Oxfordiana, Pt 2

Time for another round?

The Couscous Cafe is on the Cowley road a block from the big roundabout. They serve some great mint tea, but really what I love this place for is the pastries. I never pass by (or near!) without stopping by to buy half a dozen, at least. Little packages of loveliness made with honey, rosewater, almond flour, ground walnuts, pistachios. I am always tempted to buy one of everything, but that would be sugar overload. Also, as each one is only a couple of bites at best, The Limey and I are sometimes too selfish to share.

Continuing along the Cowley road:

As they (didn't) say: You can take the girl out of California, but you can't take California out of the girl. I have undeniable hippy tendencies. I cut it with a lot of cynicism, but there's no getting away from it. Indigo sells fairtrade clothing, accessories and little bits and bobs. There is lots I roll my eyes at (incense, magnetic "remedies", etc.) but it's one of the few places in Oxford I can reliably find good-looking ethically-produced clothing, and wearables made from environmentally-conscious cotton and fabrics, etc. Yes, it is slightly pricey, but I do not live at the poverty line, so I can afford some of my convictions. Plus, their sales are really very good.

A little bit of everything

In this post, I shall write about one event that combines the Oxfordiana series, a little knitting, and a special bit I will call "crazy shit the English do".

Today is May Day, which is celebrated around the world mostly by workers demanding better lives and working conditions, but is celebrated in Oxford pretty differently.

File under Oxfordiana
It starts at dawn, with choirs singing from Magdalen College's tower to greet the day.


Apparently, people used to jump off the bridge into the river below (possibly encouraged by the blood alcohol levels reached from having spent the previous night drinking in order to be up to greet the dawn), but they've stopped that now.


I have to admit I did not actually join the celebrations. I was supposed to be at the Botanic Gardens, across the river from Magdalen College, at dawn, but numbers had to be cut at the last minute, and I wasn't actually going to be useful there. (To be honest, I was pretty happy not to have to get up before dawn and trudge down there. Dawn, people!)

File under "Crazy shit the English do"
But what was going on there?



Oh yes: Morris dancing. I've been living here for three years now, and there are things I never cease to be baffled by. Morris dancing is one of them. (As is separate taps, but we won't rehash that.) In retrospect, I should have seen this coming from miles away. Crazy facial hair? Check. Ponytail? Check. Unholy love of real ale? Check. So I should not have been surprised when The Limey joined Cry Havoc, our local Morris side.



He does not dance for them (yet), but plays the fiddle. I didn't get to see them dance at the Botanic Gardens, but I did go see them later in the day at our local Botley shopping area and in Osney Island, where these pictures are from.

And the knitting?


Gloves with fingers short enough so they don't hinder playing. Knit in Cry Havoc's black and purple colours. Hey, it may be the beginning of summer, but it's feckin' cold at dawn!

Speaking of cultural differences...

The scene: Bloomingdale's in NYC (which, by the way, is miles ahead of Macy's; don't even bother with Macy's). The Limey and I are headed towards a be-suited employee so The Limey can ask the whereabouts of the bathroom. Another couple get to the employee at the same time.

The exchange between The Limey and other guy:
-After you.
-No, you first.
-No, you.
-No, after you
...

I poke The Limey to go ahead. As he asks, I say to the other guy's companion, "I had to do something. We could have been here forever- he's British." And she points at her dude and goes, "So's he."

BIG IMPORTANT cultural differences

One difference between the US and the UK which caused a few weeks of utter confusion for me is the attitude to cats and the outdoors.

In the US, many people prefer to keep their cats indoors. When I was a volunteer at the SF SPCA, in fact, we made people sign a form promising to keep their cats indoors only. Cats allowed outdoors have much shorter lives- they get run over by cars; they get into fights with dogs; in certain areas, they are the losers in encounters with coyotes or other wildlife.

In the UK, it is assumed that cats must go outside. When we looked for rental housing, we'd mention the cat, and agents would say, "Oh, but this is a flat" or "There's no garden." Which confused the daylights out of me. I'd be all, "Yes, I know it's a flat..." or "And...this is relevant how?" But of course, they skipped straight from "We have a cat" to "It'll have to go outside".

Whereas Chloe, in her short but peripatetic life, has lived in houses with yards where she was allowed out, to apartments where she was kept in. If outside is available, she goes, but otherwise doesn't really care either way.

These people? Definitely not Britons.

My God...I think I have a tan!

Continuing visitor season, my good friend K was here for a few days last week. (I love visitors.) I hadn't seen her in ages, so it was good to catch up. It was also good because she was up for a lot of walking around, and since I was only starting to familiarize myself with Oxford, we explored together.

We did spend some time wandering around the town, but the best was when we, unintentionally, took the Thames Canal path all the way to Wolvercote, at which point we figured there was no reason not to stop at The Trout Inn. Mmmm....Pimm's by the water in the sunshine. Then we came all the way back down to Oxford via the Thames Path. I think I'll be making that journey many more times.

We did a bunch of stuff that you're "supposed" to do. We peeked at some of the colleges, looked at all the great buildings, went to The Turf. But, honestly, the best afternoon we had was when we ducked into a random pub to get out of a sudden rain and found that it was populated only by the Kiwi bartender and two of his regulars, a Welshman and an Englishmen. (I feel like I should start a joke here: Two Americans walk into a pub...) They started by disapproving our beer choices, tried to convince us that cricket and rugby were the only proper sports, talked about where they/we had travelled, recommended a restaurant, and then pushed drink at us, including a Jagermeister/Red Bull concoction...which was weird. Anyway, by the time we left, my cheeks were aching from laughing, and then the bartender refused to take payment for our drinks.

It's really nice when you get a good afternoon like that in, especially with visitors.

We survived

Yes, there were scenes such as this:


But there were also scenes such as this:
...from a car park in Bigbury-on-sea. I thought it looked familiar. Why yes, I'd seen it before, in "Evil Under the Sun" from TV's Agatha Christie's Poirot!

Other scenes:

Grimspound, a Bronze Age settlement in Dartmoor, where we stayed in a camping barn that not only came with its own dog...



...but also its own sheep!


If only it hadn't been so cold! The whole point of a camping barn is that you don't have to put up a tent, but I'm afraid a tent would have been warmer.

We also got to climb around the rocks on Lizard Point and do a bit of tidepooling:


Have any of you read Susan Cooper's The Dark Is Rising series? Most of it is set in Cornwall, and the kids spend a lot of their time in and out of caves. I now know why!


There's lots of caves along the beach, and I knew exactly how they felt, going into little holes on the beach and expecting to discover something exciting just in that bit that I can't quite see...

It was actually a really good weekend. Yes, it rained in bits, particularly when we had to set up or take down the tents, and we did get hailed on at one point, but there were a few spectacular hours when the sun came out and we got to see glorious landscapes. Plus, in Padstow, we ate, like, a whole, sea's worth of seafood.

We never did manage a cream tea, but that just means it's saved for next time!

Who thought this was a good idea?

A few months ago, we planned a long weekend for a friend's 30th birthday. She wanted to go away and do something fun to forget about the big 3-0 instead of sitting around London stewing about it.

We planned a hiking/camping trip to Cornwall and Devon. None of us had ever been, or, if one of us had, like The Limey, it was ages ago when he was a kid. We'd heard great things about the West Country, and, in this day and age, a little road trip close to home sounded so much better than jetting off to a foreign beach somewhere. Who needs the carbon footprint, eh? Spend locally and all that. Also, cream teas!

The weekend has arrived for us, and, as we prepare to load gear into the car in the lashing rain, all I have to say is: Who the hell thought a camping trip in March in Britain would be a good idea?!

O. M. G. W. T. F.?

Absolute true transcript of what The Limey is saying to some survey taker on the phone:

"Dublin...in the Republic of Ireland...yeah, southern Ireland...yes, south of Northern Ireland..."

Food, glorious food...

So I took the opportunity while my friend was visiting to eat at a few places I liked, and a couple of places I've been meaning to try. I am unfortunately very bad at taking pictures.

First place: dinner at Canteen, at the back of the Royal Festival Hall. It's a small chain, and I've heard good things about it. They serve "great British food" or, alternatively, "Great British food". And it actually was quite good. This branch is right near Waterloo, so it'd be good for grabbing a bite before hopping on the train home.

Next up: a late dinner, after hearing the London Philharmonic, at the Anchor & Hope on The Cut (after snacky-type things all day, and, okay, I admit it, after I took us on a huge trek out to Cafe East only to find that it was closed, or closed for renovation). I've been meaning to try this place for ages. I guess it's gastropub, and it does beautiful down-to-earth food. My visitor and I had John Dory with salsify, and The Limey had braised venison shank. They were all absolutely lovely. We shared a table with three other people, and they had ordered the roast of shoulder of lamb, which arrived in the tray it'd been roasted on. It was accompanied by a whole tray of potatoes. The waitstaff arrived with carving knife and fork and a stack of plates and let them at it.
It was supposed to be for five people, but you could have fed twice that many. I don't know what they were going to do with all the leftovers. It'd be great to go there with a bunch of friends on a Sunday afternoon and just eat and eat and eat.

Next: lunch at Asadal, right next to Holborn tube (we walked to the British Museum afterwards). Korean food. They've got a good, quiet dining room and the food is always really good. I like their veggies, very fresh and beautifully done. There's an Asadal in New Malden, but I don't know if there's any connection. I want to try that one, too.

Next: dinner at Song Que. I love this place; it's at the end of a stretch of Vietnamese restaurants. I tell you, the masses of hipster youth you have to fight through in that area of town. Jeez. I had a seafood noodle soup (a seafood version of bun bo Hue) and my friend had a classic beef pho. Lots of greenery came with the huge bowls of noodle soup, and they did not stint on the meat. We also had a plate of soft shell crab. I haven't had soft shell crab in ages (The Limey is slowly getting to like seafood, but this is so far beyond him) and they were excellent. I would have maybe liked a little less batter, or a lighter batter. They were still great. I should also have ordered shrimp spring rolls, but in the hurry to order, I forgot. (The place was packed, and the waiters were rushing around like crazy.)

The only thing we couldn't fit in was dim sum. Well, that just means I can plan a dim sum outing soon.

This blog has been less than exciting lately, no?

Few pictures, no pictures of knitting, haven't done much of bloggable interest. Or even non-bloggable interest.

But I have a friend visiting this weekend, so maybe I'll get pictures of some of the things I love to do around London. I must remember to take my camera around with us. Although, he's an amateur photographer, so maybe I'll just rely on him.

What should I try for pictures of? Places I like to eat at? Yarn shops? London street scenes?

US vs Rest of World

I've just sent in my ballot for the presidential election. For the effect this will have on the election, I may as well have just put £1.80 directly into the post box. This is because:

1) I vote in California, which will go blue; and
2) they don't even count mail-in ballots unless the vote is really close, which it won't be, because see 1).

But I felt I should do my civic responsibility. Before I sent the ballot in, I brought it into work so people could see what it was like. The universal reaction was, "There are more than two choices?!" Ha. The other two things people can't understand are: the electoral college (fair enough; that bewilders lots of Americans, I think) and the fact that we vote for the actual person, not the party. That required a bit of explanation, which I'm uncertain cleared anything up.

But, really, it's amazing how interested people are in the US election. All the major news outlets have journalists over in the US covering it. TV channels here showed all the debates. Everyone is really informed about what's happening and at work, we've spent several lunch hours discussing it.

On the one hand, I think it's cool that people are plugged into what's happening in the world and interested in it. On the other hand, I hate that this feeds into the American egotism of "Of course they have to know what's going on here, 'cause we're that important." On the third hand, more than one Briton has told me (especially after Palin was announced as McCain's VP pick), It sucks that we can't vote in your elections, but at least we can be entertained by them.

As a comparison, I consider myself fairly well-informed, and when I was still in the US, don't at all remember seeing or hearing much about British politics, or, indeed, any international politics. Oh, we'd get wind of new leaders (if they lead "important" enough countries) after election or appointment, but we sure as hell didn't hear much about them otherwise. I don't even remember news of Tony Blair and Nu Labour coming in, in the '90s, and that was fairly major.

That concludes my political analysis. Either way, I'm going to be staying up late on the 4th, and drinking. Lots.

Look what's finally shown up

Looks like the Home Office can find their ass with both hands, if given the help of a flashlight.

What was supposed to take- at most!- six months ended up taking well over eight months. At exactly six months they asked us for "more documentation". This wouldn't rankle so much except that before I sent off the application, I rang them up and asked specifically if I should include more information, but was told no. So, um, yeah, maybe time could be saved if, you know, they knew their own policies.

I know, I know, all immigration is like this. I fully expect to have apoplectic fits and melt-downs should we ever decide to move The Limey over to the US.

But whatever, I have my passport back, and more importantly, I have proof that I'm allowed to live here. So now I can, like, sign up for the NHS and try for a driver's license and stuff. Basically, get on with my life.


So now that I have proof of being legally in the country, I can leave it! Where should I go to celebrate?

Welcome to...?

I've seen that sign twice a day for eight months now, and I'm sick of it.

I don't want to go into it all, but the upshot is I'm beginning to feel very much like I really only live on the weekends. During the week, I go to work, I come back, usually around 7:30 or 8:30, eat, maybe knit a bit, and that's it. I don't do anything else.

During the weekends, we can get into London. There are markets, and really good food options, and movie theatres that don't just play the latest popular shite. There are good bookshops. There are yarn shops. There are knitting groups. We have some friends in London.

Every time we go in, we think, screw it, we should just move into London. My train to work stops at Clapham before it hits Waterloo, so we could move one train stop into London. Clapham would be proper London- it's Zone 2. There are pubs, shops, restaurants, etc. It didn't help that we visited friends of The Limey's who live just a few minutes away from Clapham Junction train station. And it was great!

The bad things about this option:
-Housing would be more expensive, way more expensive;
-my train ticket would be more expensive (update: just checked, the monthly train ticket is actually only GBP25 more);
-it would add 1/2 hour onto my commute, each way;
-we'd spend more money because there would be more opportunities for spending money.

The good things about this option:
-We'd be in London!
-Proper London: it wouldn't cost us GBP10 each to get into London;
-we could take advantage of all the great food markets: right now, it's silly to spend GBP10 just to go in and buy some food. We feel like once we've spent that money, we should make the most of the day. We always feel like we're visiting London;
-The Limey could take public transport into work.

So we keep throwing this idea around. What's stopping us is the expense and the extra hour of commute time for me.

(Also: I've always lived in cities. This is the first time I've lived in a suburb. And I'm not sure I like it.)

Quick! While summer lasts!

The weather here in this last week has been absolutely glorious. We seized the opportunity (who knows how long it may last?) and, on Saturday, took a trip to the Great British Seaside.


I loved Brighton (the San Francisco of England!). The beach, though, not quite the same.


That look on my face? Due to two things: that water is cold! And the beach is stony. Not rocky, not sandy- stony. It had stones and shells just the right size and lumpy shape that it hurt to walk on it. People did their promenading on the paved bit parallel to the beach.


On Sunday, with the weather still gorgeous, we took a picnic to Kew Gardens. We chose a nice, shady spot in the quiet walled garden bit.


This was also the day I discovered I've turned into my mother: