On the Road Again

Bright and early tomorrow the five of us head off to Heathrow and hop a jet back to Chicago. The kids are so excited to see their family and friends. Not having been home since August, we all have a bit of homesickness. London is so fricking cold and gray that it's time to go elsewhere. Thankfully, a week in Arizona follows our Chicago stay so we plan to soak up as many rays as possible. This London winter is just getting started....

I was just getting some momentum (again) on the blog, so promises (again) that I'll keep my stride when I'm back in the saddle in January. To all of our friends and family, a happy healthy new year! 2008's been a crazy year for a lot of reasons so we're looking forward to even better things to come in 2009.

Clifford's Tower

One of our little adventures in York. The earth mound on which Clifford's Tower sits was first contructed by William the Conquerer in 1068 as part of the first castle of York. Normans, Danes, English, and others all fought over this spot. While I can't recall who Clifford was, I do recall that the Portnoys had a fun time climbing to the top and getting great views of the surrounding town, whose endless red rooftops reminded me (and my Dad) of the aerial scene from Willie Wonka when Charlie was in the glass elevator. The red building in the foreground is a newly built Hilton, so that does throw a bit of wet blanket on one's imagination. And speaking of party poopers (depending on your perspective), it was interesting to see that Clifford's Tower is apparently northern England's answer to Masada, since in 1190 the local Jews holed up in the fort to escape attacks, only to commit mass suicide as their deaths at the hands of the townfolks became imminent. Lovely.

Daddy Donkey

Finding a good burrito in London is about as easy these days as securing a jumbo mortgage. Alas, our colleague Heather, who is visiting from Chicago for a couple weeks, alerted us to a place in Holborn called, of all things, Daddy Donkey, self described as a "kick ass Mexican grill." Indeed! Even better, it's not even a restaurant but an aluminum-sided food cart. Tucked away on Leather Lane (what a name) amidst dozens of stalls selling everything from tube socks to curry, the Donkey showed a little swagger by actually putting a switchback rope line in front to manage the crowd flow. We ate early (what else is new) at one of the outside card tables they had graciously provided (it was ~ 35 degrees today), but by the time I was picking the last remnants of chorizo and rice out of the tin foil wrapper, the queue had formed. Americans plumped from a recent Chipotle experience probably wouldn't think much of our new find, but by London standards this was excellent. Heather...what's next?

Happy Christmas.

No messing around with political correctness here in jolly ol' England. Happy holidays? Of course not as "holiday" here is our word for "vacation". So no point in wishing perfect strangers a nice vacation. (And they say Happy, not Merry.) Something refreshing about the lack of inclusion in these salutations, notwithstanding one's status in the sect....

Merry vacation!

More of the Kids

Daddy & Daughter

There are early indications that Sarah might become a bit of a Daddy's Girl, which I'm strongly trying to encourage.

Puttin' on the Ritz

I couldn't help but think about the Beverly Hillbillies as Zachy and I showed up for what had to have been the nicest (and most expensive) holiday party the Portnoys have ever attended. The family of one of Ben's classmates at ASL throws an annual bash at the Ritz, where they rent out an entire wing and shower friends - and evidently complete strangers - with food, entertainment, and gifts. This family of Indian moguls (or are they tycoons? what's the difference?) invited all three kindergarten classes plus many others so there must have been 100+ families there.

Tracy and Ben had a birthday party to attend first so Zach and I went early. Under the best of circumstances Zach doesn't stay tucked in and this day let's just say his tan trousers weren't spared his latest (inaccurate) attempt at peeing in the potty. Meanwhile, Daddy Pig was just about the only guy without a blazer (or suit!) though thankfully I had the sense to not wear jeans to the fete. They had two face painters, a balloon maker, and three (count them, three) magicians for the kids. Zach is surprisingly shy when Ben's not around and instead of enjoying any of these activities he tried to nap in the middle of floor, where he was almost trampled by tuxedoed waiters serving truffled scrambled eggs in shot glasses, smoked salmon balls, and mini chicken legs with those little white gloves on the tip of the bone. I love my son and I love creative appetizers. The devil's pitchfork, indeed.

After checking out the massive holiday cake (second picture), Zachy and I soon found ourselves at our own table with one of those tiered silver serving contraptions with more cakes and finger sandwiches. He was a happy boy. Tracy finally showed up and was equally agape at the splendor. After socializing for a while, we made our way out, but not before we were given five (count them, five) gifts for the boys. Each was a good sized box or package and in aggregate weighed us down, making the lack of taxis that much more frustrating. The Tube it was for us and the Herbs, our friends/neighbors who were also at the party, with many boxes and children in tow. Clearly their son Andrew gave the whole experience a big thumbs up and, not surprisingly, Zach approached it all with his typical zeal.

Carnaby Street

Carnaby Street, on the western edge of the Soho neighborhood, was the epicenter of the British Mod movement, most popularized in recent times of course by Mike Myers' Austin Powers movies. Well, 40 years hence, the bellbottoms and shaggy hairdos are gone (er...maybe not), but pedestrian-only Carnaby Street is still popping with hip designers and chic eateries. The whole Soho and Covent Garden areas are a lot of fun to stroll, shop, eat, and people watch. Groovy baby!

York Train Station Facing North

(Old) York

York? Who knew? Certainly not me. When Tracy originally proposed the idea of doing a citybreak there, I pooh-poohed it on the grounds that I hadn't heard of anyone else going there. Boy was I wrong. What a lovely little town that was perfect for a short weekend getaway with Pop-Pop and JoJo. It's pretty far north in England, about half way between London and Edinburgh, so an easy two hour train ride from King's Cross.

York is an old Viking town (original name Jorvik) founded somwhere around the end of the first millennium. A few centuries on it took on all the trappings of a classic medieval town with its narrow and winding cobblestone streets. That old section of York today is a pedestrian area that preserves some of that charm, including Brambles Street (second picture) with its slanted building, antique shops, and the area's oldest pub opened in 1644. The massive stone church (last picture) still rises above the town as it did centuries ago.

It was a frigid cold weekend but bundled up we managed to traverse much of the city. We visited the Viking Museum (of course), where our begoggled kids got to play mini-archaelogists for bit. We spent a lot of time at the National Railway Museum, where kids of all ages can climb up and around a seemingl endless exhibit of trains old and new. By pure coincidence, this particular weekend was York's big winter festival and the streets were teeming with people. There were exhibits, rides, and food booths a plenty. Being in the heart of Yorkshire, I suppose we could chased down some of its namesake pudding, but failed to do so. (No terriers either, sorry.)

Tracy picked the hotel just next to the train station, which was a perfect logistical choice plus had a swimming pool for the boys to take an afternoon plunge. With the weather and lots of little people in tow, dinner could have been a challenge but we got lucky with Del Rio - where we ate both nights. A few blocks from the hotel, it was an Italian joint broken into cozy grottos where friendly servers offered a solid menu of pastas, fishes, meats, you name it.

So bully for York. It's not so nice they had to name it twice, but it's still our kind of town. Check it out.

Thanksgiving

We had a lovely Thanksgiving with our friends Jim and Ali Hall. (Their daughter's name is Anna and I never cease to get joy out of calling her Annie Hall.) Thanksgiving is a proper American holiday which Brits don't seem to get, or at least most seem to have forgotten the premise is that we were barrel assing our way out of these parts some centuries ago. So maybe it's a thumb to the nose that we flaunt our celebration here in the metropole. My Dad and JoAnn were in town with us for a couple weeks and it was really nice for us to be able celebrate with them as well. Buying a turkey here involves plucking, brining, and foregoing about a week's pay, so chicken it was with all the fixings. The food was great, the wine was flowing (thanks Jim!), and the not-freezing night allowed for extended celebrations in the garden. Makes me think that the summer patio party we had with Ali in attendance was not accidentally fabulous. The Halls are actually moving back to the US in a few weeks and we will surely miss them.

Mumbai

Just a quick note to express my disgust over the the recent attacks. As I chronicled here last January, I had one minor excursion to India. As might have come across from that post, I was overwhelmed by its magnitude and promise. Not that it should make a difference, but to me it made these attacks that much more demoralizing and horrific.

During that trip I stayed at the Oberoi, one of the two hotels that were seiged by the terrorists. Plus I had ventured over to check out the Taj and the Gateway of India (you'll see the Taj in the background of one of that post's photos). So as I followed the news over that long weekend I was somewhat able to picture in my mind's eye where much of the violence was taking place. Far more harrowing than my own imaginings was one particular recounting by an American fund manager who happened to be at the Taj for dinner during the assault. He and his wife barely escaped. No matter how many times I read it I still get shivers up my spine, especially as the two of them separate to increase the odds that their children will have at least one parent alive. It's not a choice that any of us should have to make. This world is so f*cked up at times.