About freshcuppachaos

Embracing chaos on a daily basis for the last five years.

Half Done is Well Begun

Posted on April 30, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

This is the Bratislava of postcards…

… and this is the Bratislava of my run.

I know, I know… Mary Poppins said it the other way ’round: “Well begun is half done.” But then, she wasn’t out running half marathons, was she? I mean, living in pre-sufferage times, wearing those shoes and corsets, and carrying that amazing umbrella and overnight case… not conducive to recreational running, right? But I have been running– sans corset and heeled boots, much less umbrella. The Bratislava half marathon is done, and running– for me– is not over, but simply well begun.

Warning: the rest of this post contains explicit running talk… do not read if you are sensitive– or get bored to tears by– this topic! Plus, it’s really, really loooong– almost like a half-marathon! A Fresh Cuppa Chaos will return soon with its usual coffee-swilling fare!

Sunday, March 24 had long loomed on my iCal as the date marked, “Bratislava??” The question marks really say it all: I didn’t commit to the trip until February, and even then I never bothered to remove the question marks from the calendar. You see, it was a half-marathon destination trip for the running group I had sort-of joined in the Fall. And by “sort of,” I mean, I was a little surprised myself every time I showed up to run with them; and I was, frankly, astonished when we started racking up serious mileage. And then one cold, cold day, I found myself lined up to start a race in an East European city– Whaaat?

Starting line… not everyone was as nervous as I was!

I won’t say it was a piece of cake– I had to push through it all the way. We started off at a faster pace than we’d done before. I ran with too much gear, and mismanaged it, wearing too many layers to remove while running, and overstuffing my little camelback pack after an impulsive, starting line decision to carry rather than to jettison the outer layers. After about 2k, I was ready to shed my outer jacket, but I had to struggle with the pack and the jacket and the whole kit– and running about a minute/mile faster than our normal pace, juggling everything kind of put me in a bad place. Our pace group of about 10 women stuck together, and some of us chatted as usual, but I was winded from the start and never fell into the groove that makes running with them so much fun.

But, I was determined to stick with them, because I was terrified of running the whole way without these ladies! I stayed quiet while they waved at cheering spectators, and listened to their chat without contributing much (sorry!). Bit by bit we ticked off the kilometers, running through the cold, windswept streets of the more industrial parts of Bratislava. We hit the time where we were slated to take a gel (basically a tube of gooey, peanut butter-like stuff that provides your body with the fuel to keep going so it doesn’t start burning the wrong kind of tissue), and despite us having done long enough runs to test it out several times, I just wasn’t able to get it down. I sucked down a couple of swallows, tried to drink my water, and found I couldn’t get a decent drink down either. I just kept going.

Eventually, we hit a hill headed up into the old city centre from the postcard (above). Thank goodness for those Hampstead Heath hills I ran through the fall and winter in London, because I actually could bear the uphill portion. And then the downhill portion, running out of the charming part of town, was a quick drop before the road leveled out to another less scenic portion running along a major road parallel to the river. By then we could see a steady stream of faster runners coming back toward us along the river on the last 5k stretch… but it seemed like we would never get to the place where we would make the turn back ourselves! At this point, I did manage to get down the rest of the gel I’d been carrying in my fist for the last 5 miles, and I swallowed a bit of water to help it down, though I knew I should have had more. We finally made the turn back to run along the river on the homestretch and– yikes was it cold and windy along there!

Our group began to spread out along here, and I found myself running with one of our coaches. When a motorcycle escort came through pushing us to one side, Syma encouraged me to pick up the pace so I could finish with the men’s marathon winner, who was coming up on his finish somewhere behind the motorcycle. I so wanted to, but just didn’t have the juice! One of our runners finished her half at the same time as the winner of the women’s full marathon, and there’s a fantastic picture of her raising her arms in victory at the finish line just behind the marathon winner– a Kenyan professional. Wouldn’t that be a fantastic souvenir??? You wouldn’t have to tell anyone that you were running the half…

Cold, tired, slightly miserable… but I did it!

Anyway, I did finish slightly ahead of the pace goal we’d set (2:19, and the goal had been 2:20-2:25). Though it wasn’t pretty, and I didn’t run the race feeling happy and triumphant, I did keep putting one foot in front of the other! I’m not ashamed to admit that I had a little moment to myself after the finish chute (when I was actually quite glad I’d stuffed those old yoga pants in my pack, because it was FREEZING!). I sat down on a bench to slip the pants over my shoes and broke into private tears because I had just never, ever, expected to do a run like that. It was really quite a feeling– and I would have to say that doing something hard and unexpected and out of your comfort zone is a very good thing to do if you possibly can as you get a bit older. It reminds you that there’s still so much ahead of you…

Which, I guess, is why I registered for the Windsor half-marathon in September.

>>>>><<<<<

I find I can’t end this running-related post without at least acknowledging the awful events at the Boston Marathon. That something so life-affirming could be attacked in such a twisted way is tragic. Even at a minor race on a cold day in Eastern Europe, the mood was excited and happy; and the finish line was a place to celebrate. The finish line should always be a place of celebration. That anyone would seek to steal that is just completely and utterly senseless. My heart goes out to the families of those whose race ended that day, as well as to those who didn’t finish that race and maybe won’t get the chance again. But runners around the world– some of them, at least– will carry them in their hearts the next time they cross a finish line. I know this is true: I went out to watch the London Marathon the week after Boston, and I saw the black ribbons worn by the runners, as well as the occasional Boston t-shirt and Red Sox hat rounding the bend into the final stretch from Embankment at Big Ben. There may not always be the outward signs, but runners will remember their own.

Finally. Right now, right here would be the appropriate place to say a couple of thank you’s (like I’m receiving an Academy Award or something– geez! How obnoxious am I?)

There’s really no way to say a big enough thank you to Paula Mitchell for this gift of running, which is really about way more than just running, it turns out. Paula’s exceptional passion for helping women learn to run is simply inspiring. Without her, most of our group would never have had this experience. And Syma, whom I mentioned earlier, saw that I was struggling that day, and she almost personally escorted me through the race– thank you, Syma, for ensuring that I saw the day through, and for pushing our group to exceed our own expectations!

Patricia and Kelli transporting the “Sketchy Box” to Bratislava:)

My Bratislava roommate, Heidi, offered just the nudge I needed to finally register for the race when she asked if I wanted to room with her– thanks, Heidi! Running buddies Jody, Catherine, Carmine, Charlotte, Niyani, Ariadne, Mary, Julie, and many more– thank you for making the whole endeavor so much fun! And most certainly not least, Kelli… thank you for encouraging me to try it, introducing me to Paula, seeing that she had my e-mail address, and being such an inspiration, along with Patricia, in all your marathon endeavors. I never wanted to be a runner, but it sure was exciting to cheer you both on!

Never say Never

Posted on March 20, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

Just happened to be running by Big Ben when the clock struck 12… that’s a lot of bongs! I had to turn around at the traffic light and snap a photo.

I admit, I’ve been hesitant to post much about running. As a devoted couch-sitter for the last several years (if not most of my life), I’m sort of allergic to runner’s talk. My eyes glaze over when people start talking about miles logged, or pacing, or running gear. I tune out completely when it comes to races they’ve run. And if they happen to mention “runner’s high” or endorphins, I have always felt secure in my belief that chocolate does the same thing without all the effort. So with apologies to my friends who have the same allergy I just described, I promise this blog is not generally going to run on and on about… running. But that’s what I’m here for today. Sunday is the half-marathon I’ve committed to in Bratislava, so running has ramped up and taken an increasingly large wedge of my time over the last month.

I swore I was not going to fall for the whole running gig– too much time down the drain, and too much wear and tear on my already crickety knees and ankles. But the fact of the matter is that I have been running for nearly six months now. I feel great, and it’s part of my life– so I guess it’s time for me to come out of the closet about it. And now that I’m running all over London, I’m really enjoying that familiarity of city monuments being landmarks on my regular routes. Instead of setting off specifically to see Big Ben, it’s where I turn right and cross the river on one of my runs. Trafalgar Square is a halfway mark– I either turn right and run to Buckingham Palace from there, or I turn left and run up The Strand. Getting to see and know London in this way is yet another unexpected benefit of my very surprising detour into running.

It’s been pretty cold and wet in London recently. One day recently I had a particularly hard time making myself get out there (but surviving that 13-mile run coming up is pretty good incentive, it turns out.) I finally kicked myself out the door, looking fairly ridiculous in my daughter’s running cap– which is a little small for me and tends to pop off the top of my head, despite the efforts of my scrawny ponytail to anchor it in place. I like to start with a nice long, downhill incline toward Camden, enjoying the view over London toward the new Shard building. Camden is a busy, edgy area with street markets and lots of vendors selling everything from tacos and donuts to bustiers and big boots. I always have to dodge around people meandering the sidewalks, but it never bothers me much at the beginning of the run, when I’m still fresh.

On that day, I had a moment’s eye contact with the guy wearing a sandwich board advertising one of the many tattoo parlors– we silently agreed I wasn’t part of his target demographic. The lady of a certain age in running tights and a turquoise jacket doesn’t usually stop off for a quick piercing or tattoo (sweaty eyebrows are a piercing disaster waiting to happen! And please let’s not talk about navel piercings…) My running app calls out one mile exactly when I cross the canal in Camden– I will miss that feature when we move and my run starts from somewhere else.

A snap of Singin' in the Rain theatre while I was waiting at a light. Should I admit that right after this picture I accidently snapped about fourteen really unflattering shots of my chin as I ran? They've all been deleted, thank you very much!

A snap of Singin’ in the Rain theatre while I was waiting at a light. Should I admit that right after this picture I accidentally snapped about fourteen really unflattering shots of my chin as I ran? They’ve all been deleted, thank you very much!

This first half of my run after Camden is basically right above the Northern Line on the tube: Mornington Crescent, Warren Street, Goodge Street, all pretty nondescript until I run smack into Tottenham Court Road tube construction. After a little detour around the fences, I’m suddenly in theatre-land, running right past Leicester Square. It gets a little crowded in this area, but not too bad considering how dense the crowd is just on the other side of Charing Cross Road, on the pedestrian area where they sell all the last-minute theatre tickets. (Laura, we bought tickets there! And Sandy, I think that’s where you buy them). And then, who knew it was so close to Trafalgar Square? I never did until I started doing these runs. The Church of St Martin-in-the-Fields is just up the street and across from Trafalgar Square, with its tourists, its steps, its fountain and column and lions. Today there were lots of the guys who pose as statues (taking gratuities from tourists to get their photos taken with them), as well as a kilted bagpipe player in full blow. I had to dodge behind a gold pirate “statue” wearing a Captain Sparrow wig and Ray-bans, as a class of young kids spotted and mobbed him. You may remember I have a theory that Johnny Depp gets bored and goes to Covent Garden in full Jack Sparrow kit… but this was definitely not him.

Anyway, I bounced on through the crowd– then stopped on the other side of the square and looked back over my shoulder. This is what I saw…

And this, in the other direction. Then I ran past the Canadian embassy (and the Texas Embassy, which is a cantina located in the former White Star Shipping offices– you remember, the Titanic people? The actual Texas Embassy from 1836-1845 was not too far from here, though.) From there into St. James Park, across in front of Buckingham Palace (where I unintentionally photo-bombed a handful of tourist snaps– really, it’s impossible to stay out of all of them!), and on to Hyde Park. Then a tube ride home from Hyde Park Corner, because I was out of time before the kids were due home. And because I had already been running for over an hour.

So maybe you can see how running has become a pretty fun pastime for me. With all the things to visit, I barely notice that I’m actually running! And that’s just when I’m alone. At least once a week I run with about thirty women who are also training as beginners for the Bratislava half-marathon. We meet up in the morning and take to the streets together– most recently running through the city and out to Kew Gardens, a final 11-mile trek before our trip. I wish I’d snapped a photo, but I was too busy running and chatting! There will be at least one more post about running– the one where I tell you about the fantastic group I run with, and how I ended up doing this thing that I said I would never do.

Never say never, right?

Of Falcons and Field Trips

Posted on March 8, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

A real, live falcon perched outside the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square– right in the middle of London! One of those moments it did pay to look up at what everyone was staring at.

Just when you thought you had escaped my endless narratives of what we were doing while I was on my unscheduled blogging sabbatical… well, you still have time to click away from the page… I’ve been reminded I never finished the five months part of the deal, though I did give you the five days. So tonight I give you: January! (cue trumpet trills, or at least kazoo calls).

The week the littles went back to school, I got run over by some virus. I was down hard for a day, and then really weak and tired. But Will and Chloe were here, and I wasn’t going to waste our precious time recuperating in bed. So once the fever passed, I dragged myself out to spend time with them– doing pub lunches, making a visit to the National Gallery, and taking a boat trip to Greenwich.

The day we went to the gallery we noticed a bunch of people pointing their cameras up toward the building facade. Chloe and I rolled our eyes at each other, not understanding the compulsion that makes people take pictures of random things that “might be important landmarks.” Not that anyone elected us the culture jury, mind you. But then we looked up. And we saw what they were photographing– a falcon come to perch near the front entrance. Upon further observation, we saw that there were actually two or three flying in Trafalgar Square, and they were accompanied by handlers, to whom they returned periodically– perching on their arms, just like the falconers you might see in a King Arthur movie! Pretty amazing.

Inside the museum, Chloe was pleased to note that she had absorbed something from her Italian Renaissance Art class in the fall (yes, liberal arts degree). And Will was happy to admire the Turner landscapes, though I think he still prefers Bierstadt’s American West landscapes. As for me, any day I get to visit the Leonardo da Vinci cartoon is a good day. (No, it’s not animated and it doesn’t have a zany laugh track playing in the background).

On the water… (river photos from a 3rd grade field trip in the fall).

Unfortunately, Chloe fell hard to whatever bug we had going (I swear it wasn’t my fault!), so she couldn’t join us the day we took the boat up the River Thames. It was cold and slightly miserable that day, but fortunately we were sitting inside. If you’ve never done this little trip, it’s well worth it– London looks different from the river. And it’s so mind-boggling, because the river twists and turns so much you can hardly figure out where you are– it seems like St Paul’s Cathedral ought to be somewhere up ahead on your left and you suddenly see the dome off on your right.

Cruising past the HMS Belfast– if you’re very lucky, the officers on deck will wave, as they did that day to the 3rd graders!

Depending on where you board, you see the Houses of Parliament, the London Eye, the Globe, the HMS Belfast, the Tower of London… well, most everything! The transit boat is much faster, but the slightly slower tourist boats give you a narrative with all kinds of landmarks and interesting bits of London history thrown in (like pirate executions, famous riverside pubs, histories of the many bridges, and what that building-that-looks-so-familiar-but-you-have-no-idea-what-it-is actually is). Both kind of boats leave from Westminster and Embankment, and the people in the ticket office at Embankment are really helpful. Also, if you have an Oyster card, you can show it to get 30% off your ticket…

Looking back at the Shard after coming under the Tower Bridge.

Our destination by boat was Greenwich, which is the maritime town that hosts the world’s Meridian Line and Greenwich Mean Time (GMT? the zero point for time zones around the world). It also happens to be a charming place with lots to see– The Old Royal Naval College (designed by Christopher Wren), the Royal Observatory, and The Cutty Sark (fastest clipper ship of its time). Of course, there’s also a Byron Burger restaurant with its siren song right on the pier when you step off the boat in a January chill. That was our first stop, as Will and I couldn’t resist having a ‘proper burger,’ as their slogan calls it.

The hull of The Cutty Sark-- the new museum design lets you admire the shapely bones of the fastest clipper in history. It's a very cool space-- also with a masthead collection and a coffee shop.

The hull of The Cutty Sark– the new museum design lets you admire the shapely bones of the fastest clipper in history– while sipping an espresso from the cafe.

Then it was on to The Cutty Sark, which has a colorful history as a China tea trade ship beginning in the 1860s, then a cargo-hustling ship (with mutinies and murders, even!) once steam ships took over the tea trade, an Australian wool-trade ship, and finally a Portuguese cargo ship. Eventually she was brought back to England and finally placed in dry dock in Greenwich as a museum in tribute to that era of shipping history, as well as to the ship’s speed record-breaking past. A fire on board nearly destroyed her, but led to a major preservation effort that encased her hull in molten gold. Okay, it’s not molten gold, but it looks like it, and I got your attention back after my humdrum history lesson, right? Anyway, it’s a good example of how to turn a really bad thing into something good. We went to the museum when the kids were little, before the fire, and it has seen a serious upgrade, with the encased hull becoming a major feature rather than a tragic ending for the ship.

From there we trudged through the town and up a hill to the Royal Observatory, going through Greenwich Park, which was still all torn up and muddy from the Olympic Equestrian events held there last summer. Did you catch any of those? I did not, but what a cool setting for them: between the Royal Observatory and the Old Royal Naval College.

The Old Royal Naval College, with the remains of the Olympic Equestrian venue in the foreground, and Canary Wharf (London’s newer financial district) in the background.

At the top of a very steep hill is the Royal Observatory. It’s hard to imagine any place in London being a good spot for observing a clear view of the night skies, but I suppose this is as good as it gets. The clouds do part occasionally. At any rate, they were able to work out from here a randomly inserted vertical line across the globe to divide East from West– the Prime Meridian, Zero Degrees Longitude. Yes. There is an actual line. You can just see it painted down the window in the photo at left, and it runs across the courtyard then stops at a sculpture that points off in the continuation of the line, much like the old arrows in geometry that tell you the line goes on and on forever. We also enjoyed climbing up into the dome of the old observatory and seeing the massive apparatus and its housing.

Shall we just say the telescope is ‘bigger than a breadbox’?

I wish I could remember specs, or even how it compares to other telescopes around the world, but those facts just don’t stay in my head. (And I’m sure you’re glad of that, as this whole post has been a bit schoolmarmish). But fear not… I’m nearing the end of the field trip. We did stop in a museum at the Old Royal Naval College on the way back to our Thames boat, and we caught a very nice Ansel Adams exhibit. Definitely on target with the East meets West theme, to see all those gorgeous photographs of the American West. As if he needed any encouragement, I do think it made Will more ready than ever to get back to his Colorado home– where he would be headed within a few days. Actually, it made me want to go there, too!

Before the big kids left, we took the opportunity to celebrate Claire’s 9th birthday. Our special guest was Marblehead friend Madeline, who was on her way back to university in Scotland. The girls probably didn’t like me snapping their photo on the tube, but it was a good thing I did, as I don’t have any other pictures of them together this time. On Saturday, Claire took a birthday entourage including Mom, big sister Chloe and friend Madeline to the salon to get her ears pierced. But by Sunday noon, all the big kids were gone and we were left feeling a bit desolate again.

Hampstead Heath in snow.

Because I just can’t end this on that sad sentence, I will slip in a photo of late January snowfall in London. Quite the big doings here. Just a week before the snowfall, I had been kind of making fun of the little shop down the street with the enormous pile of plastic sleds (or sledges, as they call them here) for sale. It really doesn’t snow much in London, you know. Day of the snowfall? Yes, I was queued up with half a dozen other locals to buy a sled or two. Sometimes a gamble pays off, eh?

This one is for the grandparents!

That, my friends, was January. February’s Harry Potter studios and the London Eye, plus running tours and whatever else, will have to wait for another post– or maybe we will just Spring Ahead to March. On that note, sorry about your lost hour this weekend, U.S. friends– now I will be even more confused about the time differences separating us. Perhaps I should return to Greenwich for a recalibration…

Houses of Glass

Posted on March 5, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

The Palm House at Kew Gardens– definitely not a place to throw rocks.

People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw rocks.

This piece of age-old wisdom came to mind last week while I was contemplating the fingerprints, crumbs, and sticky things smeared on our glass-topped kitchen table. As I wiped, dried and buffed the tabletop for something like the 443rd time this week, I thought, “People who live in glass houses probably shouldn’t give their children crumpets with jam for breakfast, either.” (Unless they are lucky enough to have live-in window cleaners… which, come to think of it, probably should come included if one is building or buying a glass house).

And really, is there anything people who live in glass houses should throw? Certainly not tomatoes or water balloons. Maybe pillows? Or used tissues, or paper wads (not spit wads!)? Having wandered down that line of thought, I thought better of taking the next turning. Just think of all the things people who live in glass houses shouldn’t do!

Our house… for just a bit longer.

I’ve been a little preoccupied with houses– mostly not glass ones– since we recently woke up in the middle of an episode of Househunters International. (Minus the whining about how we really need a 3-car garage, a “bonus” room, and a pool…) Our landlord is moving back into this flat, which he designed and renovated several years back. Despite any complaints I may have had in the past year about that slight problem with our flat being a float… there’s nothing like being told you will have to move out to make you think that you’ve been living in the perfect situation. I will miss my beautiful kitchen and our luxurious bathroom, if not the perennially reappearing water spots and occasional dripping walls in Quinn and Chloe’s rooms.

Chloe’s room. I’m having a hard time with that aspect of the move: with breaking up the last household one of the big kids actually lived in full-time. Packing up our home in Marblehead and moving overseas right when Will graduated made the end of a family era that much more undeniable. Packing up this place we’ve worked so hard to make our new home means that our next abode will hold no shared memories with Will or Chloe living there. It doesn’t help that when you go to college orientation they say, “You should keep your child’s room as it is for a while, so they feel like they still have a place.” OK. Thanks for that advice, but apparently we live in a different universe from most parents dropping their kids at university. Clearly I haven’t yet acquired that famous British “stiff upper lip.”

A couple of things I have acquired over the last two weeks are squinting, red eyes and hunched shoulders, from huddling over every real estate website and database in the city. A person could spend days, 24/7, looking at all the listings, exploring the floor plans and following the google street views to see what the neighborhoods look like… What? No, don’t be silly! I said “a person could“… of course that’s not what I’ve been doing all week! The piles of laundry downstairs? The dishes in the sink? That neglected, hungry look in my children’s eyes? Nothing to do with rightmove.co.uk. Just because I have now memorized the north London streets almost well enough to take the taxi drivers’ exam? Nothing to do with Foxton’s real estate website…

When we moved to London for the first time, we hired a relocation firm to assist in the housing search. It just made sense, as we weren’t on the ground in the city, and we needed to find something in the short window we had carved out for a house-finding trip. They had a driver and an agent ready for us, as well as a list of about 20 properties that more or less matched what we had described to them. We went out and saw them all in one day– which was like a dream come true if you like that sort of thing (which I emphatically do) and probably a nightmare if you don’t. After the last viewing our guide and new best friend, Ryan, took us to a pub and the three of us huddled over beverages and talked through our options. He got on the phone and made offers and we negotiated in real time. By the time we parted for the night we were pretty sure we had secured our place.

Our initial choice was a townhouse with a newly redone, beautiful, modern interior– in fact, it had glass railings on all the three floors of staircases… so practically a glass house! It also had black wooden flooring, a sundeck cut into the middle of the master bedroom suite, and it was about 40 steps from Primrose Hill park. But the two bedrooms the younger children would have been in were on the ground floor near the entrance, while we were two floors up from there. And there were no shops or restaurants within a 5-10 minute walk. The aesthetics appealed to us so much that we made the offer, negotiated a bit, and then went back to the hotel for the night thinking that was probably going to be the one. But the next morning, Clay and I both woke up feeling like it was the wrong choice. Luckily for us, the owners had not agreed to our offer, so we were able to walk away from the deal. Literally. Will and I took the half-mile walk up to the neighborhood of our second choice flat while Clay went to his office for a few hours.

What our exploratory walk revealed… coffee shop, wine shop, gelato shop, coffee shop, gourmet burger place, family restaurant, upscale pizza place. All within a block of the prospective flat! Yep… that’s what we now have to leave behind…

Our second choice flat was further from the school, and we needed to see if I could live with the neighborhood and the commute. The flat hadn’t shown very well, as it was overfilled to stuffed with a French family, their nanny, and enough furniture for at least an 8-bedroom chateau. One of the little girls in the family followed us around while we toured and fed us with bits of information like, “Daddy likes to sleep in the bathtub!” (I found it very amusing, but I bet the parents would have thought otherwise.) But I had seen this property online with pictures from less cluttered days, and I knew the floorplan would work for our family. What Will and I also discovered when we walked up to the neighborhood that fateful June morning, was that it was in a great street (see photo), with the Tube, great shops and family restaurants, groceries, bakeries, and even a movie theater all within two blocks of our front door. Second choice quickly flip-flopped to first choice! (And ultimately, knowing that the bathtub would work as an extra bed in a pinch may have been the factor that swayed us…)

That was our Househunters International, Round 1 experience. This time around we really can’t justify a relocation firm. We live here now. We know what neighborhoods we like. We know basically what we should be able to get with our budget. It’s really just a matter of vigilance, patience, and nerves. All we have to do is spot the perfect place when it comes on the market, sometime in the next 4-6 weeks, and then hope that we can swoop in and be the first and/or best offer. How hard can it be? (That’s for any Top Gear fans out there… “How hard can it be?” ALWAYS means there’s trouble ahead!)

I promise to be back very soon with an update. In the meantime, no spoilers in the comments, please!

Roman Holidays, Part II

Gallery

Posted on February 15, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

This gallery contains 13 photos.

(see what I did there? Roman numerals?) Our home during this visit was an apartment near the Piazza del Popolo, so also near the Borghese Gardens and the Spanish Steps– two areas we barely explored in our previous visit to … Continue reading →

Roman Holidays, Part I

Posted on February 14, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

St. Peter’s at sunset from the Borghese Gardens.

So you’ve heard about the Pope stepping down, and the Vatican subsequently being struck by lightning? Super weird, huh?

No lightning when we were there in December. It was business as usual, except that they were setting up St. Peter’s Square for New Year’s Mass. Sorry, by the way, for the trite blog title. Such a toss-up: use the obvious and be a cliche? or skip it and wonder if people think it didn’t occur to you?

I snapped this when I noticed the sun illuminating the fountain-- I love that the Sister walked through as I snapped.

I snapped this with my iPhone when I noticed the sun illuminating the fountain– I love that the Sister walked through as I snapped.

It should have been obvious to us that the Vatican would draw a crowd at Christmas. It was certainly obvious the minute we stepped into the Vatican Museums. It was a little less magical than the first time we went there, when we went through with a guide who skillfully led us through ahead of the crowds and landed us in the Sistine Chapel before anyone else got there. Twenty minutes alone with Michaelangelo… that was something. This time we went on our own and, consequently, had to contend with the huge tour groups and the swell of people all pressing on to the same destination: that amazing painted chapel. It’s 500 years old now, and I’ve read that they may have to start limiting the number of viewers, as all our breath and sweat are beginning to ruin the frescoes.

As we left the museum, we found ourselves exiting via a spiral staircase we hadn’t seen on our previous visit (because that fancy guide took us round by some private staircase used by people who have an audience with the Pope!). My family patiently allowed me to send them ahead and make them pose for a photo on the spirals across from me. They even stayed still long enough for me to zoom in so you can actually see them (but not the staircase– funny how that works– and I chose the picture that shows the staircase better). But they weren’t patient enough to wait around while I tried to get a good shot of the tall Christmas tree in the center of the spiral. I never did manage a great shot, but I did get a couple of angles to help me remember what struck me about the scene. With my lack of technical skills in photography, that is usually what I have to aim for!

There are just a few other things to see in Rome, of course…

I think this photo credit actually goes to Clay.

We did hook into a tour for the Coliseum this time, because waiting in line on our own would have taken hours. We listened and learned for a bit, and then went our own way after a while on the inside. What a pleasure it was to turn our pasty winter faces to the sun for a few moments. I could claim that we were imagining the scenes of old.

But I might as well admit we were mostly soaking in some Vitamin D. Although, I’m not sure what Quinn is doing in the picture– possibly shining Will’s Timberlands? The littles were pretty into the Coliseum. We read up on it– even the gory parts– in the “Not for Parents” Rome book they got for Christmas, and Quinn brought home one of those mini models. I confess, one of us taught the 7-year-old to deliver the line, “Are you not entertained?” with exactly the right inflection while we were in the Coliseum. I fear I will insult your cultural intelligence, but I can’t resist throwing out the question… Can you name the movie?

A favorite view from within the Coliseum.

A favorite view into the Coliseum.

And then there is the Forum.

There’s so much more of Rome to tell. Come back for another if you have the patience, and I’ll share some stories and photos of just being out and about in the city. In the meantime, Arrivederci!

Lines on the Fifth Day of a Multi-day Challenge

Aside

I was working on a draft for Day Five of the challenge, when I found a crumpled poem on my kitchen floor. Did one of you leave this??

This girl seems rather self-obsessed
to never give her blog a rest.
She thinks we’ve nothing else to do
But read whatever she chooses to spew!
She walked away for quite some time,
but now she thinks she’s in her prime.
We wish that she would lose her pen,
so she’d stop telling us where she’s been!
Reminds me of a poem I read
about the cow and how it’s dead,
And all because this Terrence bloke
He spoke and spoke and spoke and spoke

“…but oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
it gives a chap the bellyache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead.
It sleeps well, the horned head:
And we poor lads ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time…”
(from “Terrence this is Stupid Stuff,” by A.E. Houseman)

Please, Chaos girl just make it stop,
Give us a night without your slop.
You can give your commitment a pass
if we can only have some pax!

Well, I really can’t argue with that, can I? Tomorrow I’ll get on with the catchup blogging… Hey! Where are you all going? Will you be back? I’ve got this great kebab story to tell…Wait! Really? OK, then, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?… Guys?

Cafe Cortado: A Valentine

Posted on February 11, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

Breakfast in Spain. Sometimes you have to make the tough choices: like whether to have the coffee or the sangria… (note how they’re both so ready at hand in the Mercado in the morning!).

Cafe Cortado: two words to make a coffee lover’s heart leap. Clay and I discovered this perfect, perfect little espresso drink for ourselves many years ago in a hotel on the coast of Spain. It was love at first encounter. We had the room service waiter bring us a second round, and then a third! (And then we ran caffeine-induced laps around the marble lobby… no, not really).

November 28 marked a milestone wedding anniversary for us. The age-old question has a little twist in our family: Instead of “What do you get for the man who has everything?” it’s “Where do you take the guy who travels everywhere?” Somewhere with good coffee, of course! But, hmmm. Italy has good coffee. So does France, and Spain, as I’ve just said. And Scandinavia and Belgium and Turkey– and Ireland, if you count Irish Coffee. So maybe coffee isn’t such a good way to decide. Just a thought. Though I do much of the actual travel planning for us, I never decide all on my own where we are staying, much less where we are going.

Here’s how it normally works. We talk about three or four places we might go on the next break, then I jump online and start looking for places to stay and deals to be had in each. I look and look. And I look. And then, when I’ve narrowed it down to a list of something like forty-three possible accommodations in half a dozen different cities, I start asking Clay (or anyone else who will listen) for their opinions. I do this for as long as they will listen, and then when they walk away, I start looking at new ones. By this time, they are all blending together anyway. Now, Clay hates dithering, and I’m pretty sure he also hates looking at lodgings online– though it could just be that, with me, looking at anything online tends to turn into dithering. Maybe I am sort of obsessive about reading the reviews. But, we always get to a decision. Eventually.

This time I was on my own, though. It was relatively easy to settle on Madrid, because– well, cafe cortado! No, not really. Actually, it was one place Clay hadn’t been yet in all his work travels. Also, I wanted to surprise him with tickets to a Real Madrid football (soccer) game. At the time I booked, tickets weren’t available yet, nor was the time of the game definite– in fact, they had not yet determined if the game would be Saturday or Sunday that weekend! And it’s not like I was planning months in advance– haven’t I already conveyed that I’m not that organized? But I think those La Liga people are even worse: three weeks ahead of time, they don’t even know what day the game will be played! I booked our return flight for as late as possible on Sunday, hoping I would be able to pull off the surprise– but in the end the game was set for Sunday night and we weren’t able to make it.

Looking over the Gran Via– busy shopping street in Madrid.

Never mind. We consoled ourselves quite well with food and drink. Oh, the tapas! Fried artichokes to die for… and the Iberico ham!… and manchego… and I can’t even remember it all! I wish I had taken pictures of the food, as Will likes to do (before and after pics, in his case!). We were given a lovely room with two balconies looking out over the Gran Via. We could just cross the street and be instantly in the warren of little streets that make up part of the centro and huertas barrios– which is where people go for everything from protest marches (some big one about hospital workers was going on while we were there) to live music at night (the jazz kind more than the dance kind). We spent a lot of time walking those streets, soaking up the vibe, trying restaurants and tapas bars, and simply crossing through on our way to the museums and the royal palace.

One of the peaceful streets curving off of a busy plaza.

One moment you could be in a pretty, peaceful looking street with lots of old world character, and the next moment you stepped out into a Plaza, where vendors were hawking their cheap souvenirs and street performers– the kind who try to get you to pay to take your picture with them– were using their little voice changing toy to make themselves sound like crying babies. Yes, it could be an assault on the senses! The most famous plaza, the Plaza Mayor, was half taken over by a Christmas market. This was disappointing, as the #1 must-do in the Madrid book we bought was to “watch the passing parade in Plaza Mayor.” The accompanying picture in the book shows cafe seating all around the Plaza and people strolling along in the sun. Oh well, next time! This time we got to see market stalls full of crazy hats and cheap toys– which I suppose is just another part of the parade, right? And there wasn’t a lot of sun, but then it didn’t rain too terribly much either.

Part of the Plaza Mayor under Christmas siege.

Sometimes we saw things we didn’t really understand– small wonder, I guess, since neither of us really speaks Spanish. We were walking along a pedestrian street one morning when this band of singers and strummers in their Zorro-esque dress came by. By the time I fished my phone out for the picture, there was no time to film the musical part– I could only snap a photo. It seems like there is always a procession of one sort or another going through the streets in Spain. I really ought to learn Spanish…

Along these same lines of misunderstanding, we found ourselves speaking French with a palace security guard who was trying to explain to us that our ticket did not allow us to be in the rooms we were walking through. She was very kind and all, it was just a little surreal to find that we could communicate in French, though she didn’t speak English and we didn’t have enough Spanish.

I could be misidentifying this, but I think it is a view from the side of the Royal Palace.

This conversation with the security guard came about because we had skipped by the ‘weird’ miniature grotto or nativity that people were queuing to see in an anteroom to the Palace tour. It was enormous, and people seemed to think it was wonderful– but we skated by so we could see the Palace rooms we’d queued to view. Ironic then, that the free ticket the lady had handed us as we filed in the palace after patiently waiting in line for some time, was really only for the grotto! How surprised was I to later read in the in-flight magazine on our way home that this grotto was an amazing, not-to-be-missed Madrid at Christmas experience. Oops.

We did go to Museo del Prado to see the Goya and Velazquez paintings and a host of others. El Greco blew us away, though. Room after room of stiff, subdued, medieval and renaissance religious art, and you walk into a room filled with El Greco, and it’s so vibrant and different you think you’ve hit the modern wing of the museum, and then you look at the inscriptions and realize that he, too, painted in the 16th century! And you wonder how some people can be so visionary that they see beyond, and dare beyond, all conventions of their time. What must that be like? Could you walk around in a cloud of inspiration, or would it just become incredibly frustrating to deal with a world that can’t see what you see?

On that note of high culture, I’m going to segue to haute couture. How could I NOT take a picture of the Manolo Blahnik shop– for Chloe if nothing else!

A museum of beautiful (possibly not wearable) shoes! Look at the pom-pons in the lower left front…

And I’ll close with just a few more shots from the streets of Madrid…

Giant gecko made entirely of CDs!

Inside the Mercado San Miguel.

Pretty sure this store has one of everything… in the world! Question is, does he know where to find it?

Universal!

A little snack at the Mercado. Are those olives gorgeous?

Lest I forget to say it, we had a wonderful weekend exploring Madrid together.

The cafe cortados were marvelous, but the company was even better!

An “uncle”– with advice and a warning

Aside

Alright, Uncle. Uncle!! I’m falling asleep here five or more time zones ahead of you. I hereby rename this blog series “Five Months in Six Days.”

Thanks for understanding, friends. So happy to be back in the freshcuppachaos cafe with you! I’ll be here early tomorrow, and I’ll save you a seat at the big round table by the window…

In the meantime, two signs from various outings in London this fall: advice, and a warning. Can you guess where each was posted?

Having a Look About

Posted on February 9, 2013 by freshcuppachaos

Covent Garden gets its Christmas on!

It’s Day Two of the “Five Months in Five Days” series, and we’ve arrived at… drumroll…November!

What’s that? No suspense? No surprise? You guessed that was coming? Hmmm. Why was there no spoiler alert??

One of my favorite kinds of street entertainment!

Jump Start the Holidays

One Saturday night early in November, we took a little outing down to Covent Garden. What a nice surprise to find the halls all decked and the crowds feeling festive! I usually hate it when any season starts before its time. Don’t show me Easter candy before Valentine’s Day; and please keep the red foil hearts in the warehouse until after New Year’s Eve! But then, they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in the U.K., so what’s to keep us from starting the Christmas season in early November here? In any case, the early Christmas vibe at Covent Garden that night was working. A string ensemble entertained on the lower level– dancing around, spinning their cellos, and rocking the garden with the rockin-est of classical music– while a crowd watched from the tables nearby and the steps and balconies above.

This year’s decor featured spinning disco balls that cast snowflake lights all around the halls. It was like some well done mashup of a party and a stage production– I kept feeling that tickle of anticipation I always feel when the Nutcracker Overture starts and the curtain comes up to all the people going to Clara’s family Christmas party. (Does anyone else love that scene and get that same feeling??) I snapped a thousand pictures on my iPhone– very few of which actually turned out at all. We peeked at the macarons in Laduree, I ogled the soaps carved so beautifully into flowers at one of the stalls, and Clay let the kids pick candy at the ‘penny candy’ stall. I think we even went upstairs in Pollock’s Toy Shop to see the puppet theatres and other old-fashioned toys. When we’d soaked in the atmosphere for a while, we stopped for mulled wine and hot chocolate at one of the outdoor cafes with those tableside heaters that look like torches inside glass tubes? It was too cozy! (In fact, it was probably was a little too cozy for the 20-somethings on a date at the table approximately 30 millimeters from ours… but it didn’t bother us!)

About Town

The Horseshoe pub is always on the list of stops.

We had a full house for Thanksgiving, with Will and Chloe home for the holiday. Since they had already traveled several time zones to be with us for a few days, we decided to stay in London. We managed to procure a nice, farm-raised turkey– for something like an elbow and an ankle, if not an arm and a leg, as most of the British turkeys were apparently not on the market until December. But we celebrated a proper American Thanksgiving, right down to the pumpkin pie. And we had American guests– two of Chloe’s friends (one ASL, one Marblehead) who were in London without their families. I was so grateful to have the whole family together this year. We packed a lot into those days. Here’s a look…

View across the courtyard at The British Museum.

I love this bookshop across the street from the British Museum. Can anyone place the name Jarndyce? Leave your response in the comments! (no fair googling it!)

My favorite umbrella shop. Yes, they have whole shops devoted to umbrellas in London.

Quinn was so happy to have the Bigs home… we ALL were!

Before Will went back to the U.S., Quinn decided he really wanted a #4 buzz cut like his big brother.

And a Few Other Things

Also in November? Mudlarking– digging around in the muddy banks of the Thames at low tide for whatever you can find! It’s a time-honored tradition– and a way that some folks made their living back in Victorian times. Claire’s class had a field trip to see what it was like, as well as to study the ecology of the Thames. One kid dug up the sole of a hob-nailed boot– perhaps not valuable, but certainly old and interesting. But mostly we did a lot of fishing around in tidal pools for freshwater shrimp and other “treasures” of the biological kind. The group I was chaperoning collected a great Chinese Mitten Crab specimen– the guide looked it over and was excited to show the kids because he was obviously a ‘warrior’ who had survived a lot as he was missing some of his limbs. Trouble is, while the children were mucking in pools down the way from our bucket, our little crab became a seagull’s lunch. We’d left the poor old warrior out like a buffet for the birds! Yes. I felt bad about that. What? You think I should have let the kids go play near the river while I stayed close to the crab? Still, it was fun to be down on the Thames, and the kids loved it, which is always so great to watch. Coincidently, not long after the trip I picked up a book called DODGER, by Terry Pratchett. It was a treat to read, with all kinds of Victorian characters– real and fictional– springing to life. And yes, there was mudlarking in it.

We closed out the month with another bit of Christmas: a carol singalong at the church of St Martin in the Fields. It’s one of my very favorite places in London to hear live performances, and it was really special to hear all those English carols we’ve listened to from the Chieftains for many years. Last year Clay and I went to hear the Messiah by candlelight there. This year we went to the sing along with the Littles instead (because they were begging me to take them out caroling, and I simply had to find a different way to scratch that itch!) The church is in Trafalgar Square, so it’s also a great place to go for a nice little hit of London spirit– what with the National Gallery, the Nelson column, the fountains and the lion statues, all the theaters and all the diverse London people. It’s also a beautiful, beautiful place. I love the window behind the altar (look closely and pick out the cross and the Light in the center). It was created and installed after the old, traditional stained glass window was shattered during the Blitz.

The sanctuary of St Martin in the Fields during a Christmas concert.

The older I get, the more I want to pause at this time and breathe. And call it cultural conditioning if you want, but most of all I want to be thankful. November seems like a very good time for that.

A fresh cuppa chaos

a friendly shot of conversation, bring your own coffee

Author Archives: freshcuppachaos

About freshcuppachaos

Half Done is Well Begun

Never say Never

Of Falcons and Field Trips

Houses of Glass

Roman Holidays, Part II

Gallery

Roman Holidays, Part I

Lines on the Fifth Day of a Multi-day Challenge

Aside

Cafe Cortado: A Valentine

An “uncle”– with advice and a warning

Aside

Having a Look About

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