Villainy, Torture, and Death

Enough whining! This blog has gotten entirely too negative. It’s time to talk about something fun. And what could be more fun than an evening with Jack the Ripper?

The Thames Terror Cruise was by far one of the highlights of my trip. If anything is more gruesome than London’s weather it’s the city’s mysterious, murderous history. From public executions in the heyday of the monarchy to serial killers in the 19th century and on through organized crime in the early 80’s, London has a gory storied past. After work on Thursday I took a tour of the sites of the city’s most famous atrocities.

The tour began with a boat ride down the Thames towards the Tower of London. As we traveled down the river the tour guide regaled the group with tales of suspicious suicides and murdered mobsters found hanging from each bridge. We then disembarked at the Tower of London where traitors and criminals were hung, drawn, and quartered on a quarterly basis.

On these special occasions, the condemned would be brought from the jail to the Old Bailey, where they would be put to death in front of their family, friends, and fellow villagers. The executions were deliberately held on holidays so that parents could come out with the kids. Which to me begs the question: at what point in history did public beheadings lose their wholesome family fun appeal?

The coolest part of the tour for me was learning that some of the common expressions in our vernacular have their roots in capital punishment. Here’s my favorite: proving that the law enforcers had some mercy, the criminals were allowed a final drink before going to their death. On their journey from jail to the gallows, the felons would be allowed “off the wagon” into the pub while the executioner waited “on the wagon.”

The tour went on for a few hours as we walked the trail of Jack the Ripper, retracing his steps and considering the only two clues he’s known to have left. Along the way we passed by the barber shop of the sadistic barber Sweeney Todd where we picked up another intriguing tidbit of history: up until the mid 1700’s there was very little specialization of professions. Barbers were also dentists and surgeons, so the red and white colors of the iconic barber pole actually symbolized “blood and bandages.” And it gets creepier. The pole itself was used as part of the bloodletting practice. Customers would sit in the barber’s chair gripping a pole until their veins showed, and then the surgeon/stylist would cut them open until they passed out. As an aside, you may be interested to know that tipping—for hair cuts, taxi rides, or anything really—is still not customary in London.

At long last, help arrives in Gloucestershire

A little more English humor. While the new British PM, Gordon Brown, appears helpless in the face of floods, the Hof has come to the rescue!

Rockets are NOT for Eating

Many of you have expressed concern over what I have been able to eat here in London. I must say it has not been easy. Unlike Italy or France, the UK is not exactly heralded for its cuisine. I’m learning that the term “pub grub” is not just a catchy phrase—it’s a precise description of traditional English fare. Not only does the food taste bad, it even sounds unappetizing. “Bangers and mash” sounds like something you would feed to livestock. And blood pudding? Let’s not even go there.

It’s a challenge just to find something edible—let alone healthy. Part of the problem is that some of the most common menu items here are completely unrecognizable. For example, “Welsh Rabbit” is cheese and crackers. Who knew?

And then there are jackets. If you’re not in the know, the jacket issue is very confusing. Jackets are everywhere. In Tesco (the British 7-Eleven), in my office cafeteria, in all the pubs, and even in finer dining establishments. Considering that most restaurants are not air-conditioned (again with the air-conditioning problem!), it’s a bit weird to always have waitstaff asking if you want a jacket. It’s equally strange to see buffets with dedicated Jacket Stations. So what is this mysterious culinary delight? Here’s a hint: in the States, we usually top them with sour cream and chives. Yes, jackets are good ol’ fashioned baked potatoes. Clearly, the low-carb phenomenon has yet to catch on here.

But for the few people who are watching their starches, there are alternatives. Namely, the rocket salad.

Leave it to the English to find a vegetable I don’t like. Rocket is disgusting! And it’s devious. Outwardly, rocket looks like your typical mixed green. You might not even notice it tossed in among the romaine or spinach. But you will know it when you bite it. Taste-wise, rocket fuel might be more palatable. I’m not quite sure how such an innocent looking vegetable manages to pack such a peppery punch, but it literally made me sick to my stomach. Apparently I am in the minority on this one as my coworkers seem to love the stuff, but as far as I’m concerned, rockets are not for eating.

The Air Conditioning Conundrum

This post from the blog Going Underground says it all. It’s been four years since the Mayor of London announced a cash prize to the person who could solve the air-conditioning problem on the Underground. The competition is now closed. According to the city’s website, here are the best solutions for beating the heat:


- Always carry a bottle of cold water with you.

- If you feel faint, go above ground for some fresh air. Don't hesitate to ask a member of staff for help if you need it.

- If you feel dizzy don't pull the emergency cord between stations. This will only leave you stuck on a train in a stuffy tunnel.

- If trains are stopped in the tunnels for whatever reason on a hot day, don't panic. If a train breaks down getting passengers out is a top priority for Underground staff.

Carry a water bottle and don’t panic?! Please tell me nobody got any prize money for that brilliant advice.

Seriously, what is so complicated about installing air-conditioned trains? The Mayor’s website lists two main excuses. First, Ken points out that the London Underground is over 100 years old. Nice try Dude, but New York’s subway is just as old. Reason number two makes a bit more sense: apparently, the real difficulty in London is that their train system is far deeper underground than ours. They can't just replace the older cars with modern air-conditioned ones because the tunnels do not have adequate ventilation systems.

Ironically, air-conditioning creates heat and that heat would have to be pumped out. With no ventilation, the system would literally melt down. Any attempt to install the proper air vents would be massively disruptive and expensive—in other words, a political nonstarter.

One would think that finding a workable solution to this problem would be a top priority as the city prepares to host the Olympics. Yet amazingly there’s no mention on the London 2012 website of air-conditioning the Tube. Are they hoping that spectators just won't notice the heat? Maybe they're planning to sell London 2012 water bottles.

FLOOD! Waist-deep at "Port Authority"

Torrential downpours caused major flooding in London today, wreaking havoc throughout the city. Roads were closed, flights were cancelled, and people had to wade through waist-deep water in central areas. Drivers abandoned their cars (and buses) at the equivalent of 42nd Street. Rainfall, which was already at historic totals for the month, smashed through the records for most precipitation in one hour. Between twelve and 1:oo pm more than 4 inches fell -- which means, according to the nightly newspaper Evening Standard I read on the subway home, we got more rain at lunchtime today than London typically gets in an entire summer month. I had lots of time to read the paper tonight because there were massive delays on the Tube. My ride normally takes twenty minutes but I spent double that time waiting on the platform tonight. But I was one of the lucky ones who still had Underground service. Twenty stations were closed and one train line was completely out of commission. This was the scene at Blackfriars Station near my office:

• Hundreds of people on the platform, all eager to get home, get to the pub, or just get anywhere away from Central London


• They're tired and cranky after a long week of work and they've now been waiting for over half an hour


• A train finally pulls into the station and it's crammed tighter than a can of sardines

Sounds like good times, right? Now consider this: THE LONDON SUBWAY SYSTEM IS NOT AIR CONDITIONED. Much like the weather, this is another sad but true fact of London life. However, as Mayor Ken Livingstone says "It is a problem, and we're working on it!" In fact, in 2003 he offered a £100,000 reward to anyone who could engineer a solution. Why cooling off the Tube is so complicated is another blog for another day. Tonight, it was hot and it was miserable. To make matters worse, anyone who got off the train looking to hit the bar was sadly disappointed—flooding forced most of the businesses near me to close for the day. But a few places managed to stay open, and they were rocking and rolling. People with pints in hand spilled out onto the sidewalk seemingly having a great time. Moral of the story: neither Hell nor high water can keep Londoners out of the pub!

British Royalty

The current water cooler chat here is entirely focused on the British Royal Family: David and Victoria Beckham.

Posh’s reality TV show “Coming to America” was a national event last night. For days leading up to the special, Posh was promoted from the gossip section to front pages news. SKY News (the UK’s equivalent of Fox) has been covering the “Becks” arrival in the States nonstop. Posh was their lead story yesterday, with only minor interruptions to announce that a Member of Parliament has been suspended after being found guilty of accepting bribes from Saddam Hussein.

If you didn’t catch NBC’s airing of “Coming to America” on Monday night you missed out on some quality television. This show had it all:
Drama—Will the Becks be welcomed in America?
Suspense—Will Dodger fans boo Posh off the mound before she throws out the first pitch?
Intrigue—Does she EVER eat?
and Comic Relief—Only in LA could a Spice Girl be the most normal guest at a luncheon.

After watching the hour-long broadcast all I could think was “Here is a woman I can relate to.” Seriously! She loves shoes, she doesn’t cook, she shares my belief that throwing on a sweat suit does not count as getting dressed, and she’s a bad driver. Now throw in our common bond as newcomers in a foreign land – Posh and I are practically the same person.

"It says a lot of things in the brochure."

It’s never a good sign when the person who is supposed to be helping you is named “TRAINEE.”

The new guy at my apartment’s front desk is going to fit right in —he is not only completely incompetent, he is also insulting. One evening last week I arrived home to find a note under my door saying “Mr. Hennon, you have an outstanding balance. Please remit £56.00 upon receipt of this notice.” OK—a few things wrong here. Bypassing the name issue for now, why am I getting billed for phone calls and internet charges in the middle of my stay? My credit card is on file, and I’m not due to check out until August 3rd, so why the sudden urgency to settle up? Was I being evicted? Could I be so lucky? I went downstairs to find out.

That’s when I met TRAINEE. I presented the bill and explained my confusion. TRAINEE asked my room number (which coincidentally was printed on the bill), looked at his computer monitor, and then asked me –seriously—“And are you… Mister Hennon?” Ouch. When I explained that I am in fact MISS HANNON, with an A, he didn’t even have the courtesy to blush. Not surprisingly, considering that gender assessment was beyond his grasp, sorting out my bill was going to require help from the Supervisor. TRAINEE told me to come back later.

Having met the Supervisor before (Miss “Check-in is at 2:00”), my expectations were low. Here’s how our last exchange went down:
Me: “I’d like an alarm clock please.”
Her: “We don’t have any alarm clocks.”
Me: “Oh. Okay. But it says in the brochure here that each room has an alarm clock.”
Her: “It says a lot of things in the brochure.”

Right. The alarm clock situation, or lack thereof, is actually a daily source of amusement to me. In lieu of clocks, the desk offers a wake-up call service—using the terms “offers” and “service” loosely. I’d estimate that over the last fourteen days I’ve received my wake-up call at most 10 times, each time within a half-hour band of when it was supposed to be. Thomas the Night Manger makes the early calls personally. He’s actually the nicest of all the desk attendants. I almost look forward to hearing “6 O’CLOCK WAKE UP, YEAH???” each morning. Thomas is an older gentleman, so I try to be understanding when he forgets to call.

Miss “Check-in is at 2:00” on the other hand, I have no patience for. Apparently she and TRAINEE put their heads together and determined that, if I prefer, I do not in fact need to pay for my daily charges prior to checking out. I was so pleasantly surprised by this outcome that I decided to leave the name issue alone—probably best not to push my luck.

Too Many Coins

I’ve been trying to keep an open mind about life in London. Cultural quirks are part of what makes world travel interesting, so there’s no sense in being judgmental, right? There are probably perfectly good reasons why Brits drive on the opposite side of the road and put mayonnaise on everything. And if I had grown up here, I’m sure I would staunchly defend these practices as normal and logical. But an unscientific survey at my nearby Starbucks revealed that the locals agree with me on this assessment: the coin situation here is completely out of control. When it comes to currency units, the Bank of England has got it all wrong.

Great Britain is a numismatist’s paradise. There are eight coins in active circulation: 6 in denominations less than one pound, and two in denominations of a pound or more. Just like the U.S. penny, nickel, and dime, Brits have one pence, five pence, and ten pence coins. And similar to our quarter, they also have a 20 pence piece.

However, where things start to get excessive is in the addition of a two pence coin. This is just silly. Considering that two pence buys you roughly nothing in England, why does this denomination merit its own currency unit?
Then there’s the 50 pence coin. When is the last time you saw a half dollar in the States? Can you even remember? Probably not. There is a very good reason the U.S. Mint cut production of this relic: lack of demand. There is even talk about removing it from U.S. circulation altogether. Not in England though. Here, the 50P coin is still in heavy rotation.

But what I really take issue with is the lack of a one-pound bill. That’s right—there are no singles here. I can only imagine how that impacts the Exotic Dancing industry. Somehow I can’t see guys sticking change down a stripper’s…but I digress.
Having to use one-pound and two-pound coins instead of paper money makes your wallet very heavy, very quickly. Let’s say you want to buy something that costs £1.30, which coincidentally is the cost of the Wall Street Journal here. If all you have is a £5 note, you will receive no fewer than 5 coins in change, and quite possibly more than that if the vendor is out of £2 pieces. And that’s just one purchase! As Huw The Native Welshman put it, “After a night of drinking with your mates, your pockets weigh 20 kilos!”

Tour de France

The Tour de France kicked off last weekend and for the first time in the history of 100 year old race, London was host to the Grand Départ—a three day spectacle that marks the beginning of the world’s premier cycling event. Cyclists basically took over the city, starting in Trafalgar Square and hitting every tourist attraction in the Fodor’s guide. Fodor’s may have actually been involved in the planning of the Tour—the course reads like a list of Things to Do and See While in London. It was so brilliantly laid out I was tempted to hop on a bike and follow along—I could have knocked off my entire list of sights to see in one afternoon!

For the first event, the Prologue, riders headed out from Central London past Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, and Buckingham Palace, then looped around Hyde Park, up Constitution Hill, ending on the Mall with Buckingham Palace in the background. From a spectator’s perspective, the Prologue was by far the highlight of the weekend. All of those landmarks span a 7.9 kilometer route, and cyclists took turns zipping through the course, one after another, trying to beat each other’s time.

Huge, flag-waving crowds lined the sidewalks to get a glimpse of the riders and cheer on their countrymen. The Tour de France website put the number of spectators at roughly 1 million near the finish line alone. I’ll have to trust their estimate, because I was nowhere near that zoo. The stress of my first week in London, which had me working until 10pm (or later!) every night, left me completely exhausted. I slept until noon on Saturday, and when I finally woke up, the last thing I wanted to do was deal with crowds. So, being the bad tourist that I am, I decided to stay as far away from the Tour de France as possible. I went to Notting Hill instead—to an adorable little spa, hidden on a cul-de-sac, without so much as a sign on the door. The only way I knew it was from the building number in the Time Out London review. And funnily enough, there was a bicycle parked outside.

Don't Wear Suspenders to the London Office

You’ve probably heard some funny examples before of English words that have very different meanings in the U.S. and in the U.K. “Pants” is a classic example. Americans know pants as the things that cover your legs—they come in all kinds of varieties, like jeans or khakis, and various lengths, like shorts or capris, but ultimately pants are pants. Except, however, in the U.K. where pants are underpants. Panties, as you may know them. Brits refer to their suit bottoms as “trousers.” And even though they are familiar with the American term for this article of clothing, they still tend to smirk if you compliment their “nice pants.”
I discovered this amusing difference in terminology on my last trip to London (I’m not saying how), so I thought I was safe from embarrassing faux pas this time around. Until my coworker Huw told me he was planning to wear red braces to the New York office. Huw is a native Welshman with a bit of an accent, so I thought I misheard him. His teeth are fine, and I couldn’t imagine why he would want to wear an orthodontal device to work, so I asked.
“Braces?”
And he happily gestured with both hands to his shoulders and his waistband, making the international sign for “the article of clothing that holds your pants up.” Ah. Now I understood. Huw was planning to go for the Gordon Gecko, Wall Street Power Look.
“Suspenders!”
Now Huw was confused. I thought this time it was my accent that was unclear, so I raised my voice a bit, articulating each word:
“You’re going to wear RED SUSPENDERS to the office?”

At this point everyone in a ten foot radius was in hysterics. A complete uproar of laughter broke out in our cubicles. Apparently, “suspenders” in the U.K. are that delightfully risqué garment we refer to as A GARTER BELT.

Unfortunately, red garter belts are not considered Business Casual, so that look is not going to fly. Which is a shame, because that would have been a great way for Huw to break the ice on his first day.

How to Go Sightseeing – Finance Style

Step One: Work for a major global investment bank. Get sent on a one-month overseas assignment.
Step Two: Recall that you work for a major global investment bank. This means that your one-month assignment will come complete with 3 months worth of work.
Step Three: Begin the Sisyphean task of trying to finish all that work. Resist the urge to slap well-meaning coworkers who, willfully ignoring the ankle bracelet binding you to the desk, continue to suggest that you “get outta here! Go sightseeing or something!"
Step Four: Come to the realization that the only sights you are going to see are those on the way to and from your office. Sigh deeply.

It did not take long for me to figure out that the only way I’m going to actually see London is if I start multi-tasking. Last week I started walking home from work, and this weekend I began taking my workouts outdoors too. So no more 5:00am pleasure-reading on the Elliptical machine—from now on it’s running in Hyde Park, down Kensington High Street, and on through Knightsbridge or wherever else my feet carry me. And since Londoners are all still sound asleep at that hour, I have the city all to myself. Brilliant!

*N.B. This picture is of the Royal Courts of Justice, which apparently decided to switch places with the Royal Opera House this morning. Sightseeing-on-the-run is a great time-saver, but you can' t read a map and jog at the same time. So if you are very fussy about which landmarks you see, I do not recommend this approach.

Paternoster Square – NOT an Office Park

Goldman’s office is in an amazing location. Situated right near St. Paul's Cathedral, Paternoster Square is striking in so many regards. The square is a mixed use development that is brimming with life and activity at all times. The London Stock Exchange is here (I can peer into it from my window), as well as some big names like Merrill, AXA, and CB Richard Ellis. There are great cafes and bistros for business lunches and dinners, and because these eateries also cater to the tourists drawn by St. Paul's, they don't have that stuffy atmosphere that plagues most Wall Street area restaurants. Options abound for grabbing a quick bite, and of course there’s a Starbucks.
When the rain tapers off, everyone takes to the plaza. At lunch there is usually an event of some sort going on: earlier this week there was a string quartet performing in the Square and yesterday there was a choir gathered on the steps of St. Paul’s. Office-dwellers and visitors sit outside eating, chatting, people watching, and listening to the free concerts. What a way to recharge! The activity continues well into the evening, as crowds gather at the outdoor bars for an after-work cocktail or two. And sometimes, when the sun finally pokes out, the cocktails start before the work ends. Last night on my walk home I overheard a business-type on his cell phone talking about the Boots LBO while downing a pint.
Beyond being home to the historic Cathedral, the Square has a truly interesting back-story*. The area takes its name from Paternoster Row, where in ancient times the St. Paul’s clergy would walk around chanting the Lord’s Prayer (Pater Noster is Latin for “Our Father”). In the1900’s, Paternoster Row served as a central publishing hub until it was completely destroyed by a Nazi Blitzkrieg. Developers worked on the area throughout the 60’s, but the reconstruction was an abysmal failure—Prince Charles was quoted as saying “Developers have done more damage to this City than the war.” Basically, Londoners thought the buildings were just plain ugly and hated how they overshadowed St. Paul’s.
In fact, they hated it so much that the area was demolished, re-planned and reconstructed from 1996-2003. Although some critics are clamoring for even broader diversity of use (they want to see more residential units and fewer retail outlets) the new design is widely regarded as a victory of urban planning.
* Thanks to Wikipedia and the Paternoster Square website for the info!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paternoster_Square#External_links
http://www.paternosterlondon.co.uk/

A View from “The Tube”

This is my view as I emerge from the Tube in the morning. You’d think I would be hard to impress, given that I grew up with the New York skyline, but something about seeing the clouds clearing over St. Paul’s Cathedral each morning has been strangely moving.
London in the early morning is not like New York. There just isn't the same hustle and bustle. The day seems to get started later here, so 7:00 a.m. feels more like 5:00am back home. There aren’t that many people on the street yet, and you can actually get a seat on the Tube. It never fails to amaze me how in New York I always have to stand on the Subway, even at 6:30 in the morning. While New Yorkers are on the go around the clock, I'm getting the idea that Londoners just do not do mornings. The gym here doesn't even offer morning classes!

More on the Weather

Okay, I was wrong. Apparently Londoners do mind the weather. I just received the following forward:

MISSING!!! -ROUND YELLOW THING USUALLY FLOATS AROUND IN THE SKY!!!ANSWERS TO THE NAME ''SUN''IF U SEE HIM TELL HIM IT'S F****** JULY!!!

Hail in July

The weather here is not just dreadful—it’s schizophrenic. The weather changes every ten minutes, and it does so in radical fashion. One minute the sun is shining, the next minute you are stuck in a torrential downpour. Or, as was the case this evening, you’re in a hail storm. Hail. In July. WTF?!

The weather shifts so quickly you are lucky if you can take off your sunglasses and dig your umbrella out of your purse before the skies open up. Just to offer a sense of what it's like, I scribbled down a quick timeline this afternoon:

12:05 p.m. – Heading out for lunch: Partly cloudy
12:12 p.m. – Waiting in line to buy lunch: Torrential downpour
12:20 p.m. – Walking back to office: Rain and clouds clearing
1:18 p.m. – Finishing lunch at my desk: Sunny and clear
1:44 p.m. – Looking up from my desk: Raining again.

This rain/sunshine/rain pattern has been going on since I arrived, which is wreaking havoc on Wimbeldon. Today alone there were 7 breaks in play. As bizarre as this strikes me, Londoners seem to react to their climate with a mix of amusement and indifference. In the elevator this morning a stranger smiled at me and said “The weather is rubbish, yeah?” I had to agree.

Heart Attack

You know that feeling you get when you think you lost your wallet? First, the realization that it’s missing. Then, the slow, agonizing mental calculus trying to figure out where it could be. Followed by the panicked searching and re-searching of the same places you just looked. Finally concluding with the depressing determination that it’s gone… or the ecstatic sensation of actually finding it. Well, take all of those feelings and forget them—nothing compares to having your debit card declined when you are traveling overseas alone.
For pure, heart-stopping fear, go to another continent, spend the last of your cash, and go to an ATM. Then have your card rejected. With the possible exception of situations involving diseases or deadly weapons, I can’t think of anything scarier than what I went through in the last 24 hours. It started last night when my bank card didn’t work at Starbucks. I knew I had sufficient funds, so I chalked it up to technical difficulties and paid cash. Then, this morning, at a different Starbucks, my card was declined again—and I started to get nervous. I spent my last 2 pounds on my coffee, and headed to an ATM.
When the machine spit out my card without any cash, full on panic set in. My mind started to race: did I do something to the strip on the card? If I needed a new card, could they send it to me overseas? How long would that take? How would I get cash in the meantime? What if it wasn’t a technical issue? What if my account had been wiped out? My head was spinning. It wasn’t even 8:00am yet so I couldn’t go talk to anyone at the bank, and it was the middle of the night in the States so I couldn’t call my fiancé. So I did my best to pull myself together and headed into the office.
I guess the caffeine finally kicked in, because once I sat down at my desk I started to think clearer. I called my bank and explained the situation. The representative grilled me on my Social Security number, mother’s maiden name, and recent transaction history, and finally transferred me to the Fraud department. Things were looking up! Apparently my overseas transactions triggered HSBC's suspicious activity filters and my account was frozen. But after I cleared the security check they lifted the freeze. I wish I could say that everything was fine after that, but truthfully the whole experience was so rattling I was pretty shook up for the rest of the day.

The Lord be with You, and with Thine Spirit

Sunday morning I attended my first British mass-- and it was really different! For starters, the physical layout of the church was different. The pews are shorter (meaning the back rest is lower) and instead of one long foot rest for kneeling on, they have individual pillow cushions. Also, the priest stands much closer to the congregation, which gives the mass a more intimate feel. Of course, the fact that there were only three other worshipers in the church with me may have contributed to that close feeling. Apparently, Londoners like to sleep a bit later—the priest told me later that the 11:00am is more densely populated.
Even though the structure of the mass (two Bible readings, followed by the Gospel and Homily, concluding with the Eucharist) was the same, there were so many small differences in the wording of the prayers that it was hard to follow along. For instance, in response to “Peace be with you,” the Brits say “And with thine spirit” instead of “And also with you.”

Interestingly, the priest actually talked about politics and current events during the homily. I wasn’t all that surprised to hear him discuss the need for religious tolerance in the wake of the recent bombing incidents, but he surprised me when he compared Islamofascists to “the Leftist fantatics” that tried to take over Parliament in the 1970s.” I was waiting for him to give his opinion of the new head of state, but he stopped just short of that. Maybe I can get him to talk about that at the church Garden Party on Thursday night. Wine and savories will be served- admission is only £10.00!

10-15 Newgate Street Immediately Follows 7 Newgate

Matty, I should have listened to you. To get around London, you do need a map. A compass would help too. The New Yorker in me was embarrassed by the idea of walking around looking like a tourist, but after wandering for an hour and half trying to find the Goldman office I finally broke down and bought a street map.

The first problem is that London doesn’t use a grid system – all of the streets are named and most of them have split personality disorder. Streets change names on you without notice. You’re walking along on Charing Cross and all of the sudden it decides it wants to be called St. Martins Way. This happens frequently, often in the middle of the block.

Secondly, building numbers are not sequential. Goldman’s office is located at 10-15 Newgate Street, in between 10 Newgate and 7 Newgate, directly opposite 100 Newgate and diagonally across from 63 Newgate. Someone please explain this to me.

No Cottage Cheese, No Fiber One, and Splenda is Sold Like Pez

Grocery shopping was a very stressful experience yesterday. Nothing looks familiar. Some of the brands are the same, but the product lineup is different and none of my stand-bys are anywhere to be found. I went to 4 stores- Sainsbury, Waitrose, Marks and Spencer, and Tesco- not one of them carries cottage cheese or Fiber One. Considering that I live on those two foods, this is a very troubling situation.
On a positive note however, they do have two of my other mainstays: Coke Zero and Splenda. Splenda here is actually pretty crazy. It’s not available at Starbucks so you have to buy it and carry it around on your own. Fortunately it’s sold in a very travel-friendly package: instead of packets it comes in solid little pellets that shoot out of a Pez-like dispenser. Bizarre, but effective. Works for me! In other good news, the fruit and veggie selection in all of the stores here is fantastic. There are lots of healthy options to choose from, so once I get used to the new look and feel of UK groceries I’m sure I’ll be fine.

London is VERY expensive

Economic theory be damned- Purchasing Power Parity does NOT hold! A Starbucks coffee does not cost the same amount in USD as it does in GBP. Sure, the nominal price is the same—my $1.99 coffee now costs £1.99—but once you account for the currency translation it’s really $4.00. And everything is like that- not just coffee. Month long subway pass? $80 in the US, £80 in London – that’s $160 dollars!!!
I paid roughly $5 for one egg and two pieces of toast at the local café. For lunch I went to Garfunkel’s, the London equivalent of Friday’s, and paid $32 for a salmon burger with steamed veggies. God only knows what dinner costs at a decent restaurant! Considering that my £37.00 per diem is supposed to cover all meals and transportation, I’m foreseeing a lot of cereal in my future.

Check-in is at 2:00

The staff here is spectacularly unhelpful, continually reaching new lows in service. Okay, that might be a bit harsh, but at 7:00am in the morning after a long flight and little sleep, the last thing you want to hear is “Check-in is at 2:00.” Yet that is exactly what the receptionist said—and that is about all she said. No suggestions of where to go for the next 7 hours, no offers to try to get housekeeping to speed it up so I could check in early, no nothing. I’ll skip the gory details, but the next few hours my life were not a lot of fun.

When I finally got to my room, I was relieved to discover it was not a box. The lone picture of the bed on the website had made me very nervous. But my “flat” is nice-size one-bedroom, with a decent bathroom, living area, and kitchenette. There’s a mini-fridge but no freezer. And in true UK fashion there is no air conditioning. Fortunately it’s quite cool at the moment (more on the weather later) so the temp in the room is comfortable.
The room is equipped with broadband internet, but you have to pay extra for that. A lot extra. You can buy a one hour pass (£3.00), a 3-hour pass (£5.00), or a 24-hour pass (£10.00). I found a better deal at Starbucks: £40.00 unlimited access for the month. There are nearly as many Starbucks here as there are at home, so I think my internet pass has been my smartest purchase so far.

Under Construction

A driver picked me up at Heathrow and took me to my temporary apartment in South Kensington. South Ken, as it is known here, is the main shopping district – most famously home to Harrods. The driver had no difficulty finding my street but had a devil of a time finding my actual address: 39 B Queens Gate Gardens. Apparently 39B does not follow 39A which in turn does not follow 39. After circling the block for a few minutes, giving up, and seeking help from the landlord at 39A, we finally found my building… covered in green scaffolding. Apparently my new home is undergoing a complete gutting and remodeling, but it is still accepting tenants. As you might guess, things started to go bad as soon as I got out of the car.

First Class

• A word of advice: do not fly first class unless you can afford to do so on a regular basis. Flying coach isn’t all that bad until you know what you’re missing. And you’re missing a lot.
  

• Company policy allows for first class travel on flights longer than 5 hours, so I got to fly 1st on my way to London. I usually dread airports but when you fly first everything is just so much more enjoyable and stress-free. My ticket granted me access to the Admiral’s Club, where the carrot sticks were in ample supply and the Diet Cokes were flowing—all free of charge. My definition of heaven!
  

• Because first class has its own check-in, I breezed through security and had time to lounge for a bit in the club until my flight boarded. Of course the first class passengers get on the plane first, which was good because my flight was packed. Once I got on the plane, I found my window seat right up front. I knew it was going to be comfortable (it fully reclined) but I was still surprised by just how roomy it was. Even with my legs fully stretched out my toes couldn’t reach the seat in front of me!
  

• My flight was two hours delayed getting off the ground, and the person sitting next to me struck up a conversation. He turned out to be such an interesting character we kept on chatting straight through dinner until we both fell asleep. During our 4 hour chat I learned Dan is a native New Yorker who went to London for a two year assignment.... and decided to stay for another 20! I took this as a very good omen. Dan gave me fantastic suggestions of things to do and places to see, all things you're not likely to find in the Fodors guide. The hours disappeared while we talked, and before I knew it we had landed in London.