Travel – Page 7 – Don't Gel Too Soon

Lovely London Day 5

Yes, those are polka dot trees, adding a little color to the South Bank promenade from Waterloo Bridge down toward Parliament. I’m loving these walks although with the Sotomayor hearings (not carried on the BBC, at least in the cable systems in this apartment, (which doesn’t offer CNN either until evening), I feel pretty cut off from home. I’ve chosen just to go with it though. It’s so lovely to work for a while, spend an hour walking along the Thames, then return, take a shower, read Wired while I eat lunch and then work once more, and it’s only five weeks, so I’m just going to enjoy it.

For now, here are a couple of others photos from today’s wanderings.

You know what this is, but it’s fun to stand across the river and see it right before you.

This is a sanctioned skate park with permitted graffiti and it’s right along the river in the showcased, artsy South Bank area. I tried to catch a kid on one of the ramps but I had only my phone and not my camera and it just wasn’t fast enough.

See you tomorrow!

Blogging Boomers Carnival #122: Health, Travel, Books and Marriage

I'm a day late because I'm in London and time is mysterious still, but this week's Blogging Boomers, at Midlife Crisis Queen, is worth waiting for. From what to pack to how to stay healthy, it's got its usual menagerie of interesting stuff. Take a look and you'll see what I mean.

London Bridges, Kids, and Ferris Wheels

That old rascal Samuel Johnson told us that when we were tired of London, we’d be tired of life. I know it’s summer when any city is inviting but this week is cool and bright and breezy and London is full of British school groups and kids from everywhere else too, and we have an apartment right in the middle of Covent Garden (well NOT the market, God forbid, just the neighborhood) and our older son and his new wife are only 40 minutes away and we have friends here, too. So how could we be tired?
What you see here is the view from Waterloo Bridge (and yes that’s St. Paul’s Cathedral in the background.) This morning I went out and walked all along the Embankment, over where the trees are, then crossed a bridge just out of view on the right and returned via South Bank, London’s wonderful (relatively) new arts and museum area. My entire walk was around three miles and I’m realizing that it’s much easier to do the walking when there are new things to look at, not just the old neighborhood or, as lovely as it is, Rock Creek Park.

The wonder of a great city is that it’s always changing, that even the most trivial journey is full of surprises. On my way home tonight I came across a group of teenagers – one of dozens of g The wonder of a great city is that it’s always changing, that even the most trivial journey is full of surprises. On my way home tonight I came across a group of teenagers – one of dozens of groups we’ve been seeing ever since we got here. The reason they’re all sitting on the sidewalk is that they’re exchanging addresses and spelling them out – different nationalities, different spelling. Kind of an EU photo.

Of course there’s lots else going on here. Huge waves of immigration, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, what looks to me to be an appalling amount of youthful alcohol consumption and unemployment all take their toll. There’s something about the place despite those issues though. The day after the 2005 subway bombing that killed 52 people, Londoners got back on the train and went to work. They did that all during the Blitz as much of the rest of the world watched them face down Hitler almost alone.

Cities are supposed to change. That’s what makes them exciting. Even so, London has seen more than its share: waves of immigration that have transformed it, an early history of wars and fires and plagues, contemporary royal scandals and of course the “troubles” between Belfast and the rest of Ireland and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. After all, who would have believed before it arrived to help celebrate the Millennium, that there would be a ferris wheel right in the center of town? They call it the London Eye to make it sound fancy but it’s still a ferris wheel, here in same town that has a real live queen living in a real live palace? It’s pretty amazing.

I’m thinking that while we’re here I can try to get past some of what I’ve written here and learn a bit of what it’s like to truly li
ve here. It’s got to be different from wandering around with no need to be on time or face the traffic or crowded mass transit and infinite numbers of tourists and, incidentally, deal with what appears to be an enormous amount of alcohol consumption – especially by men. I’m hoping to keep you posted as I make my way. I hope you’ll come along.

Avenue Q, in London! How Did We Miss It Before?

It’s more than a little crazy to come all the way to London, see an American musical – and find it so familiar, so real and well-observed, witty, loving and even joyous, that you wonder how it is possible that you hadn’t’ seen it before. The play is Avenue Q, and for most people it will be a “yeah, and???” because it won so many Tonys, including Best Musical, Best Book, Best Direction of a musical, Best Performance by a leading actor in a musical, and Best Performace by a leading actress in a musical, and because everyone has written about it for years. Hah! And Cindy thinks she made some great discovery!

In fact, I do think I’ve made a great discovery – that it’s still possible that an entire theater full of people from dozens of countries (just seated directly around us were India, New Zealand, Australia and France) can respond to something without helicopters or wild moving sets or TV/film stars in the cast — something so completely human (well, if you count the puppets who are in fact among the “most” human) that it inspired and moved us all. That all this can be accomplished with warmth and — I know this sounds corny — a real affection for what makes us human, for the power of laughter and of songs. Both of us feel that we had a perfect evening, one that inspires gratitude, even. Here’s a little of it for you, in case you missed it too.(From the Tony’s)

We’re Here – London Is Home for a While

Just in case you wondered if we were really here, I took this photo. Kind of weird to see phone booths all over London since they’re almost completely gone at home. Hardly profound but there you are.

It’s been an exciting, exhausting day. We landed at around nine this morning, moved into our flat on Broad Court just off Drury Lane and near Covent Garden, and did our usual forced march to check out the neighborhood. Lunch, a quick nap and now we’ve returned so I can write this before I go offline for Shabbat.

Oh – and if you’re like me, one of your favorite memories of Covent Garden aren’t even of the “real” one. Take a look. See you Sunday.

London Bound, Reports to Follow

That's Covent Garden, in London, and it's where we'll be living for six weeks. We leave tonight and I expect to post a real daily diary while we're there. I hope you'll come along.

You’re Doing What? Trains, Planes and Automobiles (and Us)

It's pouring in Chicago. We arrived early this morning at the end of Phase One of our Great Adventure. So you don't feel uninformed, here's the story:

Our son is getting married next Sunday in San Francisco.
My husband has a (we hope recently repaired) detached retina and can't fly until we know the repair worked.
If we had waited until we were sure the surgery was successful, it would have been too late to drive if we had had to.
We are already fairly broke from tuition and the slow economy so why not spend even more money and take the train?
(really 4b) it turns out that the train is very expensive.
We don't have a choice so why fret about 4a?
There were no seats on the train until Chicago.
I drove 700 miles yesterday to get us from DC to Chicago to get on the train (retina detachment makes it hard to split the driving.)
Our family doesn't know we took the train because the groom was worried about his dad's eye so our early arrival will be stealthy. (don''t tell)
At least all this is distracting me from the sentimental squishiness that keeps sneaking up on me.
You are now ready to return to the present where

Rick and I are in the Metropolitan Lounge at Union Station in Chicago waiting for the Southwest Chief. You can see the route above. Actually I'm more excited than annoyed – it is something we would have never done if we didn't need to. I can't picture the accommodations – I'm betting on a cross between all those black and white thrillers where people were always chasing each other up and down the aisles and flirting in the bed-sitting rooms and who knows what. We'll see. Meanwhile we're in the lounge with about a billion people on an "America by Train" group, with some smoker's coughs, name tags for all, and a pretty friendly environment. I'm too tired to be friendly though. Unusual for me.

I will try to post this afternoon but they don't have wireless on the train (WHAAAAT????) and I'm having trouble pairing my blackberry so it's a bit sketchy. If I can't post I'll keep a diary and post it when I can. Wish us luck.

The End of the Berlin Wall: Twenty Years Ago

This is the Brandenburg Gate in the center of Berlin. The first time I saw it, in 1974, there was a wall built right through it.

Here's a photo of it then, from the Hotel Adlon website. The hotel stood, from 1907 to 1945, when it was decimated by a fire, just to the left of the Gate. It was the stopping place for world leaders and socialites and was rebuilt shortly after the Wall fell.

Because Berlin has such a dramatic history, it was always exciting to be there — maybe more so while the wall remained.

I remember especially coming through Checkpoint Charlie (that's it on the left) on a dark fall day (Americans were allowed to visit for the day after going through this scary border station and having cars and packages searched) and, as we approached the Gate, seeing an old man standing, looking over into the West. In his hands, clasped behind his back, was a rosary. Not so popular in communist East Berlin. I recall thinking immediately "Oh. His daughter is getting married in the West today and he can't go, and he's standing there, thinking about her, praying for her." Berlin in those times lent itself to imagining such things. The drama was palpable.

The first time we went to Berlin after the wall fell, I remember, it was pouring. Oblivious to the weather, we walked back and forth beneath the lovely arches in the now-open gate, kind of giddy at what it meant to the people of Berlin and all those who care about freedom and, I guess, redemption. For despite what happened in Berlin during the war (and we've studied it extensively and spoken both with survivors and those involved in the rebuilding of the Jewish community) the Wall caused immeasurable suffering and was a diabolical slash through the heart of the city and every one of its people.

I've written about Berlin before: from its playgrounds to its grim Communist years. We go there often. It seems to pull us back, its intellectual energy and re-emerging Jewish community irresistible. Once, when we'd taken our kids there while the Wall remained, one son, around 5, bought a stuffed wool pig and told everyone he "got it out of jail."

Here's one last photo – of two buildings: one redone and the other still old and rickety, in the very cool neighborhood of Prenzlauer Berg, which is in the old "East Berlin" and now, last I heard, had the highest childbirth rate in Germany and was home to artists, writers, musicians and fashionably cool people who don't have to work. What you see stands for it all: the struggle to renew, still only partly complete.

This Is NOT (exactly) about Barack Obama – the Last Time for a While – It’s About Slumdog Millionaire (Hint: Not the Greatest Movie Ever Made)

Fair warning. I'm about to be contrarian, so if you're fond of Slumdog Millionaire, stop reading now. I've just come from the theater, disappointed and even angry. Granted, I don't read reviews before I see films; they give away so much that they spoil the impact of brilliant scenes and great dialogue. So it's my own fault that I didn't know about the torture scene and the one where the kid is blinded when molten lead is poured into his eyes. Just what you need in a fairy tale, right? I was with someone I'd leaned on to come, someone who is squeamish and subject to nightmares, and there we were, experiencing vivid and disturbing imagery in considerable detail.

Beyond that, even though, as far as I can tell, there aren't many who agree with me, there's much that seriously detracts from the enjoyment of this film. I'm going to risk my emotional and artistic credibility and describe some of it.

First, it's highly derivative, a mix of The Usual Suspects police station flashbacks and Oliver Twist. Especially Oliver Twist, complete with Fagin, street urchins in great numbers, mischief and loss. Beyond that, much of its emotional power leaches from political correctness. We always root for the underdog; that's fair, and anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm a sucker for a fairy tale. But there was something manipulative about this story: an unimaginably poor, dark-skinned street urchin in one of the roughest cities in India, facing down the establishment.

Despite the rhapsodic descriptions of handheld camera work that brought the slums of Mumbai live into the theater, they did not feel real. I know much of the film was shot in the city, and some of the scenes were OK. But I've been in neighborhoods like these in other countries and no matter how colorful and alive, they are sadder and more dangerous than these. Oh, and everyone had very good teeth. Not possible.

So why, on the eve of the most momentous Inauguration in the history of this country, am I complaining about a movie a couple of months old that will probably win many awards? I'm not sure. Like everyone else, I'm full of wonder at what is coming on Tuesday. It will dominate this space for some time. Today though, as we await the climax of this real story of triumph and ideals, the not-so-credible tale that is this film was a poor substitute.

Report from London: Barack Obama, Man of the Year and Best-Sellwe

First-ever Times of London Man of the Year. This is pretty amazing if you’ve followed the disdain with which the U.S., and particularly George Bush, have been viewed here in Europe. The UK may in many ways be more angry than most, because they were sucked into the Iraq war too.

But my son, the one who works in London and has been going back and forth for five years or more,reported that the day after the election it felt better to be American in Europe than it had in a long time. Add that to what happened when Obama went to Berlin: the amazing reception arising, I believe, because he stands for the America that the rest of the world wants to know. The America of promise and compassion and justice and hope.

Now the Times of London, one of the great London newspapers, has, in its first Timers Person of the Year – worldwide – chosen President-Elect Barack Obama. In their editorial, they say:

What, then, made Barack Obama’s rise to the presidency so remarkable, such a landmark event, is not the fact of his improbability or of his extraordinary background. What made it landmark is the nature of those things. For unlike his predecessors, Mr Obama’s improbability, Mr Obama's extraordinary background, is not just important to him and to the story of his personal triumph. It caps a period of incredible change in America and makes possible incredible change in the world. And it is this – and the way he won the presidency – that made him the obvious choice as The Times Person of 2008.

Of course the next four years are pretty scary, and it's probably impossible for him to live up to all we hope for him, but at least, for now, we are once again members in good, or at least better, standing, in the world community.

There's more evidence. These are the best-sellers in Waterston's bookstore in Chiswick. Number one and number four. This will be a president the world wants to know. So while it's scary, it's also exciting: to have selected a leader who makes us proud, through a process that made us proud, to have elected an African American president for our country, which, with all its troubles, once again makes us proud too. The Bush years broke more hearts than our own, and the world reaction to Obama, from the Berlin speech to the London Times to front pages and African murals and Sunday commentary from one end of the world to the other proves it.

We don't know what will come next; we don't know how we will respond to that which is asked of us – and much will be. But we do know, I think, that we have chosen, as our leader, someone whose place in the world enhances that of our country, and of us, and begins to build the faith, and determination, that will take us where we need to go.