Market Morn

Just Ask Me

Do I have a sign hanging over my head, or what?! At home I seem to be the one people ask when they have questions or need directions. I thought it would stop when I left the States, but the affliction has followed me. My first day in Copenhagen, I watched as a man in a suit looked around the airport lobby with a puzzled look on his face. I wasn’t worried—I was out of culture, after all—but he came straight up to me. “Sorry, but I’m new here, and I don’t even speak Danish.” I could see the disappointment and confusion in his face as he scanned the crowded lobby again, trying to figure out who else to ask. I’ve been stopped countless times since in a variety of languages, including five times today. Can somebody tell me what’s going on? Do I seem more approachable because I'm short, or...?

On a related topic, people don’t seem to recognize where I’m from. At the University of Leicester, the persistent rumor was that I was from Canada. “Oh, is that where Florida is?...” Everyone is speaking French to me here, although one man stopped me on the street to ask if I was Danish or Swedish. Must be the blond hair. Not. Well, I’d like to be from somewhere else, but that’s a topic for another time.

Moving On, Again

I had some tough travels to the train station this morning, hitting countless stairs and snapping the handle on my rolling duffle. By my count, I'll be moving to new locations 10 times this month, so I really need to lighten my load. It was nice having a bit more clothes when I was staying put, but this is unmanageable for my knee with frequent traveling. Cue Tom, my hero, who arrives tomorrow and certainly will be taking home some of this weight for me.

So today was my L-O-N-G awaited Chunnel crossing. What was I thinking?! I like riding on the train because of the scenery. Duh! A full one minute after pulling out of the London station--not kidding--we were already underground, surfacing only a few times to get a brief industrial view and have our ears pop. One hour later, after more time in a dark tunnel, we were in Calais, and I got to see a bit of the French and Belgian countryside out of a sliver of window. But I am on the continent, and I am thrilled! I had a wonderful time in England, but this is "home." And starting tomorrow I get to start showing Tom around. (We have plans to eat one of everything!) I should add that I've been warm and cozy in my hotel rooms since leaving Leicester. It's also easier crossing the street now that everyone is driving on the "right" side again... Happy, happy, happy!

Two Bits of Weirdness

Yesterday I was mistaken for a work of art at the Tate Modern. Today, when buying an exhibition ticket, I thought the 12-year-old boy asked me if I needed a single. Imagine my surprise when he gave me change and a "concession" ticket for a senior. The minimum age for that here is 60, and I'm still years and years shy. Ouch!

Tough Tuesday

Every traveler has a bad day, and mine was Tuesday. I spent most of the day visiting museums. Using the tube [London’s term for its subway] didn’t seem to put a dent in my usual mileage, but it added literally hundreds of stair steps down to the trains and back up again. It worked pretty well earlier in the day, but by evening my healing leg was less than enthusiastic about it all. I stopped by the Leicester Square half-price ticket office to get tickets for a show and ended up with We Will Rock You, inspired by the songs of the British rock group Queen. The theatre was near the hotel where I stayed when I was here with friends in March, so I returned to a nearby Indian restaurant for some more okra. (Oh, stop making that face. Indian cooking does a good job with it.) I enjoyed the music in the show—I’d have to say the actors’ voices were better than those in Queen—but the plot line was too contrived and fanciful for me. (Yes, I know it’s theatre.) After the curtain call I headed straight to the tube, where a worker was yelling that we had 5 minutes to catch the last train of the evening. To get to the red line, I had to go down a spiral staircase into the bowels of the earth, with a throng of folks pressing behind me. As I tried to rush, I considered whether I might fall or be trampled. I got to the bottom with one minute to spare. It was a mob scene as everyone tried to force their ways into the train, and we all got overly acquainted before they managed to shut the doors. Several stops later, the conductor announced that the workers were now on strike, and we needed to find our own ways home. So after a long day, I had to limp another mile or so back to my hotel. On top of everything else, I found out that my best-laid plans for late November had disintegrated, and I am now faced with trying to figure out what else I can and should do for a week that will work with the rest of my arrangements. After Skyping Tom, who also had an awful day, I was so tired and dispirited that I actually checked my “horror-scope” to see if there might be any end in sight.

Karma gave me a well-timed reality check this morning. I was in the lobby waiting for some information when the receptionist answered the phone. Her end of the conversation went something like, “What?! A doctor?... A hospital?... An ambulance?... IS HE DYING IN THE HOTEL ROOM NOW?” I decided that a sore leg and screwed-up sabbatical weren’t so bad in comparison, and I headed out into a lovely fall day. The tube is still closed down, so I planned to walk to the Natural History Museum via Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park. I shuffled through the fallen leaves, admiring the colors and watching all the folks and dogs out doing the very same thing. I came across an outdoor sculpture exhibition and then the Princess Diana memorial fountain. It is a low, undulating trough that goes around in a loop, with the water changing its flow from smooth and gentle to tormented. A woman commented that it wasn’t very pretty, but I thought it was an appropriate representation of Diana’s life experiences as a princess. Finally at the museum, I enjoyed an exhibition of wildlife photography that I missed when I was in London 2 weeks ago. I’ve been craving noodles, but I haven't been able to get past all the dead animals hanging in the windows of the Asian restaurants, so I settled for an early dinner at an Italian restaurant. I’ve done my laundry, and I need to re-pack. Tomorrow I’m off for the continent. I’m really looking forward to a happy reunion with Tom. (I’m bringing steak-flavored crisps for him!) Will update again post-chunnel.

I Like Purple, But...

Don’t let me ever do this. (It was worse from the front…)

Leicester to London

So my time in Leicester ended as it began, with Sue and me sitting in front of the French doors chatting. The grass was still green, but the foliage had turned to amber, russet, and brilliant red. As we rocked and reflected, Milly intently watched a woodpecker in the garden. Soon a knock on the door indicated that the taxi had arrived a few minutes early. Travel to London went smoothly, and I enjoyed the first-class coach and service. My hotel is well located and has been recently refurbished, but the room is even smaller than the one I had in Copenhagen. Seriously , I think they had to stand on a ladder in the hall to take a photo for the website. (And the bathroom is so small, you need to open the door to change underwear. But try not to picture that at home…)

I bought a day pass for the metro at around $9, so I headed back out and visited the Tate Britain. I was last there with friends in March, and I wiped out on the stairs when exiting. With my leg finally improving, I was very attentive when approaching and leaving the building. I’ve already had dinner and a shower, and I’m likely to go to bed soon. I didn’t sleep much last night, so I’m exhausted.

Big plans for my next two days here, but you’ll read about that later. From the Tate, I’m posting a self-portrait as well as a picture of what’s hanging out there these days. Let’s just say it’s attracting lots of good attention. (It was really interesting watching visitors interact with it.)