“Stay is a charming word in a friend’s vocabulary.” ― Amos Bronson Alcott
Another big week wrap up, and best of all my friend Lauren is coming into town! Lauren and I met at a summer Young Global Leaders program when we were 15 and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. She’s currently conquering the world of media and is flying to London from Hong Kong for work because fabulous is her middle name. I’ve got lots of food and wandering planned for us. How are you guys spending the weekend? Let me know in the comments and add any links that you think the minion coterie has to know about.
Lauren and I do manage to meet up in some fabulous places. Last one was in Park City, Utah, home of the Sundance Film Festival and an obscene amount of celebrities.
WARNING. Do not read if you’re caught up on Game of Thrones, there are spoilers and I cannot stress that enough. Seriously. Don’t click through if you don’t want secret knowledge you’ll be angry to have. ‘K? Alright. If the modern media reported on “that thing that happened” on GoT.
Gorgeous find. What else is hiding under plaster elsewhere, I wonder?
Twitter friend and entrepreneurial girl crush Bethany of Love Grows Design wrote a really good piece on the fundamentally edited nature of online writing and social media that’s really worth the read. Something to think about both creating and ingesting content.
Behold, the thing that made Jeff burst into the loudest, most hysterical laughter I’ve heard all week. Do make sure the sound is on.
Huh, does this guy do house calls? Across the Atlantic? I’m pretty chronically sleep deprived these days…
The British Museum recently opened one of the biggest new exhibition in years, Vikings. We haven’t seen it yet (and we’re BM members, the shame!) but I’m enjoying the heck out of the many campaigns and bonuses the museum is running. Here – Viking yourself! (I kid you not, I got “Cadence the Little.”)
“Friendship,” said Christopher Robin, “is a very comforting thing to have.” ― A.A. Milne
In a typical work environment you’re thrown in together and meeting new people all the time. You’re making friends (or not making friends, as it happens) with all sorts, tackling projects, exchanging information and swapping ideas. When you work from home, that rapport simply doesn’t work the same way and if that sort of connection is important to you, it’s largely up to you to find ways of creating it.
Solitude, by Frederick Leighton. circa 1890
Freelancing for me, based on the nature of the majority of the sort of tasks I do, is largely a one-person show. I don’t mind this exactly, I’m a nice mix of introvert and extrovert who is perfectly capable of amusing and entertaining herself, or going out and enjoying the crowds. But I’ve found that long term, the solitary nature of my work affects me in interesting ways that I have to be proactive about noticing and correcting.
One of the reasons I decided to seek some volunteer work, apart from experience in a field I love and hope to support in some capacity in one way or another for the rest of my life, was that I was realized I was becoming emotionally and verbally out of touch. Six months into living in London, I was working from home six days a week and doing the bulk of my communicating via email. 99% of my conversations were happening with my husband – who is a great person to talk to, I stress lest you think otherwise – and I was noticing that in a very real way, I was losing the skill of being able to meet and connect with new people. In short I was becoming awkward. Not awkward in they shy and retiring way, awkward in, “Oh hi, so nice to meet you, let’s be friends immediately!” hyper way that instantly throws many off. With some people, such enthusiasm can be cute. I am not one of them…
Luckily, working at the museum is staggeringly fun. Not only am I feeling re-socialized, I’ve also been introduced to a number of publications I’m considering pitching. Most importantly, I’ve made some lovely new friends (like Georgina – another up and coming novelist and all around whip smart girl who I genuinely adore. We bonded over classics and Roman history, which is always a stable foundation for buddy-hood). Having friends, whom I not married to an interact with in places other than my flat, has been tremendously important in keeping my life happy and balanced.
Speaking of, another thing that’s been interesting to recognize is how much inspiration comes from other people. “Duh, C., you idiot,” I hear you say. But I’m not just talking about big ideas and big inspiration, I’m talking about the often small things that jumpstart you and keep you motivated as a person.
I met Alanna at a networking event a couple of months ago and I instantly thought she was one of the neatest people I’ve come across in a long time. She runs a consulting service that specifically works with social innovation, women’s development, and international development. We’ve started co-working together about once a month, and I always look forward to it because it’s easily one of my most productive days in that week. Just being around another person engaged in solid, innovative work is inspiring in and of itself and having another person in the room helps keep me accountable and not goofing off. Not only that, we’re able to swap ideas. Last time we worked together I helped her develop possible pitches to different publications about one of her upcoming projects and she introduced me to a number of sites and online tools that have made her life as a freelancer easier and more productive. Oh, and that swanky new blog logo I’m enjoying? She whipped that up in five minutes just for fun, without my even asking, just because she said she needed something creative to do as a break!
Simply being around people who succeed at freelancing, entrepreneurship, writing, blogging, design work, or just learning new skills personally gives me a tremendous boost of confidence. Seeing others succeed encourages me to think that I can too, in a way that I don’t always feel slumped over my desk grudgingly at one in the morning.
Another example. The other week Andrea and I finally got the chance to meet up (she’s been in Morocco, I’ve been in Paris – I know, our lives are such a trial, right?) for a long overdue hangout. We took in a free photographer’s gallery and then spent a couple of hours sipping tea and swapping stories and our experiences with freelancing and expat life. It’s amazingly relieving to hear that, even though your work might be solitary, your personal problems definitely aren’t unique! Not only that, about every ten minutes one of us said to the other, “That’s a really interesting story, you should pitch that.” Just by chatting and enjoying one others company we were coming up with really great ideas left and right, I came home and scribbled down half a dozen. I can’t wait to go on another girl date with her, not just because she is everything hilarious, delightful and interesting, but seeing her work ethic really gave a boost to my own.
I always believed that people are important to me, personally and professionally. I just never realized how much until this first year of freelancing.
Sharing time! Who are your people, and how do they inspire you? Are you an introvert or an extrovert? Have you had to get proactive to change unforeseen emotional adjustments due to self-employment? I’m nosy and want to know!
“London was so rich, and also so green, and somehow so detailed: full of stuff that had been made, and bought, and placed, and groomed, and shaped, and washed clean, and put on display as if the whole city was for sale.” ― John Lanchester, Capital
Regent’s Park is the brainchild of George the Prince Regent, later George IV, but the land on which it sits had been in royal hands since Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries and snapped up the property for himself. As he was wont to do.
George (who it must be said is being hilariously downplayed in the poster campaigns around the city as a number of exhibitions and events celebrate the 300th anniversary of the rise of the house of Hanover) was pretty useless as a regent and monarch. In fact he consistently ranks down among the worst king in British history in the sorts of polls that historians run. Corpulent, lazy, unimpressive, and obnoxious, we nevertheless still need to thank him since a number of his building projects helped create London as we know it today.
That’s not snow on the ground, it’s a natural carpet of daisies. I know, right?!
A flock of herons (which I’ve never seen associating in a group before) flirted with tourists and followed likely looking crumb droppers, looking for the world like a pack of spindly dinosaurs.
Gorgeous.
This garden was cordoned off. But I saw enough people meandering through it anyway that I hopped the barrier and joined them for a close up of a fountain of a frog spitting at a child. Which clearly is a lot more charming than it sounds on paper.
At some point you just get the feeling the park’s showing off.
So, thanks George IV! We’re still iffy enough about you 200 years down the road to awkwardly disregard you on signage, but frankly you helped make London gorgeous. For that, we thank you.
You were still a terrible king, a bad father, and a truly hideous husband.
“London is on the whole the most possible form of life.” ― Henry James, The Complete Notebooks of Henry James
Katie and Adam are about to jet off to the next stage of his business program in San Francisco, but luckily we get to keep them for a while longer now that they’re back from Paris. Since it had been a few weeks since our last gossip session, weekend Katie and I met up in Camden to explore the lock and markets.
Which turned into food introductions (Katie met bubble teas for the first time, they clearly hit it off).
Which turned into a wander along the canal.
Which turned into a quick hike up Primrose Hill, for one of the best views in London.
Which turned into a long ramble in Regent’s Park…which is going to get it’s own post because it was stunning.
Let me tell you, as far as weather goes, when London gets it right, London gets it right! Spring has officially arrived. Outdoor vendors are selling Pimms by the pitcher, the city denizens are hauling lawn chairs up and down slopes to replenish their Vitamin D stores, and puppies are everywhere.
“Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the ‘Titanic’ who waved off the dessert cart.” ― Erma Bombeck
I mentioned that we took Caitlin to the Southbank Real Food Market, a delicious weekend affair that absolutely everyone should try. It’s not a large event, but it’s dang impressive.
Don’t mind if I do. But we really should retire this particular meme, I feel.
Why yes, that was a whole hog.
Say wha?
We wandered through stalls looking for something to tempt each of us. Jeff, who lived in South Korea for a couple of years, gave into his curiosity at Koritto and Caitlin was swayed by the aromatic siren call of fresh pasta, but something altogether more involved moved me.
Maybe I was still on a Paris high, but this sign caught my eye…
…before this one won my heart…
…followed closely by this cheeky gentleman.
Roasted duck meat, flavored with duck crackling, topped with blue cheese and truffle honey mixed together as they melted on the grill, on a bed of rocket, with a homemade horseradish spread. That picture above is purposefully floaty and vague to better imply the gourmand deliciousness of that concoction. All minions crashing at our flat in the near future will be summarily marched to the South Bank and obliged to ingest.
“A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.”
― Elbert Hubbard
Future bestselling YA author, friend of the blog, and buddy IRL Caitlin came into town Wednesday and frankly, it was a nonstop adventure. Caitlin is married to one of Jeff’s old college flatmates who now works for the NBA in China – we know such interesting people! Terry, the flatmate in question, was at a basketball conference in Monaco (his life is such a trial), so after spending some time in Paris, Caitlin took a train north to visit us. We probably went overboard in the entertaining, but she was our first visitor in London so we naturally had to put out all the stops. Which included:
Food (Holy mother of chocolate, so much food!) An exhibit on the Cheapside Hoard – a staggering amount of Elizabethan jewelry that was buried and abandoned.
Sightseeing around London
Hitting up the West End for, count ’em, two shows
The Tate Modern
Fantasy shopping
The Southbank Center’s Real Food Market (like I said, lots of food)
Waterloo Book Market
Markets
The National Gallery
Parks
Wandering in Soho
John Snow’s cholera pump (she was a public health major)
and a small taste of the London Marathon (mostly the crowds)
The gastronomic highlight was the hours we spent lingering over an afternoon tea at Liberty talking history, culture, tales of university days, exchanging expat life stories, and encouraging one another in our writing pursuits.
I was delighted at her delight at the tea. Which was delightful!
Could it be more delightful?
And after the multiple hours spent digesting this, we hopped straight over to Burger and Co. since the caressing taste of ground beef hadn’t crossed her lips in months and this was a situation that had to be rectified immediately. Then we dashed to the theatre. Which was frankly the tone of her entire visit.
Clearly yes! Burgers can do that to a girl who hasn’t had one in months.
Sometimes it’s just so relaxing and wonderful to talk to a person who gets what’s going on in your life without a lot of context. She can grumble over issues with her flat (and I can commiserate), while I confess my troubles with some of my novel plots (and she can laugh and provide much needed perspective. She recommends books, I recommend theatre, we fit in both. She’s seriously the perfect guest and we were so lucky she came up to crash on our (newly purchased just for the occasion) air mattress to inaugurate our guest bedroom (read: living room minus the coffee table).
I’m hugely lucky to know so many interesting, marvelous people, scattered across the globe but still wonderfully accessible via email, Skype, and letters. And visits! Here’s hoping we can get to China in the next few years to return this stellar one.
“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” ― Mark Twain
Just a quick batch this week kittens. My future bestselling YA author buddy Caitlin is in town – from China, by way of Paris. We’ve been swapping stories of the expat and writing life, taking tea, and going to the theatre. And if you’ll excuse me, we’re off this evening for more of the same (you can follow along on our adventures here until the official recap in a couple days)! Here are your links and tell me what you’re up to this weekend!
Amanda Brooks is an author and former Barney’s fashion director who switched up her life and career plans to move to a farm in Britain with her family. She blogs about it here (and her instagram feed is beyond worth following), cataloging her rural life. I loved this recent post on the hunts she and her family participate in. Blood sport is controversial, and I’m not making an argument about it here, but I have to admit the tweedy, old fashioned, country elegance of the participants makes for some beautiful photography! Lady Mary, is that you?
Hilarious and awesome writer and friend of the blog Sunny from Sunny in London, put together a great post today on tips for aspiring bloggers and writers. I took notes.
I often get slightly annoyed when I hear people rave about how much they “love a British accent,” because I want them to specify: which one? Because let me tell you know, not all regional dialects are equally sexy and what most people think of as a British accent is a clipped form of speech developed almost entirely in the upper class halls of learning to be used in the new medium of radio.
“On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes, the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.” ― Wendy Cope
Rose, one of my buddies here in London, has been a research and teaching assistant for the last few months, but alas her program has ended and she’s heading for a last nomadic romp around the British Isles before moving back to the States. I’m sorry to lose her, we’ve had a lot of fun girl dates together, but far be it from me to stand in the way of academia’s next rising start! At the very least though, we knew she had to take in a bit more of the city before she left so we made a day of it down along Queen’s Walk on the south bank of the Thames.
The first port of call was the popular Bleecker Street food truck, parked right against the balustrade and looking out over the river. They boast that they make their burgers with “real American cheese,” which is frankly not a phrase you hear a lot in London, but I’ve got to say, they nail a good Yankee burger! All are cooked medium rare unless specified otherwise and the result is a gorgeous meaty mouthful. May I suggest their Angry Fries as a side for the adventurous? Freshly cut and covered with hot sauce and finished with melted blue cheese. Rose got those, I got the sweet potato fries (the portions are generous) and we divided and devoured them straight down the middle.
Filled with delicious food, we meandered down to the little known gem, the Southbank Centre Book Market under Waterloo Bridge. It’s small and tucked away but you can find some real literary treasures down here, including first editions of popular or important books, author signed copies, and every genre from trashy light reading to the densest of German philosophy.
Afterwards we strolled back along the Centre to admire the skate park in its undercroft. For several months now, there’s been a bit of a social brawl happening around this area. Developers wanted to turn it into more of what’s sprung up along Queen’s Way, shops and restaurants, but the skating community rallied and campaigned hard to keep it the slightly rough and graffiti marked spot as it was. I’m happy to report the skaters have won. They collected over 27,000 official planning objections and the park is safe for the foreseeable future.
Bye for now, Rose, thanks for coming out on one last adventure!
“Paris is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.” ― Carlos Ruiz Zafón
After a gorgeous day at Versailles, we convened at Katie and Adam’s quite-nearly-as-gorgeous-and-only-slightly-less-gilded hotel room to pick a place for dinner. It was a bit late in the day to be sorting this out but Katie (as ever, the best travel planner I have ever had the pleasure of frolicking around a major European capital with!) had already created a whole list of recommendations and hot spots. We settled on a restaurant that sounded promising and, after trying and failing to make a reservation online, got the brilliant idea to ask the concierge service to make a reservation for us since we figured a top-notch restaurant would be more willing to accommodate the request if it came from the front desk of the Le Meurice hotel rather than tourists. We we right. We know our cultural limitations, and how to work them, kittens.
Reservation made we made the trek across the river, found the right area, and then got a bit lost since we’d marked the address on a map but believed that we left Katie’s all-important list in the hotel room, containing the precise address. As it happened, we found the list the next day. In my camera bag. (Thunks head on her desk. I’m wincing just remembering it. Carry on, I’ll meet you at the next paragraph.)
Anyway, we were late for our reservation, but managed to find the joint Le Coupe Chou, which might be one of the most ambiance-rich place I have ever had the pleasure of dining in. I’m not surprised we got a bit lost, really. We were in the Latin Quarter, the old medieval heart of the city. The ruins of the Abbey of Cluny (once the largest building in the world, and the site where the Crusades were first kicked off a thousand years ago) was a mere stone’s throw away.
Don’t let the humble exterior lull you into a false sense of security, Le Coupe Chou is fearfully and wonderfully made within! In it’s 17th century past it began its current incarnation as residential spaces, which means that you have to be led through multiple rooms and levels of dining, drinking, and lounging spaces to get to your tables; complete with old wooden stairs, knocked through stone walls, heavy stone fireplaces, delftware tiles, and dark timber beams in the ceiling. The effect is very cozy and elegant at the same time.
Apparently both medieval and Roman site elements were discovered during upgrades and renovations. Which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, it’s rather par for the course in a city as ancient as Paris, but excites me all the same. The remains of a 16th century well can be found in the basement along with 12th century pottery, and a piece of graffiti from the Revolution has a place of honor behind the bar. My little history heart was melting with contentment.
Late as we were, we were shown to our table and got to peruse the menu and talk all we wanted while waiters kept the bread and courses coming. Jeff chose best with the veal, by the way, which we both heartily recommend. At one point Adam excused himself from the table and when he came back, he was wearing an expression of complete delight masked by false nonchalance – a sort of widening of the eyes with the corners of the mouth turned up ever so slightly against his will.
“Guys, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure Sean Penn is sitting three tables away.”
Naturally this meant that throughout the evening (spaced well apart) we all excused ourselves to confirm or deny the news.
And team it’s confirmed. I googled it later, just to verify we weren’t blinded by the Romantic lights of the city (or perhaps still slightly winded from our dash to find the restaurant in the first place), but yes. Sean Penn was in Paris, and he was definitely sitting thirty feet away from us that evening. More googling later informed me that other notables to have dined at this spot include Brigitte Bardot, Marlene Dietrich, The Beatles, and most of the great and good of French theatre over the last half century.
I herewith surrender any rights to complain about my life being uninteresting for the next six months at least. If I do, minions are encouraged to slap me across the face.
“Well I really am not going to be imprisoned in the suburbs for dining in the west-end!” – Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
Jeff is working in Peterborough again this month which means after a long day of typing away at my desk, I’m responsible for keeping myself entertained. Luckily I have the internet…to make friends.
I’m part of several groups that have personal, practical, journalistic, and academic interests in feminist movements and initiatives in religious cultures and communities. Through these groups I’ve met a whole host of fascinating, hilarious, scarily smart ladies whom I’ve been lucky enough to become friends with over the years. Two such ladies currently live in London, so naturally we decided to have a hang out. One is an academic and author who works for the Princes School for Traditional Arts the other is a graduate student from my alma mater currently the resident TA for a study abroad program, and working on her thesis. And then there’s me. Professional scribbler.
I procured theatre tickets, another made a reservation, one thing led to another and the next thing you know we were sitting down to dinner at the Savoy like a proper bunch of 1920s and 30s celebrated smart types.
The Savoy was the first high luxury hotel in Britain in the 19th century, featuring such innovations as running heated water and electricity, and remained the dernier cri of good living. It’s still a byword for class (and a bit of snobbery) and a luxurious time. Frequented by film stars of the Golden Age of Hollywood, royals and their various entourages of coutiers and mistresses, sports stars, and artists, not a few favorites of mine have bedded down here. Alas it has had some challenges. A few years ago the hotel closed for a major refit and redecoration, one of the restaurants lost one of its Michelin stars, and business has been tricky in times of austerity. Nevertheless, it was the Savoy – of course we were going to go if we got the chance!
We were served by a marvelously sardonic and sly witted waiter. We weren’t drinking (which surprised him, since the wine and cocktail list is legendary) but he seemed delighted when we ordered mocktails instead because they presented a challenge. Lisa in particular won him by asking for a non-alcoholic surprise from the bartender. He returned with a gorgeous drink whipped up especially for her smelling of fruits and rosewater and named, on the spot when we asked for one, “an Unexpected Pleasure.”
Don’t mind the turtle face, I’m just having a taste of Lisa’s drink. And it was delicious (we were promiscuous with our beverages, sharing sips and straws and probably horrifying the waiters). Clearly we had a great time!
Soups and sauces were poured out onto delicious dishes, crumbs were scraped away with solid silver utensils built just for that purpose, and the bread basket was kept filled with piping hot offerings. We shared foods and deserts without any thought of propriety, swapped deserts and petit fours with one another, compared work and life stories, and debated deeply for two hours before hustling to the theatre.
I walked home across the Thames absolutely cocooned in contentedness.
(Rose had the good sense to bring a proper camera so better photos can be seen on her blog here if you want better close ups of the food. Which you do, trust me.)
Small Dog Syndrome 
