the two of us, and were looking forward to seeing us off to London in the next cab.

But with dog/teen-sitter all lined-up, bags packed for warm weather, clear calendars and nothing but rain the London forecast, this intrepid duo was not about to simply limp home to mope. So we scanned the "Departures" monitor for jets flying south. The next thing you know, we're having tapas and rioja in Madrid!

The next morning we got the early jump on the city, being the first visitors to the Prado (Madrid's landmark art museum). It was thoroughly enjoyable to walk through the mostly empty galleries of Goya, Velasquez, etc. But with our newly learnt geography, that being of Madrid's location in the central highlands, it became clear that the dhotis and saris in our arsenal would not cut it in late October. So it was back to the airport, and by 5PM we were on the island of Mallorca, where we are now ending a glorious 4 night stay.

Some photos:

The scenic northwest coast of the island where we have encamped.

Our village, Déia, surrounded by ancient olive groves and completely built of stone.

Hiking has been the main activity. Here Pam scales a 'stile' separating the sheep from the olive groves.

Later, at the top of the Sierra de Tramuntana (see if you can spot Pam) about 3000 ft above the sea.

Our hotel, La Residencia. Like Santa Barbara's San Ysidro Ranch+++

By this time completely over our failings, and plotting another assault on India later in the year.

Foliage

2009-10-20T14:10:00.000-07:00

There is a definite crispness to the air and the sun seems to be having a yet harder time in her struggle to push through the leaden skies. Perhaps all the better not to compete with the brilliance of the fall foliage in our neighborhood parks. So this morning, with the girls turned out to school, we followed Pudding over to Primrose Hill:

Rambling with The Pudds, it is all too apparent that we humans are missing an entire dimension of autumn with our feeble olfactory equipment. Her twitching nose and quivering tail indicate supreme delights which we can only imagine:

So we live for the vicarious thrill and carry forward, stiff upper lip and all that.

Some other recent adventures include Pam having cocktails with the U.S. Ambassador and Supreme Court Justices, which she recounts here:

Colleen invited me to a cocktail party at the Ambassadors house in London friday night. The house used to be Barbara Hutton's house and is the largest property in London after the Queen's . She kindly introduced me to 3 Supreme court judges , John Robert's , Scalia, and Breyer, of course the only one I would have been Interested in meeting was Ruth but, she had to cancel due to her health. Talk about being tongue tied! The only thing I gleaned from the experience was that Scalia likes fly fishing and was going to an undisclosed spot in new Zealand, believe me I tried to get the info , but it was all top secret. I have to say John Robert's is one smooth operator. They where all there for the indoctrination of the new English Supreme court which they have just instigated. The house was gorgeous and that was what I was there to see, it was redecorated by Billy Haines in about 1960 and had been added on a bit. The main living room had beautiful chinoiserie wall paper that had been donated by the Annenbergs at a cost of 1,000,000 dollars. It really was stunning and I am sure I have seen it in Designer Interiors magazine. The ambassadors wife is bringing her modern art collection over from Chicago, to install in the house . They were major campaign financiers of Obama.

We've also been on a country walk the SJWWC (St. John's Wood Women's Club), yours truly being the only male participant besides our 76-year-old guide "Hugh". We stopped for lunch in a classic country pub, The Woodman. When Hugh and I were finally alone at the urinals, he declared his dismay at my turning up as he "normally had all the birds to himself" on these outings.

Anyway, after hoisting a few tasty bitters at the bar, then wolfing down our fish and chips, we completed our trudge amicably.

Escape to Capri

2009-10-17T00:14:00.000-07:00

This post is a bit after-the-fact, but anyway, while Neil and Betty were here to watch over the brood, Pam and I indulged ourselves on the island of Capri. After a bus to Stansted airport, flight to Naples, taxi to the port, ferry to the island, funicular up the cliff, then a hike through town...we found ourselves at a classic cliffside hotel which is a regular haunt of our SF friends the Mendelsohns.

Words alone can not convey the sweet feeling of this romantic island in late September, nor the scent of jasmine that hangs in the air. The best I can offer is this brief slideshow:

Arrivederci Italia

2009-10-14T00:17:00.000-07:00

We're back in cool, wet London this morning, and Venice is but a fading dream. A few final shots...

Pamela, looking right at home in elegant surroundings (as usual). This time the Hotel Daneli near San Marco.

Our girls gliding along a canal, piloted by Tomaso, who does a reasonable Madonna impression with his 'Like a Virgin' rendition.

In the water taxi bound for the airport.

Noi siamo in Venezia

2009-10-11T06:07:00.000-07:00

Having returned from Morocco just in time for Simone's birthday dinner at "Bam Bou" in Fitzrovia (excellent asian fusion), I dumped my still wet surfing gear in London and joined the girls on our next extravaganza: a long weekend in Venice. Though the rain followed us down from London resulting in a soggy arrival, this morning the sun broke through to reveal the beauty of this city in slanting October sunshine:

The last time we were in Venice was on the way to our friend Alberto Finali's wedding, 16 years ago. It was in peak sweltering summer, crazily mobbed with tourists and frankly rather unappealing. I believe we had sworn to never come back.

But still, it is one of the wonders of civilization and we thought it would be worth another try. Plus this time I would not be lifting Simone in her stroller up and over a bridge/staircase every ~100 yards. (Although with her being recently hobbled with a severe soccer injury, it nearly came to that again.)

Wanting to obtain maximum initial impact for the girls, we were transported to our hotel via beautifully varnished Water Taxi...

...in which our "signore della dolce vita" seemed completely at home,

including Bella Ragazza Uno:
& Bella Ragazza Due:

After this bit of extravagance, exploration resumed on foot. It is amazing what a different experience it is, in the off-peak season. Not having to jostle for position amongst the throngs, we've easily entered the main attractions, including San Marco, the Palazzo Ducale, and the Peggy Guggenheim museum.

But perhaps the best is just strolling along the narrow passages and back canals, tuning-in to the richness of architectural detail, but always alert to the paparazzi like these three:

Just a few more Maroc photos

2009-10-05T10:45:00.000-07:00

The old man pulls a bottom turn at mushy 'sunset peak'

Beach stampede

Suiting up for a session at Boilers

The take off at Boiler's, and its namesake lurking in the impact zone.

Moonrise over our beach

Exploring the coast in our Renault "Kangoo"

Camel rides available.

Tree-climbing goats

2009-10-02T04:38:00.000-07:00

October already! I knew it would be hard to keep this blog timely. Oh well.

Much has transpired since our last meeting here in cyberspace. To summarize, we had a very fine time with Pam's folks (Betty and Neil) who have now gone back home. A big highlight was a night on the town, starting with the London production of "Billy Elliot". Though the genre sometimes disappoints, this show will keep us going to musicals, that's for sure. Incredible performance and very apropos to see in Britain, with Neil to fill us in on the politics and translate the northern accents. We followed up with dinner at "Rules", the "oldest restaurant in London". Eye-popping Yorkshire Puddings (approximately the size of a birthday cake) in an interior reminiscent of the SF's Big Four with photos and news clippings smattering the walls, but obviously covering much richer/deeper history.

While Betty and Neil were here the girls had a school trip to Budapest and Pam and I skipped out to Capri for a few days. We had a romantic stay, playing a rich and famous couple on a second honeymoon. This deserves a blog entry of its own, which will be done once I get access to our photos!

Alas I now find myself at the end of my first week in Morocco. I'm with a very humorous bunch of surf-crazed 40-something year-olds. There is our group leader "Kiwi" (Steve McCulloch) a New Zealander; "Lorenzo", and englishman named Lawrence married to an Italian (hence the mockery); "Captain", another yank from Novato; Guido a bona-fide italian living in Switzerland; Guido's wife Linda, a Finn.

To me, the Morocco coast is Baja with tagines instead of tacos, taqiyas instead of sombreros, djellabas (robe) instead of panchos, and so on... It is uncanny. But the twist makes it far more interesting and exotic. I'm really enjoying it, and its fun too to be with a group intent on getting by on a tight budget, unlike the bourgeois travel style we've all adapted too in our mature years.

Some shots!

The view from the balcony of our dwelling, looking south down the coast. Note blue fishing boats that head out at about 5AM, sounding like a swarm of bees with their outboards. The disruption is no problem though – we're already awake having been called to prayer over the warbling village loudspeaker 20 minutes beforehand.

Some of the crew members loading the car for surf exploration in the alley outside the apartment.

The view from the wheel. Roads are good, driving pretty darn civilized. A few beasts now and then.

Speaking of beasts, this is something you don't see everyday: tree-climbing goats. They ascend the "Argan" tree in search the berries, later excreting the nuts. These are harvested, then pressed to make the prized Argan Oil.

So what about the surf? We've surfed several sessions everyday, mostly beachbreaks, nothing noteworthy until this morning. Our first swell hit last night, and we caught "Boilers" at dawn with overhead lines pumping through. I had a good (aka lucky) session, scoring the wave of the morning over the pack of european surfers, most decades younger than me. Hah! Lucked out really, when a sneaker set hit, paddled out on a leftwards diagonal hard to not get caught, managed to whip around, dropping in late, standing up way too far back and wobbling down the face (booties!). But I recovered and had a very nice fast, workable wall for about 80 yards.

Satisfied with that for now, I've skipped the mid-morning session to get caught up on the blog and save energy for low tide at sunset.

A day in the life

2009-09-17T14:39:00.000-07:00

It's time for a "day-in-the-life" of the London-dwelling transplant. Here goes.

Woke up about 7:30, to the usual clip-clopping of the Royal Artillery Cavalry on their way down the street for their morning exercise in Regent's Park. A gaze out the window confirmed it would be another day with the standard forecast: the proverbial "sunny intervals".

Pulled on the jeans and t-shirt, and ambled downstairs. The distinctive slamming of the front door and then the gate indicated that the girls were off to school. Another family bonding opportunity around the breakfast table missed (sigh).

But, with in-laws Neil and Betty in residence, I hoped that a pot of tea would be awaiting in the kitchen. I was not disappointed.

With deference to the distinctive autumn chill in the air, I pulled on my Patagonia top, hooked Pudding to her leash, and joined Pam on the sidewalk. Every morning there is yet another layer of fallen beech and sycamore(?) leaves covering the sidewalk. But, thanks to our council taxes, a fleet of russian street sweepers will soon be all over it, each with a broom and cell phone headset, more engaged in the dialog than the clean-up.

Our favorite bakery/morning spot, Gails, was too crowded so we chose an italian cafe just down the street from the (10+?) options within 300 yards. After latte's and some scrambled eggs, we parted ways as Pam had a meeting with the Kensington Women's Club at the Royal Geographic Society HQ.

So with Pudds leading the way, off to Regent's Park it was. And this park, as with all of the green spaces around, reminds us what an incredible city this is. There are hundreds of immense trees - probably all bigger than the largest in Golden Gate park. The grounds are immaculate – lawns mowed, fringed with perfect english border plantings. We walked through the more wild wooded areas no sudden surprises from (how do I say this in a P.C. way?) 'overnighters' as I often encounter in Buena Vista Park in the mornings at home.

We did an inside loop of the park, about 2.5 miles. Pudding annihilated the last vestiges of the sweet shampoo scent from her recent bath by rolling in goose and duck droppings as she tends to do. Damn dog.

Returned to the house and took care of a few administrative details, e.g. trying to get the freight station to deliver our goods shipped from the U.S. with no further customs and storage charges !##!!@@##. Note to self: never use container shipping again.

After a shower & shave, I'm off to the St John's Wood tube station, just about 5 minutes walk. Three stops later I transfer to the Piccadilly Line, emerging in Knightsbridge to meet Pam at Harrods. This place is way over-the-top. The sports floor is more about fashion than competition, as a browse through the horseback riding, shooting, and cricket sections confirms. And the Egyptian Escalator belongs in an Indiana Jones set, that's for sure.

We had salads for lunch at one of the many Brompton Road cafes catering to shoppers like us. Then Pam had a lecture on the new ceramics exhibit at the Victoria and Albert Museum (yawn) so I decided to have a look at the Natural History Museum across the street. Very, very impressive. I just scratched the surface in my 1.5 hour visit, but besides the very well done and immense exhibits there is an overwhelming sense of empire and history as you look at stuff collected by Darwin himself. Wow - will be going back (it's free, after all!)

We got home in time for our afternoon tea and a bit of footie on the telly (which led to a brief nap) but then rallied for 'back to school night' at ASL.

Whenever we go to the school, I feel a reassuring surge of the familiar with the abounding american expatriates – you fully understand what people are saying, including the nuances. 75% of the teachers seem outstanding, and the facilities are far superior to our school in SF. We agree that the girls are off to a great year.

Continuing to revel in the familiar, we shared a hamburger afterwards at our local pub, "The Duke of York". Funny enough, the waitresses all seem to be russian, and one addressed Pam as "darling" in just the way that Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle would have said it --- weird! So ends the day.

Our first visitors

2009-09-15T14:54:00.000-07:00

Today Pam's mum and dad were spotted in dog-walk training along the Regent's Canal, a waterway linking the heart of London to the Thames and points beyond. The adjoining towpath is great for a stroll, run or bike, and passes about 200 yards from our house. The canal boats and drooping willows evoke Mr. Toad for me.

We are intent on having Betty and Neil fully qualified with Pudding by Sunday, when Pam and I scoot out to the island of Capri for a four day extravaganza!

Sleek Rides

2009-09-13T04:48:00.000-07:00

For me, cars together with people's customs and quirks toward them, are always an interesting thing to observe when abroad.

It's funny, but I don't believe I've seen a single pick-up truck. Have not the English discovered the utility of this clever american invention? I say, it appears they just don't get it!

Instead, the notable trend is the high-end euro luxury muscle car. These are usually piloted by a snazzily dressed banker-type, and invariably wound out in low gear speeding toward the next set of "traffic calming humps" (aka speed bumps).

Adding the conspicuosity is a situation where no one seems to have a garage, so these beauties litter the streets.

It has been pointed out to me that this is actually an advantage for the owner: it provides more opportunity to be seen and associated with the vehicle as you enter/exit, feed the meter, or hunt down the tow operator.

The owner of this V12 turbo must have had some trouble hanging on to his wheels in the past. Note the clever adaptation of bicycle locking technology as an anti-theft measure.

Here's another site to be seen about town these days: Pam and her rolling goodie bag, here patrolling the back streets behind Harrod's.

Back in the saddle

2009-09-04T16:09:00.000-07:00

It dawned sunny and bright today, with gusty autumnal winds chasing away the remaining clouds. I had a yearning to get a larger view and sense of place, but the utter lack of topography is a problem: no Mt Tam, La Cumbre Peak, or even Ashbury Heights to ascend so as to fix one's position.

I concluded that I needed to criss-cross the terrain more thoroughly at ground level, so I navigated the Tube to a bike store. After a chat with the conoscenti behind the cash register, I settled on a hybrid optimized for getting about town: upright riding position, super gnarly lock, reflectors, lights and ding-a-ling bell! I then sniffed my way back to our borough overland, seeing many strange and wondrous things along the way. Managed to 'stay left' well enough to not get run over too.

Pam was invited over to a new friend's house for a chat, which morphed into a riotous cocktail hour with some 20 ex-patriot women. Nevertheless, she dutifully met at the tube station at the appointed time of 6:30 to join our friend Colleen Graffy(*) to see an exhibit of J.W. Waterhouse paintings at the Royal Academy of Arts. Really beautiful paintings, and a transporting hour into a land of fantasy and water nymphs...

We then had dinner at Le Caprice, which was "buzzing with glamorous women in vertiginous heels" just as advertised on their web-site.

* You may have caught Colleen today on Al Jazeerah - she was interviewed by David Frost on the topic "is Obama's honeymoon over?" Whoa!

It's Raining

2009-09-02T12:42:00.000-07:00

Yep, it's raining, just like they said it would. Not so bad really - added to the charm of the cobblestone alley in Hampstead where Pam and I had our scones this morning after our Pilates class (ouch, that's hard work!).

In the small world department, Simone remarked that she was paired with this very athletic blond in soccer practice named Margy. We later saw in the school newspaper, in an article about her achievements as a US Nationally ranked rower, that her last name was Bertasi. Later we realized this was the daughter of Sarah Greer Bertasi, a childhood friend from Santa Barbara! We've now connected with Sarah who is on her 4th year here with her family. She is actually in the U.S. right now, helping her oldest settle-in at Dartmouth, but we look forward to hanging out with her and Rick on the soccer sidelines in the coming months.

We've been getting our house set-up and also touring around a bit. One highlight was the National Portrait Gallery, which has a portrait of every who's who from Henry VII forward. Pam and I mad the mistake of overdosing on Tudors and Stuarts, and will have to come back again another day to finish it off.

Beginnings

2009-09-01T23:30:00.000-07:00

Our intrepid Pudding, just as she arrived in her capsule. She doesn't realize she's come one-third the way around the world, but probably wonders she feels compelled to play with her ball at 3AM every morning.

The girls getting their bearings at Picadilly Circus.

Out the door of #25 St Johns Wood Terrance and on their way to the first day of school!

2009-08-30T15:02:00.000-07:00

We've arrived! Pudds and I have re-joined the advance guard of the Shields family at our rented home at 25 St Johns Wood Terrace, London, NW8 6JL. Pudds shook off her 24 hour travel ordeal with a simple wag of the tail – indicating "no big deal" – as she stepped out of her crate onto the hallowed soil of her hereditary homeland for the first time. She hasn't skipped a beat, and is busy sniffing down her new domain. I, on the other hand, am still indulging in jet-lag induced afternoon naps of the deepest variety (and expect to continue in this for some time).

First impression: My but isn't this civilized!!!

The neighborhood is quite leafy and serene, but for a few late-night pub revelers, and the dawn hour cavalcade of the Royal Horse Artillery who ride smack down our street every dawn.

There is an amazing bakery/espresso outlet half a block away, various boutique restaurants, tony pubs, grocery markets displaying a bewildering assortment of perfect fruits and vegetables (incredibly putting Whole Foods to shame) plus a library and tube stop. Regents Park, huge and manicured to a tee, allows dogs off-lead and is just two blocks away.

We've already had several scrumptious meals. Let me think, going backwards: tonight dinner at nouveau Indian at Amaya with Colleen Graffy, lunch at a very hip pizzeria off of Brick Lane, yesterday dinner at a boutique italian place called Vineria just off Abbey Road in Marylebone, lunch at the Clifton Nursery in Little Venice (yes, fine dining al fresco amidst the specimens), dinner on Friday somewhere in the neighborhood I can't remember (had Sea Bream). And so on.

Even though school has not yet started the girls seem to have already merged into the social network. They've been out and mingling on their own since I've been here, having the tube and bus system wired in about 6 hours. They just now (11:30 PM) stumbled in from a get together at some incredible home in the heart of Regent's Park owned by 'the founder of Heinz Ketchup' (at least so we're told) with multiple jacuzzis and pools. Today Elie was escorted home from an afternoon (tea?) by a young lad who was precariously close to her at the door (according to Pam - I missed this event). In summary, I'm not worried about them feeling like outcasts, but on the flip side wondering if the 'family closeness' we hoped for in this grand adventure will come to nought.

The highlight today was a stroll down Columbia Road, where you find an outdoor flower market on Sundays. The street is very picturesque, lined with shops of a Dickensian aspect, full of unique crafts, antques, vintage clothing, etc. The flower hawkers were extremely vocal, rivaling the barkers on Broadway in the volume and costume. (Should have had a working camera - will get to that!) We also found the Dennis Servers House in this area. Very unique and transporting.

On the verge

2009-08-22T21:33:00.000-07:00

The house is rented, the ladies of the family have already landed, and the dog (Pudding) is about to get de-ticked, de-flea'd and de-wormed for her debut in London. We should be set to leave fog-ville on Thursday, with all local affairs as neatly bottled-up as possible. The excitement builds!