RESOLUTION TIME

For 2005:

1. Put even greater emphasis on treating others with kindness and empathy
2. Continue to put a lot of effort into creating a life in Cambridge, while remaining in close contact with all of my family and friends scattered about the globe
3. Stop procrastinating, and finish my manuscripts
4. Teach myself to knit something more complicated than a scarf
5. Brush up on my French, and start learning another language (or two)
6. Get it straight in my head that the thing one wears on one's head is called a "beanie", not a "toque"
7. Forsake #6 in favour of teaching everyone else that the thing one wears on one's head is called a "toque", not a "beanie"
8. Get my lazy butt back into yoga
9. Keep writing in my blog!

What can I say, I've never been particularly skilled at coming up with resolutions...maybe I should have come up with one more, to make it an even ten??

BY PLANE, TRAIN, AND AUTOMOBILE (AND FERRY!!)

It's true. Television rots one's brain. Really.

Since I've been back in the Land Of The Gogglebox, I've not written a single blog entry. I could lie and say that I've been spending the entire time with my family (which would be almost true) but the truth is that in the evenings, instead of heading to the computer, I've been plugged into mind-numbing episodes of "Extreme Makeover Home Edition", "While You Were Out" (I sense a home reno theme), and, most embarassingly, "Las Vegas". I HAVE tempered this muck by watching the requisite Good Canadian allotment of CBC and Peter Mansbridge.

So, in the time I've not been reporting back to you, our friend Cathy (from Vancouver) visited us in Cambridge. It was great to have a visitor from "home" and she and Ray got to explore the Cambridge sights. I worked the ENTIRE time she was there but did get to see her for dinner and on my lunch break...this means, of course (Cathy are you listening?!) that she'll have to come back in the summer months when we can take her punting and I can actually take some time off work. Here's hoping that by summertime I will no longer be employed in the retail sector. But I digress; after Cathy's visit we attended a great dinner party thrown by Claire and Ian and the next day we started our trek back to Gibsons.

Our travels went like this:

Monday (Dec. 20) - I worked 7am-4pm, leaving Ray in charge of getting our flat ready to be abandoned for 3 weeks (take out garbage, turn heat down but not off so that the pipes don't freeze and burst, all that good stuff). Got home at 4:30, packed like a mad fiend and then Sultan and Bietta drove us to the train station. Hopped on the Cambridge-Kings Cross express, then took the Tube all the way across the city to Heathrow (25 Tube stops along the way). Caught a cab from Heathrow to our hotel near the airport, and finally got to bed by around 10pm. Note to London taxi drivers: we may sound like ignorant tourists, but WE DO NOTICE when you start the meter running and then go back to talk with your buddies. I can assure you that the tip you did not get would have been greater than the extra money on your meter.

Tuesday (Dec. 21) - VERY early wakeup call. Does the concierge not realize that it is poor form to chuckle when a guest requests a 4am wakeup? In any case, we were eager to get on our way and the fact that the hotel room had a SHOWER certainly softened the reality of having to get up at such an unGodly hour. Caught the shuttle bus to the airport and checked in without a hassle - thank goodness for self-serve check ins - made it through security without a hitch and then had 2 1/2 hours to kill in Heathrow. At least there were a lot of shops to browse through and keep us occupied. Caught our first plane at 9am and arrived in Toronto without a hitch at noon their time (8ish hour flight), then rushed to get through customs and have our baggage reloaded before grabbing our next flight to Vancouver. Thank goodness we made it through Pearson International before the snow storm hit a few days later! After 4 1/2 flying across the country (had fun explaining that to my English co-workers: yes, you can fly for hours and hours and STILL be only partway across Canada) we landed in Vancouver at sunset, 4pm local time. Stepping off the plane felt like landing in Hawaii - it is warmer in Vancouver than Cambridge at the moment - but better, because in the airport we had FAMILY to meet us!! Piled into the car to drive across the city, only to miss the ferry by two cars (heck - at least the boats were running this time around). Had dinner in a pub in Horseshoe Bay, then finally arrived in Gibsons and got to bed around 10pm - 26 hours after we started our journey.

Wednesday (Dec. 22) - What, you expect me to remember what we did on the day after the above-described journey, and switching eight time zones??

Thursday (Dec. 23) - Only being able to blame being dopey on jet lag for one day, my loved ones are forced to concede that working in UK retail really has affected my brain cells (and not in a good way). I resolve to redouble my efforts to find a suitable research position early in 2005.

In the intervening days, we have had a wonderful time visiting with our families and friends (and shamefully watching a wee bit of television). Christmas was lovely and I hope that all of you had a very nice holiday as well. Ray and I are finding it very nice to be back in a familiar place where we don't have to worry about figuring out how to get groceries, remember to keep our electricity meter filled, and can shower daily (twice! daily, if we feel like it). But at the same time, we have worked - and are working - hard to make Cambridge feel like home and we will be in good shape when it comes time to return to the Wee Island.

While many of you are on holidays, I bet you don't want to spend all of your time reading this blog. So I'll wind this up for now and be back in a few days, depending on whether I can resist getting sucked back into TV-land. Happy New Year to you all!

As an endnote to my otherwise cheery report: My thoughts and sympathy are with the people of South East Asia this week. I know that writing this sentiment out in a blog isn't going to be of any help to the people who have been affected by the disaster, but my sorrow over this event is forefront in my thoughts this week.

THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS

Dear Family and Friends,

Despite the somewhat sarcastic tone to my last post, I want to reassure you I am not cracking under the strain of being a perky salesperson day after day. In reality, I am so cheery that I think that I am driving my tolerant coworkers a little bonkers. So far, I've managed to keep them from throttling me by promising to bring them back the Mother Of All Gifts From Canada - maple syrup.

Despite being surrounded by commercialism, this year more than any past I am looking forward to what I feel is the true meaning of Christmas: spending time with loved ones and reflecting on all the "gifts" of the past year. In my case, I have an incomparable husband, a simply amazing family, and truly inspiring friends to be grateful for. Top that up with some fun job experiences, learning a lot both academically and personally, spending time around animals and of course the opportunity to live in Cambridge, and you can understand why I am generally a pretty darn optimistic person. This year, material objects are furthest from my mind - in fact, the most time I've spent thinking about gifts is whether what we've for our family will fit in our suitcases on the way home. (Although I must be totally truthful and admit that I am looking forward to getting the cozy bathrobe that a certain someone has procured for me this Christmas - will make it much much more pleasant to get out of bed on these chilly mornings when I have to wait for my bath to run).

You might be wondering, if I love you all so much, why don't I spend more time writing about you? (I was thinking the other day that if someone just happened upon my blog, they would read entry after entry about ME, and think that I am a very self-centered person). Well, my reasoning for minimizing writing about others is that a blog is a very public mode of communication and while I've made the decision to share my life with those of you in cyberspace, other folks may not want this same level of exposure. (Ray gets the booby prize by default as he is married to me and I'm going to write about him no matter what!). So, friends and family...if you would love to hear me tell the world how wonderful you are just let me know - heck, even leave a comment for me in the blog - and I'd be happy to include you in my musings.

I probably won't be online much for the next few days, as we are flying HOME!!!!! on Tuesday and in the meantime I'm working full shifts every day, Cathy and Frances from Vancouver will be here on the weekend, and we still need to find time to pack. I will, however, be blogging from our parents' nests back in Gibsons, so stay tuned over the holidays.

To all of you out there - family, friends and other readers - I wish you a most magical holiday season.

Love, Amanda

RAMBLING (YOU'LL SEE WHAT I MEAN)

More on clothes.

Why, you ask? People: CLOTHES ARE NOW MY LIFE. Gone is the barn rat who earned the charming nickname of "PigPen" for her propensity for showing up in non-barn situations with pieces of the barn still attached. My former philosophy was "hey, the horses/sheep/cows/critters don't care what I look like, so no worries!" I now wear the type of clothes, at least while I'm at work, that cause people to inquire where they can also purchase that item. (Just to clarify that last point: DUH. I work in a clothing store. You can buy the clothes I wear in the clothing store I am working in, the same store I am standing in when you invariably ask me the question, in that very same store and they can be found on the rack directly to your left/right/back. Sorry if this sounds snarky - you just have no idea how many times I am asked that question in a typical day...had to get it off my chest).

Don't worry, I'm not too classed up; while I do find myself enjoying "dressing up" voluntarily more and more often, I still revel in frayed jeans and my hoodie sweatshirt on my days off. My nails are shorter than they've been in years and I can't keep my (clear) polish from chipping because Who Knew Cotton/Polyester/Blends Suck Moisture From Hands Like Nobody's Business. And my hair - my poor hair definitely needs work (Granny was right). Perhaps my next job should be at Toppy's.

Back to clothes: today I'm talking about ironing. I actually don't iron clothes at work but my newfound confidence in handling textiles has spurred me to foray into the world of intentionally removing wrinkles from clothes before I don them. This venture was heretofore solely Ray's domestic responsibility, primarily because he was typically a much more formal dresser than I (see above PigPen note), but now that I need to project The Company Image, I must be wrinkle-free.

I am learning the fine art of pressing clothes but am still under the watchful eye of Ray - he is my Obe Wan Kenobi of steam settings and removing wrinkles without creating unwanted creases and/or pleats. As a student of ironing, though, I must ask the question: Why, when you accidentally create a wrinkle by carelessly ironing your jeans/shirt/whatever, is that same wrinkle impossible to iron right back out? While I've taken my fair share of physics and chemistry courses I still don't understand the mechanism behind this problem. Any experienced clothes pressers care to enlighten me?

PS. In case anyone who's not met me in person is wondering, I couldn't actually pull off words like "heretofore" in casual conversation. This literary loquaciousness comes courtesy of the fine folks at Merriam-Webster Online.

PPS. Holy verbal diarrhea tonight Batman. Couldn't come up with a title for today's post before I started typing, but the appropriate moniker has made itself perfectly clear.

HOW TO LEAVE COMMENTS FOR ME

Many of you have been asking how to leave comments on the blog. Well, some of you have been asking about comments; as for the rest of you, I'd love to hear what you think! So here's what to do:

If you read something that moves you to respond, simply click on the "# Comments" link below the relevant entry, and then on "Post a Comment". You then have the option of creating an account (helpful if you plan to leave lots of comments) or simply posting anonymously. Either link will eventually lead you through to a screen where you can post your thoughts. When you're done writing, simply click on "Publish your comment" - and that's all there is to it. Aside from appearing in the blog, I also get an email notification of what you've posted. So it's a fun way of keeping in touch without the tedium of email.

I have to admit that by offering these instructions I am being a little self-serving; I want to know who is out there! I'm especially curious to know who I've managed to connect or re-connect with via the web. Aside from the people whom Ray or I've directly relayed this address to, I know our friends and relatives have been sharing our tales with others...who are ya'll? And, if I have no idea who you are - and you have no idea who WE are, well, your interest in our life is kind of creepy.


See, look at this friendly face typing out today's blog entry. How can you resist chatting with me?

A LIFE SO ORDINARY

This being a fairly typical day, with nothing terribly exciting or revolutionary to report, I'm going to take the opportunity to muse a while on that very point. The point being: life in England is not so far removed from life in Canada (or anywhere else, I'm willing to bet).

I don't know what I was expecting before we left the shelter of Gibsons/Vancouver; certainly I didn't anticipate Cambridge to be wildly exotic or foreign. But the similarities between life on either continent are substantial, down to the brand of shampoo available in the stores. It's actually kind of depressing because it leaves me painfully aware of the blotting effect that globalization can have on a place's unique culture and cuisine. I would like to point out, however, that my favorite treats from home (such as Swedish Berries candies) are not to be found here - just my luck the unavailability of the few items that would not leave me lamenting product monopolies.

I digress. In any case, as I get up in the morning, as I cycle into work, as I come home and make dinner - we've settled into a lifestyle not so far removed from that back in Vancouver. Life is, well, normal. I do cycle instead of drive, say "lovely" instead of "great!", and am finally grasping the finer points of LOOKING RIGHT before I step onto a crosswalk (related: finally getting over my confusion when it at first appears that all the cars have a passenger in the front seat instead of a driver). But other than that - same, same, same.

Even the nightclubs are not a huge departure from back home. Last night I attended my staff Christmas party and we ended up at a Cambridge nightclub after dinner; same music, same creepy guys, same smashed girls. I do have to comment on the smoke, though; I have taken for granted the smoke-free atmosphere of public buildings in Vancouver and it is very much the opposite here. I can see why they wouldn't have to bother with a "smoke generator" in British clubs - the necessary fog is amply supplied by patrons.

A CAMBRIDGE MOMENT

Just so you know, in light of yesterday's post, I really am a folding queen. Ray used to hold the title of Folding King in our household, but I am proud to report that I can now trump him in the neat clothing folding category of housework. For those of you who thought my drawers were neatly organized before, you wouldn't believe them now. I know, I'm neurotic.

Even though I spent most of today at work, the morning was beautiful - sunny and relatively warm - and people were out in droves enjoying the pre-holiday atmosphere of the town centre. And I experienced what I have come to call a "Cambridge Moment" when I was cycling in to work and greeted an older gentleman walking along the same path as I. In respose to my cheery greeting, he actually doffed his cap to me. How very cool (how very British) is that?! I have yet to have anyone doff their cap to me - if they even wear such a garment - back at home. Canadian men take note: this gesture made my day.

FOLDING QUEEN

Everybody with me now, to the tune of Abba's hit:

You can fold, you can hang, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the folding queen

Monday 'morn and the lights are high
Store looking like a big pigsty
Where they fold the new clothing, getting it so clean
You come in to look for a jean
Everywhere are shirts, bags and socks
Week is young and the shelves are stocked
With a bit of store soundtrack, the atmosphere rocks
You’re in the mood to sell clothes
And now everyone knows...

You are the folding queen, young and sweet, only seventeen (plus eight)
Folding queen, fold those clothes like a mad machine
You can fold, you can hang, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the folding queen

You’re a teaser, you turn ’em on
Leave them buying and then you’re gone
Looking for customers, anyone will do
You’re in the mood to sell clothes
And now everyone knows...

You are the folding queen, young and sweet, only seventeen (plus eight)
Folding queen, fold those clothes like a mad machine
You can fold, you can hang, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the folding queen

DECK THE HALLS

Another night, another formal hall. I love this aspect of Cambridge. Last evening saw us at Darwin College for the Christmas formal hall, complete with turkey dinner and Christmas pudding for dessert. Still haven't got up the guts to take the camera into the actual formal dinner hall - I think the flash would provoke the ire of the more traditional college members, besides which I am also trying to get over my phobia that camera snapping madly = unsophistication because this sort of formal event doesn't occur every day in my world, and thus is worth carefully documenting - but here's a nice shot of us in the study after dinner, enjoying our port and coffee:



From left to right, we are: me (obviously), Ray (again, obvious), Brodie and Melissa from Canada, Steve from the US, and Geidre from Lithuania.

I will limit my comments on the dinner itself to reminding you that we are in England, and while British people may extoll their wonderful food (Rebecca, I'm talking about you!!) I just don't seem to be able to fall under its spell. And what is with all the meat? Dinner started with a "salad" - make that a hunk of cold salmon on a token piece of lettuce (salmon counts as meat in my world) - and progressed to turkey with some sort of meat (i.e., unidentifiable) stuffing, some other mystery mushed meat wrapped in bacon to resemble a sausage, and roast potatoes, carrots and brussel sprouts to round out the meal. At least the carrots and potatoes were good, and thank-goodness for the free-flowing sherry, wine and port.

(Note to any British folks reading my blog who are now offending at my description of their cuisine - I just had to get this out of my system and the problem is much more likely to be me (I am known as a pretty picky eater) than the food itself. Also, the Brits I have met at work think that my lunches are not particularly edible, so persnickety tastebuds probably go both ways).

CONFLICT OF INTEREST

I have to get this off my chest: I am torn whenever the topic of Canada comes up in general conversation. Not because I don't love my country - quite the opposite - but because I can't decide whether to shatter peoples' stereotypes about Canadians, or whether to play along because the stereotypes tend to be pretty positive.

For example: the cold. Because being able to withstand bone-chilling temperatures (and the ability to travel confidently by dogsled) seem to be considered virtues, I hesitate to remind people that a) yes, SUMMER does exist in Canada, and b) Ray and I happen to come from the one area of Canada that cannot lay claim to said bone-chilling temperatures. So I can either make Canada sound like less of an Artic hick town, or make people think that I am a wuss because I have yet to lose a body part to frostbite.

Related: the whole dogsled/wilderness/wild west issue. How cool would we be if we actually did travel by dogsled. I mean really, even my fellow Canadians can see the appeal in that. Sadly it is tough and time-consuming to dogsled between towns in Canada - there is all that distance to be covered, you know. As for wilderness, one of my coworkers cannot convince his wife to go to Canada on holidays because she is genuinely convinced that the risk of being attacked by a random moose, bear or wolf while shopping in downtown Toronto is substantial. I KID YOU NOT. And now that my coworkers know that I worked with cattle, I seem to possess a certain Cowgirl Amanda appeal that makes them ask questions such as "Did you wear a Stetson?", "Have you ever roped a cow?", and, from the single gals, "Are cowboys really hot?!" in respectful tones. I am reluctant to suggest that we do indeed travel by automobile, that it is highly unlikely that one would run into a moose in downtown Vancouver, and that I could truly never be cool enough to pull off a Stetson.

Finally: That we have never heard of sports outside of hockey, "ice hockey" as it is known here due to the prevalence of the field version. While it may be true that Wayne Gretzky is a demi-god, we do have other sports. For example, curling.

At least I don't feel obligated to dispel the stereotype that Canadians are friendly people. I truly think that we, as a country, are pretty great folk. To the mean Canadians out there: boo on you. The rest of us friendly Canucks have a reputation to uphold.

HOW TO TRAVEL LIKE A CANADIAN

Apparently an enterprising company in the United States has cashed in on "The Canadian Effect" - that is, travelling abroad unmolested for one's country's political system or foreign policies. "What?" I hear you say, "Canada has a foreign policy?" But I digress.

If looking for a chuckle, check out: Travelling Canadian-Style

After being here for a while - and actually being accosted by irate customers shortly after the US election - I certainly appreciate the desire to broadcast my Canadian citizenship. It's probably an unfair advantage, but hey, Canada doesn't win on many other issues when we come up against the US.

PAVEMENT ETIQUETTE

Your five-step guide to successfully navigating small towns in England:

1. First, get the terminology correct. The 'pavement' is what Canadians would call a 'sidewalk'. On this side of the pond, it is important to remember that 'pavement' is a specific thing and not the material that makes up roads and, well, sidewalks.

2. Now readjust your thinking. In most modern (i.e., built in the last century or so) North American cities, roads were built with automobile use in mind. In ancient British cities, roads weren't built so much as established over existing footpaths between huts and eventually brick buildings. This means that the space allocated to roads is not typically wide enough for two cars to pass, the ancient Saxons clearly lacking the foresight to predict travel via Volkswagen.

3. Draw your conclusions. In this era of car domination, what little space left for roads is NOT assigned to pedestrians. Hence the pavements are very narrow - you are very lucky if two people can walk side-by-side. This leads to the following common scenario:

















I trust that the diagrams are self-explanatory.

P.S. The quality of my diagrams leaves much to be desired (lost a lot of detail when reduced to fit into the blog), so let me clarify that the legend reads "Person & direction of travel" and that on either side of the people, there are supposed to be lines denoting the wideness of sidewalks and the relative narrowness of pavements. I will try to resolve this technical issue soon but this requires husband-help.

DISPATCHES FROM RETAIL-MANIA

Overheard - or conversations I was actually involved in - at work:

"Does this make me/my butt look fat?" (Yes, women actually say this, and with surprising regularity)

"I know it says 'dry clean only' - what I want to know is what will happen if I put it in the wash?"

"It's 100% cotton...I wonder if it will shrink."

"Ouch! I don't know why they call it a funny bone, because it sure doesn't make me laugh when I bang it!" (Totally non-clothes related, but still at work)

And my personal favorite, from yesterday:

Male shopper: "Would this jumper fit my wife's breasts?"
Me: "Pardon?"
Male shopper: "I want to buy this jumper for my wife but am not sure if it will fit her breasts."
Me: "Well...is she large-chested?" (Trying to be delicate about the situation)
Male shopper, holding his hands cupped in front of him: "They're a good size."

I make the appropriate - based on description and pantomime - size recommendation and we're golden. I promise you that I am recounting this conversation as faithful to the original; it so impressed me at the time that I made special note to remember it exactly for later relation here.

Whilst these conversations do provide for some amusement, I have to admit that I miss having a job where I can toss out words like "paradigm" without bringing the whole shop to a screeching halt - "Para-what? That some sort of Canadian word?" - and where I don't have to bite my tongue from launching into an anatomy lecture on how the "funny bone" derives its name from its correct name, the "humerus". Oy.

ABSENCE

Once upon a time I dreamed that when Ray and I settled into Cambridge life we could start looking for a furry critter to share our lives with. It is much easier to bring animals from the UK to Canada than to make the opposite journey, so we had tentatively thought that we could adopt someone over here, and bring them back to Canada with us in three years. And there are so many sad little kitties in the newspaper that I can barely stop myself from phoning up the shelter and saying "I'll take them all! Especially the old ones whose families don't love them anymore."

But as you can tell from the infrequency of my blogging (and the difficulty in reaching us by phone, if you've tried to call), we're simply not home enough right now to make a pet feel welcome. Heck, we don't have any houseplants yet either but I fear that if we did they would be pining away for lack of attention.

So for now, I don't have to worry about the logistics of transporting a kitty in the basket of my bike. For now.

BACK IN THE LAND OF SOLID CHAPSTICK

Just to let ya'll (well, those of you who look for daily updates) know, I haven't been losing interest in blogging; I've simply been working very long hours (Christmas season in retail, you know) and by the time I get home from work - typically around 9:30pm - I'm too tired to come up with anything worth reading. Some days I've had a witty entry composed in my head while folding, only to lack the energy to physically type it out when I have access to a computer. So I've not been neglecting you out of spite.

Upon coming back from London, Ray and I don't feel particularly more cosmopolitan than before; we feel COLDER. You see, it costs a fortune to heat our teeny flat, so we tend to keep it on the cool side and compensate by dressing more warmly (my sheepskin slippers have never felt so loved!). But at our hotel in London the heat was pre-set to a very comfortable 21 degrees and for the first time in a long while I could roll out of bed without having to immediately search for a sweater (UK jargon: "jumper"). It was wonderful. The only trouble is, now that we have experienced blissful heat, our flat feels frigid by comparison. I have had to really resist turning up the thermostat, and have instead settled for wearing a scarf on top of my sweater, and socks within my slippers.

I know that logically, it is no colder in our flat today (Friday) than before we left for London (Monday). But perception is a tricky devil indeed and I sure perceive that I AM COLD TODAY.

You're probably wondering how this all relates to chapstick, and its solidness or lack thereof. At least the men are probably wondering, and the women are nodding their heads sagely. Well, in our nice 21-degree hotel room, my chapstick (Lip Butter from The Body Shop; the only chapstick I've found that can keep my lips from cracking when I cycle about in the cold winter weather - I highly recommend the mango flavour) was pleasantly smooshy and easy to spread on my lips. When stored on the shelf in our cold bathroom, the Lip Butter hardens up considerably and while its effectiveness is not diminished, it becomes a lot harder to apply. True, solid chapstick isn't exactly a hardship but I've taken to using it as a indicator of how warm or cool it is in our flat. Saves us from having to buy a thermometer and besides, I'd rather not know just how cold it is in here.

THE LONDON BLOG

First let me ease all your minds: the toilet paper situation has been resolved. Life is good.

I have to say that we had a FANTASTIC time in London. Wow. Are you ready for another long post full of pictures (certainly gave the digital camera a good work-out) and a rambling account of what we did?

We got off to a bit of a rocky start on Monday morning when Ray had a wipe out as he was cycling to work - the discovery that piles of wet leaves on frosty pavement is awfully slippery is always an unpleasant one - and me being the over-cautious wife that I am, ordered him to go to the doctor to ensure that his wrists weren't sprained/broken and to get a tetanus booster. I am happy to report that beyond a case of road rash and some sore muscles, Ray is doing fine. Once the whole medical business had been dealt with, we boarded the train to London and enjoyed a pleasant 45-minute ride through rolling countryside and villages to Kings Cross station in North London.



In an acknowledgement of Harry Potter, Kings Cross has Platform 9 3/4 (the secret platform from which one boards the magic train to Hogwart's School). You can't really tell from this photo, but the luggage cart behind Ray is disappearing into the wall as if crossing over to the secret platform.



From the train station we boarded the London Tube, which is an incredibly efficient (at least in my mind) subway system that whisks millions of people around the city every day. The tube lines run at varying depths below the ground, and to get to the stations you descend these:



I would be interested in knowing exactly how deep the lowest line is - seems like we went down a lllloooonnnngggg way! In any case, the Tube is very clean and simple to use; so simple, in fact, that Ray and I managed to navigate our way around London without getting lost once.

We stayed at a nice hotel near one of the tube stations, in an area of London called Marylebone (good starting point from which we could explore the city).



After exploring the nearby area and stopping in at a little italian restaurant for an early dinner, we got dressed up and headed to the Canadian High Commissioner's official residence for a reception for Canadian grad students attending Cambridge, Oxford and London Universities.



The reception was very nice, although a bit stuffy, and we decided to head back to our hotel to get a good night's sleep rather than continue with a group of the students to a pub afterwards. Besides, it was very cold and I was wearing 3 inch heels - not the best attire to be running around London at night in November. On our way back to the hotel, we got a shot of Oxford Steet, which is THE shopping street in London:



In the morning we were treated to SHOWERS!!! For the first time in over two months, with good water pressure and heated towel racks to boot. Note the heavenly glow of the shower apparatus:



I swear that when I stepped under the shower in the morning, the heavens opened up and I heard angels singing. It was that great.

Cheerfully clean, we set out to the National Gallery, London's equivalent of the Louvre. The National Gallery sits on Trafalgar Square, and we spent a considerable amount of time just wandering about the square and giggling like the tourists we were at all the famous London landmarks we could see. "Over there! Admiralty Arch!" and "Is that BIG BEN?" and other such nonsense. Londoners walking by just smiled the tolerant, bemused smile that I probably bestow on giddy Vancouver tourists.

Here are some of the pictures we took while exclaiming:


Admiralty Arch, the start of the avenue leading to Buckingham Palace (we were too lazy to walk all the way down the avenue on this particular trip)


Trafalgar Square, with Nelson's Column in the background


Ray at the fountain in the middle of Trafalgar Square, National Gallery in the background


Nelson's Column, a memorial to a famous British General


One of four lions at the foot of Nelson's Column


Looking south down Whitehall Road from Trafalgar Square, Big Ben in the background


Ray standing at the foot of Big Ben, at the British Parliament Buildings


The North Bank of the Thames River


The London Eye overlooking the city

Kooky event of the day: while wandering about Trafalgar Square, a bunch of police pulled up and closed the roundabout - we scurried over to see what was happening, along with everyone else in the area - only to see a motorcade proceeding up Whitehall Road and through Admiralty Arch, heading towards Buckingham Palace. I (and dozens of others; it's amazing how many cameras are whipped out at the first hint of excitement) snapped a shot of the motorcade in case they were someone famous, but as of now I have no idea who it was. So I deleted the photo and I will kick myself if I find out tomorrow that it was someone special. Marion across the street from my parents has requested that I stalk Prince Charles for her and if the motorcade contained him, and I've just deleted my first stalker-ess photo, I apologize.

After wandering about Trafalgar Square and spending an inordinate amount of time admiring the pigeons - I LOVE PIGEONS -



we popped into the National Gallery where we spent several hours ogling the works of Da Vinci, Monet, Renoir and countless others. After seeing some of the Master's works in person, I can really appreciate the impact they have had on the world. Even my totally non-artistic background can see evidence of the genius that went into those paintings.

After exploring the city a bit further (and snapping the above photos), heading down Whitehall Road to the Parliament Buildings and the Thames, we decided to end the day on a good note and caught an early afternoon train home before we suffered from London/tourist overload. With such an amazing city, it is easy to try to take in too many attractions in a short period of time, and we wanted to avoid rushing anything. Besides, when you live as close to London as we now do, there's nothing to stop us from planning a lot of similar trips in the future - by the time we head back to Canada our goal is to have at least completed the tourist roster of the palaces, cathedrals, London Eye, art galleries...

Insight: Because I don't want this entry to be just another list of "we did this, then we did that", I'm going to take a paragraph to comment on the British attitude towards art. In this country (may be similar elsewhere in Europe, can't comment on that yet), artwork is incredibly accessible and each of the galleries that we have seen thus far have had free admission. The museums/galleries hold regular tours and classes for both adults and schoolchildren (Kate: while next chasing kids around Science World, imagine telling them to SLOW DOWN as they whip by a Michaelangelo) and the docents are very approachable. Finally, the artwork itself is not generally behind glass or anything else to separate it from the public; you can literally come face to face with incredibly famous and valuable works of art. The message I take home from this entire scenario is that art is really presented as something for everyone to enjoy - I think this is terric. Ray and I will certainly be taking advantage of all the galleries while we are here!