When the parents came to visit

April 18, 2011

I met up with my mom, who had flown in from Boston. We brought her luggage to the hotel my parents booked in an area of northwest London called Cricklewood. The area was relatively far out of central London, and required that we take an overground train to get there. We arrived at Cricklewood station and wanting to impress my mother with my refined sense of direction, I decisively started walking left outside of the station even though my knowledge of the area was entirely based off of a quick glance at google maps before I left my room. I didn’t acknowledge the minor discrepancy between the names "Cricklewood Broadway," the street the hotel was on, and "Cricklewood Lane," the street we immediately stepped on to upon exiting the station. This ignorance to detail led my mother and I, and the large items of baggage we were lugging, several blocks in the wrong direction. I only realized my mistake when the number address brought us to a line of dingy looking houses. When my mother assured me that we were staying in an actual hotel, and not some questionable bed and breakfast, I looked around for someone who I could ask directions from. A man lounging outside a convenience store told us that the hotel was pretty far down the road (in the direction we had come from) and that it may be a difficult walk with our suitcases. Little did he know that we already endured that walk and were still alive to tell the story. We slowly made our way back to where we started and looked at the map outside of the station. As we tiredly stared at the map, we heard a loud honking sound from behind us. We turned towards the honking truck, watching as the driver gestured something at us. I looked over to where he was pointing and saw my mom’s suitcase 20 meters away, rolling down the street. Turns out the suitcase had a better sense of direction than I did, because it was gliding in the direction we were supposed to go in the first place.

We turned the corner onto Cricklewood Broadway (which was a short 5 minute walk from the station we had arrived at nearly an hour before) and we were suddenly on a lively main street with several stores, dissimilar from the residential neighborhoods that surrounded it. The street looked oddly familiar to me, even though I was pretty certain I had never ventured out to a place called Cricklewood before (a name that I am confident would have stuck with me). Finally, we arrived at our hotel. The sign in front read “The Crown.” That's when I realized that I had been there before. We were near Kilburn. The sign immediately conjured fond memories of that time long, long ago when I stumbled upon this fine and impressionable area of London (see post "One Fateful Night in Kilburn"). I remembered wandering down the street away from Kilburn until I ended up at The Crown hotel’s pub to ask the bartender if he knew of any music venues. By some weird coincidence, my parents had selected this hotel out of all of the hotels in London (and I’m guessing there are a lot). The area was more bustling than the last time I visited in mid-winter and wasn't sketchy at all during the daytime. I was pleased to see that the kebab shops had remained the dominant enterprise on the street, providing my mother and I with a few inexpensive and tasty meals during the week.

While it was a nice hotel, getting to and from central London was time-consuming and annoying. It made me realize how lucky I was to be living so centrally, where I could take one or two subway lines anywhere I wanted to go and be there within just a few stops. The unfamiliar location also destroyed all confidence I had in being a good host, as well as my hopes of appearing as a true “Londoner” to my mother - especially as I continued to lead us in wrong directions, or get on wrong trains and buses completely, on multiple accounts. Here are some unfortunate examples which occurred over the week:

Instance number 1: We were trying to get back to the hotel on the overground, which required taking a train that travelled in the direction of Luton airport. As we approached the platforms, I saw that a train to Luton was about to leave so I hurried my mom so we could make it. We jumped on and the train started moving. As we made our way down the aisles in search for a seat, I noticed that the inside of the train appeared much nicer and cozier than the trains I was used to. I also noticed an unusal abundance of luggage. In fact, every single person on the train had luggage. Once I made this remarkable conclusion, and the train hadn’t made a stop for at least 10 minutes by that point, I asked the guy standing next to us if the train was ever going to stop. He told me that it was an express train to Luton airport, so it would not stop until an hour later when it arrived at Luton. My mom was flustered and I was annoyed by my stroke of bad luck, so we just stood in silence in the vestibule (unfortunately there weren’t any seats available) and tried to cope with our ever-pointless journey to and from Luton airport.

Instance number 2: We got on the overground from Cricklewood as usual. Since the station didn’t sell day cards, we waited to get to the underground to buy one. Technically, my mom was getting away with a free ride on the overground, but I saw no harm in this since she would be getting a day card that would be applicable anyways. After a few days of carrying out this seemingly infallible plan, two train workers randomly confronted us on the train and asked us to present proof of our ticket purchase. Until then, I had never been asked to present my ticket in my expansive history of taking London overground trains (well…3 months). I had a pre-paid student card, which I didn’t swipe because I didn’t think it mattered - I had already paid for unlimited traveling that week. But I lied and said I did, figuring there was no way they would know. Wrong. The man took a machine out of his pocket to scan my card and I knew I was screwed. So I moved on to plan B: taking on an ignorant American tourist role, and presenting reasons why I didn’t know I had to swipe. But the full-time student card I was cradling in my hand was not helping the authenticity of the act. The worker denied my excuses and asked us to get off at the next stop, which was one stop premature of the stop we needed to get off at. Ironically, I was the one who ended up being fined a hefty 20 pounds, and not my mother who had no ticket at all. She just silently stood to the side so that they would forget to question her. As they handed me my fine, they informed me that if it weren’t for my convincing American accent, I would be charged a much higher fine like the British. Unfortunately, we were trying to make it in time for the 11 am changing of the guards at Buckingham place, but these two fellows delayed us enough that we missed it (as a side note, I never did make it to see the changing of the guards the entire time I was in London. I fully blame them.)

Instance number 3: We wanted to try taking a bus into central London, since the train had become unbearably frustrating. I still wasn’t totally familiar with how to take buses from far distances (how to transfer, etc.), so I looked to see if I recognized any of the stops that we could take a direct bus to. I recognized “Edgware,” a road that was a short distance from my dorm, so we hopped on the bus destined for that stop. After a long 45 minutes of sitting on the bus and passing neighborhoods that didn't look familiar to me, we ended up at Edgware train station - the farthest possible point you can take a train to on the northern line. Apparently, there is an obnoxious distinction between “Edgware station” and “Edgware road station.” So, we had travelled for 45 minutes in the complete opposite direction, north, when we wanted to go south. To make it worse, taking the train wasn’t an option unless we wanted to pay a lot more money since we were in zone 5, and our passes were only good for zones 1 and 2 (these zones encompass central London, and there is never a need to venture outside to zone 3 even, let alone 5…except if you don’t know what you’re doing, of course). My mom was clearly unsettled by my tremendous unfamiliarity with London geography and transport by that point.

April 19, 2011

We went to Portobello market, a nice market on Portobello road that sells antiques, clothing, jewelry, food, etc. 

I brought my mom to Regent’s park afterwards, and we walked through the park to London zoo. 

The fish was trying to eat the glass.

A black swan

A baby monkey!

Bearded pigs

The camels were not looking their best that day.

"I'm bored."

Blood ice cubes? That's disgusting.

I have no idea what this is.

Afterwards, we took a water ferry to Camden town where we ate Indian food at the outdoor stalls.

An awesome fluorescent clothing store in Camden.

April 20, 2011

My mom and I went to the V&A Museum.

Pete Townshend's guitar

Mick Jagger's stage costume

Jimmy Page's stage costume

Elton John's stage costume and George Formby's banjo

I also visited Harrods for the first time. We ate dinner at a Lebanese restaurant in the area. In the evening, I went to a poetry slam in Bethnal Green with my my friend Danny, which would be my second time experiencing poetry in London. This time though, the crowd was a bit younger. I particularly enjoyed one performance by a guy who called himself "Superbard." He recited a dramatic story about a neglected and ignored traffic cone which he placed in a street, while corresponding music and video of the traffic cone played in the background. Look him up.

April 21, 2011

My mom and I went on a Thames river cruise. 

We had a picnic in St. James Park for lunch. In the evening, we saw the Phantom of the Opera at Her Majesty’s Theatre. The songs were so catchy that the tunes were stuck in my head for a solid week.

April 22, 2011

We went to the British Museum. It was humungous - you really need several days to get through the whole place. We saw the Rosetta stone and cool Egyptian artifacts, amongst hundreds of other things. 

Scarab

Giant fist

How to wrap a mummy

Early writing

Moai statue

Aphrodite

I also refreshed my knowledge of Mesoamerican history and archaeology from a class I took on the subject last semester - it was especially cool to see the artifacts that I remembered seeing in my textbooks right in front of me. 

Mayan glyphs

A Mayan codex

Jade serpent

There was another cool exhibit called Cradle to Grave, an interesting and unconventional narrative of two people's lives depicted by a display of every prescription drug that they took during their lifetimes. Vitamins and antibiotics that they took as babies started the trail of pills, and asthma medications and blood pressure medications, along with many others, were embedded near the end before the trail terminated. Family pictures and written notes from different stages of their lives supplemented the display. There were thousands of drugs under the names of these two people alone, representing the average number of drugs that individuals in the UK take during their lifetimes. The immense scale of the display makes you think. 

Cradle to Grave exhibit

April 23, 2011

My dad arrived. He rented a car, which I had forewarned him would be unwise given the amazing public transport system in London. However, he wanted to see more of the countryside than London that week, because he had a “been there, done that” mentality after having visited London a couple of times in his 20’s. By the time he got to the hotel from the airport, he had already scratched the rental car (later that week he remedied the problem with some silver nail polish). I was a little disconcerted by the idea of someone operating a car who, for decades, was accustomed to driving on the opposite side of the road - renting a car should not be that easy. I was constantly alert in the back seat while he was driving. The first few days required a group effort to focus on the road and remind my dad which side of the road the car should be on, especially during left turns. Throughout the week, my mom and I would witness him regularly enter the car on the passenger's side rather than the driver’s side. One time, he even reported that for a split second he thought that the steering wheel was stolen - until he discovered that the wheel was across from the other seat. That day, I brought them to Borough market and they tried the renowned Kappasaicin raclette, a Swiss dish with potatoes, pickles, and lots of melted cheese on top.

Also notable, I had my first legal alcoholic beverage with my parents that night during dinner.

April 24, 2011

We went over Shadi’s house for Easter and we had Hashwi, Tabouleh, and Lamb. Alena, Shadi's mother, made amazing Lebanese cookies called Maamoul. They're the best cookies ever. I ate so many of them.

April 25, 2011

Ugh...I studied the entire day. I met up with my parents in the evening and we got a drink. My dad, unaware of certain social norms, would ask for cider instead of beer whenever we went to a bar. He insists that cider isn't a feminine beverage choice, but this is inconsistent with the opinion of just about every other male I've surveyed. Still, he claims that the drink he is holding in this picture is a beer, in an effort to regain some of the masculinity that was lost with listening to Sheryl Crow and religiously watching Desperate Housewives, but it is definitely a cider.

April 26, 2011

My parents and I went to Brighton, a seaside town about an hour drive south of London. We walked along the pier, which had a giant arcade and carnival rides on it, and food stands (one from which my dad bought some weird South African gnu jerky). 

Having a blast.

Fun times.

Embarrassing.

A large cheerio, or raft, or whatever you want to interpret it as.

Mushy peas (which have the consistency of baby food) are commonly served with fish and chips in England.

We walked further into the town and saw the Royal Pavililian. It was an extravagant, Indian style palace (once a royal residence) that looked incredibly out of place in the southern England beach town. 

We walked around the Lanes, another section of Brighton and stopped at a pub for coffee.

Once again, my dad was drinking a cider (the orange beverage in the corner).

For dinner, we went to another pub for fish and chips. I had been told that Brighton was known for good fish and chips, so I went in with high expectations. We were not disappointed. They also had different kinds of fish and chips - my mom got Indian curry fish and chips, and my dad got some sort of spicy variation of the meal as usual. Being a purist, I got the original fish and chips. We drove back to the hotel after dinner. Since it was a Tuesday and I remembered that the North London Tavern in Kilburn hosted open mic night every Tuesday, we stopped there on the way back. I was excited to refresh my memory of the place and sit in on another enlightening session of music and poetry. The bar looked exactly as I remembered, but this time the wandering intoxicated man was absent. We walked up the stairs and through the curtain to enter the room where the open mic was held. Nobody was performing. Instead, many of the same people who I remembered seeing months before, including the bald man with the French moustache, were lounging on the couches, drinking wine, and chatting. One woman stood up and asked us what we were looking for. Apparently, the open mic session was only 15 minutes long that week due to a lack of performers. We were 30 minutes late. Moustache man chimed in and told us to come again next week. Sadly, I didn’t. But I’m going to make certain to go back to that place when I revisit London, be itin  5, 10, or 20 years. I have no doubt that I will find those same people reciting their beloved works at the front of the room.

April 27, 2011

I studied during the day. For dinner, we went to an awesome Afghan restaurant. The waiter was very friendly and in conversation, brought up that he used to live in New York. Apparently the restaurant has a chain in NYC, so I might check it out.

April 28, 2011

I got afternoon tea with my parents at a hotel called Montague on the Gardens. It was sooooo good. My favorite item on the tray was the clotted cream (probably named so because its consumption results in clotted arteries), which I ate by the spoonful without inhibition. 

That evening I went to see a play called Rocket to the Moon at the National Theatre with Danny. The play was set in New York, and I was impressed that the British actors could do a more convincing New York accent than I.

April 29, 2011

Danny and I went to the royal wedding, arriving casually late around the hour of 12 even though the church reception started at 11 (but it was okay because I misplaced my official invitation anyways). The streets were so packed with people that areas were closed off to prevent more people from coming in. We weren't able to get to the Mall to see the newly weds drive by, so we ended up watching everything on a large screen in Trafalgar Square (which essentially had the same effect). Plus, I even had the tremendous honor of seeing the mayor of London walk by me. He got up on the stage and awarded the royal couple with a tandem bike. 

Boris Johnson speaking to the public

April 30, 2011

My dad departed for the states. That evening I had dinner with my mom at an Indian restaurant and we saw Woman in Black at the Fortune theatre. It was a thriller about a "woman in black," a ghost who kills people's children when they mess with her personal business. It was enjoyable and an interesting experience since I had never attended a scary play before - though the scare was simply the shock value of abrupt, loud sound effects.