Tuesday, September 15, 2009

London, England

A fine evening to you!

My harried brain is finally starting to settle after our five-day, whirlwind tour of London. And now we find ourselves in Bulgaria. For whatever reason. But first, let’s speak of London-town. To set the mood, I have decided to localise (localize) this letter into British English. After all, US<->UK adaptation is one of the specialties of my translation company, and since this is a business trip, after all. I thought it best. I have provided translations in brackets (parenthesis) for those who may speak only Yankee (American). If thou art able, pray thee read henceforth in thine finest British accent!

Over all, we had a brilliant holiday (awesome vacation) in London, and I’m still reeling from all that we tried to fit in. Our travel philosophy to this point has involved seeing as few of the tourist destinations as possible in each country… as much to reduce travel expenses as to maintain a sustainable pace of life for the children since we are in this for the long haul… Peru without visiting Machu Picchu… Brazil without seeing Rio… Spain with no bullfight… OK, well we did make the mistake of attending a bullfight in Spain, but we have already blocked that from memory.

In London, we threw this strategy out the window and substituted a policy of sleeping as little as possible to fit in as many sites as one could ever hope to see in five days. Our choice to lug our rucksacks (backpacks) to the nearest youth hostel with a room to let (rent) helped both with the budget and with the goal of sleeping as little as possible. We commenced each morning by topping off (filling up) on a free breakfast bar, consisting of your choice of either Wonder bread with conserves (jam) or toasted Wonder bread with conserves. Both items being of questionable expiry (expiration) date. We tucked up (went to bed) each evening to the sound of Karaoke wafting from the hostel lobby below.

After exchanging our Euros for Sterling pounds and pence (at a bloody terrible exchange rate, mind you), we commenced our adventure straight away by descending the nearest lift (elevator) and joining (getting on) the underground (subway), which was to be our primary method of travel. Far more reasonably-priced, mind you, than hiring (renting) a black cab or double-decker coach (bus). And in any case, we couldn’t get accustomed to dodging articulated lorries (semis), caravans (campers), and fire brigade engines (fire trucks) barrelling at us on the wrong side of the bloody carriageway (highway). Of course, petrol (gas) was far too expensive to consider a hire car.

So, we sat out on foot and by underground, minding the gap and looking left instead of right at zebra crossings (crosswalks). The list of sites we hit on the itinerary looks embarrassingly like a travel brochure:

· Buckingham Palace

· Westminster Abbey

· Big Ben

· Tower of London

· Madame Tussauds Wax Museum

· Globe Theatre

· Trafalgar Square

· Her Majesty’s Theatre (Phantom of the Opera)

· British Museum

· Tate Modern Art Museum

· National Portrait Gallery

Sadly, a football match (soccer game) was not amongst our undertakings as time was just too bloody short. We did get to visit a number of the city’s smashing green spaces, however, where the lads played on the see-saws (teeter-totters) and strolled along the footpaths (sidewalks), chatting with Bobbies (cops), gathering chestnuts, and feeding monkey nuts (peanuts) to the squirrels.

The main difference we noted from Portugal was the lack of rubbish (trash) and nappies (diapers) strewn about. It was also surprising to see well-tended doggies purposefully on leads (leashes), and owners disposing of doo (poo) in thoughtfully-placed rubbish bins. And, of course, we got to speak English for the sole four-day period in two years, so a delightful time was had by all.

The highlight of the week was undoubtedly attending a presentation at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. Troilus and Cressida (which is Shakespeare’s version of the story of the Greeks vs. Troy) was on the programme. After firstly queuing up (standing in line) to purchase our £5 ($9) tickets, we filed into the theatre for a brilliant performance that exceeded our wildest expectations. There are no seats on the floor of the theatre, which is a colourful, open-air, circular, wooden structure, much like it was in Shakespeare’s time, so patrons stand or mill about, and the audience hence becomes an integral component of the three-hour performance. We feared that the children might tire quickly under these conditions, but instead they manoeuvred to the foot of the stage where they stood frozen—gapping-mouthed and incredulous staring up the actors’ Greek skirts—for the duration of the performance. There was no shortage of blood, guts, lust and mêlée. I only forced Cruz to let me coddle him a few rows back when the blood from the stage began to run under his feet. During the interval (intermission), Cruz and I had an involved conversation about the details of the battle scenes while Jason procured the ice cream. Cruz spent the rest of the day parroting my insistence that the bad guys were really just actors who go home at night and have dinner with their kids and are not really fully dead. Only mostly dead.

The following evening we went to see the Phantom of the Opera on the much smarter stage of Her Majesty’s Theatre. The Phantom had a hard act to follow, but the children were still enchanted by the grandeur of the stage. (And really, is that a huge surprise seeing as how we’ve never let them watch television?) I had to slap myself each time I started singing along. And thanks to my bad memory, the ending was a HUGE SURPRISE. Somehow, I’ve only got the first half memorized.

We also frequented many of the dark and dingy pubs, where Jason and I topped off on the hoppy beers we’ve been missing for the past eleven months, whilst the children sampled bangers and mash (sausages and mashed potatoes), fish and chips, wedges with bacon, chutney, minced meat pies, jacket potatoes (baked potatoes), candy floss (cotton candy), and nothing much good for them that I can recall.

Personally, my favourite finding was the ad commonly found in Water Closets (bathrooms) of the pubs advertising the much-beloved You Drink, We Drive service. It seems that if you’ve had a pint too many, you can ring (call) their number and a cheeky chap will turn up on at the car park (parking lot) of the pub of your choice on a foldable scooter, which he will then place into the boot (trunk) of your car and proceed to drive you and your car home safely. And the best part… they offer monthly memberships.

But, alas, our time in London was too brief. And now we find ourselves in Bulgaria. For whatever reason. I haven’t fully grasped the new surroundings yet, but will write again soon. Until then, good night, and Godspeed.

Cheerio!

Angela