Since my last email I have moved on to greener pastures. Literally, much greener, but figuratively
as well. My time in London and Cork has come and gone, and now I find myself back in the frozen
tundra that is modern Romania. This email will re-cap some of the highlights from my time with the most
cheerful people on earth (after New Yorkers and Romanian orphans, of course):
Upon arriving in London I notice immediately that the voice of the Tube has changed. The voice that tells
you to kindly "Mind the Gap" and forewarns you when you are approaching delightful sounding places like
"Earl's Court" and "Picadilly". The voice of the tube is England's version of the voice of the man that
narrates all of our movie previews for us. It is a voice you come to expect and enjoy. And then I
remembered something I read recently: that the woman who is the voice of the tube was fired for making
inappropriate remarks in her own special tone on the Internet. Things like: "Ladies, sit especially close
to the lonely looking man next to you. He probably hasn't been laid in months." And: "To our dear
American friends, you are most likely talking a wee bit too loud." All in her lovely rolling accent. So
she was fired, where to my taste she should have been promoted for having a sense of humor (although to be
fair, I don't know what promotions are available if you are the voice of the tube...maybe they pipe in
your vocals with backup music?)
Anyway, enough about that. The first great thing to happen to me in London: McDonald's. I broke the
Orthodox village fast in fine form, ordering a cheeseburger, chicken "holiday" wrap with cranberry
sauce, and cheesy filled treats that we don't have at home. Unless they invented them while I was away,
which is possible. I was proud of myself for keeping the fast, but McDonald's is really what I'm meant for.
The British are the friendliest people on earth. Or maybe they're not, but with those accents they sure
seem to be. I called for a cab while in London only to be answered with: "You'd like a taxi?! Well OF
COURSE you can have a car love!! We'll be over in a jiffy! Safe journeys!" When I call for a cab in
Boston I am greeted with: "You wanna ca? yeah, what? yeah, we're busy...45 minutes. (phone slams)" No
pleasantries at all. And when the taxi arrived in London, a pleasant looking fellow came right up to the
door, rang the bell, and asked me if he could carry all my bags. In Boston you can sure as hell bet that
won't happen. A very long and agitated honk is the most one can hope for.
I spent the night in London with my good friend Nicola's brother Dave (it was Nicola's wedding I was
headed to in Cork). Dave is great and made me fish pie (nicer than it sounds...it's like a chicken pot
pie really) and wine. Dave lives with a pair of roommates who are apparently a couple, but who I took
to be a grandfather/granddaughter team. An unlikely romance if you will. I only ultimately concluded that
they were a couple by counting the number of bedrooms and deducing that if they were not a couple then there
were some even stranger family sleeping arrangement at play. The romance was later confirmed by Nic.
Anyway, also at the home was Dave's girlfriend, who is an Olympic medalist in rowing. She could have snapped
me in half with only her pinky. But she didn't because really, why would she? I was a little
embarrassed at Dave's because I had to do all the laundry I've been neglecting for weeks, and since
Brits don't seem to have drying machines to accompany their washing machines I had to hang all of my
dainties all over the house, right in front of my new acquaintances. I'm sure they enjoyed that.
Ireland was great, the way Ireland is always great. I stayed in Cork which is exactly as you imagine Ireland
to be in the greatest ways the place can be stereotyped. Cheerful, colorful buildings, pubs on
every corner, lots of Guinness, lots of green. Perfect. It was, of course, a grey day, as it is
prone to be in Ireland. But the Irish, with characteristic good cheer, were all exclaiming on
wedding day "what a lovely day for a wedding!!!" Only in Ireland would a grey, cold day which threatened
rain be deemed a lovely day for a wedding. This is why I like the place.
My only problem in Ireland (and also in all of Europe for the matter) is my complete inability to accurately
predict where and when the two-cheeked kiss will come my way. I get ready to greet someone with a
handshake, they come at me with a kiss. I lean in for a kiss, they bump into my own face awkwardly, always
going in for the opposite side than what I had predicted. This was at its worst meeting the best man
at the wedding, where the greeting was a complete fiasco resulting in me hitting his face straight-on.
No wonder people think Americans are easy.
A few final notes on Ireland: The Irish are impressed with quantity, not quality, when it comes to taking
pictures. I was Nic's wedding photographer, and at least 40 people told me what a fantastic photographer
I was based on seeing a total of zero of my pictures. And I would say, "Yes, but you haven't SEEN the
pictures yet." To which the reply was always "Yes, but you took SO MANY!!! Brilliant!!" This is my kind
of crowd. The wedding ended with everyone kicking their legs in a big drunk circle at the pub while
the bride and groom danced to Fairytale of NY in the middle. Now THAT'S Ireland.
A few final notes on England: The English say things like "I thought you were coming at tea time!?" Imagine hearing
that in NY.
And this, this I like:
English children have been polled and the results are in. They believe that the 3 worst things a person can be
are: a terrorist, fat, drunk. This strikes me as an odd list, and perhaps the latter two categories could
be replaced with some more egregious crimes, but I am not British nor a child so I don't get to vote. I
heard this announcement in a small town called Ifield that features a monthly magazine with a lead article titled
"Is YOUR Neighbor a Curtain Twitcher?" The article states that "when it comes to feeling outdone by a neighbor, most of
those surveyed cited the garden as the prime area where their neighbors excelled." So what these children say
should be taken with a grain of salt.
Anyway, I am back in Romania now. I knew I was on my way back when, at the airport, I saw a very sketchy
looking man with a full roll of duct tape in his pocket boarding the plane to Bucharest. I pointed
this out to the airline attendant to which she cheerfully replied "No worries!" Ok then. The man
was wearing an old school Boston Red Sox jacket, the likes of which I have never seen in Boston, so at
least if he's a terrorist he has his sports loyalties in tact.
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