Wednesday, February 19

Home Again, Home Again

Have you missed me? I've been off gallivanting around the world. Well, not exactly. Just a weekend in London that turned out to be a longer weekend than expected. I could go chronologically through the days, but I'm just not in that kind of mood. I'm in more of a free-floating, not-feeling-terribly-grounded-right-now kind of mood so I'll just let it all spill out and see what comes of it.... In all honesty, I'm not a huge fan of London. I don't dislike the city, but I don't think I get it like so many of my friends do. I have a coworker that goes doe-eyed at the thought of the city and just raptures at its marvels. Sure it's a fun place, but given my druthers, I'd take Paris (or Budapest or Haifa or...) any day.... I hate flying coach. I don't care how CWIT that makes me sound; it's just a statement of fact: I detest coach. Those tiny seats and my constant shifting to avoid economy class syndrome. The backs of the seats have video monitors and on them you can watch the flight path of the plane, which would be very cool except when you get close to your destination and you can see the plane flying past the city, around the city, and in zig zags (which is what our flight did). I couldn't figure out if we were dodging terrorist missiles or just lost....Rick Steves's guidebooks rock. True, he lacks on things such as where to eat or where to stay (unless you're unusually budget-minded; we were watching what we spent, but we're no longer traveling on absolute poverty student budgets), but his guides through the museums are the best. I tend to get overwhelmed when faced with a museum. I start out reading every description and looking at every painting, but then I'm only an eighth (or whatever) the way through, and I'm tired and cranky and art-ed out. Rick Steves's books have museum tours that let you hit the highlights. Every time I do one of his museum tours, I think, "Oh, when I'm done, I'll go back and look at everything else." It's never happened. His a one-and-a-half hour tour of the National Gallery was just the right length to keep my interest. What can I say? I'm just not a cul-tahed person....The cigarette smoke in London is fierce.... The Underground is horrendous. The central line runs right past our hotel, only it derailed about a month ago and hasn't yet been fixed. And it seemed that every time we had to go somewhere, we'd get on a train only to hear, "Green Park station is closed" or "This train isn't running between Liverpool Street and Baker Street" and we'd end up circumnavigating London to go what should have been two stops.... Visiting my friend Emily from the kibbutz at her home in Ipswich was the highlight of the visit for me. She and her husband made us lunch, while I played with her gorgeous three-and-a-half-week old son.... Family actually seemed to get along this trip. Of course, there was lots of whispering behind backs, but that's better than the outright punches often thrown to people's faces (please understand, I'm not talking about my immediate family, who all get along more or less fabulously; I'm talking extended family only). My cousin asked me when I'd write the tell-all book, but the fact is, no one would believe it if I wrote it.... People keep asking me if the wedding was nice. I tell them the truth: I have no idea. The rabbi's accent was thick enough that if he had been speaking Chinese, I might have understood more of it. It may have been a traditional ceremony, a personal ceremony, a humorous ceremony. Who knows? The synagogue was incredible--oddly enough it looked a lot like a church, with a podium for the rabbi to speak from (not the bima, but an actual raised podium like in churches) and stained-glass windows. My cousin looked beautiful and the reception place was fancy-shmancy (and now I know why I couldn't find it when I Googled it. Everyone kept saying the reception was at the "Barclay Hotel," which is indeed how it's pronounced, even though those silly Brits spell it "Berkeley Hotel"). We had drinks at the hotel bar between the wedding and the reception, and I was impressed that the Tweedle Twirp didn't say anything completely obnoxious when the waiter leaned over and half-whispered, "You know, Gwyneth Paltrow was sitting in that exact chair last night." As someone astutely pointed out, for the price of those drinks, Gwyneth Paltrow should have been serving the drinks.... Adam and I missed the big anti-protest rally because that's the day we went to Ipswich. The Tweedle Twins and my mom went. However, even if I could have gone, I wouldn't have, because in the U.K., the protest wasn't just against war, but against Israel, which of course, I have strong feelings about (from the BBC: "Anas Altikriti, of the Muslim Association of Britain, told BBC News Online that the demonstration had got its message across peacefully - that campaigners wanted justice for Palestine and no military strike on Iraq."). Let it be known that I'm not against a Palestinian state--I'm actually in support of one. However, I'm not comfortable amongst the anti-Israeli sentiment that I saw....Moira Redmond writes in the Slate Diary of the U.K., "You can talk to friends, acquaintances, chance-met fellow shoppers or other passengers on the train, and you will never meet anyone who supports the war whole-heartedly." Redmond obviously hasn't been talking to the cab drivers. Adam and I got an earful from one who went on and on about how it was important to do something about Iraq, and that the French weren't supporting it because they were supplying the Iraqis with weapon parts. His speech really felt more anti-French than pro-war, although he was most definitely pro-war. There were lots of snips about how the French needed the Americans to save their butts during WWII, and how ungrateful the French are (again, from the British cab driver).... We were supposed to leave London on Monday, but because of the massive snow storm, we were stuck in London for an extra night.... I'm sure there's loads more to write--how Adam kept trying to get into the driver's seat, wandering through Mayfair, freezing our noses on the upper deck of a tour bus, our delight at the treasures of the British Library, the fun of playing with my favorite cousins, lunch in the pub, dinner and a show with my family--but I don't feel like writing anymore, so we'll call this enough.

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