Sorry!

As a guest author on the Kirchner blog, I will do my best to relate my point of view of their new life in London.  I arrived on a Saturday morning after an overnight flight from Atlanta on British Airways.  As I boarded the plane, I knew I was in for a bit of culture change as the British stewardess looked at my boarding pass and said, “Ah, 26C, Splendid!  Right this way.”  It was not entirely clearly to me what was so splendid about 26C, but I digress.  Heathrow was relatively easy to navigate, and I passed through customs, took the Heathrow express train from the airport, and took the underground (or tube) to Swiss Cottage station, near Ryan and Rachel’s house.  It was nice to visit a country where English was spoken, although the lack of “exit” signs anywhere in the country makes things a bit confusing.    (Ask Ryan to elaborate on this sometime).

Our first order of affairs was to get some food, and some friends of Ryan and Rachel (Mario and Abby) were going to meet us a Borough market.  So we hopped on the tube and took it all the way down to the Southbank, where we were greeted by a busy crowd of Londoners and tourists.  It was a bit difficult to move around, and there was a fair amount of bumping into people, and many shouts of “Sorry!”  As a part of my crash course in British culture, Ryan informed me that when the British say “sorry,” it doesn't necessarily mean that they are sorry, and often can be interpreted as “you deserved it.” 

The busy Borough market on a weekend.

The cheeses and meats were quite amazing, and it put most American farmer’s markets to shame.  It was a bit chilly out, and but we kept warm with a bit of hot mulled cider.  It is not clear to me exactly what is in hot mulled cider, but it is hot, and it is mulled.  One of the more amazing foods on display at the market was the cheese sandwich stand.  Half a wheel of cheese is laid on its side under a heat lamp.  The cheese melts inside the rind (bubbling over), and they slather it over toasted French bread.  The line went around the corner, and they ran out of cheese, but I still have dreams about what it would have tasted like.

Can't you taste the cheese?

We wandered further along the Southbank, making sure to stop for some more hot mulled cider, before using Abby’s smartphone to find the nearest pub (Ryan refused to use his smartphone for some reason).  After deciding that a few pints and hot mulled cider do not a dinner make, we went to Marylebone (the site of Sherlock Holmes’ Baker Street) and got some upscale Indian food.  As the main dining room was full, we were treated to a private dinner in the “wine cellar.”  The food was good, although the waiter seemed intent on convincing us to throw down a few more pounds for alcohol: “Many think that Indian food can only go with beer, but that is not true – it matches quite well with a nice bottle of wine.”

Dinner in an Indian cellar with Mario and Abby

This meal was also my first introduction to the tipping system in the U.K.  Apparently, at most bars and restaurants, tips are not expected, other than perhaps some small change.  At nice restaurants, if the service is exceptional, 5-10% is more than enough.  However, there seems to be trend of restaurants with menus stating that an “optional” 12% service charge may be included.  It turns out that it is not the customers’ option, but rather the waiter’s option.  “Sorry!” Well, we got our bill, and the 12% service charge was included - however we were told by our waiter that the owner steals most of that, and he gets nothing.  “It is different here than in America.”  That evening I slept like a baby on the super comfortable air mattress that our wonderful hosts provided.  I was getting over a bit a cold, but my hosts had thoughtfully provided a full box of “Man-size” tissues for me.  Clearly they recognized that my using normal tissues would have been an insult to my manhood.

A man-size tissue for man-size Brian. Ha-choo!

Our wonderful hosts cooking dinner!

The next day Ryan and I did some walking around the city, making our way from Covent Gardens through Green Park to Buckingham Palace (or Buck House as Ryan likes to call it), before heading to Hyde Park.  We met up with a friend of mine living in London for lunch at a local pub for “Sunday Roast.”  Apparently this is a bit of a tradition – instead of the American Sunday brunch, you go to a pub and eat a large among of beef (with Yorkshire pudding of course), accompanied by a pint (or two).  It was while eating my roast that I was first introduced to the term gezumpted.  Long story made short, it refers to a situation where an agreement is canceled at the last minute.  Apparently this is quite common, especially around real estate transactions.  For example, you will have put together all the papers to buy a house, paid the lawyer and all the inspectors, paid all of the fees, and then the day before you move in, you find out that they sold it to someone else.  You have been gezumpted.  “Sorry!”  But always remember that you cannot be gezumpted in Scotland.  It is not legal there.  Ryan and I took the bus to Camden market and took a romantic stroll from there back to his house, walking along the canals, and pausing to watch the sunset at Primrose Hill.  When we finally arrived home, Ryan claimed that he walked at least 14 miles – however when he tried to confirm this on his smartphone, it mysteriously turned about to be more like 14 km.  Sorry Ryan!  We played a bit of Bananagrams (Scrabble on speed) and Ryan taught me that “raiser” is a word.  Like hell-raiser.  Sorry Brian!

Our vantage point from Primrose hill looking South towards the city

My wife Mikaela arrived the following day, and after spending the day further wandering the city, we met up with Ryan after school for a pint (or two) at Ye Olde Swiss Cottage – the bar after which his tube stop is named.  “Ye olde” is a bit tough to describe without seeing it in person.  The regulars arrive by 9am, but by the evening a mix of younger folks also joined in.  Ryan tells me that there is a members only room where they have a pool table.  Someone told him that they paid an “annual fee” 10 years ago and no one has bothered him since.  Mikaela spent our final day walking around on what could be the most beautiful day London has ever seen.  We took Ryan and Rachel out to a celebratory Italian dinner in Hamstead Village.  The waiter had a mixed Italian/British accent and I couldn’t understand a word he said, but the food was wonderful.  After getting the richest crepes ever at a street stand, we capped off the evening with a pint (or two) at a pub hidden up a winding cobblestoned hill.

Mikaela lounging at the Kirchner flat

We had to head out the next morning to make our train to France, and couldn’t believe that our visit had already come to an end.  We had an incredible time - between the food, the pints, the games, the pints, and our amazing hosts, London can’t be beat.  And don’t worry, even though I used up all of the man-size tissues during my visit, I bought TWO man-size boxes for the apartment which are waiting to be used by the next guests!