Thursday, December 13, 2007
Other
The first annual MFI UK holiday party was a huge success. We secured a spot at l'Autre, a Polish-Mexican (sic) bistrot in Shepherd's Market, a small enclave in southwest Mayfair. With 100% company attendance (both John and I made it), we got the two-top in the window and were treated like kings. For starters, we got the story that must've been told 1000 times: How in the hell did you come up with a Polish-Mexican restaurant in London? The owner of 20 years, Ian (a Candadian, no less) explained that the spot opened up a century ago as a classic French bistrot transformed at some point (post-war, I believe) into a Mexican restaurant at the behest of the Mexican embassy down the street. On one fateful day in the 1980s the tenured Mexican chef received his European work permit and decided to move to Paris to be a street-performing marionetttier. (I'm not making this up.) Ian hired a Polish woman who claimed expertise in Mexican cuisine. Shockingly, she lacked such expertise (to be nice, we skipped the obvious question for Ian) and the Mexican eatery with the French bistrot name was primarily serving borscht, bellinis, perogis, etc., at least until she was nudged in a different direction. Fast forward to today, I'm not sure who's dowstairs cooking, but it is indeed a strange-looking menu.
History, schmistory - what a meal! Following our starters of salmon-stuffed bellinis and prawn & crabmeat-filled enchiladas, John and I both settled on the braised lamb shank with chorizo, chilis, and beans. Combined with a a Spanish rioja called Cune, it was just delicious. Desserts, ports, and thick Polish coffee you could paint a barn with wrapped us up in style. During the entire meal, Ian was bopping around the otherwise empty dining room listening to American golden oldies from the 1950s. This was a postmodernist's wet dream.
Everyone at the company got along (thankfully no fights) and we wrapped up on the bittersweet note of now not seeing each other until next year. To paraphrase, We'll always have l'Autre. Given the raging success of PolMexPalooza I, we already booked a table for next year's party (seriously): party of 3 (we figure we will have hired someone else by then) for 2:00pm on Thursday December 11, 2008. Any and all MAS employees are welcome to join. Just let us know and we'll change the reservation.
History, schmistory - what a meal! Following our starters of salmon-stuffed bellinis and prawn & crabmeat-filled enchiladas, John and I both settled on the braised lamb shank with chorizo, chilis, and beans. Combined with a a Spanish rioja called Cune, it was just delicious. Desserts, ports, and thick Polish coffee you could paint a barn with wrapped us up in style. During the entire meal, Ian was bopping around the otherwise empty dining room listening to American golden oldies from the 1950s. This was a postmodernist's wet dream.
Everyone at the company got along (thankfully no fights) and we wrapped up on the bittersweet note of now not seeing each other until next year. To paraphrase, We'll always have l'Autre. Given the raging success of PolMexPalooza I, we already booked a table for next year's party (seriously): party of 3 (we figure we will have hired someone else by then) for 2:00pm on Thursday December 11, 2008. Any and all MAS employees are welcome to join. Just let us know and we'll change the reservation.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Happy Birthday, Sarah!
We can't believe that Sarah turned 1 year old yesterday. Time has flown by. We're so blessed that she is growing up healthy and happy. It being a Tuesday night a few days before we leave town, we didn't do much for the official birthday. The boys made Dora the Explorer cupcakes, which I believe was more exciting for them than for her. It was a nice quiet night for just the family.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Lazy Weekends in a Grey City
London is edging into winter. The quickly shortening days have taken on a monotonous quality of overcast skies and pervasive dampness. Sometimes it rains here, sometimes not, but no matter - it always seems wet. The clouds above Britain rest lower in the sky than anywhere else I know. They are clamped down on this city like a heavy lead plank; I've wondered whether it's claustrophobia and not the greyness that compels so many here to covet sunnier climes.
It's too soon to rank our new daily endurance against the notorious (though overated) Chicago winter. Certainly it's warmer here and the climate is less volatile. No big differences day to day, week to week. No surprises of waking up to 6 inches of snow or tempatures sharply dipping below zero. In London, it is what it is - every day.
During this transition, we have begun to cherish some quiet, lazy weekends at home on Hamilton Terrace. Like for all of you, the autumnal chill sparks the preturnatural urge to nest - a welcome reprieve from the weather and a perennial coda to the flurry of endless summer activities and the new school year routine. So much so and more for us this year as we have (dare I say) successfully transitioned to a different life far from Chicago. Our new home is all set; there's not much more for us to do in terms of fixing up and reorganizing. Not owning a car (nor intending to get one) is part of our experience; though we get around town just fine it clearly impacts how we live every day. It slows us down but don't jump to the conclusion that's a bad thing.
The family didn't leave the house yesterday. After a typically tiring work/school week for all of us, Saturday was a blissful mix of sleeping in, building towering skyscrapers out of Legos, painting, Chutes & Ladders, eating, napping, Peppa Pig, tidying up, bathtime, reading, and moments of doing absolutely nothing. Take one guess at Daddy Pig's favorite activity.
In this cheerful slow moving time, the kids continue to grow, to express themselves, to become whomever they'll be next, at least for a short while. Sarah is not walking yet, but she's close. She can now climb an entire flight of steps. She knows us by name, even if she can't yet speak. She's into everything her brothers do; there is no scrum she'll avoid no matter what potential harm she might incur. She is a little lady and she is one of the boys. Zach is Spiderman. With his precarious balancing moves on steps, walls, bathtubs, and bunkbeds, he most certainly will hurt himself someday. He is a chef and a grocer, so filled with joy at the mini-grocery cart and kitchen we gave him for Hanukkah. He is a big brother with a heart of gold and hands of steel; he is a little brother with such reverence for Ben. He is our court jester and our sensitive little boy. Ben is our artist, our painter, our speller and nascent reader, our serious one who belly laughs at Zach's goofiness. Ben is a kickboxer. He loves his Sunday morning class, to which he and I take the bus (the 46 or 187, he always reminds me) each week. Ben flags down the bus on the way there and presses the stop button on the way home. He loves challenges and games and will tell you the most important thing is having fun - when he loses. He's our little leader and so very, very sweet.
Tracy and I are loving watching all of this unfold before us. And on occasion getting away ourselves. Indeed, last night, Zoe, our sitter, watched the kids for the evening and we met up with some of the fellow parents from LJS for drinks at The Freemasons Arms, a lovely gastropub in Hampstead. Really nice people, really nice time.
We leave for the States in five days from now - a 3 week trip to Chicago, Michigan, and Arizona. We're so looking forward to seeing family and friends. A good remedy for some of the post-Thanksgiving homesickness that has crept up on us. After that long of a trip I'm sure we'll be ready to get back to "normal" life in London in early 2008, but for now we're excited to get through this busy week and land at O'Hare on Friday afternoon. See many of you soon.
It's too soon to rank our new daily endurance against the notorious (though overated) Chicago winter. Certainly it's warmer here and the climate is less volatile. No big differences day to day, week to week. No surprises of waking up to 6 inches of snow or tempatures sharply dipping below zero. In London, it is what it is - every day.
During this transition, we have begun to cherish some quiet, lazy weekends at home on Hamilton Terrace. Like for all of you, the autumnal chill sparks the preturnatural urge to nest - a welcome reprieve from the weather and a perennial coda to the flurry of endless summer activities and the new school year routine. So much so and more for us this year as we have (dare I say) successfully transitioned to a different life far from Chicago. Our new home is all set; there's not much more for us to do in terms of fixing up and reorganizing. Not owning a car (nor intending to get one) is part of our experience; though we get around town just fine it clearly impacts how we live every day. It slows us down but don't jump to the conclusion that's a bad thing.
The family didn't leave the house yesterday. After a typically tiring work/school week for all of us, Saturday was a blissful mix of sleeping in, building towering skyscrapers out of Legos, painting, Chutes & Ladders, eating, napping, Peppa Pig, tidying up, bathtime, reading, and moments of doing absolutely nothing. Take one guess at Daddy Pig's favorite activity.
In this cheerful slow moving time, the kids continue to grow, to express themselves, to become whomever they'll be next, at least for a short while. Sarah is not walking yet, but she's close. She can now climb an entire flight of steps. She knows us by name, even if she can't yet speak. She's into everything her brothers do; there is no scrum she'll avoid no matter what potential harm she might incur. She is a little lady and she is one of the boys. Zach is Spiderman. With his precarious balancing moves on steps, walls, bathtubs, and bunkbeds, he most certainly will hurt himself someday. He is a chef and a grocer, so filled with joy at the mini-grocery cart and kitchen we gave him for Hanukkah. He is a big brother with a heart of gold and hands of steel; he is a little brother with such reverence for Ben. He is our court jester and our sensitive little boy. Ben is our artist, our painter, our speller and nascent reader, our serious one who belly laughs at Zach's goofiness. Ben is a kickboxer. He loves his Sunday morning class, to which he and I take the bus (the 46 or 187, he always reminds me) each week. Ben flags down the bus on the way there and presses the stop button on the way home. He loves challenges and games and will tell you the most important thing is having fun - when he loses. He's our little leader and so very, very sweet.
Tracy and I are loving watching all of this unfold before us. And on occasion getting away ourselves. Indeed, last night, Zoe, our sitter, watched the kids for the evening and we met up with some of the fellow parents from LJS for drinks at The Freemasons Arms, a lovely gastropub in Hampstead. Really nice people, really nice time.
We leave for the States in five days from now - a 3 week trip to Chicago, Michigan, and Arizona. We're so looking forward to seeing family and friends. A good remedy for some of the post-Thanksgiving homesickness that has crept up on us. After that long of a trip I'm sure we'll be ready to get back to "normal" life in London in early 2008, but for now we're excited to get through this busy week and land at O'Hare on Friday afternoon. See many of you soon.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Escape from Sky TV
Faithful readers of the Adventure are probably wondering: Has British TV gotten any better? Some months ago, I expressed my dismay with the quality of the programming offered up by Sky TV. Indeed, now that I've grown more attuned to British culture and life has settled down enough for me to properly surf, one would think that I would have discovered a bevy of interesting shows. Alas, no. It still sucks.
To wit, the other night during prime time one of the major networks broadcast Escape from New York. We could all brainstorm several hundred movies more worthy of standard broadcast television, but evidently ITV (the major network in question) couldn't. Some of you will recall this apocalyptic tale of New York City after it had been transformed into America’s largest penal colony. The plot is ridiculous, the writing is atrocious, and the acting is overbearing. I hadn’t seen this movie in probably 20 years (and I swear I only watched 90 seconds of it last night – ask Tracy), but despite its shortcomings, it’s hard not to keep a soft spot for protagonist Snake Plissken (Kurt Russell) who fought like heck to, well, you know – escape from New York.
Two curious things struck me last night on my very quick trip down memory lane. The first is that EFNY, filmed in 1981, might very well be the true precursor to the much more influential First Blood (aka the original Rambo), made just one year later. Snake, like John Rambo, was a decorated veteran who fell on hard times and landed in a place he shouldn’t have been. Both had the requisite pursuing villains, though a major tip of the cap to Brian Dennehy over Lee Van Cleef (thank you, IMDB) on that score. Snake can’t be beat for his leather jacket and menacing eye patch, however. Rambo had to settle for wearing that burlap sack and twine get-up for most of his travails. All in, both are noble outlaws on the lamb.
The second thing is that despite the over-the-top portrayal of the city as a big jail (it's really quite absurd), the film actually fits well into the cinematic history of New York City. In between the elegance of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and the saccharine urbanity of You’ve Got Mail was a dire time for the real NYC, obviously best captured by Scorcese’s Taxi Driver – not only in his cinematography of a city turning down but in Travis Bickle's (de Niro!) palpable enmity toward the place and its people. Don’t worry – no comparisons between Jodie Foster and Adrienne Barbeau (Maude!) will happen here. Along with Taxi Driver, The Warriors (crazy sh*t – I still think about those costumed hooligans when I ride the NY subway), and others, EFNY reflects the nadir of our popular impressions of New York. How times (square) have changed.
Oh yeah, where was I? Right, crappy British television. We more or less give up. Our reprieve: Tracy and I are well into the second season of 24 on DVD and loving it. Don’t tell us what happens.
To wit, the other night during prime time one of the major networks broadcast Escape from New York. We could all brainstorm several hundred movies more worthy of standard broadcast television, but evidently ITV (the major network in question) couldn't. Some of you will recall this apocalyptic tale of New York City after it had been transformed into America’s largest penal colony. The plot is ridiculous, the writing is atrocious, and the acting is overbearing. I hadn’t seen this movie in probably 20 years (and I swear I only watched 90 seconds of it last night – ask Tracy), but despite its shortcomings, it’s hard not to keep a soft spot for protagonist Snake Plissken (Kurt Russell) who fought like heck to, well, you know – escape from New York.
Two curious things struck me last night on my very quick trip down memory lane. The first is that EFNY, filmed in 1981, might very well be the true precursor to the much more influential First Blood (aka the original Rambo), made just one year later. Snake, like John Rambo, was a decorated veteran who fell on hard times and landed in a place he shouldn’t have been. Both had the requisite pursuing villains, though a major tip of the cap to Brian Dennehy over Lee Van Cleef (thank you, IMDB) on that score. Snake can’t be beat for his leather jacket and menacing eye patch, however. Rambo had to settle for wearing that burlap sack and twine get-up for most of his travails. All in, both are noble outlaws on the lamb.
The second thing is that despite the over-the-top portrayal of the city as a big jail (it's really quite absurd), the film actually fits well into the cinematic history of New York City. In between the elegance of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and the saccharine urbanity of You’ve Got Mail was a dire time for the real NYC, obviously best captured by Scorcese’s Taxi Driver – not only in his cinematography of a city turning down but in Travis Bickle's (de Niro!) palpable enmity toward the place and its people. Don’t worry – no comparisons between Jodie Foster and Adrienne Barbeau (Maude!) will happen here. Along with Taxi Driver, The Warriors (crazy sh*t – I still think about those costumed hooligans when I ride the NY subway), and others, EFNY reflects the nadir of our popular impressions of New York. How times (square) have changed.
Oh yeah, where was I? Right, crappy British television. We more or less give up. Our reprieve: Tracy and I are well into the second season of 24 on DVD and loving it. Don’t tell us what happens.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Ingrates
Sometimes it's important for families to just clear the air and try to move past sensitive topics. So here goes: Blue Teddy and Happy have never once said thanks for what thus far has been an all expenses paid European tour. They live pretty large. We know they are limited but as readers of the Adventure must surely concur, a simple acknowledgment of gratitude from time to time would be appreciated.
Potter Rules!
As you literary types know, young Harry's train to Hogwarts departed from a certain inconspicuous platform at King's Cross station. Us muggles traveled to Edinburgh via King's Cross in north London, not far from where we live. I had heard at some point that they posted this sign to please the many fans that came searching for it. Pretty cool.
More From Edinburgh
More snaps from the weekend away: the boys model their new scotch plaid scarves; a zoom photo of city center from up on the castle - see the festival where we rode the Ferris wheel; a wonderful family meal at Brown's on George Street - lots of warm comfort food and a family friendly spot; the guys underneath a sabre-tooth tiger at the Dynamic Earth museum - our Sunday morning activity at an interactive nature/geology center; the view looking east down Prince Street from the top of the Ferris wheel.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Luke Philip Frede
.BMP)
A slightly overdue post - a hearty mazel tov to John & Kristina (and Jack and Ahna!) for the healthy arrival of baby Luke on November 12, 2007! John mentioned that the British hospital provided service even better than expected and that he only had to slip the nurses and doctors a few 20 pound notes every now and then to make sure they received such fine treatment.Monday, November 26, 2007
Kids in a Castle
Edinburgh was a big hit with the Portnoys. The town had everything you'd want in a weekend trip, including leaving you wishing you'd stayed longer. The Edinburgh Castle, built ~ 1000 years ago on a huge, imposing ex-volcanic rock smack in the center of the city, imbues the town with a storybook-like quality. The weather was cold and windy, hardly a surprise and even fitting for the time of year, but we soldiered on. We toured the castle grounds, walked most of the Royal Mile, hit a festival in the center of town, and took a tour bus that showed us many corners of Edinburgh that we wouldn't otherwise have seen (plus kept us warm). The history there was so interesting and Tracy and I wish we would have had the chance to see some of the museums (including the "Scotch Whisky Experience," at least for me). Between Mary Queen of Scots, King James VI of Scotland becoming King James I of England (y'all have your bibles, don't you?), Jekyl & Hyde (yep, that's from there), and so forth, there was much more to do. Our hotel had a swimming pool, which the boys absolutely loved, and making the time for that both Friday and Saturday easily trumped the interest in taking more of a tour through history (though I really wanted that Scotch experience...). But we'd surely go back and also make time to see the land to the north and west. The little of the countryside we saw from the train was beautiful. Plus I'd like to officially spot Nessie! I know she's up there.
Uniforms
The boys' school has instituted uniforms for the oldest grade, Reception. So each day now, Ben wears his navy blue sweatshirt with a white short-sleeved polo shirt underneath, both emblazoned with the LJS insignia. Dark pants are the final requirement. (I know Jack Frede's school uniform puts Ben's to shame - it's the real deal: a real tie, blazer, overcoat, pants, the whole megilla.) Ben enjoys wearing his uniform and I have to say that I'm a big fan of school dress codes. Especially as they get older, it takes away at least some of the peer pressure of dressing fashionably. And I think even at this age there's a certain level of discipline that gets instilled with a uniform.Now speaking of other fine young men who might benefit from a school dress code....
Sunday, November 18, 2007
"If Once You Bite It You Want to Eat More of It"
Our last night in Tokyo a couple weeks ago merits commentary for the culinary experiences that bookended it. The evening started with some of us attempting to make it to a restaurant where the waiters were dressed as ninjas. In retrospect, I think we'd admit that was a ludicrous choice (um, Kim) and this was one instance where a taxi not taking you to the intended destination was actually a stroke of luck. We found ourselves in the Akasaka neighborhood and just one block from where we were dropped off was a very long narrow street with dozens of restaurants and the neon signage to match. It was fun to stroll along and then randomly pick one of them. Our choice was mostly motivated by a menu with pictures of things (i.e., food) that looked recognizable, plus we were pleasantly surprised by a menu with a bit of English in it. In fact, the title of this post is the English language description of something we ordered from the nearly indecipherable menu - I believe it was chicken wings, which were in fact quite good. Much of what we ordered is in the second photo above. I can't tell you what much of that is, but more telling is that my adventuruous colleague Tristan, who has the intestinal fortitude of a billy goat (you should have seen what he was chowing down at a local Shanghai eatery a few months ago), passed on half of those items based on preliminary smell and taste tests. There was enough tasty stuff (i.e., chicken wings, beer) and a well-intentioned waitress (first photo) to make the experience a lot of fun.After a few drinks and a nightclub (or two), we found ourselves at the Tsukiji fish market before the crack of dawn for a sushi breakfast. This is one of the largest (maybe the largest) fish market in the world and how interesting it was - acres upon acres of workmen in stands bringing in, cleaning up, and selling fresh fish/seafood of every variety (pictures 3 and 5). There was such a buzz of activity around the market - noise everywhere, small forklift-like vehicles moving boxes somewhere, and a handful of tourists like us poking around. We met a few others from the Goldman conference at this one non-descript restaurant (which I learned after the fact was called Daiwa sushi) that people "in the know" swear by. We got there at 4:30am for its 5:00am opening, which I first thought ridiculous but then (1) I saw a large line form behind us and (2) I ate the food. My camera's batteries ran out just as we got in this tiny place with nothing more than a counter for about 12 people and a couple guys cutting up fish for you. No menus, no ordering. Just sit there and eat what they bring you. One of the guys we were with spoke Japanese so that clearly helped a lot. Considering all this sushi and sushimi had just come out of the ocean, saying that it was fresh seems a wee bit obvious. Hard to fully explain how flavourful it all was, including the stuff that was still moving (some of it was). Had never really done raw fish and cold beer at the crack of dawn before, but consider me a convert. If any of you get to Tokyo, visiting the fish market and eating at any of the random little food stands there (I couldn't guess how to describe where Daiwa is) is a great choice.
Ben & Zach's Excellent Art Adventure
We spent a couple hours at the Tate Modern yesterday. As many of you know, this is a world class contemporary art museum located in a building on the south bank of the Thames that was once an electric power plant. It’s an imposing, impressive site that now houses a massive collection of post-impressionists, expressionists (abstract and otherwise), surrealists, fauvists, realists and probably a dozen other kind of “-ists”.The whole family went and the boys really enjoyed it. They’re so used to going to museums in Chicago that it’s not a stretch for them to enjoy them here, and they’ve already gone to the big dinosaur place over in Kensington. Going to see art is a bit of a departure from these more interactive experiences, but Ben in particular was really excited. What made the Tate Modern really enjoyable for them (and us) was that they had a “family desk” that helped organize tours and activities for groups with small children. They had a “treasure hunt” that was good fun. We had to find ten different objects in ten different paintings. With each discovery you had to velcro a small representative icon into a portfolio they provided. A bowler hat from one of Magritte’s pieces was the most recognizable of the ten. Along the way we got to see lots of pretty paintings. Forget abstract, critical deconstructionist interpretations of blah, blah, blah (you should see the books section of the museum's gift shop), it’s actually not that hard to get a five-year old to notice the beautiful, colorful pieces of Matisse and Miro. Several massive Rothkos in a room of their own evoked a couple "wow"'s and Zach and I debated whether one of them was purple, red, or blue (D: All of the Above was correct). To one large installation piece with a huge shard of metal hanging from a 20-foot high rusted girder and many pieces of clay scattered underneath (???), Ben pointed to the ground and said, “that looks like poop.” Yep.
I’m really pleased that boys enjoyed the art. I hope this is one of many excursions to come.
Lost In Translation
Probably the most obvious thing an American can do these days when traveling in Tokyo is to compare his experience to the characters' in Lost in Translation, Sophia Coppola's chef d'oeuvre. Indeed, having just convened with ~ 700 other conference goers at Goldman Sachs' annual Asia hedge fund conference last week, the most pat (pattest?) line was how "different" Tokyo was from just about anywhere else us peripatetic researchers travel.
But this is one of those few instances where the conventional wisdom is not only true, it is also profoundly interesting. I've only been to Japan (and just Tokyo) twice so I wouldn't pretend to have any deep insights into this phenomenon. All I know is that I've never been somewhere with so few recognizable cultural markers, which in turn inspires such a sense of anomie - the kind that is (brilliantly) captured by Coppola and her actors. It's astounding that such a modern, wealthy city as Tokyo has so few linguistic short-cuts for Westerners (English character words, recognizable advertisements and brands, multi-lingual street signs). More so than in any other city I’ve visited has my brain struggled to latch on to something recognizable, the kind of mental shortcuts that allow us to get on with our day and not think about every step along the way. Tokyo is mentally exhausting.
The city’s massiveness is part of the phenomenon. It is, I believe, the largest urban sprawl in the world, with ~ 30 million inhabitants occupying a never-ending cityscape. During my 1.5 hour train ride from Narita Airport to "central Tokyo" (if you’ve been there, you know that concept is somewhat of a joke) I witnessed an uninterrupted agglomeration of buildings with no large parks, no fields, literally no break in the action. I've been to some of the city's tallest buildings but I've never seen the city's edge. Did Eduard Munch actually hail from Tokyo?
The simple act of taking a taxi in Tokyo encapsulates some of the key elements of this dislocation. First of all, you have no idea where you're going. The city is built on about as linear a plan as London; Baron Haussmann would have a seizure. As some of you know, I'm obsessed with maps but those two-dimensional props almost taunt you there. I take pride in my sense of direction, but in Tokyo I'm always lost; I hate being lost. Second, your taxi driver (who speaks no English) sort of knows where he's going - or maybe he doesn't. As happened a number of times during this trip, a local Japanese aide with a clear idea of where we wanted to go explained our destination to the driver for at least two whole minutes. Where I come from, an address is usually a pretty good indicator of where you want to go and if you don't know it exactly, a neighborhood will suffice to get you most of the way there. To make the whole exercise comical, WE ALWAYS HAVE A MAP of our exact destination printed off the web. However, an address and map still require minutes of pre-departure chat and the driver inevitably looks at the map a few times along the way. My favorite is when the driver slowly turns it 90 degrees four times in a row in order, I guess, to triangulate on the location. On this trip, we were taken to the wrong location only twice. And then there's ordering in restaurants.... We'll save that for an upcoming post.
This experience typically occurs with massive jet lag and a large time zone difference with home that makes connections with loved ones and colleagues hard to manage - oh so helped by the fact that standard cell phones and Blackberries don't work there. As far as I know, Tracy didn't FedEx any carpet squares to the hotel for my perusal.
For those of you who now think me (more) enthnocentric and unfit for even a Dennis Miller-quality rant, I reply that I appreciate to some degree Japan’s cultural history and it’s role within – and outside – world society and history; its island status in more than just geographic terms and its struggles – sometimes violent – in protecting a centuries-old culture that has some beautiful qualities. Not only do I know who fought in the Sino-Japanese war (and what years – do you?), I even saw that Tom Cruise movie where he somehow went from an American Wild West show to defending Japan against some of the original gaijin.
With all that, good lord, can they at least get the taxi drivers to get you where you want to go?
But this is one of those few instances where the conventional wisdom is not only true, it is also profoundly interesting. I've only been to Japan (and just Tokyo) twice so I wouldn't pretend to have any deep insights into this phenomenon. All I know is that I've never been somewhere with so few recognizable cultural markers, which in turn inspires such a sense of anomie - the kind that is (brilliantly) captured by Coppola and her actors. It's astounding that such a modern, wealthy city as Tokyo has so few linguistic short-cuts for Westerners (English character words, recognizable advertisements and brands, multi-lingual street signs). More so than in any other city I’ve visited has my brain struggled to latch on to something recognizable, the kind of mental shortcuts that allow us to get on with our day and not think about every step along the way. Tokyo is mentally exhausting.
The city’s massiveness is part of the phenomenon. It is, I believe, the largest urban sprawl in the world, with ~ 30 million inhabitants occupying a never-ending cityscape. During my 1.5 hour train ride from Narita Airport to "central Tokyo" (if you’ve been there, you know that concept is somewhat of a joke) I witnessed an uninterrupted agglomeration of buildings with no large parks, no fields, literally no break in the action. I've been to some of the city's tallest buildings but I've never seen the city's edge. Did Eduard Munch actually hail from Tokyo?
The simple act of taking a taxi in Tokyo encapsulates some of the key elements of this dislocation. First of all, you have no idea where you're going. The city is built on about as linear a plan as London; Baron Haussmann would have a seizure. As some of you know, I'm obsessed with maps but those two-dimensional props almost taunt you there. I take pride in my sense of direction, but in Tokyo I'm always lost; I hate being lost. Second, your taxi driver (who speaks no English) sort of knows where he's going - or maybe he doesn't. As happened a number of times during this trip, a local Japanese aide with a clear idea of where we wanted to go explained our destination to the driver for at least two whole minutes. Where I come from, an address is usually a pretty good indicator of where you want to go and if you don't know it exactly, a neighborhood will suffice to get you most of the way there. To make the whole exercise comical, WE ALWAYS HAVE A MAP of our exact destination printed off the web. However, an address and map still require minutes of pre-departure chat and the driver inevitably looks at the map a few times along the way. My favorite is when the driver slowly turns it 90 degrees four times in a row in order, I guess, to triangulate on the location. On this trip, we were taken to the wrong location only twice. And then there's ordering in restaurants.... We'll save that for an upcoming post.
This experience typically occurs with massive jet lag and a large time zone difference with home that makes connections with loved ones and colleagues hard to manage - oh so helped by the fact that standard cell phones and Blackberries don't work there. As far as I know, Tracy didn't FedEx any carpet squares to the hotel for my perusal.
For those of you who now think me (more) enthnocentric and unfit for even a Dennis Miller-quality rant, I reply that I appreciate to some degree Japan’s cultural history and it’s role within – and outside – world society and history; its island status in more than just geographic terms and its struggles – sometimes violent – in protecting a centuries-old culture that has some beautiful qualities. Not only do I know who fought in the Sino-Japanese war (and what years – do you?), I even saw that Tom Cruise movie where he somehow went from an American Wild West show to defending Japan against some of the original gaijin.
With all that, good lord, can they at least get the taxi drivers to get you where you want to go?
“Look, Kids! Big Ben, Parliament!”
A couple weekends ago, we made our way down to one of the main touristy parts of London around Westminster. There right along the Thames is British Parliament and Big Ben (kudos to anyone who can name the movie quote in this post's title). Beautiful buildings though not really “fun.” Tons of tourists, lots of traffic. There might have been a tour of parliament (?) but that’s hard to pull off with our full brood in tow and really not that interesting on such a nice day. We primarily went down to take photos for our holiday card but I can’t say we got anything just right. About impossible to get all three kids looking at the camera at the same time.It was a crisp, clear autumn day so afterwards we strolled down the street to St. James Park, which is largely the area between Big Ben and Buckingham Palace (and is also just a couple blocks from my office on Pall Mall). The leaves were changing and it was lovely for a stroll and taking in great views of London. There was also a nice little park where the boys could blow off some energy while Sarah rode on the swings.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Trick or Treat
London does Halloween just fine. The streets of St. John's Wood were teeming with families tonight: kids dressed in all sorts of costumes, moms keeping tracking of the kids, and dads alternating between checking Blackberries (come on, we left work at 4:30pm to be there) and wondering how in the hell people can afford these houses.
Wearing the same costumes from the birthday party (previous post), our kids raked in the loot. Both boys were true to form. After a while, Ben decided that he had gotten enough candy and quietly rode on the back of the stroller. Zack could only have been happier if we gave him a small shovel to scoop up even more candy at each house. His bag was about 2 pounds heavier than Ben's, though I'm helping (sic) to even things out. My only gripe is toward the person who I'm assuming is the local dentist who decided to give out 2-foot long Pixie Stix (or I believe they were called Rainbow Dust). I know all this candy the same thing in the end, but it still feels gratuitous to hand out large tubes of colored sugar.
SJW feels more and more like a community to us. We were out tonight with some other families and then ran into a number of others we knew, including a couple (with their three kids) with whom Tracy and I are going out tomorrow night in South Kensington for what it is supposedly London's best Spanish tapas. (Hell, if I had to endure rubber chicken in Barcelona, I may as well try to true up here.) Post-kindergarten, most of the kids in the neighborhood go the American School of London (ASL), which is about a 10-15 minute walk from our home and exactly the area we were walking around tonight. We were told that they had a huge Halloween bash today and we think that many of the scores of kids out tonight are students there. ASL is supposed to be a pretty amazing place in terms of facilities and curriculum. Ben is currently in the oldest grade that his school offers, so he's got to attend somewhere else next year. Our plan is to apply for both Ben and Zach to attend ASL starting next year. We want to keep the boys together - they won't say that they are best friends but do claim that they are "best brothers." That's cool, and I think they like knowing the other one is just down hall at school. These private school applications can be nail biters - more applicants than slots, essays and interviews, etc. Wish us luck.
Wearing the same costumes from the birthday party (previous post), our kids raked in the loot. Both boys were true to form. After a while, Ben decided that he had gotten enough candy and quietly rode on the back of the stroller. Zack could only have been happier if we gave him a small shovel to scoop up even more candy at each house. His bag was about 2 pounds heavier than Ben's, though I'm helping (sic) to even things out. My only gripe is toward the person who I'm assuming is the local dentist who decided to give out 2-foot long Pixie Stix (or I believe they were called Rainbow Dust). I know all this candy the same thing in the end, but it still feels gratuitous to hand out large tubes of colored sugar.
SJW feels more and more like a community to us. We were out tonight with some other families and then ran into a number of others we knew, including a couple (with their three kids) with whom Tracy and I are going out tomorrow night in South Kensington for what it is supposedly London's best Spanish tapas. (Hell, if I had to endure rubber chicken in Barcelona, I may as well try to true up here.) Post-kindergarten, most of the kids in the neighborhood go the American School of London (ASL), which is about a 10-15 minute walk from our home and exactly the area we were walking around tonight. We were told that they had a huge Halloween bash today and we think that many of the scores of kids out tonight are students there. ASL is supposed to be a pretty amazing place in terms of facilities and curriculum. Ben is currently in the oldest grade that his school offers, so he's got to attend somewhere else next year. Our plan is to apply for both Ben and Zach to attend ASL starting next year. We want to keep the boys together - they won't say that they are best friends but do claim that they are "best brothers." That's cool, and I think they like knowing the other one is just down hall at school. These private school applications can be nail biters - more applicants than slots, essays and interviews, etc. Wish us luck.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Ben's 5th Birthday Party!!!
We had Ben's 5th birthday party today and it was a lot of fun. We had about 25 kids (mostly from Ben and Zach's school) and 40 people in total to our home. We've gotten to know a number of the families from the school/synagogue and it was really nice to have most of our new friends over. We did, however, miss our "usual suspects" from Chicago (you know who you are) plus of course The Grandparents.Tracy did a super job planning all the details - from the soccer cake to the goodie bags to the magician that entertained the kids for quite a long while. As you can see from the photos, it was a costume party - as all of Ben's birthday parties for the next few years are destined to be. We ordered in Pizza Hut, which is as tasty as it is at home but the size of what they call a "large" borders on scandalous. It might pass for a medium back in the heartland. Let's just say that we didn't have any leftovers....
Ben's actual birthday is Tuesday, which we'll celebrate with just the five of us here at home. The next real event is on Wednesday, when we'll try trick-or-treating UK-style. Tracy and many of the other mothers have been calling/texting/emailing/whispering to coordinate on the best street(s) in St. John's Wood to prowl for candy. We think we know our target but of course would not want to publicize it on such a public forum.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Family That Eats Together...
One of the highlights of our trip to Venice was the food. Stick-to-your-ribs pastas in thick tomato sauce with a hint of basil, thin crispy pizzas with the cheese still bubbling when the pie came to the table, and of course ice cream (gellato!) at every possible moment. Zach and Ben were biased to pistachio gellato (or "stipachio" as Zachy calls it) while their old man lives and breathes chocolate (though in one session I surrendered to a cup of tiramisu-flavored). There were no low-fat, low-cal, skim options on anything, so I'm pleased to report my wife ate food that actually tasted delicious. The hot chocolate we enjoyed with our pizza at a little place (second photo) on the small lagoon island of Murano (10 minute ride from Venice and world-known for its glass blowing factories) was without doubt the best any of us has ever had. It was as if they melted a bar of chocolate in a cup and added some cream. On Ben's first sip his eyes shot wide open and he exclaimed "Oh my gosh! That's amazing." The open breakfast table at our hotel (Casa Nicolo Priuli - a centuries old home of a wealthy Venetian family converted into a hotel) had a dozen different things to choose from and we more or less covered it all. We ate like kings - or more precisely like truckers, but no matter. Eating well and relaxing (last photo) is what vacation is about.
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