Down the street from my office is the oldest Twinings store in London. I did not know this until AFTER I'd visited there of course, but nonetheless it's a nice piece of trivia that might be useful at a quiz night sometime soon.
I was actually walking back from grabbing a sandwich today and figured it would be nice to call into the Twinings store and get some peppermint tea.
Browsing the shelves at the sheer eye-popping number of herbal teas and fruit teas and whatnot, my attention was drawn to the big box of Twinings Traditional Afternoon tea, that has always been a firm favourite. I could hardly go past that!
Armed with my purchases, the shop assistant then tried to persuade me to adjourn to the tearoom at the back of the store for a complimentary mug of tea. What a lovely promotion! Sadly I had to get back to the office so I took a raincheck *SOB*
I tell you though, it's nice to know that such delicious - and free - tea is available only a block or so from work. That sure makes up for all the sub-par coffee joints close by. Here's cheers, I say!
Call me crazy, but this morning I decided to catch the bus to work from Waterloo Station. One of my colleagues had told me where the bus stop was, and which buses to catch, so that left me rather little room to screw up really.
Against the backdrop of last week's pedestrian (mis)adventures, you would no doubt be as pleased as I was to learn that not only did I take the right bus, I got off at the right stop, and I was early for work! As they say in London, I was "well chuffed".
Over the course of this week I have been looking for a place to live. Beyond web browsing, I've actually visited a few apartments across the City, trying to work out where I want to live - and with whom.
So far I haven't committed to anything, but I've enjoyed the opportunity to traverse the Tube map and learn a bit more about London's neighbourhoods by actively visiting them and meeting some of their residents.
The other night I did reconnaissance at Clapham Common, Friday night I was in Pimlico. On Saturday morning I was in Clapham today I visited Queen's Park and Whitechapel. Tomorrow is West Kensington and the day after that is Battersea. Phew - I'm gettin' around, let me tell you!
After finishing up at Whitechapel, I took the Tube to Oxford Circus to have a look around. Arguably the chain store shopping mecca of London, Oxford Circus is pretty much like Chicago's Michigan Avenue. At Christmas. Are you getting the picture? I wandered along Oxford Street, in and out of the stores, and then sought refuge at Marble Arch for a restorative Diet Coke and writing some postcards to my grandmas.
I walked back along the other side of Oxford Street this time, back to Oxford Circus tube station, and turned right to head down Regent Street. This is home to some pretty fancy-pants designer stores mixed up with souvenir shops but the best thing about Regent Street today was the fact that I was walking downhill! Bliss.
Through Piccadilly Circus I went, along to Leicester Square, where there was some sort of public gathering/street fair thing happening. I couldn't see through the crowd anyway, so i'm not sure what was going on but there were loads of kids and families and that was enough for me - I had to get out of there! By this stage I was starving and so I called into a cute Italian restaurant and enjoyed a pizza and red wine while I gathered my thoughts, referenced my maps, and plotted my next move.
Allowing the crowd to push me along, I soon found myself in Covent Garden and browsed some of the street stalls and market spaces. The sun had come out, everyone seemed really happy and relaxed and I was enjoying the afternoon until I realised that standing still only exacerbated my sore thighs and feet - time to keep moving.
Down Lancaster Place I went and across the - wait for it - WATERLOO BRIDGE! I found the stinkin' Waterloo Bridge and I hadn't even been looking for it. Glorious! With the Waterloo tube station in sight, I dawdled across the bridge, helping tourists take photos of themselves with Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament in the background.
Now that I'm back at my friend's place with my slippers on, the pace of the day is catching up with me and I know I'll sleep well tonight. After a day spent discovering some new nooks & crannies of this huge city, I'm looking forward to attacking the apartment-hunt with a renewed enthusiasm this week.
I made it to the end of my first work week in London and job-wise, I didn't achieve much. We have been having some computer issues, so my boss said that my first priority should be to find somewhere to live and to get myself settled. Easier said than done, my friends. I'm browsing 3 or 4 flat-sharing websites simultaneously, and friends are helping out with emailed recommendations, but it's a slow process. I need to remember that I've only been here a week though and just like Pantene, this "won't happen overnight but it will happen".
I have also been spending the latter part of the week on a friend's couch in an area of town called Bermondsey. It is a pretty spot, with parks and gardens dotted around and the place is well serviced by the tube and rail. That doesn't mean of course that I have had a smooth time getting to work. I'm still as geographically-challenged as ever. The dilemma comes when I emerge from the Tube at the giant Waterloo station and I get caught up in the crowds of fellow commuters, all zooming off in different directions. I am never sure which group to follow and as a result, I've taken a different walking route to work every day - none of them the correct one.
The security team at work laugh at me and every day they ask me what weird and wonderful route I took to work. Yesterday I was able to give them the traffic report from Westminster Bridge (walking towards Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament). Trust me when I tell you that this was WAAAY out of my way. At the same time, it's not surprising in the least. I have a terrible sense of direction but even I'm surprised at how easily I lose Waterloo Bridge. I mean, seriously. Waterloo Bridge itself is enormous, and the pedestrian-only bridge right next door is equally monstrous and yet I have managed to follow commuter crowds out of the station, down windy backstreets, and bypass both bridges entirely. Crazy. I guess my only saving grace at this point is that I'm always running ultra early for work every day, affording me some time to amble across foreign bridges and past some of the most beautiful monuments and architecture I've ever seen. Plus I'm also using the wandering as an excuse to locate coffee shops, hotels and cute restaurants that I might need to visit later on (if I can ever find them again).
I got my bank account organised the other day too. This proved to be much less painful than the experience in Scotland, where I recall we were effectively interrogated, cavity-searched, rigorously background checked and generally treated like criminals. Thanks to the recommendation from work of course, the process of opening my London account was very quick and easy. My closest bank branch is also located right behind St Paul's Cathedral, so I got to visit another gorgeous monument just by chance. Score! I didn't get to go inside St Paul's of course, but my colleague said that church services run as usual on Sundays so I could always go inside for free then. The ABC (Another Bloody Church) Tour has begun.
Some good news is that all the walking here is doing me good already. I didn't realise that I had thigh muscles until they started groaning and twinging around about Thursday. All this up & down stairs business at work and on the Tube, not to mention navigating the uneven terrain - cobble stones and such - I may actually be headed towards that mysterious thing they call fitness. Help.
Day 2 at work went pretty well. With permission from my boss, I spent much of the day browsing the internet looking for places to live, so that was quite good really. I have not really narrowed things down too much - I think I'll do a better job of that when I actually hit the streets and visit apartments, but so far I am using my desktop research to get better acquainted with the London geography.
I was on the tube this afternoon thinking back to my Chicago days and you know what occurred to me? I can't remember a time when I didn't know Chicago well. I know that Chicago was brand new to me 5 years ago, and I had to start from scratch and get myself around, but I've literally wiped all that experience from my brain. So having to learn London is a fresh challenge and one that I'm starting to enjoy.
My office uses a driving service on occasion and late yesterday I decided that it was all too traumatic to organise my own relocation to my friend's place (where I am presently couch-surfing). I just couldn't face two tube journeys with the two hefty suitcases all on my own. I wasn't being a baby about it; a fact's a fact. Plus I have no biceps to speak of and 30kg of luggage is coming close to killing me. So my boss approved booking the office driver to transport me and my bags to my friend's place after work today. Rock star.
Bless his cotton socks, Sam picked me up on time and helped heave my luggage into his car. Then he took the long way to my friend's place, passing a bunch of great London sights along the way. I got the full audio commentary tour too as we tootled past Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Waterloo Bridge, and the Tower of London - just to name a few! Can you believe it?! I was stoked. So far my whole experience of London has been underground. In Sam's car, listening to him tell me all about the history and architecture as our car hooned by, I actually felt really excited to come back to all these places on weekends to come and explore them for myself. If only I can find them all...
I made it safely to London, after what was probably a 30-hour journey (I'm too scared to count). Both my flights were 100% full - and I'm quite surprised to say I actually got about 7 hours sleep en route to London, which wasn't too bad really.
Singapore's Changi airport was lovely and I had a delicious pad thai and a couple of beers while waiting for my connecting flight. I also enjoyed a complimentary foot & calf massage in one of those automatic machine thingies that I love. Of course there was a massage parlour (for want of a better expression) and I could have paid a human being to massage me, but given my strict 'no touch' policy, the chair was always the only choice!
When I finally arrived at Heathrow, the immigration & customs experiences were fairly uneventful. I breezed through actually - and I was really pleasant to everyone, which is a miracle given that I hadn't had any coffee whatsoever since Australia!
The tube from Heathrow to Bayswater was a bit of an adventure, simply because rather than reading the instructions on the tube ticket machine, I just started pushing buttons. What zone are you in? What zone are you going to? ARGH - menace. Anyway, I bought a ticket for zones I had no interest in going to, consequently overpaid for the ticket and then took a rather creative route to the tube station I actually needed. I was never actually lost per se, rather I was just over-complicating things and so ultimately the journey took longer than it had to. All good.
I had done some Googlemapping (from the verb to googlemap) before I got to London so I knew where my Bayswater hotel was, and in retrospect I was really grateful for that. I exited the Bayswater tube stop, turned left, walked a couple of blocks, turned right and VOILA. Hotel found. Also working in my favour at that point was the fact that hotel reception had a room available for me then and there, so I didn't even need to come back at the usual check-in time. I headed straight upstairs, took a lukewarm shower (hot is not an option at my hotel), and I got changed and headed straight back outside again. I did not even sit down on the bed, because I knew that if I did, I'd never get back up again.
Bayswater is a lovely neighbourhood - my hairdresser back at home used to live in London and he lived in this area for about 3 years and obviously loved it. Now that I'm here I can see why. There are plenty of coffee options, the houses/flats are gorgeous; the area is literally in the centre of things; and the shopping/food/entertainment precincts seem really great too. I just wish I could afford to live here...maybe I should look into that a little more closely now that I'm here....
I did a bit of shopping in Bayswater too, picking up some bathroom/toiletry essentials at the chemist and then I headed back to the tube station to rehearse my commute to work. That journey actually went very smoothly and I found my office in no time flat.
After this bit of reconnaissance, I walked down (or up?) The Strand and into Trafalgar Square. I paused for a cup of tea at the Square cafe, and watched the tourists and school kids take photos of each other and goof off around the fountains and Nelson's Column. It was a gorgeous day with some lovely sun, so I was quite spoiled rotten.
I wanted to call my family to let them know that I was doing so well (geographically I mean) and I stepped into a phone booth - and almost stepped ON some poo. Human poo. Or else it was from some giant animal like a rhino or something, but then how would a rhino open a phone booth door? Or more importantly, what would a rhino be doing in Central London (and who would he be calling?!). Anyway the point of the story is, somebody did a poo in a public phone booth? Gross. I gagged. But of course this is all part of the experience. And if poop in a phone booth is the worst thing that happens to me, I'll be okay.
Today was Day 1 at the office and I have to tell you, I was really nervous. Or maybe I was just excited. Who knows. In any case, I was in bed at 7pm last night, and wide awake at 5am today, so I stayed in bed watching TV for a couple of hours before getting up at 7am to face my day.
Again, the tube commute into work went well and only took 20 minutes, which was really great as far as I was concerned. The walk uphill to my office just about killed me - and made me immediately regret the fact that I wore heels today. This regret was further reinforced throughout the day as I realised that my office building - while beautiful - is one spiral staircase after another, and all my travelling up & down them played havoc with my poor feet. At this moment I'm trying to ignore the weeping blister on my 2nd toe. So tomorrow it's definitely ballet flats all the way, baby.
I won't bore you with the details of my work, suffice to say that my colleagues seem lovely and I met so many new people whose names all ran in together. I am sure things will settle down once I start working on projects and collaborate properly with people in real time.
At the moment however, the focus is on finding somewhere to live. I check out of my hotel tomorrow and relocate temporarily to a friend's couch. She has lived in London for about 5 years and she's offered to help me look for places to live, which is such a blessing. Hopefully the apartment hunt won't be as arduous as I fear, and things will settle down (literally) soon. I just want to unpack these stinking suitcases...how nice THAT will be!
This time tomorrow I will be en route to the airport. I can't believe that my D-Day has come around so quickly and yet, there you have it.
My suitcases certainly zip up but because not everything is packed, I know I'll have to do a pretty serious re-pack later today. Trying to decide how to consolidate my wardrobe into 20kg of checked luggage has been a huge challenge; one that I have clearly not yet mastered.
I am feeling a bit more confident about the trip, certainly in regard to getting to my hotel after what I'm sure will feel like 50 hours in the air. I've sussed out the travel options at Heathrow, I've re-confirmed my hotel reservation, and I've worked out the nearby shopping and coffee spots to keep me occupied until I can check-in. I just hope that when my alarm goes off on Tuesday morning, I'm able to drag myself out of bed with some degree of enthusiasm to start this exciting new job. Fingers crossed!
You would recall that I was supposed to fly to the UK yesterday but I had to postpone the trip because my visa had still not come through.
It should therefore come as no surprise whatsoever that no sooner had I rescheduled the trip and renegotiated my work start date, I got a message from the visa processors to say that my application had been approved. As I write this, my paperwork is in the back of a truck somewhere, on its way back to me. Typical.
I went to the travel agent yesterday and collected my revised airline ticket, so I'm set for a 13 June departure. I'll arrive in London on 14 June and start work the next day. I figure that by the weekend, the jetlag hallucinations will have abated. Well, we can only hope.
I also booked some hotel accommodation for the first two days, before my temporary couch surfing career begins. I'm going to be holed up in Bayswater, at a budget hotel around the corner from Whiteleys, the oldest shopping centre in London. I am pretty sure that in two short days, I will become very accustomed to living the Bayswater life. But from what I know of the area, from browsing accommodation ads, I probably can't afford to live there.
Never say never though, right? I mean, stranger things have happened. Perhaps while browsing at Whiteleys I will meet an old lady who lives alone in a palatial home (no cats) and who has an entire fully-furnished floor space that she'd like to rent to me. And then the old lady decides she can't handle the London climate anymore and she buys a house in Spain and gives me the run of the house in return for keeping it neat and clean.
Uh oh, the jetlag hallucinations have started and I haven't even taken off yet....
All things being well, I will fly to the UK on Thursday morning to start my new job. Before that can happen though, two key things have to fall into place:
I need to pack This isn't as easy as it sounds, to be fair. I have forgotten how to rationalise my wardrobe to 20kg of checked luggage and 7kg of carry-on. Headed for an English summer, I've tried to edit (and re-edit) my prospective working & weekend wardrobes, but so far I still can't make it work. The suitcase is bursting with clothes, leaving no room for underwear or other sundries. Some serious work needs to be done on this.
I need my visa You'd be right to think that this should be my Concern Numero Uno, but I've relegated it to #2 because it's outside of my control right now. My visa paperwork is currently being processed, but I'm not sure how far off done it really is. The only thing I can do is to be optimistic that the bureaucrats in charge of these things will get their collective acts together and ship my certified passport back to me in the nick of time. By 5pm tonight, I'll know if I'm out of here on schedule, or if I need to reschedule my flight. Fingers and toes crossed.
In line with things always happening in threes, it's pretty typical that I'm getting a cold right now too. Brilliant timing. Ugh.
It occurs to me that it has been almost a year since I last posted on this site. In that time, I’ve come home to Australia; completed a university course; and (saving the best till last), I’ve caught up with much-missed friends and family.
Why, might you ask, am I breathing life back into the blog? Well, I’ve accepted a job overseas and so I’m on the move again. This time next week, I’ll be on the plane to London where I’ll be working with an Australian organisation, in an Events Coordinator role.
This is an exciting piece of news of course and I’m really looking forward to the adventure, but I’m not jumping out of my skin just yet. In fact, once the job was offered to me I didn’t accept it straight away. For several sleepless nights after I knew the role was mine, the battle between heart and head raged and my mental list of pros and cons was disturbingly even. Taking the job would mean leaving my family (again). Was that really something I wanted to do? And if I wasn't ready to leave my family, what kind of idiot applies for a job overseas? Backwards and forwards it went; you get the idea. In the end, I could not ignore the amazing career opportunity to work in London as the city prepares to host the summer Olympic Games 2012 – a textbook case of head trumping heart.
As my rational mind basks in the glow of its victory, my heart is focussed on the social advantages that this new challenge will bring. This move to London is a unique chance to discover a new city, a new country, and new friends – and you know how my heart loves all those things. Slowly but surely I'm making peace with my decision and I'm beginning to look forward to the good times ahead.
In the same way that you have been with me on previous adventures, I look forward to sharing London with you. If you want to recommend anything that I should see and do while I'm there, please leave me a comment because I'd love to share the fun and games with you.
I probably should have dyed my hair blue this morning, to be adequately prepared for today's theater adventure. The average age of the audience members would easily have been 85. But it's little wonder really - the star of the show was the one, the only TOPOL in his farewell tour of "Fiddler on the Roof".
My sister was never far from my mind as I watched Topol shimmy across the stage in "If I were a rich man" (do be do be do) - Jem's version of this number is rather like the Sugar Plum Fairy on crack - yet she will perform it upon request...and sometimes completely impromptu.
Topol has performed the role of Tevye over 2500 times and you've got to give props to a guy that can do that. I don't know how old Topol is for sure, but the man still has "it". The energy is boundless and the deep, booming voice is at once calming and commanding. In some scenes, he sounded like Andre The Giant and so I got the giggles. The old ladies tsked me all around. More giggles from me.
I was not laughing, however, during intermission when I tried to get to the bathroom. Trying to get 3,000 eighty-five year old women to pee in the space of 10 minutes is like herding cats. This time it was MY turn to tsk. I am so impatient when I need to pee.
After the performance I was in the mood to be indulgent, so I called into the iconic Petterino's and had a cosmo. The barman was a genius, mixing up a delicious shaker full of pink fabulousness just for me - and while I thought better than to tell him about my afternoon spent with the Blue Rinse Brigade, I sat alone to savour my cocktail as the old ladies around me enjoyed their dinner. At 5pm.
In one week, I will finish work. I am very nervous about this for a number of reasons.
Firstly, I haven't been unemployed since I was 17. I'm not sure I'll be too good at it. Sure, I like slothing around as much as the next girl, but I get tired of it pretty quickly. And there's only so much daytime TV even I can take (sorry, Food Network, even you bore me after a while).
Secondly, finishing my job means that I'm almost leaving Chicago. One does not exist without the other. And the closer I get to my last day on the job, the closer I get to the last time I take the bus along glassy Lake Michigan, and the last time I stroll down the Magnificent Mile and the last time I...well, you get the picture.
My situation is nothing to pity of course. I chose to be in this situation - I'm not one of the unlucky ones to lose my job because of the financial slump the world is in, nor was I booted out for being naughty. I elected to put myself in this position - mea culpa and all that good stuff.
But don't the faceless "they" always tell you that you should leave a party while you're still having fun? Well that's what I'm doing - getting out while the getting is good.
I just wish my list of things to say goodbye to wasn't quite so long...
Once I'd made the decision to resign from my job and move back home, I had thought the worst was over.
Then I started to have anxieties about not being able to sublet my apartment and that I would end up having to pay rent from overseas, financially bound to my gorgeous place until the end of my lease on November 1st.
After many weekends of showing my apartment to potential subletters (subleasers?), I got a call from my building manager to say that an applicant had been found. I was thrilled but the manager cautioned me against getting too excited. "Nothing's formalised until we approve them financially and you co-sign the papers," she said. There was that anxiety again, gnawing at my stomach lining.
Walking into the building office this afternoon to do my part, my head was spinning.
Who was the mysterious applicant, I wondered? Had I shown her my place on one of those crazy Saturdays when my apartment looked like a Chinese laundry, and dust balls swirled around our ankles like tumbleweeds? Or was the new tenant somebody who had seen the place when I wasn't here and when I didn't know they were coming; when I later went postal at the maintenance guys for letting her in without telling me? [Okay so that only happened once but it annoyed me.]
The sublease papers arrived in a fluoro pink envelope and were placed in front of me to sign. I read the name of the woman who would soon call my bachelorette pad her home, and I drew a complete blank. I had never seen that name in my life. My apartment was about to be signed over to a stranger.
I asked the building manager about the person, and she wouldn't tell me anything other than that they had been financially approved. Is that all people care about? I would have found out heaps more than that!
As I co-signed my name on the dotted line, I thought about my time as tenant in my lovely 1-bedroom from September 2007 up to now. This place gave me my first experience at living alone and having a bachelorette pad that I loved coming home to every day. In the heart of Boystown, my apartment was a quiet refuge for a crazy city girl.
Sure, the place may be beige, and it may be the very embodiment of Japanese minimalism (paricularly right now with the furniture all but cleared out), but I have loved it dearly. And I only hope that this complete, but financially-approved stranger will too.
I'm a bit too young to remember "Miami Vice" so my story today starts with a TV show from my youth, shown in a more PG-friendly timeslot. Some of you out there may fondly remember the variety show on Australian TV called "Hey, Hey It's Saturday!". And before you ask, there are no prizes for guessing which night of the week it screened....
Anyway, one of the segments on the show was called "Red Faces" and contestants of all ages and all "talents" competed against one another for cash (I think, or maybe it was just prizes). The whole point was to get through your act before Red Symonds (of "Skyhooks" fame) hit the giant gong and struck you out.
I must have watched so many contestants on "Red Faces" in my time, but one that will forever stick out is a young boy who decided he wanted to sing Will Smith's hit - of the time - "Going to Miami". The boy had the audience vote already because he was adorable but unfortunately for everyone, he was also tone deaf and had absolutley no sense of rhythm. And being the complete sadist that he was, Red Symonds refused to gong the kid. So we all had to sit there and endure the wailing, off-beat, off-tempo, and generally just OFF performance.
But even a tuneless kid on "Red Faces" in the early 90s couldn't have put me off going to Miami. I just hadn't had the occasion until this past weekend. And so to put us all in the mood for the rest of this post, do yourself a favour and click on the "Going to Miami" video - the way Will Smith intended it be heard...
There now. Don't you feel better already?
The first thing that hit me about Miami was the heat. Then the humidity and then possibly the heat again. Flying in from a city that has 'enjoyed' a winter that doesn't seem to want to quit, the intense heat of Miami was a really welcome change. I'm not one to enjoy humidity really but after Chi-town's cool, I wasn't going to complain.
But my weekend did not give me a single thing to complain about anyway. I met K at Miami airport around 2am (her plane had been delayed and it was nothing to just wait around) and we shared a cab to our fabulous accommodation, the Gansevoort South. There we met up with three of K's other NYC-based friends (2 Aussies, one Swede) and we crashed fast asleep. No surprise there.
I had battled a nasty cold last week and the air con in our hotel room left me congested and snuffly come the morning. So I woke semi-early and took myself off in search of coffee. Thankfully Cafe Bustelo had set up shop right next door to the Hotel, and I made myself at home to people-watch and ease into the weekend's warm weather.
One by one the other girls surfaced and joined me at coffee. When we were all assembled, three of us made the plan to find brunch. Off we went down Collins Ave (lined with every manner of gorgeous boutique and art deco retro hotel) and we turned onto Lincoln Avenue Mall. The pedestrian mall was overrun with restaurants, but not many of them served breakfast or brunch. Perhaps Floridians don't know about brunching, we mused. But we finally found a place and settled inside (under the air conditioner) to enjoy our first meal in Miami. It was so large, we almost didn't feel like ANOTHER meal in Miami! The portions were huge and none of us ate everything on our plates - but we agreed across the board that everything was delicious. Particularly the fruit juices - must be all that sunshine.
As the grey clouds and thunderstorm rolled in, we walked back to the Hotel with a view to swimming around for a couple of hours in the gorgeous pool - conveniently located on the same floor as our hotel room! Self-conscious as I was about laying around in a bikini, I have to confess I was very interested in being a sloth on the pool chairs with my large fashionista sunglasses and a good book (and a great margarita, if one could be arranged).
And so it was that I donned the bathing suit (and old grandma cover-up) and blazed a trail out to the pool. The heat was intense but the pool offered welcome respite and I rejoiced in the knowledge that it was perfectly okay (nay, EXPECTED) to consume one's cocktail while partially submerged in the cool waters. It was blissful.
Some minutes later, and wrinkled like the satisfied human prune that I was, I retired to the pool lounge to dry off, read my book, and close my eyes to the sensation of freshly-made strawberry margarita working its way through my bloodstream.
I found it rather amusing that the pool had a sign that said, "No Lifeguard on Duty"; however there were several pool attendants bearing cocktail trays milling around the guests. Miami is a town of interesting, if not inspiring, priorities. And really, when you're in the market for a restaurant recommendation, isn't it easier to ask a pool cocktail waitress than a lifeguard? I think so too.
Fast forward a couple of hours and we ended up at Sardinia Enoteca & Ristorante in Miami Beach, a place that boasts traditional southern Italian cuisine and great service. We didn't have a reservation and that seemed to anger the hostess, but no one else had a problem with it, and we had a wonderful dinner together.
By the time we got back to the Hotel, we were all exhausted. The combination of sleep deprivation, sun, fresh air, cocktails, great food, and big laughs had knocked us all out. So we retired to our rooms and got some sleep.
Awoken to my last day in Miami, I was again all stuffed up and snuffly thanks to an over-zealous (but highly necessary) air conditioner. K headed off to the beach for a while and I got re-acquainted with the coffee shop. Only this time, I also tried some croquetas, basically just Cuban croquettes that are quite delicious. I bought them at the coffee shop, so I'm positive they were not the most authentic or tasty morsels available in Miami; however I wanted to say I'd tried them. I had one filled with chorizo and one with ham and cheese, and coupled with my enormous coffee, they constituted quite a nice breakfast.
Having checked out at 12.30pm, we left our bags with the concierge and walked along Collins Avenue to Ocean Road, the haunt of the rich and truly fabulous. Yes we walked in the searing heat and sweaty humidity, but it was totally worth it.
We took the advice of a couple of friends and ate at The Front Porch Cafe, which is a dining institution in South Beach and located in the lobby of the Penguin Hotel. Again, we didn't have a reservation but the crowd moved fairly quickly and we were seated in less than 10 minutes. Feeling restored by a delicious cocktail and a huge breakfast/lunch, we headed off for a walk along Ocean Road, past the Versace Mansion and restaurants, bars and cafes galore.
Being bikini-phobic, one of the things that struck me almost immediately was just how confident people seemed in Miami, to walk around semi-clad and strutting their stuff - whether they had stuff to strut or not. Even the mannqueins in the store windows had larger-than-normal boobs to show you just how those skimpy fashions should be worn to best effect. It's terrible when you're envious of a store mannequin.
Reminiscent of the end of "Oceans 11", the girls left one by one, and pretty soon only Kate and I were left. Without the supervision, we were resigned to bar hopping along Collins Ave, escaping from the heat into the cool of the cocktail lounges in the art deco hotels we had admired so much from the street. It was a lovely way to spend the afternoon.
As we got back to the Hotel en route to the airport, the weather turned ugly again and we were worried our flights would be delayed. As it turned out, we got to the airport just fine and my flight was the only one with problems - somebody left the heaters on in the plane and the whole aircraft became unbearable and needed to be aired out. Figures. But I was home in bed around midnight, so happy that I got to spend a wonderful couple of days in the Miami sunshine. I may even have got a bit of a tan for my efforts and with any luck, I may have bought some of the good weather back to "sweet home Chicago" with me.
I don't tend to go in for any of that fear mongering when it comes to disease outbreaks or global epidemics. In the case of the current H1N1 influenza outbreak, I have been taking good care of myself and so far, things have been coasting along well.
So last Friday when I swallowed some Diet Coke and my throat started to hurt, I knew I was coming down with something, and admittedly my thoughts didn't turn to the piggy flu until I wasn't able to get out of bed on Monday morning. Tuesday rolled around without much improvement and I guess I figured it would not surprise anyone in my life to find out that I had indeed succumbed to the stinky pig flu.
I took myself off to the doctors this morning and had an ill-timed coughing fit on the bus. The man opposite me regarded me rather suspiciously, removed his handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to cover his face with it.
Way harsh.
So try as hard as I might to stem the cough, it would not be silienced. More mucus, more heaving, more watery eyes - I was one sexy bus passenger, sitting all alone in as much quarantine as the Chicago Transit Authority will allow.
After a painful blood test and an even more invasive throat swab, the diagnosis from the doctor is that I simply have a very bad cold. Fortunately I'm no longer contagious and I'm 100% cleared to travel to sunny Miami this weekend. More on that later.
Wouldn't you know it? The positive visit to the doctor, and the subsequent mass medication purchase at Walgreen's has left me already feeling a great deal better. It's back to work tomorrow but at least this little piggy is feeling a little more like her old self again.
I haven't started counting down the days yet but I will be heading home for good on July 7 and so little by little, I've been wrapping up my life here. It's hard to believe that I've amassed so much stuff in the nearly 4 years that I've lived here, but it's true.
After much to-ing and fro-ing on the advertising front, I believe I've finally sublet my apartment but I'm just waiting for the paperwork to arrive. A little while ago I made the decision to sell off or give away anything in my apartment that wasn't a gift, and thus began a steady revolving door of furniture removals and cash-in-hand purchasing. Although it sounds like it went rather smoothly, it was pretty exhuasting trying to manage all of the moving. And I still have some items to sell and an apartment to clean from top to bottom before I can, in good conscience, clear out.
Resigning from my job brought its own angst too. I had never resigned in person before and was not really sure what I was going to say, what the bosses were likely to say, or what would happen once the proverbial cat was out of the bag. As it turned out, the level of support has been great and so I'm in the real home stretch to tie up all my office-based loose ends too.
Amidst all this change, my system has decided to freak out and I've been at home the last 2 days with a really bad cold. I'm hoping it's not the dreaded oink-oink flu that's been going around, partly because that would be really embarassing, but also because I'm supposed to be flying to Miami this Friday to spend the weekend with Kate and a couple of her friends from NY. If I get diagnosed with the flu, I have to go into quarantine and I won't be allowed to fly. That would suck on so many levels, I can't even begin to describe them. So let's just hope that the doctor's appointment tomorrow will yield happy news - and lots of delicious pharmaceuticals!
So barring weeknds away, for-sale furniture, and suspect germs circulating in my system, I am making final plans to leave this wonderful City. I've even made a list (in pencil) of the must-see and must-do things. Hopefully over the coming weeks I'll be able to write postings - and even include photos? - of my efforts to work through the list...bring it on!
It was Mero's birthday last week and so on Sunday, she got a bunch of friends together to go bowling at Southport Lanes & Billiards. Even though I only live 10 minutes from the bar, I had never been there before. But I remember Mero once saying to me that the bowling alley is so old school, even employing people to score for you, and to clear & set the pins - wonderful!
So off I went, and the fact that my bowling shoes matched my top was obviously a great omen. I got a strike all on my own, and then a couple more - when the boys clearing the pins kicked down some stubborn skittles for me. And bless her, the scorer counted it as a strike!
Fortunately for me, everyone was pretty on par in terms of bowling ability (aka we were all equally terrible) so I felt pretty good at strutting my stuff. We were distracted by birthday cake at one point, so I'm not even sure if we finished our game - but it was lots of fun all the same.
There are few things in life more comforting to me than a bowl of pasta and glass of red wine. It is not necessary for both to be of superb quality either; a good wine is enough to wash down a so-so pasta, just as much as a rustic pasta dish is enough to mask any sub-par wine. They help each other so perfectly, and that makes them my ideal food therapy.
It's not so much that I needed therapy tonight, but I was longing to see L&D as it had been months since we had caught up. I was craving a hearty pasta/wine combo meal, so I asked the boys if they'd like to meet me at "Angelina's", which is equal distance from each of our apartments. Coincidence?!
As with any reunion, there was much to talk about and so much news to catch up on. We toasted the rendez-vous with some prosecco to start, and then the main meals came out.
L chose the mushroom risotto with a healthy dollop of goat cheese on top (I coveted it almost immediately) and D selected the eggplant parmigiana that had so much mozzarella oozing on top of it that I was suddenly so happy. On D's recommendation I selected the linguine mare, with such generous portions of shrimp, mussels and calimari, I was well pleased. And the delicious Chianti Classico that D selected complemented our dishes perfectly.
I regretted not owning any elastic pants after that meal, but I'd like to think that I ended things well by having an espresso and lemon sorbet for dessert - moderation in all things, as they say!
I think a lot of people love the pasta/wine combo as a comforting meal. Granted it's easy to prepare in your own home, but there is something special about having someone else make it for you too.
I am quite relieved that I decided not to make any resolutions with the dawning of this New Year. Not only am I not dedicated enough to keep said resolutions; rather I appear to be completely unable to resist temptation of any kind.
Case in point, today's eating habits. The day started with a Potbelly breakfast sandwich (a personal indulgence and quite yummy); then I returned to Potbelly for lunch (and tried a new sandwich option which I found to be so delicious I fear it will quickly became a favourite); and now I am ending my day with cereal for dinner. And raisin toast.
I don't know why I feel obliged to tell you about the toast. Perhaps it's my vain attempt to round out the meal, and (in a way) make it OK that I'm living my day in reverse and having 7 whole grains for dinner.
All this weirdness is my own fault, really. I forgot to defrost any of the alarming amount of food in my freezer. So for dinner tonight, I can either have an iceblock that looks and tastes alarming like beef stew, or I can enjoy cereal and raisin toast. It's scary that I can explain this to you.
Now before you coming rushing over bearing casseroles and potluck dinners, let me assure you that I do have salad ingredients in my fridge. However, when I opened the door to get the milk out earlier, the mixed lettuce greens growled at me, and I believe that the tomatoes are currently waging a turf war with the cucumber for ultimate supremacy over the bottom shelf. It's like "Lord of the Flies" in there right now and much like this entire posting, it's pretty scary stuff.
The first day of a new year always makes me wonder whether my energies are better spent looking back over the year that was, or looking ahead to the year that will be.
And so I find myself sitting at my computer table overlooking the Chicago neighbourhood below, in the manner of a Midwestern Carrie Bradshaw, not quite sure where I go from here. When you've got so many options, and so many possibilities, I couldn't help but wonder: can you really have it all?
By choice I had a very quiet New Year's Eve. In fact, I was asleep by 11pm. But I awoke with a headache, and I was tempted to see that as a rather ominous start to 2009, but instead I decided to distribute the blame on my over-zealous heating system and very fluffy winter quilt. In any case, the headache was nothing that a strong coffee and raisin toast couldn't fix!
All the same, I'm a bit restless today and I'm not sure why. It could be early onset cabin fever brought on by the cold wind outside and no real desire on my part to go out. Or perhaps I am anxious about something....but I'm not sure what it could be. Knowing me, it is probably something lame like all the unread magazines that have piled up over the last few weeks - perhaps I'm worried that I'm missing out on so much trashy gossip. Oh the hardship! Yep, these are the things I think about.
Maybe I'm not actually restless; rather, perhaps this is 'contentment' that I'm feeling. It's a strange sensation, that's for sure. No pressure to go anywhere, do anything, be anything. My entire day, indeed the entire year, is ahead of me, with no expectations or obligations. That in itself is kinda scary though.
Perhaps I should just go and do what I told my mother I would do - open up the baby bottle of Veuve in my fridge and toast the new year, toast myself, toast my unread magazines, and even toast the piles of laundry I am trying to ignore.
Doesn't that sound like a splendid way to start ANY year?!
