UK March 2010: San Francisco to London

I should start my first trip note with a hard, firm fact. Packing light is not one of my numerous gifts. Though the great thing about packing too much is you show up in other countries with twenty pairs of shoes that you will never wear and then on the way home you have fifty pairs of shoes because 'who knows when the American H&Ms will get these in stock?'. Sadly, there is a dark side to packing too heavy. Mainly there you are at Heathrow, jet lagged, with a headache, trying to pull a suitcase that weighs more than you. And you clock in a little higher on the scale than the average super model. Luckily, I'm not a quitter. I pulled that case through the airport and to the underground station. Then things got a bit messy. Like when they told me that after four stops the line was closed due to rail work. So, I would need to get on the train, then off the train and on to the bus that was pretending to be the train, then off the bus pretending to be a train and back on the actual train. Then I would sit and then transfer lines. Hopefully at the correct stop.

I pushed back the tears, found helpers to get me up and down the stairs, pinched myself to stay awake and eventually arrived in Walthamstow.

My friend Tessa, who is American born, but as I explained to the guy in customs, she has lived in London long enough to 'count', met me there with her son Patrick. After hugs, I had buckets of coffee and cookies. The staid and true diet of travelers everywhere

Then food, baby sitting, playing dinosaurs and forcing myself to stay up to a decent nighttime hour. I watched the Spike Lee documentary on Katrina. It was shameful that the British member of the household had seen it twice and I had not seen it yet. I did manage to talk articulately about the health care debate/progress. I'll be keeping up with the NY Times online in case I get quizzed on more American topics. One thing about travel, you are responsible for everything your country does wrong in the world and expected to be a subject matter expert on all items related to your home. Pre-trip I spent my time catching up on American Idol while memorizing the Declaration if Independence. Speaking of which, do any of you have those tacky new-ish American passports? With the weird Americana icons oddly sized and thrown together haphazardly on every page? That shit is embarrassing in customs. I'm open to any kind of green card marriage one of you would like to arrange, just so I can eventually get a second passport, from another country, that is less painfully awful.

The first full day of the trip, Tessa and her girlfriend Janetta and the surly/happy three year old, Patrick took me to Old Spitalsfield Market in East London. A market that has seen some changes in its 300 hundred plus years of existence. A decade or so ago it was run down, then discovered by students and artists that needed cheap rent and now that artsy charm has led to a new found fame among the moneyed members of society. It is a blend of upscale boutiques and random market stalls. Some with hand painted ceramics, some with more-than-gently used dvds and clothes. Sort of like the 'wares' you can find for sale in the Tenderloin mixed with the shops around Fillmore in Pacific Heights. I bought a belt from a guy in a stand. He helped adjust the size to hit me, slicing the leather and redoing the rivets (or whatever you officially call rivets once they are on a belt). I was then talked into a leather bracelet, thrown in at a 'discount' and also adjusted to size. The American accent often leads to the up sell. Still, the bracelet was probably more of an essential. I have freakishly small wrists for my height/weight and it was wonderful to have one shrunken down to the right size. And it's a nice sky blue to match my new dress. The dress is sky blue with a retro pinup girl motif, trimmed in red swiss dotted fabric and black bows. They are handmade in this one small shop and amazingly well priced considering.

Of course, shopping is not the purpose of the visit. In fact I'm settled with my purchases and good until Ireland where perhaps a sweater will find it's way into my suitcase. So, as I was saying, after walking through the market, we went to the city farm in the area. Great fun for fickle three year olds and for their aunts visiting from America. Chickens, goats, donkeys, pigs, but the real scene stealer was the indoor room full of guinea pigs. I was not overly excited about the, um, guinea pig smell, but Patrick was in love with them and we spent a good part of an hour watching them eat, shuffle about, pretend to threaten each other and similar guinea pig things.

Tuesday and I found Tessa visiting her friends and eating homemade leek and watercress soup, followed by peanut butter, chocolate chip cookies. I suffer. I suffer. After that I got on the train and walked around the downtown area by myself, just like a big girl, for a few hours. I just wanted to be in the city for a bit, in the middle of a weekday, half tourists, half businesswomen and men. Fighting to get down the stairs at the tube stop, staring at cookies and scones in the window fronts. The tourist sight seeing has not begun yet, but I am wandering around the city, staring and getting the feel of everything and wandering randomly into shops. Repeat visits are nice, not as much pressure to rush to see Big Ben as soon as you step off the plane. You discover more of the city, randomly exiting the train and looking around. I know the coins and money easy enough to count out exact change in a split second. I know the basic train lines and how to use the Oyster Card to get in and out of stations. And I will still show up at the Tower of London with my camera. No worry there.

Half my tourist stop, half my old friend. Hello London.