Tag: Travel

Britain, Expat, Fashion, Humor, London, Shopping, Travel March 19, 2014March 17, 2014

Vintage Shopping in Cheshire Street

“In the fashion industry, everything goes retro except the prices.”
― Criss Jami

One of my finds during the other weekend’s adventurous rambles was Cheshire Street in Whitechapel. Like other areas that have drawn specific immigrant groups in the past, this part of town has become the home base for a lot of the Bengladeshi immigrants coming to London over the last few decades, and many of the street signs reflect this. Which is initially what caught my eye.

Turning the corner to glance down I spotted a rack or two of vintage wares on the pavement so I started down to have a look. And then I realized that shop after shop after shop, all the way down the street, was dedicated to vintage clothing, accessories, textiles, and lifestyle items. I spent at least an hour just going through them and doing some fantasy shopping for myself and friends.

The shops specialize quite nicely, some deal with everyday clothing and some deal strictly in couture and designer wear which was fun to just rifle through and fantasize over. I was tempted by a cloche style hat from the 1930s but really couldn’t justify it – especially when it felt so warm and bright out. Oh right, and poverty. That too.

This rack is entirely filled with homemade, totally unique simple kitchen aprons that I know for a fact that some of The Girls would simply die over – Amy and Jess, behold your probable future Christmas/birthday present!

The owners were all incredibly friendly. Where some of the designers at markets, understandably, don’t want you to photograph their creations, the vintage shop owners let me snap shots with abandon!

Vintage is not everyone’s thing, and admittedly it’s only mine to a degree (as much as I commit myself to buying quality second hand, some decades’ silhouettes are simply not for me!), but it is a lot of fun to explore and look through. And occasionally you do find a steal which does make the search worth it. Anyone willing for a full on raid of this street on any given weekend, hit me up, I’ll gladly show you my new favorite haunts!

Britain, Expat, Humor, London, Travel, Weekend March 13, 2014March 12, 2014

This Past Sunday, Pt. 2: Every Other Market Imaginable

“Your own exploration therefore has to be personalized; you’re doing it for yourself, increasing your own store of particular knowledge, walking your own eccentric version of the city. ”
― Geoff Nicholson, The Lost Art of Walking

I initially went to Spitalfields thinking it was just one new area to explore for a morning before finding something else to do. I’m thrilled to admit how wrong I was.

It turned out to be a several hour wander through East London since the Spitalfields Market, it turns out, rather bled into the Brick Lane Market. Which in turn fed into some other markets, which sort of carried over into bric-a-brac stalls lining whole streets, which wended their way through impromptu sales that merchants and shop owners threw up to take advantage of the crowds.

In the the end I basically threaded my way through official and unofficial markets – selling everything from some of the choicest garments on the planet to piles of rusting bike parts – all the way from Spitalfields to Columbia Road before finally hopping on the Overground and heading home late in the afternoon.

The smells of every kind of cuisine and street food blended into live music from buskers and performers. There were stunning and interesting things to explore around every corner. Even most grumpy of winter-weary Brits were awash with goodwill everywhere I went.

It was the perfect first weekend of Spring.

Britain, Expat, History, Humor, London, Travel, Weekend March 11, 2014March 11, 2014

This Past Sunday, Pt. 1: Spitalfields Market

“Pray don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me quite nervous.”
― Oscar Wilde

I chatted to my little sister this past weekend, who informed me that due to snow and bad weather she’d only had one day of school in the past week. No questions about it, winter in the US has been brutal this year. Here in Britain it’s been one of the mildest winters in recent memory (and the wettest, witness the flooding that’s engulfed huge stretches of the country). It hasn’t been bitterly cold or particularly inconvenient in any way, but it has been cloudy and gray. January was dismal. February definitely had more clear days but it was still a bit chilly.

Well, I’m sorry to my sister and anybody else currently snowed it, but I’m thrilled to announce that Spring has arrived in Europe!

Both Saturday and Sunday were gorgeous, bright, warm days that would have been criminal to stay indoors for. On Saturday we met up with Adam for brunch in Shoreditch and then walked the length of Regent’s Canal to Islington where we paced the main streets and wandered into side ones. It’s a testament to how little sun I’ve had in the past three months that in spite of the sunscreen I put on, I still ended up with a sort of tingling, prickling sensation in my skin as it made radiation’s re-acquaintance and even SPF 40 didn’t stop the tops of my cheeks from turning ever-so-slightly pink.

Sunday Jeff had to study for an upcoming exam but I took one look out the window, threw on jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed a camera and headed off to Spitalfields Market. Everyone else eventually had the same idea and by early afternoon I was surrounded by crowds, but I’m not going to begrudge anybody a bit of sunlight. (Summer in Britain is particularly hilarious because on any given nice day, the parks and benches are crammed with people on their lunch breaks who have stripped off half their clothes and are just trying to get some Vitamin D.)

Welcome to a market that has been operating since the 17th century! Today there are substantial food and vintage goods sections but the majority of stalls I saw were run by independent artists and designers selling their creations directly to the public. Of which I highly approve!

I expect the weather will get gray and rainy again here soon, this is London after all, but if the weekends stay like this, I’ll have no complaints.

So say we all, random shop sign!

Britain, Expat, History, Humor, London, Travel, Weekend March 10, 2014March 10, 2014

Come Creep, er, Peep Into Windows With Me

“Decline is also a form of voluptuousness, just like growth.”
― Iwan Goll

Yesterday in Spitalfields I ran into the most gloriously dilapidated house. Welcome to 4 Princelet Street!

Delightful, isn’t it? Spitalfields has an amazing history deeply tied with religious minority immigration and the textile industries. This is one of a row of houses dating to the 18th century where silk merchants and designers largely lived, an industry brought to the area by French Huguenots. Irish linen workers also made this area their home. Later the area drew large Jewish populations (there is also an old synagogue, somewhat hidden on the street that was left disused for many years, but is preserved in a fragile state, that I hope to visit. It’s only open a few days a year to protect the site from wear and tear). Then – like every other area in London – in the 19th century it turned into a horrible rookery and slum. One of the Jack the Ripper murders took place just around the corner, all of his victims were actually from the area, and it was also one of the areas photographed for Jack London’s 1902 book, The People of the Abyss, which not only exposed the plight of London’s urban poor through a popular and successful author of the time, but allowed photography to visually capture the miserable state of one of London’s worst districts.

Now of course the area is home to that thriving market and is fairly trendy, but I like that the architecture of the surrounding areas is intact from time past. Most of the homes and period shops I passed still retain their half shutters and indoor wooden window blinds that fold out from the walls, there are doors still marked for “Tradesmen,” and Edwardian and Victorian era doorbells and knockers abound.

This crumbling toy in the window is what first caught my eye. I immediately pressed my nose up to the panes and even more glorious decay was revealed.

The blue and white tiling in the fireplace and the rickety stairs just get me. You can’t see it but there’s also an early 20th century light switch in the wall. Apparently this house is used largely for filming (no surprise there) but has been left mostly untouched and the architecture is all original. From the Georgians to now, elements of design have been added without the history being too taken away.

Here’s another post with more artistic shots of the interiors, and here’s a youtube video (the internet, I tell you, ask and you shall receive!) I found of a film maker who got access to the house for a project and decided to take an impromptu tour.

Britain, Expat, History, Humor, Law Enforcement, London, Travel, Work March 6, 2014

London Snapshot

“In this world . . .

It’s Heaven when:
The French are chefs
The British are police
The Germans are engineers
The Swiss are bankers
And the Italians are lovers

It’s Hell when:
The English are chefs
The Germans are police
The French are engineers
The Swiss are lovers
And the Italians are bankers.”
― Hidekaz Himaruya

I worked for five years at a police department on a university campus somewhat renowned for the ugliness of most of its architecture. Alternatively, here is the police office of Hyde Park. Brace yourself, Brandie and Sav. You might cry. I nearly did.

Britain, Expat, Food, Humor, Husband, Life, London, Travel March 1, 2014

A Saturday Escapade

“And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.”
― John Betjeman

London kicked off March (seriously, March already?!) in fine style with a gorgeous day. We were lazy getting up and about this morning but about lunchtime I turned to Jeff and told him I had a craving for a burger. Never a man to disoblige (or turn down beef), we headed to a perennial favorite BRGR CO and indulged.

The weather was a balmy 45 degrees, which is practically summer in our corner of Europe. In honor of the temperature, we wore t-shirts and ordered milkshakes. Then, one craving satisfied, we decided to soak in the Vitamin D and the city as well and went on an epic wander starting in Covent Garden and ending in Kensington. Jeff suggested Hyde Park and I wanted to show him where I lived when a student here.

Hyde Park was a glorious, green expanse.

Dogs were out everywhere and we crossed paths with many a kid atop their pony.

London has a bad weather reputation, some of it earned, but let me tell you when it gets it right, London gets it right!

Buds are shoving their way up and out of the soil and tips of trees, daffodils and crocuses are blooming turbulently, and the birds were singing. With respect, Game of Thrones, Spring is coming!

We passed Queen Victoria’s (in my opinion hideous) Neo-Gothic memorial to Prince Albert, and just down the path a ways and across the street, there it was:

My Kensington stomping grounds! Jeff stood still for a second with this mouth slightly ajar, glanced over his shoulder to where Hyde Park sat a mere 50ft away from the front door, and pronounced me an all my educational cohorts, “Spoiled.” Can’t say he’s wrong, though I will say I much prefer living in our flat south of the river. It might be less rarified than Kensington, but small as it is, it’s about a thousand times more comfortable and a hell of a lot less snobby an area.

We finished up with an amble up Exhibition Road, which turned into a short foray into the V&A (where I do not spend nearly enough time) before heading home.

Britain, Expat, Food, Friends, Fun, Humor, London February 26, 2014February 26, 2014

Venezuela By Way of Shoreditch

“Part of growing up is not waiting in line at a hipster breakfast restaurant. The eggs taste the same across the street. I promise.”
– Jason Segel

It’s a cliche but somewhat earned: Shoreditch is unspeakably hipster, there are more skinny jeans and slouchy hats in this area than you can shake a stick at. It’s another one of those historically rough areas of London that’s become much more gentrified lately. Particularly hated by the Puritans for being a major theatre district, with all the usual attendant vices, by the 19th century it had become a center of crime and prostitution as well as entertainment. (Honestly, you’d be hard pressed to find an area of London that hasn’t been a hub of crime and prostitution at some point…)

Regardless of its past seediness or present hispter-ness, there is good food to be had and plenty of wandering to do along the streets and canals. A while back when Katie and I visited the Geffrye Museum, we decided to go on a small adventure to find something to eat. At one point a sign caught my eye, because to be honest even in Shoreditch it’s not everyday you see hammocks swinging in place of window seating. And not ironically!

Welcome to Arepa and Co., an award winning Venezuelan deli, specializing in two types of traditional Andean corn breads and cakes, and other South American ingredients. I pride myself in my ability to go native, kittens, but I have missed black beans and Southern spices!

Katie and I parked ourselves at the bar, ordered tea, and enjoyed!

The menu is delightfully customizable with a respectable drinks menus (hot and cold) and a scrumptious brunch – my new favorite meal.

Pardon the mobile quality photos but I am not, and have never claimed to be a photographer. After stuff ourselves, we explored more of the canal, watched the houseboats sail by (one with a row of motorcycles running down it’s center) and chatting. Sadly Katie’s back in the States now, but we’ve made plans to meet up with her and Adam in Paris next month and I’m already getting excited for it!

Britain, Expat, Humor, London, Travel February 25, 2014February 23, 2014

Memory Jog

“In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities; people are not numerous enough. You must see the world there, perforce. Every man is himself a class; every hour carries its new challenge. When you pass the inn at the end of the village you leave your favourite whimsy behind you; for you will meet no one who can share it.”
– W.B. Yeats

I really loved our wedding, it was a great party. But the other option Jeff and I considered was the exact opposite of a party, practically eloping and having a tiny, family only affair in Britain. My fantasy reception center was none other than The Swan in Lavenham – which you may remember as one of my favorite spots in all of Britain. All things considered, it probably was the better idea to stage the event in Utah, home or at least homebase to Jeff’s extended family which is many, many times larger than mine, but I confess The Swan still holds a tiny corner of my heart.

So you can imagine my delight while looking at some back issues at Red, to their Best of Britain issue, when I happened to chance upon a feature of it! It’s rekindled my affection. Perhaps a day trip is in order.

Britain, Expat, Food, Humor, Husband, London, Travel, Weekend February 12, 2014February 12, 2014

Brunch, A Coming of Age Story

“And now leave me in peace for a bit! I don’t want to answer a string of questions while I am eating. I want to think!”
“Good Heavens!” said Pippin. “At breakfast?”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Last week was busy for both of us. Between days in the magazine office and nights spent freelancing for me, and long hours for him as busy season gathers force – all of which interspersed with some truly heinous days of commuting due to strike action on the part of Tube workers (I spent 10 of a 48 hour period commuting by foot and only occasionally bus) – we needed some indulgence on the weekend. And since we were being terribly grown up with grown up problems like commuting, a grownup weekend indulgence like brunch seemed the very thing.

There is something very adult about having brunch, as opposed to breakfast. Anybody can stumble blearily to the cupboard of a morning and slosh some cereal and milk into a bowl. But brunch, at least brunch in the more fashionable areas of London, requires effort, kittens.

I’d been hearing mouthwatering things about Jackson and Rye in Soho so last week I made a reservation for the weekend and Jeff and I trotted off that morning to enjoy ourselves on an uncharacteristically bright winter day. My initial desire to dine there was due to a pretty delectable sounding description of their buttermilk friend chicken sandwich, but the only time I could get us in was 10am. Fried food might be okay in Jeff’s book at that our of the morning, but it’s definitely an abomination in mine. I got a delicious eggs, potato, and fancy vegetable breakfast while Jeff threw himself on the sword of the aforementioned chicken – a great hardship for him, I’m sure – so I could at least taste it in between munches of grilled sourdough toast smothered in avocado.

Lest you think I’m dwelling too much on this, I was incredibly smug because historically Jeff tends to always choose better food than me when we go out to eat. Almost inevitably the dishes he chooses are better presented and tastier than my selections, which irks me greatly. For once at least, I won brunch. It was delicious – Britain has converted me to slightly softer cooked eggs and I haven’t looked back.

2014-02-09 11.04.29 — The bar area, kept hopping with hot drinks, fresh juices, the acceptable day drinking options like mimosas and Bloody Marys.

We’ll be going back because we quite liked it; I still want to try the Avocado Eggs Benedict (I really love avocados but finding decent ones it’s nigh impossible thus far) and because it felt really nice to “do brunch,” eating nice food in a fun place, leisurely people watching, and chatting about our further weekend plans (spoiler, one of the most interesting theatre experiences I’ve had in a long time). Very responsible and far more put together than many of our usual weekend morning routines. I wouldn’t want to do it every weekend, cereal and milk is frankly sometimes just what I need, but as an occasional treat I think it sounds quite nice. Minions are welcome to join us.

Britain, Expat, History, Humor, London, Travel February 11, 2014February 11, 2014

Pub Signs I’ve Met and Loved

Work is the curse of the drinking classes.
– Oscar Wilde

I’m pretty sure this will be a continuing feature (my love of British placards and signage being well established).

I’m beyond ready for Game of Thrones to be back – as Kerry, once put it, you can tell a lot about a person by who you think should rule Westeros. Your answers to that immortal question in the comments, please. This guy also looks about as cheerful as Kit Harrington does in character – aka, miserable.

The eventual title of my autobiography, I’ve decided.

One of my favorite pubs every for reasons that will become more clear in a later post.

I haven’t investigated this claim as deeply as the Not-Sir-Christopher-Wren-Or-Queen-Catharine-of-Aragon House. But I will say I have seen more than one “oldest pub/restaurant/licensed premises in London” sign in my time.

Self explanatory. (Or if not, a landmark of a restaurant that had to close in October of last year, but petitions were got up to keep it opening and functioning because it’s a Soho mainstay. Also, the name is cheeky, because it’s Soho.)

Small Dog Syndrome