Thursday, May 2/2019

Well, that’s it until next travel season. Should be late October. Will be, subject to having accumulated enough satisfactory ID to acquire new ten year passports. At which point we go, whether or not we’ve had time to book accommodation. 

Did you know there’s actually a site called Sleeping in Airports? And very useful it is, too. Full of handy information, like which airports - most, I should think - have seating inconveniently divided by armrests, so that only the Loch Ness monster could hope to get a night’s sleep. Think the last time we slept in an airport may have been 2004. No immediate plans to repeat. 

Will spend at least part of-the summer figuring out how to make the Word Press site work properly. A little like the manual in the glove compartment of the Corolla we rented. Ran to over 600 pages but not easy to find the simple stuff. Word Press .com site happy to tell me how to have an image described for the visually impaired (no, predictive text, not for the visually appealing) but not as quick on how to reposition the image. Well, of course that might not matter to the visually impaired. Aware that I haven’t even done the blog there as separate posts - just as a series of headings in one long post. Also, can’t tell if anyone reads it, while blogspot showed the hits. 

It’s really largely our own journal record anyway, and have always assumed quality and not quantity in readership. Though have to say that I noticed a slight increase in hits in the week after the handbag theft, leading me to wonder if there is a market for disaster travel writing. Probably, but will not deliberate pursue it.

Wednesday, May 1/2019

Much earlier flight than usual, so the alarm set for 4:15. Already packed, so we’re at the tube station as it opens at 5:00. And not alone, either. There are a dozen other people waiting for the first trains through. Heathrow train from South Kensington is both later and much fuller than we expected, but we’re at Heathrow by twenty to seven. And know to ask for a human when we go to check in. 

And, for the first but not the last time, we encounter someone who ignores our proffered sheet of paper and asks to just see our passports. Also, for the first but not the last time, the person we initially encounter has to find a superior to refer us to. But we’re through, though with a boarding pass only for the first segment - London to Dublin. You can get the next boarding pass at the transfer desk in Dublin - no, you won’t need to go through security again, just the transfer desk. 

Cheered by this, and not having an assigned gate yet anyway, we make a quick stop at duty free and pick up two bottles of gin. Sharp woman on the desk, who picks up instantly that a) our travel documents show that we are indeed leaving the EU, despite a boarding pass that will take us only as far as Dublin, and b) we can therefore take an officially sealed bottle with us. So two sealed bottles of gin. And barely time to collect two coffee Americanos, very hot but they’ll be nice on the plane because the flight’s at ten to nine and we’ve been up forever. First flight is Aer Lingus, a code share with Air Canada. Get referred and checked through separately - you can board as soon as you finish your coffees. Well, so much for coffee. 

Sleep pretty well all the way to Dublin and then disembark and look for the transfer desk. Find it. Says closed - and to follow the arrows to the alternate transfer desk. There are lots of arrows because it’s a longish way. Think at first that at least Toronto has a trottoir. What on earth is the English - moving sidewalk sounds so clumsy? (Actually, all this means is that I associate trottoir with airport moving sidewalks, but the moving bit is not inherent in the word).

Transfer desk wants our non-existent boarding passes. We explain. The very nice lady is sympathetic, but we’ll have to get them from Air Canada. That’s at the other terminal, but it’s not a long walk. Just back and exit through the luggage claim area and turn left. You’ll be fine. Just ask anyone as you go. We do. The young lady we ask is not nearly as sympathetic, but purses her lips and does her duty. She takes us to immigration. We’re horrified. Not that it would be a bad place to immigrate to, but all they’re going to do is ask for our passports - and then we’ll have to go through security again. With limited time and two bottles of gin. The official at immigration is no problem. Passports? Oh, that’s fine. Done. 

But we’re now officially in Ireland. Need boarding passes and then through security - again. Large Air Canada woman says oh definitely no liquid through security. Never. But takes us to Nina, who checks us out on her computer. Small problem. Could we just go over to the desk on the other side. And about the gin. That’s not fair, she murmurs. See if security will let it through. If not, come back to me and I’ll check it through in one of your carry-ons. The desk-on-the-other-side lady is nice too. Some difficulty in reaching Canadian officialdom, who appear, the efforts of the High Commission notwithstanding, never to have heard of us. 

As we wait I empty the things I don’t want to leave in a carry-on entrusted to Air Canada’s tender mercies into a plastic bag - mostly various electronic plugs and cables. Also sterling and euro coins which I dump loose into the bottom of my new handbag. We’ve chosen my carry-on to take the gin if necessary as it’s old, tattered, and of no commercial value. Bought as an extra carrier years ago. Cheap then and an unattractive camouflage, it has somehow never been retired. The family joke is that its security feature is that no thief with any standards would give it a second glance. But it’s impossible to lock satisfactorily. It’s never previously been entrusted with a decent bottle. Eventually we are approved, though, and given boarding passes for the flights to both Toronto and Winnipeg. And security no problem at all. They know all about sealed liquor. Just a brief panic when one bottle of gin seems to have disappeared, but is discovered underneath the plastic tray into which our hazardous possessions are being loaded - three ipad minis and three mobiles. No time to spend euro coins (presuming they could still be identified in the darkest depths of my handbag) but not late for flight. 

Air Canada not only unfazed by our travel documents but, as we’ve skipped the queue to deal, once again, with a human, lets us board immediately. Once aboard I point out to J my cleverness in booking via Dublin - which for the past two hours has looked a little short of brilliant. It’s the configuration of the plane, a Boeing 767-300ER. The seats are arranged XX XXX XX. Two aisles with two seats, then three in the middle, then two more. So for the transAtlantic flight no one is sitting with us. A more difficult booking than it sounds, and the reason for our 4 AM rising. It wasn’t too hard to book a flight to London with this configuration (though did that mean we had to fly on a Sunday) but none were available in London returning to Canada. Assuming that they couldn’t all be piling up somewhere in Europe, I pursued this until I discovered the flight from Dublin to Toronto. So we do have good seats. And enough tidbits to significantly improve the quality of Air Canada’s meal. Though fortunately, and in all fairness not unusually, the wine is perfectly drinkable and improves our mood significantly. The crew are forbidden to give you two at a time, but perfectly willing to come back with seconds. 

So arrive in Toronto. Canadian citizens to the left and others to the right. J incensed at being treated as non-Canadian, but really the right side queue includes, though not explicitly, everyone not in a position to slide a Canadian passport into  “the machine” - the electronic reader. The official we reach is nice, but wastes no time in sending us to ”immigration”, which proves to be the next room, where there are several wickets and a queue of maybe twenty people. Not bad, although they must all be people with problems. The young man we see is nice and efficient. As we discovered, by turning over an emergency travel document to read the reverse side, the immigration officer at our point of entry is required to retain the document. In fact one officer used the term impound. Which would leave us with no (me) or inadequate (J) ID. But when I say this our young man makes a “certified true copy” photocopy for us. 

And down to collect our suitcases. The carousel is empty and unmoving, though. There are a few straggler suitcases beside it, but they aren’t ours. We inquire at the Air Canada luggage desk. Oh, they’ll go straight through to Winnipeg. Well, that’s all right then, if accurate. I did ask someone back in London if they went to Toronto and she said yes, but then maybe all Canadian cities seem alike if you’re from away. Now up to departures with our nice certified IDs. You don’t need a passport at all to fly within Canada, just government issued photo ID. This is definitely government issued, and the photos, if unflattering, are clearly us. We’re nearly home free, though free is a bit of a misnomer for this very expensive exercise. 

Show our boarding passes and are waved into the security area by someone who barely glances at them and doesn’t ask to see our dubious IDs at all. Then, without warning, and before we’re in the queue, we’re pounced on, almost literally, by a man who seems to have sprung from the sidelines and asked for our boarding passes. No problem. But it seems there is a problem. Who made these? It’s a demand. Air Canada, in Dublin. He looks more than unconvinced. And in fact the young lady who called Ottawa to vet us and then printed the boarding passes for both flights probably wasn’t an Air Canada employee, as she seemed to be doing security checks for more than one airline. Come with me. It’s definitely an order. No time to drink the remaining water, he says,  as we’ll be in the front of the line. And he’s in a hurry, quite distressed when I stop to look for the plastic bag of liquids which has, as usual filtered down to the bottom of my handbag. 

We are indeed marched to the front of the queue. And they make it clear that they want to keep our belongings separate. No mingling of ipads or jackets. By the time I walk through the scanner and start to reassemble my life J is nowhere to be seen. Unnerving, until I spot him at one side being given what looks like a regular enhanced check. His trays are taken and checked separately. And interestingly they’re not at all concerned with the sandwiches and buns that have made it through. My mentally rehearsed explanation of the legitimacy of their contents not required. No need to explain that peanut butter is a legume and not a nut product. The gin gets what appears to be routine testing and its bags are resealed. However, the security man puts on latex gloves to handle J’s boarding pass, while showing no interest at all in mine, or in our IDs. Just as they have shown no interest in any of my possessions in the trays, while keeping J’s aside as if contaminated. 

You’re wondering why this is happening, he asks. We are. It’s random. What’s your airline? Well, Air Canada has identified you for a security check. Which sounds about as unrandom as it is possible to get. Gloves removed and boarding pass returned. And still no idea what just happened. Feels a bit like life in a spy novel. Doesn’t require paranoia to believe that they were actually waiting for us, or at least for J. Equipped with a photo? You do get your picture taken - remove the glasses please and look at the red light - when leaving Heathrow. Weird. And if they really think J is a terrorist or whatever, wouldn’t it be a bit slack not to think he might have given me the incriminating material before we reached security? 

Last flight check in and we overcome the temptation to approach the desk and ask whether our documents have to be referred to higher authority. And if our suitcases are onboard then they have to delay the flight and remove them if they don’t let us on. Not quite an ace up the sleeve, but maybe a jack. Or maybe only a deuce. And, oddly, we have noticed, on J’s boarding pass, handscrawled SSSS. Or S8S5? Not easy to tell. But when did it appear? Back in Dublin or later? Pass now officially stamped by security. Twice. And we have been rehabilitated. Maybe. Certainly there is not so much as a raised eyebrow as we board the flight for Winnipeg. And when we arrive bags on the carousel. Been a long day - approximately twenty-three hours since we got up.

Tuesday, April 30/2019

Last day. And usually ready by now despite our gypsy inclinations. Though seeing that the highs in Sioux Lookout are falling somewhat short of 10 degrees is a little sad. Though can’t really complain, as it’s the coldest we’ve experienced since last October. And ice out is on the early side. We arrived in London this month late enough that we missed the daffodils and magnolias. Thought that the lilacs we could see from our window were lasting surprisingly well until we realised they weren’t lilacs. More likely wisteria. Our schedule does have the advantage of giving us more than one spring. To the little period jewellery shop in Hampstead Antique Emporium.  Always fascinating. And a top up at Aldi on dark chocolate. 

Monday, April 29/2019

Genuinely last stop at High Commission - knock on wood - so they can return our photocopy of previous passports. Then check out route to Heathrow for Wednesday morning. The usual won’t work for crack of dawn departure. Transport for London’s suggestion of changing at Hammersmith works much more smoothly than one might have imagined even though it means two changes rather than one, as it cuts out a set of stairs. An advantage with suitcases. And, having gone as far as Hammersmith, explore a bit in the area of the charity shops. There’s an Amnesty bookshop with really tempting (other than the weight) second hand books. Next time? J refuses even to look at the CDs, as they’re all on sale for a pound and he knows he wouldn’t resist. Next time too for a new restaurant too, called Brown Rice. It’s a Thai place, and the buffet displayed in the window looks absolutely delicious. But by now we’re on our way to the Polish Cultural Centre for a spot of comfort food and nostalgia. Perogies, veal gołabki, and - sheer indulgence - apple szarlotka for me and poppyseed cake for J.

Sunday, April 28/2019

Tube back from Kilburn via Oxford Circus as Circle and District on weekend upgrading. It’s also the day of the London Marathon, a nice cool day for the runners, and opposite us in the carriage is a man about our age wearing the Marathon tag on a shoe and the lanyard round his neck. He looks tired but has every good reason to, and we give him thumbs up on the way out. On the Central line platform J looks across at a grimy metal ledge high  on the far side of the tracks and wonders how some orange peel and food scraps can possibly have ended up there. Then, more unlikely one would have thought, we spot a very small mouse active amongst the leavings. Twenty-six metres underground in a structure entirely of metal and concrete held together with generations of black grease. 

Saturday, April 27/2019

To Thames Ditton to have a meal with Jenny and Doug. First time we’ve seen D since December, when he had fallen and suffered what was later determined to be a broken wrist. A number of small and not so small repercussions from that fall. Pleased to be able to visit with him and spend more time with Jenny. Jenny’s role as guarantor was happily successful. Barrister-at-Law, retired, formerly with HMRC did the trick. Tea and talk and a very nice high tea. The only short trip holiday abroad (Nile Cruise, 2005) that has ever blossomed into a real friendship.

And as a bonus we’re able  to renew J’s driver’s licence online and print the resulting document. Easy and secure to renew on tablet with VPN, but not easy to print from same at public facility. Easy to print at library or internet café, but using their insecure computers. And impossible to renew in Ontario more than six months before expiry. So this is welcome.

Friday, April 26/2019

Down to the Canadian High Commission for, hopefully, the last time. Note that my predictive text now knows that the word that follows High (though not high) is Commission. Helpful, if a little depressing. Our documents are printed. One single sheet each, good for one specified trip. J sees that the Observations section is blank. Speculate on what it might usually include if used. Must be handcuffed? It also seems that that one thin sheet is too little (and expires too soon) in exchange for the price, emotional and monetary, of acquiring it. Though in fairness would not be better pleased with fat portfolio of documentation to carry about, even though have replaced handbag with one that feels distressingly light with little in it. 

Also getting to know the passport section of the High Commission better. Quite different from the posher part where we once attended a talk by journalists, accompanied by wine and nibbles and higher diplomatic staff. Or even from the little art gallery. Different too from the earlier incarnation where Canadians were free to drop in and check their email or read (admittedly outdated) copies of the Globe and Mail in the lounge. And the passport section different from its previous version visited by me many years ago when I had accidentally washed my jeans with passport in pocket. Much simpler procedure, though somewhat simpler diplomatic problem. Evidence matched my story and no one else potentially in possession of passport. No bulletproof glass windows in those days. (Re windows, have no observed that what seemed to be shouted conversations were actually being transmitted via microphones - more dignified if not any more private). 

Thursday, April 25/2019

Call from Samura at the High Commission, saying that our travel documents are printed and ready to collect, so will do so tomorrow. Checking online re replacement of stolen documents. Seems quite simple. Any document can be replaced, for a price, by filling out a form and providing two other ID documents. If you never want to travel, drive, or use medical services, life could be quite pleasant. And truly wish that sites that purport to give info on what to do about stolen ID could refrain from using most, or in some cases ALL, of their space talking about why you should never allow this disaster to occur.

Temporarily cross posting on Blogger and Word Press. Word Press the better site (as well as probably being safer) but has far more complex possibilities which I don’t have time to sort out with limited wifi access. Can tell how many people access it via Blogger and not via Word Press, although presuming roughly same number total as previously. Never aimed for numbers, and this serves a second but equal function as my travel journal. In that respect, Blogger easy to search and have used it on occasion to check dates or names from years back. 

Wednesday, April 24/2019

Back to the High Commission for 9:30 now we’re better informed. Paperwork looks ok. J signs away $240. No doubt only the beginning, as we have to apply for new passports when we get home. Trickiest bit probably J’s citizenship card. Replacement apparently running at five to seven months. Sumira, herself from Ontario, is positive and sympathetic, though. Do we have other possible references? They needn’t be Canadian but could be from anywhere in the world. Slowly grasp the point - Canadians are asleep. Central daylight savings time is four AM. Text Alexander, in Cambridgeshire and ask if he is available if the consulate phones. Yes indeed. So reference number one is done. Sumira says she’ll get a second reference in the afternoon. 

We’re free to use the computer and are given the password. Realise how long it is since I’ve used anything other than a tablet. Also realise that this computer is less secure than anything I would normally be prepared to use, and limit it to checking a couple of addresses. Explorer with no VPN. 

What hasn’t been stolen are the matinee tickets for this afternoon. We’re booked to see Come From Away. It has won an award for best new musical, but even so is much better than I am expecting. Runs for about an hour and forty minutes with no intermission and holds the audience for the whole time with a mixture of humour, poignancy, and sheer energy. And it’s not an easy mixture to maintain, a balance between the utter catastrophe of the events of 911 and the warmth and wit and generosity of the people of Gander, Newfoundland. And the characters are all pretty closely based on the real people who were there and their stories - quirky, romantic, funny, and sometimes tragic.

Tuesday, April 23/2019

So, down to the Canadian High Commission. Thought it opened at 10:00 but turns out it was 9:30. You take a number, like at the butcher’s - or, to be fair, like the hospital outpatients. We have number 16. We’re seated near the toy corner, which is a nice touch on their part - the existence of the corner, not our sitting there - as the woman next to us ends up waiting over an hour with a little boy who would be about 18 months old. We wait that long too, which is how we know. 

One wall screen keeps track of how the queue is progressing. It has a large font bit of welcome, sort of. “Welcome the High Commission of Canada to the United Kingdom”. Ungrammatical, or (as J suggests) an order? But the French has it right: “Bienvenue au Haut-commissariat du Canada au Royaume-Unis”. This is embarrassing, but we decide not to mention it. It is likely to be only one of a number of things we will not mention. 

There is a wall rack full of forms. No pens on offer, but the books in the kiddie corner work well as clipboards. First, report forms on lost/stolen passports. Lots of good info to fill in here, even though some of the questions are repetitive. Happy not to be in the embarrassing position of having to answer the “if not why not” regarding whether theft has been reported to the police. Even have a Metropolitan police crime number. Last question slightly odd. Have other provincial or federal ID documents been stolen? Tick box yes or no. But doesn’t ask what documents or provide much space for volunteering info. (Later told that the form asks for said documents, though it definitely doesn’t). 

Second wall screen has superfluous info on why you shouldn’t lose your passport. Also info on what forms payment to consular services can take. Basically a credit card with a separate form listing personal info and card number and guaranteeing payment. Or, if one prefers paying in sterling, a bank transfer. Not cash, though probably consulates are not the first place one would choose to dispose of counterfeit currency. This form, unlike some of the others, does not mention imprisonment as one of the possible consequences of messing up. 

We also need to fill out new passport applications. Including providing references. Fill in names, addresses, home phone numbers of suitably presentable neighbours. Reach optional box asking for email addresses and “cells”, and am so accustomed to the European habit (regardless of language) of referring to mobiles that my first instinct is to say that our friends are not, to the best of my knowledge, incarcerated. Leave that bit blank. Guarantor section trickier. Must be filled out before request for travel document can be processed. Guarantor can be either a Canadian with a valid passport or a non-Canadian from a list of select professions (much like the old Canadian passport requirements). Lawyers included. So our question is whether they mean licensed to practise or actively employed. Verbal response (one hopes accurate) is that the requirement is that they be licensed to practise. 

Other forms require establishing Canadian citizenship. No real space to explain that being born in Germany in 1945 might not make one a former German citizen but simply an involuntary guest of Hitler. And after we leave we reflect that, while the banks have identified us almost instantly, cancelled our cards within seconds of being contacted, and only after that explained the replacement procedure (pretty simple) the High Commission has sent us away with a great deal of paperwork but has not wanted to see our completed stolen passport forms or even asked our names. Seems rather odd as they have the most to say about the dangers of losing a document. Will add to the list of things not to mention. 

And also in the not to mention category is the office setup. The toy corner is a cheerful touch, but contrasts with the communication arrangement. The available staff consists of two people behind wickets with thick (presumably bulletproof) glass. Can see that this is a safety measure but the result is rather in conflict with the extensive legalese on the forms re our privacy protection, which would appear to refer to the cyber world only, as the protective glass leads to a great deal of semi shouted information, and we learn rather more than we need to know about the difficulties of the other waiting room attendees. 

Jenny kindly invites us to meet her for a drink and dinner. Not only the first REALLY NICE thing to happen this week, but lovely to be able to catch up, having missed Emma’s gathering yesterday. And Jenny, who is a retired barrister, looks at the guarantor section of our forms. The difficulty is that, despite the assurance that retired but licensed is ok, the form asks for a firm. She fills it out giving profession and saying retired but giving previous UK government employment. So fingers crossed.

Monday, April 22/2019

Easter Monday. Should have been the day we went to Emma’s for lunch with the Clarke clan, but more pressing needs, though the fact that it’s a bank holiday means that places like the Canadian High Commission and HSBC will have to wait for tomorrow. We do go down to Apple in Covent Garden in order to set up the ipad mini that I erased yesterday as I was unable to tell which ipad mini 4 was the stolen one. Should be clear now, and the missing one will be erased if there’s an attempt to connect it to the net. Confirmed by phone that my debit as well as credit card has been frozen. 

Unfortunately J’s debit card, not used for ages, appears not to work. BMO says they have no record of its existence - go into a BMO branch and have them sort it. J volubly unimpressed. Does, however, succeed in having them concede that we should not, under the circumstances, be charged interest on a cash advance on credit card. The first bloke he spoke to kept asking how many dollars our last withdrawal had been, and seemed unable to grasp J’s explanation about UK withdrawals coming in pounds sterling. Did give him an approximate exchange rate, but to no avail. Entire procedure made somewhat more difficult by the fact that advertised willingness of BMO to accept collect calls is hampered by inability, despite much inquiry and googling, to find a number to dial (does anyone say dial any more - it’s not what happens) for the UK international operator. All info online apparently erroneous or outdated. 

But happily Three, our mobile provider only charges 4p a minute for calls to Canada. And J’s credit card does work as it should, so looking up. So, back at our room, we open a bottle of red wine, providentially stashed in the wardrobe. It promises “classic aromas of tobacco and cigar box” - which fortunately proves to be untrue. It’s very nice, though honesty compels me to admit that the 18, prominent on the label, refers to months and not years aged in oak. And then we listen to a British man on BBC news channel paying tribute to his wife and two children who were killed in the Sri Lankan massacre, talking with dignity and gratitude about his wonderful family and the help of Sri Lankan hospital staff and consular assistance. And know we are very lucky. 

Sunday, April 21/2019

Day starts at Starbucks as usual. Then my handbag stolen from the bench beside me - with far too much in it, including both our passports and various cards. Wipe both the mini iPad that was in the handbag and the one that is at the hotel as I can’t be sure which is which. Then tell the Starbucks staff, who are genuinely upset. The girl who is shift manager calls the police and then tells me they say I should call. I do, and they’re really nice. Kind and patient and thorough - but not, of course, optimistic. Hopeless trying to find a UK operator to place a collect call, but a combo of fongo app on the ipad and a VPN with a Canadian location do the trick. BMO  credit card people super. Debit card results in repeat recording suggesting I call back later. Kudos to the agency Steinbach credit union uses. I wait three minutes through the leave-a-message-or-stay-on-the-line spiel and leave a message saying that they don’t make reporting theft particularly easy and giving a mobile number which I tell them is UK. Five minutes later get a pleasant and efficient call back. Consulate still to deal with. Being a long weekend doesn’t help.

Saturday, April 20/2019

Near record setting temperatures. That is, about 25 in the shade and much hotter in the sun. As the weather persons are pleased to note those who stayed home for the long weekend are enjoying warmer weather than many who headed to the Mediterranean. Certainly warmer than Cyprus. It won’t last but the crowds are delighting in it. Trafalgar Square has a concert as a combined Easter and St George’s Day celebration, though St George’s Day isn’t actually until Tuesday. We sit on the steps of St Martin-in-the-Fields and watch for a bit, but it gets too hot in the full sun.

Friday, April 19/2019

Another stunning day, sunny and warm - in the sun, hot. Bit of transport disruption, between the usual long weekend maintenance and upgrading and the Extinction Rebellion occupying roadways. But not difficult to take the tube to Greenwich. And we’re not the only ones with the good idea - Greenwich is elbow to elbow, or at least the streets and markets are. The park is lovely and green and we join the people sitting on the grass where there’s not only shade from the trees but a welcome breeze from the river. A reminder that London is over a quarter green space, with both a number of huge parks with roaming room and hundreds of tiny ones. It’s not a city where you ever feel hemmed in by concrete. Lots of families here today too. Don’t know if it’s only a weekend or holiday thing, but we do see a woman dressed as a Tudor era queen, and later have a conversation with a man in period naval dress.  

We do go to the Maritime Museum. A striking collection of ship figureheads is attracting photographers. And we look in on a display about the Battle of Jutland. It’s extremely well done - a fifteen minute film combining paintings, photographs, diagrams and narrative in relating a complex series of 1916 sea battles that resulted in over eight thousand deaths. And I have the advantage, not shared by J, of suspense, having too little knowledge of WW I military action to know how most individuals encounters turned out. Side trip to the loo at the end of our visit takes us past a stained glass window commemorating several First War battles.

Thursday, April 18/2019

Had originally planned to visit Jean in West Harrow this afternoon, but she was not feeling well and called it off. She’s due for surgery next week and trying to get rid of any lingering illness so that it won’t be postponed. 

So downtown. Our route not disrupted by the Extinction Rebellion - not that we disagree with the cause- and we walk down Charing Cross Road in the warm sun. Haven’t been to Leicester Square in a long time and this is a lovely day for people watching. Probably few of them local, although people from other parts of the UK may be having a long weekend in London. Certainly there are a lot of families as people enjoy Easter holidays sightseeing and listening to buskers. Remember singing “goodbye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square” as kids in elementary school with no clue where these places might be, or where Tipperary was for that matter. 

Stop in at the little French Catholic Church, Notre Dame de France just off Leicester Square. It’s draped in purple for Holy Thursday and there are, as often, a few people in there praying. Well, some of them are presumably praying. There are also three men lying full length on benches across the back of the church, one of whom is gently snoring. This leads me to look a little more closely at some of the kneeling people - heads buried in their arms, faces obscured - and note that one man has removed his shoes. More comfortable maybe, though it is a religious custom elsewhere. Home through the streets of Chinatown, noting likely places for another day. See that there is still a Mr Wu buffet establishment and take a look in the window to determine whether most dishes are still primarily onion. Disproportionately, yes.

Wednesday, April 17/2019

The world Extinction Rebellion has hit London along with the rest of the world. Had thought of going to Greenwich today but it seems protesters have been gluing themselves to the carriages on Dockland Light Railway trains, which seems pretty likely to cause significant delays. In any case the nearest protest point is Marble Arch, which happens, conveniently, to be the one place that the police have agreed to allow the demonstrators to block the road.  

The road is indeed blocked but there is a whole encampment extending into Hyde Park - people and banners and dozens and dozens of tents. Interestingly, we are both instantly reminded of Tahrir Square in Cairo, scene of the anti-Mubarek protests in the ill-fated Egyptian spring in 2011-2012. It’s the little tents and the mixture of energy and existential threat.  

And the raised stricken figure that is reminiscent of the hanged effigy at Tahrir. This is a more cheerful gathering, though, despite the seriousness of the cause. It’s a sunny day and shirt sleeve ( or in some cases bikini) weather. There are babies and children in the crowd and a band playing and a bit of a holiday atmosphere amidst the apocalyptic banners. And there are cops, but not Cairo’s ominous line of waiting ambulances.

The welcome heat and sun are a reminder that we’re pretty near The Swan, a pub I’ve been promising us a drink at for a few years now. It’s not a pub that’s likely to be anyone’s local but it does have history. Marble Arch is the location of the historic Tyburn gallows and this was, 300 years ago, the nearest drinking establishment and, reputedly, the place where some of the condemned had their last drink. Appropriate, in a way, that the Extinction Rebellion should be at the site of a gallows.

Tuesday, April 16/2019

Every English newspaper has a front page today featuring the burning of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. Anti-European sentiments, it seems, forgotten. Although the dramatic visuals are captivating. A variant on if it bleeds it leads. A tragedy we can all agree on. Though not the online community, some of whom are enraged that there is sympathy backed up by massive donations for the rebuilding of a church but not for a solution to France’s social problems. Really the old question of whether there should be support for the arts in a world in which children die of hunger.  (Sparks fill the air as Paris Fire brigade members spray water to extinguish flames as the Notre Dame Cathedral burns in Paris, France, April 15, 2019. REUTERS/Philippe Wojazer)

And much closer to home there are the road works by Bayswater Station. Not so much roadworks as sidewalk construction (though in Britspeak sidewalk is known as pavement). The construction here is interesting because it is so extensive, and when it is finished the sidewalks will be much wider than the road. This is something that the British often do to slow traffic in heavily pedestrian areas. Far more effective than posted slow speeds or heavy fines. Narrowing the road, or alternatively putting in speed bumps (known as sleeping policemen) makes the drivers slow down of their own accord.

Monday, April 15/2019

To the Saatchi Gallery, one of our regular stopping spots. The best exhibit this year is a series of arctic photographs by two winners of the 9th Carmignac Photojournalism award. There are works depicting Alaska and Resolute Bay, as well as Greenland and Norway, but the most compelling are of Russia. The message is clear for all countries. Both the fragile (if harsh) environment and the Indigenous people who populate it are at risk as the land and its natural resources are exploited regardless of the risks of pollution and global warming. 

In Russia there are pictures not only of ice breakers and oil rigs but of the Native families, their lives a fascinating combination of the timeless traditional and the most modern technological. Summed up strikingly by a photograph of the camp of a nomadic herding family taken from the window “eye” of the government helicopter that takes the children to boarding school. A companion photo, also by Yuri Kozyrev, shows a family gathering the children’s belongings as they await the helicopter’s arrival. 

And then there are the mammoth tusk hunters, delighted with their find but probably more exploited than exploiters, also captured by Kozyrin. They’ve been tunnelling underground, using water pumps, adapted from firefighting gear and snowmobile engines and are delighted with their find, as the price for a kilo of tusk ivory was $60 and one tusk would cover their expenses. But the story is more 
complicated, as an accompanying poster explains.  

So the future of the young men and their community? Who knows? And finally there is a haunting photograph by Kadir van Lohuizen of the jawbones of whales marking a cemetery boundary in Alaska. 

Sunday, April 14/2019

Second trip to Covent Garden Genius Bar. The first one established that the iphone’s battery failure was down to a swollen battery. Sounds like a medical diagnosis. Its heart isn’t working as efficiently as it used to - happens with age, you know. It isn’t old, but is a lot older model than they’re pushing these days. And actually swollen batteries seem not to be age related. No longer under warranty. We reject the offer to send it away. Would be a new iPhone 6 but the warranty would be 90 days. Price £300 ($522 CAD). Instead we asked in one of the myriad of tiny mobile sales and repair shops. Bought a battery for £30 and downloaded an update. At which point everything needed resetting and I no longer remembered the password for the erstwhile dysfunctional phone. Deliberately not the same as the iPads. 

Left requiring that Apple phone me on said not yet functional phone. So down to Covent Garden Apple store. They do arrange for Apple in the sky to phone me on the little Nokia. But it emerges that I must be phoned on the number I registered with. Can’t put the iPhone’s sim in the Nokia as it’s not the right size. Could I use another phone? One in the Apple store? Appeal to two young Apple geniuses (genii?) who seem nonplussed but disappear to see what they can find. Back to Patrick, nice Apple man with Irish accent talking to me on Nokia. Tell him that weird as it may sound, the two geniuses are seeing if they can find a smart phone in the Apple store. Fortunately he is amused and stays on the line. One genius eventually returns with suitable phone and puts my sim in it. Activate ‘find my phone’ and follow directions through to establishing new password. 

Appreciate anti-theft procedures but tell Patrick my temptation is to write password on forehead. He has, with patience and good humour, stayed on the phone for 22 minutes, my Nokia reports. Nokia has no sophistication at all, but is a trusty little trouper. Nine years old and its battery still fine - and if it didn’t could be very cheaply replaced by me in a manoeuvre that takes about 15 seconds. True, phone calls, texts and acting as an alarm clock is about the extent of its repertoire, but it does those reliably, which is often all that’s wanted. 

So tube to Indian Veg, our standby vegetarian restaurant near Angel tube station. Good buffet, and very busy, though it’s not quite five. We’ve brought our own wine, as usual, conveniently decanted into little individual plastic wine bottles saved from Air Canada for the purpose, and Indian Veg always happy to provide glasses. They’re lovely. Very earnest in the huge posters on the wall promoting vegetarianism with sincere if sometimes dubious information. Though the bits about the energy required to produce grain compared to that required to produce meat sound about right - and more or less what I was telling my social justice students forty years ago. Also, Indian Veg does provide containers of food to the homeless. So as we’re leaving we admire the Indian Veg coffee mugs - and the proprietor insists on giving us one and is delighted to find it will be going to Canada.

Saturday, April 13/2019

The face of Queensway is changing. Oddly enough the first place J and I went out for a meal, some thirty years ago. A fish and chips place that has long since vanished. We’ve tried to identify which shop, or more likely restaurant, it was, but without success. A couple of the souvenir shops go back thirty years, and probably both of the remaining pubs do as well. Think the tiny Lebanese doner place is the old one, though the place where you used to be able to buy a quarter of a roast chicken is long gone, and the Spar store that had a small deli section closed its doors a few years ago, leaving behind a notice that it had been shut down by public health authorities due to rodent infestation. 

Coffee shops seem now to be busier than pubs, and there are four on the street, as well as other places where you could have coffee and a biscuit. The two tube stations are, of course, long-standing, although the substantial roadworks in front of Bayswater are new since our last visit and have led to a single lane section and some traffic rerouting. The Marks and Spencer food store is gone, but that does leave two small Tesco and two small Sainsbury outlets, with a full size Waitrose round the corner. There are several restaurants, fast food and regular, and of course the pubs serve meals. We rarely eat here, though. It’s a bit touristy and, while locals may indeed eat here, you never really get that sense the way you do in some other parts of the city that exude a sense of neighbourhood.

Friday, April 12/2019

Unusually cold here for the time of year, although quite sunny. Which should nake it warmer but doesn’t really because there’s a bit of wind. We’re just setting up for the rest of the month. And missing wifi in the process. The schools are on a spring break, so the more kid friendly attractions like the Natural History Museum will be busier than usual. And the London School of Economics is also taking an Easter break, so public lectures suspended till the last week of April. 

Thursday, April 11/2019

Up early, though the two hour time change from Sofia to London makes this pretty painless. By tube to Guy’s Hospital, which has an excellent dental clinic, to consult on what I fear is a broken tooth. Reassured that it is a bit of broken porcelain on the cap, which is intact. Not urgent before return to North Cyprus. Was in this clinic once before, re a broken, filling, fifteen plus years ago. They were absolutely super then as well. Clinic opens at 8:30, registration (four page form, numbered in order of arrival) at 7:45. We’re there at 7:30 and collect form #12 to fill out before registration opens. Most interesting bit on the form is a carefully worded request for (voluntary) info on ethnic origins, which they want, they say, in order to make sure they serve people of diverse backgrounds. Three choices in the white origins section - British, Irish, and other (please specify). Check both British and Irish and decide not to bother with the genealogical distance which would add German and Dutch. 

Then leave for coffee in the main lobby and back for 8:30. It’s a very efficient system. The waiting room is full, both of those without appointments who arrived before and after us and, as the registrar explained, of a number of people who have specific appointments and are not queue jumping. Several dentists (actually final year students) working in a fairly large surgery, and we’re out of there by 9:15. 

Take advantage of our early start to go up Kilburn High Road and collect grapes and bananas from the street stalls and to look in the shops. Also hot cross buns and oat cakes. 

Oh yes, re Brexit- final final date postponed, appropriately, to Hallowe’en, by which time we’ll probably be back in London. The melodrama continues.

Wednesday, April 10/2019

There’s a taxi stand outside our building and cab fares are cheap here, but we’re only a hundred metres from our nearest metro stop and the line goes to the airport with no changes, so actually the most difficult part of the journey is the 86 steps down from our flat to the street with full suitcases - though better than carrying them upstairs. Terminal two is nicer than terminal one, where we arrived. But, as with most airport upgrading, what has improved is the facility’s ability to separate you from your money. Reject the overpriced Bulgarian brandies (tellingly priced in euros). Had intended to spend remaining Bulgarian coins at the airport but discover coffee is double the price at terminal one. So a small bottle of water does it. Actually have small empty water bottle with us, which we refill with perfectly drinkable tap water, so that’s us sorted. 

Good flight with plane not full, and queue at immigration only about 15 minutes, as we wonder whether next week, should there be a Brexit crash out on Friday, will see massive longer aliens queues. Ask immigration officer, who says who knows - she’s had nearly three years to make up her mind and she still hasn’t made up her mind. So we do what we do until someone tells us otherwise. Laughs, and over there we’ll be in the long queues. 

Back in our old digs off Queensway, though on second floor (i.e. North American third floor, as European storey counting begins with zero). Small, but nice in a retro thirties way. And, two or three times a year, home. No wifi - that’s for the coffee shop office - but the best telly we get during the year. BBC news channel covering the EU response to the latest UK request for a Brexit extension. Embarrassingly (one would think, but Theresa May has an extraordinary ability to withstand embarrassment), May gets to make an hour long presentation and then is sent away while the other 27 EU countries decide her fate over dinner. But we fall asleep before the final announcement.

Tuesday, April 9/2019

Heavy rain but we’re warm and dry on the fourth floor. Last day, so we’ve done pretty well in terms of weather. Quick trip out in the afternoon during a rainless spell. We need bread and (no, we didn’t need them but there they were saying pick me) pastries. Will pack a lunch for the plane tomorrow as tastier, healthier, and miles cheaper than on board offerings. Besides, contents other than bread would otherwise have been left over. About to move away from kitchen, wifi, and iron, but to the city about which Dr Johnson said “If you’re tired of London, you’re tired of life”.

Monday, April 8/2019

Predicted rain does come, but only after we’ve had a chance to wander round a bit more of the city. Discover lots of little shops, many with local arts and crafts and others regular small clothing stores, shoe stores, and corner shops. Quite a few bakeries and coffee shops. A surprising number of places are almost a cross between a kiosk and a corner shop. You can see the coffee, or pastries, or even bottles of liquor, through the window, but you can’t go inside. There’s a wicket where you ask for what you want and hand in your money, and your purchase is handed out to you - a bag of chips, a beer, a bottle of whisky, or whatever. There may or may not be a couple of tables with chairs on the sidewalk outside. Most likely to be if the shop is selling coffee, beer, or wine. 

Decide to try one of the local rakias, feeling like kindergarten kids as we sound out the names. In theory rakia could be apricot or plum, but most are grape based. So here we are laboriously spelling oout words on the labels and hoping our Bulgarian is up to the challenge. A young man gives us advice. What we’d taken for an unfamiliar fruit turns out to be a grape variety, so that explains that. We’re slowly getting better at it, but it takes a while before ракия looks like rakia to us. Take a half litre home to sample.

Sunday, April 7/2019

The plan was to stop at one of the small local restaurants for a bite of Bulgarian home cooking. We learn a number of things:

1) Most cafés serve coffee and beer, maybe wine and vodka. Not food.

2) Many places are just windows where you can get a drink. And maybe a pastry.

3) There are many bars in our neighbourhood. Might have crisps.

4) Only real restaurant in our neighbourhood is a pizza place - Italian not Bulgarian

5) Bulgarians are highly sociable. Everyone in the world is out having a drink.

6) As with many Europeans, getting to sit down at a bar or café is not important.

7) Ditto getting to go inside. It hasn’t  to rain has it?

8) Good choice of Bulgarian food at deli counter of our (German) supermarket 

9) Escalators at above don’t work until you step on them. Why waste electricity?

So collect food from the deli in Billa and have a meal at home. Bulgarian mavrud (dry red) wine.

Saturday, April 6/2019

There’s a free Sofia walking tour with no sign up required so we show up at the Palace of Justice, along with about 75 other people. It’s a volunteer project with young guides, mostly between twenty-five and thirty-five it seems. Have read a number of their bios online and they’re an impressive bunch, mostly with professional qualifications in the arts, history, political science, or law. We’re with Kris, a young man with a nice balance of humour and information. In two hours we get the low down on about twenty monuments, buildings, and sites in central Sofia, as well as a quick overview of its history. He’s helped by a couple of geographical and historical facts. The current centre of Sofia has always been the centre and so each successive wave - Thracian, Roman, Slav, Ottoman, Russian - has left its mark in the heart of the city. The modern city is built on top of preceding layers. 

There has been considerable excavation. As in Athens, the construction of the Metro involved the uncovering of a stunning amount of the ancient city, though Roman, of course, rather than Greek. And took, with the help of archaeologists, forty years. No time to go in the buildings, but a number of brief glimpses, photo ops and explanations. The oldest part has Roman ruins as well as St George’s Rotunda - round, red brick, fourth century, and still in use. Wedding photos amongst the ruins seem popular, and we pass a couple of wedding parties. The original subterranean hot springs still function too, now with taps attached and old ladies bringing plastic containers to collect the mineral water. It used to be the source of water for baths when homes lacked running water. The temperature is supposed to be 37 degrees - so pretty well body temp. The underground ruins share territory with the Metro, so people pass by them daily in the city centre and are encouraged to share the space rather than its being entirely roped off or out of bounds.

Friday, April 5/2019

Explore our immediate neighbourhood, just south and east of the famous Eagles Bridge. The city centre is immediately north of us and has most of the historic cultural sites, museums, and gall, but it is consciously tourist territory. Menus in English as well as Bulgarian. Prices pretty reasonable by international standards. Our neighbourhood, though, is entirely local. Only Bulgarian spoken on the street and on almost all signs, notices, and shop windows. Here people live in flats amongst dozens of small shops, bakeries, and cafés. 

There’s a nice old fashioned practicality about it too. It’s possible to buy either a broom handle or the business end of the broom. Breaking the one or wearing out the other doesn’t mean that both wood and straw need replacing. A store that says мляко in the window (“milk” - fortunately we’re getting better at transliteration and fortunately in this case the Bulgarian is much like the Polish, apart from the alphabet) seems to sell nothing but yoghurt and mild - ok tasteless - white Bulgarian cheese. May also sell milk - we don’t go in. Shops labelled alcohol and tobacco seem a popular combo, though one never seen in Canada. And indeed quite a lot of people are smoking on the street, many of them, J observes, young women. It would probably be possible to spend your whole life in a six block area here and meet all your needs in local shops. 

Stop slightly north of our place at a small supermarket in the basement of a building for a few basics - yoghurt, eggs, lentils, bulgur, onions, carrots, vegetable spread, and fruit. And then the treats from the deli - cooked peppers stuffed with a bean mixture and and fried patties that seem to be mainly puréed lentils. Delicious.

Thursday, April 4/2019

Bit of catch up on sleep. Not the Med, so temperature can go zero-ish at night, though warm enough in our flat. Daytime high teens, though. Amazing number of beautiful historic buildings as well as museums and galleries within walking distance. We’ve chosen a really good spot. Visit Alexander Nevsky Cathedral just up the road. It’s enormous as well as beautiful. The gold plated dome is 45 metres high and the building apparently holds 5000 people. There are about 30 or 40 people inside when we go in, most obviously tourists, some of them taking photographs, despite the signs asking one not to. Outside is a tree in full white blossom with a number of red and white string bracelets hanging from the lower branches. Turns out they are part of a tradition going back to pagan times. The martenitsa is a red (for fertility) and white (for health) yarn bracelet and martenitsas are exchanged among friends at the beginning of March and worn until one sees a blossoming tree a stork or a swallow, when it is hung on a blossoming branch as a sign that spring has arrived. 

Stop at a Lidl shop for provisions. The bakery section is out of the pastries that are on special offer, and I, familiar with the Cypriot store say sarcastically “how unusual”. Whereupon a man beside us asks if we’re from England and we confess to Canada. He’s quite pleased as we’re the first Canadians he’s met here. Home to the flat and up the 86 stairs. Nice meal as reward when J cooks the Lidl chicken.