Clueless in the UK

First, I’d like to thank the other person who commented on my blog, you know, the one who wasn’t my mother.

Second, I need to tell you a story that is truly mind-boggling, at least to this easily boggled mind. Or is it bloggled?

Anyway, here’s a little history of our how we got to where we are on our little UK adventure. One day Sue said, “I have a crazy idea: let’s move to London for a year.” Being the whipped - I mean loving - husband that I am, I said without hesitation: “OK.” I honestly thought that we’d spend 6 months “munging on it” (anybody know where I got “munging on it” from?) and then we’d investigate it for a further 6 months, and then maybe some day we’d spend a year in London. But this is Sue we’re dealing with, and the next morning I had an email with about 15 TODO items in it: 13 for Sue, 2 for me. Sue finished hers first, but who is surprised about that?

So we (she) decided to put the kids in American schools because it’s only going to be a year and we wanted them to come back and hit the ground running in the US schools. We found about three we liked, but the one near the center of London (The American School of London) had no room for Madeline. OK, we’ll go to the excellent school out in Cobham, which is about as far away from the center of London you can get while still technically being in London. We’d get a 3000 sq ft house on a cul de sac and hang out with a bunch of Americans, inside because it rains a lot. Kind of an expensive way to make new friends.

Then we met with Stuart and Pavani and they said, “Go to British schools and live in London!” Then they showed us where they lived for 4 months, Notting Hill, and we went home that night and rented Notting Hill with Julia Roberts and Hu hu hu … hu hu Hugh Grant, and we decided “Screw the kids’ education, we’re putting them in public schools and going to put the money saved into a nice place in Notting Hill!” Unfortunately, the public schools (no they don’t call them that here) in the good Palo Alto-like neighborhoods are already booked, and the waiting list is sorted by the number of paces from your front door to the school’s front door.

Pavani and Stuart mentioned that Jens and Neguine moved to London, and maybe we could get in touch with them for some input on this. Unfortunately nobody was willing or able to give us their contact information, so we gave up on that one. We barely knew them to be honest. I met them briefly when Arthur and I were talking about doing Marimba, and then a few years later we put our kids into the same International School they they were in. We said hello practically every time we saw them in the halls, not “Hello, how are you?” Just hello. Sometimes just a nod. OK, I admit, I was intimidated by their foreign accents.

Anyway, back to the school hunt … This setback would have stopped many people but not Sue. Via google, and about 200 researched schools later, and one week long trip to Hampstead and St John’s Wood on her own, Sue found two private British schools that were good enough for our darlings and also had room. So now I am out here trying to decide between those two neighborhoods: St John’s Wood and Hampstead.

Sue took this picture of Heath Street in the heart of Hampstead and it had a Thai restaurant sign, and my hotel is right next to it, so finally yesterday I went in there for dinner. Walking by the front window of the restaurant I had a feeling of recognition because I saw Jens but it was fleeting, until a minute later when inside the restaurant I saw Neguine as well. My mouth fell open I think and I stared hard at her. She stared back and then looked away and then looked back when she realized my tongue was still hanging out, and I said her name, and that was that.

But the reason this story is so mind-boggling is this: Jens and Neguine have been here for three years … yet last night was the FIRST TIME EVER they ate at that restaurant that is within walking distance of their house. I think now you probably all understand how truly mind-boggling this is. Why don’t you “munge on that a bit” and get back to me with copious comments
I was most happy to hear their two young boys talking in such delightful little British accents. Which leads me to the following prediction: Jason and Madeline are going to come back with cute little British accents some day, and when they do, Madeline is going to whip all but the last of her boyfriends into hopeless shells of their former selves, and Jason is just going to spend his entire life fighting off girls. A lot of this depends on how long we stay here because Madeline isn’t going to have any boyfriends until … 26 I think. So she might lose her accent by then.

After Jens and Neguine left, the couple next to me on the other side said, “You were so loud, we heard the whole thing, have you considered the American School in London?” Apparently they worked there 14 years ago, for 30 odd years! They were Americans who immigrated to London in 1962!! Anyway, I chatted it up with them for another half hour and learned what issues in their marriage have brought them to the brink of divorce over the years. You know, things like, Is Hampstead better than St John’s Wood, which place is crazier, is the Heath all it’s made up to be, etc.

So here’s what I’ll say about Londoners who are not presently beating the crap out of each other on the crowded sidewalks of Hampstead: they’re really nice and friendly.

So about a day after Sue and I moved into the Queen Anne Hill neighborhood of Seattle in 1995, we witnessed somebody breaking into a car across the street from our house. Rather than running after them with a pair of aluminum softball bats, like I could have if I wanted (I had the bats, just not the balls, if you get my meaning), I called the police.

So today I am walking down the street in quaint Hampstead and three guys, in their 20s I’d say, are running down the street towards me. One is running away, the other is punching him in the face, and the third is trying to pull his buddy off the first.

He succeeds. Everybody standing around witnessing this whole thing is stunned (including about 10 mothers breast-feeding - I am not kidding, they are everywhere arond here!). The guy getting punched keeps walking, the other two walk back up the hill but not without the punching dude yelling something in a foreign language I didn’t understand. I am standing right next to the first guy who by this point is looking a little upset about the whole thing, with his The Gap bag in his hand, looking at the growing bruise on his face in the glass window of a store front. The only thing I can think of is, The first guy said something nasty about the bad guy’s mother or maybe he shop-lifted from The Gap.

Anyway .. I mean, COME ON! What’s up with that? Coincidence? I think not. We move something happens to remind us we’re in a big bad city where big bad things happen. Or maybe it’s the drugs: I am on large quantities of Nyquil and jet-lagged after a night of trying to sleep in the smallest room I have ever even seen, let alone tred to sleep in. Picture lying on your back, spread-eagled and able to touch all 4 walls in your room, and you’re on the right page. Tonight I am in a bigger room, using the internet in the hotel, after figuring out a way to hack myself into the hotel’s network.

Yes, hack is too strong a word. Once they admitted they were using a different kind of authentication, and once I figured out the password by dumping it from a PC in their office that worked, I was able to get on their network as long as I manually specify an address.

But really, I am not sure this is of interest. What is of interest is the ache in my neck from using a laptop and looking down at a screen for too long. Ergonomics really do matter, especially when you’re as old as I am …

Anyway, tonight I had some pizza at a nice place. When the nice lady came up with my food to put it on my table, she said in a very pleasant voice, using the english language, “Blah blah blah blah blah?” I said, “Huh?” She said very clearly again, using the Queen’s English this time, “Blah blah blah salad, blah blah pizza?” Since she had a huge pepper grinder in her hands, I said, “No thank you.” She got really confused and then I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understood you …” Then she said slowly, so as not to confuse me, “Did you order a salad and pizza?”

Wow, huh?

Some of you have complained that I haven’t written anything in a while. Well that’s because I was waiting - we were waiting - for our visas with bated breath. But they have arrived so we’re going!

Actually I am writing this from Hampstead in London, one of the two places we’re considering moving to. Sue checked out the schools here in Hampstead and also in St Johns Wood. Now I am out here for a week to see if I can figure out which of those two places I prefer.

What I’ve discovered while being out here alone is that: I AM ALONE! That’s not necessarily bad but I am used to being with Sue who has everything planned, big picture in her head, routes all figured out, every day knowing what to do and where to do it. Here I am alone, jet-lagged beyond belief, and clueless in the … OH MY GOD! See?

Take yesterday, when I arrived at 10:30 in the morning. I dragged my sorry ass to the Heathrow Express thinking how great it was not to be clueless, how easily I found it, and how I knew exactly what was going on. Then I got to the TUBE station at …

You know, I just deleted the above paragraph because it was too long and boring. Just imagine going back and forth on the tube, lugging your luggage and laptop, getting really close to your destination and then turning around and going in the opposite direction for a while, and then repeat that a few times. That’s what I went through to get to my hotel. Kinda reminds me of the time Sue was in labor with Jason, and I drove really really fast in the opposite direction of the hospital where she was waiting for me. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.

Right now I am in Starbucks. I am grateful that they have reliable networking. My little hotel does not. Something is wrong with their wireless configuration and they won’t let me take a look. I am going to keep pressing because coming to Starbucks in the UK seems kinda weird, since I travelled eight time zones for that privilege. There are lots of families rolling around kids in their strollers, sometimes double strollers. I felt most at home when I saw two kids chasing each other, on scooters, one crying, the other trying to beat him up, and two parents dragging them apart kicking and screaming. Reminded me of my two darlings … just kidding … sort of.

I meet with letting agents tomorrow. Typical that I would book a trip during a “Bank Holiday” which is today. I wonder if it just coincides with our memorial day weekend? Anyway, let’s just hope I come home with a permanent address, shall we?