London Part II - All's Well That Ends Well

According to the fabulous waiter / maitre D guy at The Orange where we had dinner, this is the coldest weekend London has had yet this season. Really? I hadn’t noticed. In case you’re worried that being cold ruined a good day, it didn’t. It’s just the over-riding theme of this commentary. I’m starting to think that Brits are allergic to heating.

It’s probably not a good omen when the attendants in the breakfast room of the B&B are wearing heavy sweaters and shivering. After a cold breakfast, we suited up and headed off into the sunshine toward Buckingham Palace. There was nobody there. It was incredible. I’ve never seen the place so empty. After that, we found 10 Downing Street and Big Ben and walked along the Thames. Found the Millenium Bridge and the Globe Theatre. And good grief was it cold.

The last time I was at the Tower of London, I was 11. The memory I have of the place where we lined up for ages didn’t match what we saw today. It’s been a couple of years – I guess they’ve renovated. The tour was great. For an hour, we were told tales of famous prisoners by a very entertaining Yeoman Warder. There’s a skating rink in the moat too. We saw the Crown jewels too (Andrew’s best thing of the day). But it was so incredibly cold. Quite frankly I’m impressed I was able to walk away at the end because I couldn’t feel my feet below the ankles.

Peter wins today’s fabulous husband prize for his executive decision to take a cab from the Tower to Covent Garden instead of tubing or bussing. Quick. Ever so slightly warmer than being outside. THEN he found the pub we’d eaten at when we were here in April, The Round House at 1 Garrick , home to a great ploughmans and the somewhat elusive chip butty. Yes, my children had French fry sandwiches (on buttered white bread) for lunch. With more fries on the side. Yup – nutrition on a plate and Elizabeth’s best thing of the day.

Going to the movies in England is different than at home. You pre-select your seats. We were running short on time for our 4pm date with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, so we grabbed another quick cab ride, got to the theatre on Kings Road, and picked up our tickets. Ever watched a movie in a refrigerator? No? I wouldn’t recommend it. And I quote “the heating isn’t working in the theatre, so if it’s too cold for you, we’ll give you a voucher so you can come back tomorrow”. ARE YOU FLIPPING KIDDING? Apparently not. On a brighter note, the concession stand was a bar as in “would you like a martini or a glass of wine with your movie” bar. Very civilized. The movie was good. I found it easier to follow that the last one and yes family, I will read the last book so you don’t have to keep the ending a secret anymore. Andrew tells me Part 2 will be out in time for us to see it at home, summer 2011. I’m thinking – great – more cold with overactive air conditioning.

For dinner we wanted a Sunday roast, and we found a lovely one at The Orange on Pimlico Road. Pretty restaurant. Great food. Good service. The walk along Pimlico, past the Saachi gallery, and Sloan Square was really pretty with all the shops, streets, and squares decorated for Christmas.

So, here we are back at the dodgey b&b. Peter is snoring again (this time he didn’t sleep through any of HP – he just missed the previews. Something about darkened spaces?) I’m still cold, but I can feel my feet and for those of you thinking that the Ice Queen is always cold, this was way beyond chilly. Tomorrow, we’ll go to Kings Cross station in search of platform 9 ¾, (we weren’t going to Lisa, but then figured why not) have a scone with clotted cream (but probably not at Selfridges Krista), buy books, and prowl around Covent Garden before heading back to Stansted and our Ryanair home. The snow forecast for today didn’t materialize, but it may tomorrow just in time to delay the flight home. Oh, and the tubes will be on strike. Never a dull moment.

London Part 1 - Wicked

It’s right bloody cold in London. It’s been a long day and Peter’s already asleep. He had a nice snooze at the start of Wicked, but it wasn’t enough. We started out this morning with the Ryanair flight from Göteborg. If you’re not familiar with Ryanair, it’s a flying schoolbus. You line up to pick your seat – first come first chosen. Then, we took the train from Standsted to Tottenham Hale. Then we took the tube to Pimlico and discovered our B&B is closer to Victoria. Oh well – know for tomorrow.

Choosing small hotels and B&Bs off the internet is a bit of an art form. Most of the time I do ok. This time, notsomuch. It’s kinda dodgey. Ok, it’s really dodgey. Central location – short walk to the theatre tonight, but that’s about the only thing going for it. Of all the places we’ve ever stayed, I’d say this one is the worst. Peter doesn’t seem to be too bothered – he’s asleep already. I guess his nap during the first act of Wicked wasn’t long enough…(ka-zing!)

Tonight at Wicked was the first time any of us had been to a show in London. I thought the London theatre crowd / experience would be about the same as Toronto’s. Not so. Do you know you can have a beer or a glass of wine while you’re watching the show? They sell snacks like at the movies. Pringles in little cans. Candy floss in a tub. Ice cream at intermission. Unbelievable. Peter thinks it’s very civilized (when he’s awake).

The show was wonderful. Elizabeth and I knew the music. She had most of the songs memorized and fought herself not to sing along. Me? I sang anyway. The voices were really good, and I really liked the treatments of the songs. They put their own spin on everything – it wasn’t just a karaoke version of the Broadway album. And everyone had English accents. Makes sense given the locale, but I’m wondering if all Munchkins like Bok sound Irish? I didn’t really sob until As Long As You’re Mine, then For Good and the happy ending polished me off. They run away together – I loved that!

Tomorrow’s agenda is walking all the way to the Tower of London, (if we go along the Thames, we can see Big Ben along the way), gazing at the Tower Bridge, a good ploughmans in a pub maybe near Covent Garden, Harry Potter at 4pm (do you know here you have to reserve your seat ahead of time?) then dinner somewhere. Oh, and I forgot the scones with clotted cream and the never-ending search for a good chip butty (for them. Not me. Repeat – not me).

~ because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

Christmas music and the kindness of strangers

Ever sat at the back of a church during choir practice? It's lovely, especially at this time of year.

Thursday mornings, I sing with the international ladies group from Andrew's school. We're all mums who like to sing. Our director, Peter, is the organist / choir director at Askimskyrka, about 15 minutes away from where we live. He has us doing Christmas music at the moment - swedish classics, english classics translated into swedish, a couple of english english classics thrown in to appease our linguistic challenges. My favourite is "Jul, jul, strålande jul" because with our 2-part harmony lady voices, it's beautiful.

Peter also has a youth choir, and he warmly welcomed my Sprout. Tonight is the first time we've come out, hence the reason I'm sitting at the back of a church during Tuesday night practice. I really hope this works out for Andrew. There are 19 young people up there, aged 14+, singing in 4 part harmony, and it's beautiful. Currently, they're singing swedish translations of English carols. Andrew may be familiar with the melodies, but he doesn't yet read swedish, so it must be interesting for him being up there, surrounded by kids he doesn't yet know, singing in a language he doesn't yet know either.

Peter also extended the invitation to the members of my ladies' group to join his regular church choir, and I'm going to take him up on it. He's incredibly kind is Peter. There is a tremendous feeling of the familiar with church music - the traditions stand no matter what country you're in or what language you're using. It's a bit like coming home. And to that end, I leave you with the current song - Caroling caroling now we go,

Christmas bells are ringing.

Caroling, Caroling through the snow,

Christmas bells are ringing.

Joyous voices sweet and clear,

Sing the sad of heart to cheer
Ding dong, ding dong,

Christmas bells are ringing

Here's hoping the music of the season brings your heart to cheer too.

hits & misses

This is the long answer to the short question from my friend Leslie. Leslie asked me what the best thing is about Sweden and what I miss the most. So here, in no particular order and with my usual lack of brevity, is my answer.

Best: (the hits)

• the League of Extraordinary, Strong, Resilient women I have met here. They know. They get it. They are clever and inclusive. There is always room for one more. They are full of suggestions. They are, in a word, amazing.

• the pace of life. It's a lot slower yet I still find ways to fill the day. Peter and I will take an hour on a Saturday or Sunday morning and have coffee in the café in the next block. Ostensibly we go to read, but we end up planning something or just catching up. I go out for lunch at least once a week. Most days I take myself for a walk, and there's an art exhibit I've been meaning to get to. I could walk Andrew to and from school most days if he wanted me to. It took her a while, but Elizabeth in particular likes not dancing 24/7. She has time to go for fika with her friends after school, go to the gym, and not rush her hw. As far as she's concerned, the only 2 things missing from Sweden are Payless and 5bucks.

•Oslo. All the travel is good, but Oslo was pure magic.

•the back stairs and the attic because they're a trip through time

• my tvättstuga (laundry room). It's no bigger than a closet, but an excellent use of space. Has everything you need in it. I wish I had one at home

•automatic doors. They're on everything. Except the doors to our building and the one for swedish class

Misses…

• I miss leading. I did a lot of good at home. I helped to create a lot of happy. I have yet to find ways to do that here - lead, give back, create.

• Crisco. I don't like baking with butter. Stuff runs - it doesn't keep its shape the same way.

Canadian Conundrum

What does it mean to be Canadian?

I'm not the first to ask, and I know I won't be the last. But here in this mix of internationalism where we live, it's a hard question to answer. Do you have any Canadian wedding traditions. Um no. Open bar? How about Canadian Christmas. Well, it depends what part of the country you're from and what culture your heritage is. How do I explain that to be Canadian means being modest to the point of underplaying yourself so badly you seem unsuccessful. It means being open-minded to the point of appearing wishywashy. It means trying really hard never to piss people off because you are polite.

Does it also mean an affinity for pinetrees, lakes, and plaid flannel? Maybe if you're from Northern Ontario. Intravenous maple syrup? Shareholder in Tim Hortons? Love / hate relationship with hockey, winter, mosquitoes, and interminable road construction? Does it go unsaid that you are respected internationally for your peace-keeping efforts and general willingness to help out?

Andrew has to take "Canadian" breakfast to school on Thursday. What on earth is he going to bring? Joe Canadian does not eat back bacon on a daily basis. We eat Special K. Eggos. That's Canadian (are they back in the stores yet or does the national Eggo waffle shortage continue?) Now where on earth in Sweden am I going to find a class-set of Eggo waffles?

The best way to sum it up is as follows: Enjoy and please feel free to post your (polite) opinion.

Joe Canadian Rantcopyright Molson Canadian Beer Company, April 2000

Hey, I'm not a lumberjack, or a fur trader.... I don't live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dogsled.... and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada, although I'm certain they're really really nice. I have a Prime Minister, not a president. I speak English and French, not American. And I pronounce it 'about', not 'a boot'. I can proudly sew my country's flag on my backpack. I believe in peace keeping, not policing, diversity, not assimilation, and that the beaver is a truly proud and noble animal. A toque is a hat, a chesterfield is a couch, and it is pronounced 'zed' not 'zee', 'zed' !!!! Canada is the second largest landmass! The first nation of hockey! and the best part of North America My name is Joe!! And I am Canadian!!!