Dalston!!!

After two weeks of searching, Angie and I found a flat in Hackney (a borough of London) in an area called Dalston. Hunting for flats here is much different than finding apartments in US. Most flats in decent areas go off the market 1-3 days after going on the market. You have to be ready and primed to jump on the tube and rush off to see the small, over priced space that you are going to live in the next 6-12 months and have money in hand to give to the realtor to say that you are serious about the place.

We started poking around different areas when I visited in March/April, just to find an area we liked. We did that and as soon as we started seriously looking when I got here earlier this month, we quickly realized that cost of rent does not equal quality of flat.

The first area we looked at, without knowing much about London was Bethnal Green. It was a decent area, but something about the lack of green space turned us off from the area. Then we checked Wanstead, which we fell in love with. This is where we found out about flats going before they were even being posted online and the ones that were able to be viewed, were a bit cramped. We then tried Leyton and Leytonstone, which proved to be quite scary. One flat could have been used in a horror movie set, complete with a downstairs neighbor who was looking at us through a barely cracked open door (all I saw was an eyeball glaring at us).

After this, we went for a drive and found this huge green space called Victoria Park (apparently one of the larger public parks in the city). This was in Hackney and we fell in love with the area again, but also found that prices right around Victoria Park to be quite high. So we went back towards Leyton to an area called Stratford.

Stratford was nice and it's being built up for the 2012 Olympics. We found a really great house, yes - house, not flat, that was the perfect space, but something still didn't feel right about the area. We did tell the realtor that we were 90% on getting the place and he really liked us, so he said, go check out your last place for the day and call me back. I'll hold it for you without you putting the money down.

We really wanted to check out more of Hackney to see if we could find a little pocket that would be affordable and feel safe to be in. So we went to see the last place scheduled for the day. The flat was in such a great neighborhood - one that we would definitely feel comfortable in. But the flat was in the basement, decked out in late 60's/early 70's furniture (and not in a chic retro way either - more of an old and decrepit way), with a bed that had springs poking out, a couch that felt like it was made out of bricks, and a shower that was build under a slanted wall (meaning that the only way to shower would be to squat...the ENTIRE time). Oh, did I mention the teal toilet and bathtub? We had to say no, even though we loved the area.

But I recalled seeing this realtors name on another flat when I was poking around online, but never found the ad again. So I asked him about it. It was a bit on the high end of our price range, but nothing ventured nothing gained. As soon as we walked into this place, we were floored. It was perfect. It was a newly built, gated apartment complex. The area around it was bustling and felt positive and there were about 12 buses that stopped about 3 minutes from our flat so we would have many access points to other parts of the city.

The realtor claimed that he had someone coming for a second viewing (although we both felt that even though flats go quick that this was a ploy on his part) and that we should act quick if we like it. Considering that we loved the flat, loved the area, were fairly close to Victoria Park, and know how quick flats do get snatched up, ploy or not, we were ready to make the jump. So here it is...

These are all pictures from the realtors website, but it gives a good idea of what the place will be like. Oh, the bathroom is huge too.

Woo hoo!!!!

That's more like it

Since I got to England about two weeks ago, it's been warm and sunny every day. Ok, maybe not sunny, but definitely warm. And hardly no rain. Until today. There has been a slight chill in the air and the rain has come off and on all day long, even a bit of small hail at one point.

But this forecast seems more like what I expected...

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

Even though I have only lived abroad for two years (and really only began international travel about three years), I feel like I'm a fairly adept traveller. I feel as though I can go with the flow and adapt to the circumstances. Especially in a country that speaks English.

Now, I thought this same thing when I moved to Trinidad and I came into a major culture shock for the first few months. It was my first exposure to driving on the left side of the road, Caribbean English can be hard to decipher, especially when you aren't accustomed to the slang, and the everyday choices (ie - groceries) had some similarities, but for the most part was pretty different.

Moving to London, I was prepared for all of that. After all, I'm "experienced" right? Given, I'm more familiar with the slang after having a couple of British friends and students in Trinidad, the last two years, watching some British TV, and having visited London a number of times. So I was good there. However, my first into the Tesco (national grocery store chain), put me in my place right quick.

We started in the produce section and Angie started grabbing all of her regular, favorite goods. I picked up a mango here, some plums there, and that was about it. I was a little overwhelmed by the choices. I had no idea that there were so many different types of lettuce. In Trinidad we had Iceberg and cabbage. Then throw in all the options between organic and non-organic and it started to get to be a bit much. So I said, I'll just follow your lead and add on here and there. My way of getting out of making any decisions.

We moved along and when we got to the bread aisle, it was more than I could handle. Wheat, whole wheat, multi-grain, oats, different sizes of each one, and on top of all of that, you had to check expiration dates, because stuff is fresh over here. By the time we got to the aisle with snack bars, and various other boxed goods, my head was spinning. I almost felt like I was having a panic attack. I felt short of breath and I couldn't even figure out if I was looking at a brand name on the box or the name of whatever type of food it was. I just couldn't do it anymore and I had to throw in the towel.

Angie agreed and said she remembered how overwhelmed she was when she first went shopping there and her running around like an old pro and break-neck speeds (because who really wants to spend an afternoon at the grocery) didn't help my situation. She then took a step back and really took in the panicked look on my face and said, let's go check out. I felt like such a tool. Who freaks out at a grocery store?

The next few days Angie had to work so I was kind of on my own during the day. I did some stuff around the house (laundry, making dinner, etc.), looked for flats on the UK's version of Craig's List called Gumtree, and went downtown once to visit a friend from Trinidad who was visiting family here (she's now teaching in Kampala, Uganda - Hi Sam!). But then, in order to be able to drive Angie's car that is provided by her work, I had to take a driving induction class, where they basically see if I'll be a danger on the roads or if I can be trusted behind the wheel of an automobile without killing anyone or driving on the wrong side of the road.

All I heard about driving in England is how incredibly difficult the tests are - the written and the actual driving test. We have all been told that most people do not pass the first time. There are many differences that you will be graded on, besides the obvious of driving on the "proper" side of the road. For instance, you cannot cross your hands while driving or turning. You can check your blind spot, but cannot turn around when driving. This includes going in reverse - all checking needs to be done from your three mirrors.

And then there are the signs, paint and the roundabouts. There are more signs on the sides of these roads than I have ever seen. They have signs that tell you that you are 300 meters from the upcoming exit, then 200 meters, then 100 meters. But you don't know that is what they are telling you, because they are just slanted lines. The national speed limit is noted by a white sign with a black line through it. But you can't just remember that the national speed limit is 70. No, no. You have to know from this same sign, what the different speed limits are if you are on a dual carriage way, rural road, or motorway. You also have to determine what speed limit you need to drive in residential or urban settings by the street lights - not necessarily a posted speed limit.

The streets are also painted with loads of different markings as well. If there is a white zig-zag (like on Charlie Brown's shirt) you cannot park there. If there is a double yellow line, you cannot park there. But if there is no zig-zag and no double yellow line, you still might be cited because you may block the flow of traffic. There are arrows galore and there are giant triangles painted on the road to let you know that an intersection is coming up, in case you couldn't tell by the traffic and road crossing your path.

THEN there are the roundabouts. Oh my are there roundabouts. There are roundabouts that are as small as a painted circle in the middle of an intersection and roundabouts that are so big that they are as big as half a city block and have buildings built on them. There are roundabouts extending off of roundabouts and signs that look like something out of Pee Wee's Big Adventure (I'll try to get a picture of one sometime).

But it's not just the roundabouts, because in all honesty, they do keep traffic going. It's the supposed etiquette of the roundabouts. If you are turning at the first exit, you must be in the left lane with your left turn signal on. If you are going straight, the you don't have anything on and you stay in the left lane. If you are going "past 12:00", then you need to be in the right lane, with your right turn signal on and when you past the second to last exit before your desired exit, you need to get in the left lane and when you pass the exit prior to your desired exit, you need to make sure your left turn signal is on, and then you can exit. I swear there are rules to the rules just to have rules and it gets quite ridiculous, if you couldn't tell.

Fortunately, I have always kind of enjoyed driving and while I may not always follow the rules, I tend to know them. Angie warned me that when she went out for this driver's induction class, the instructor kept grabbing the steering wheel and moved her from one side of the lane to the other. She told me how incredibly stressful it was and at the end of her class, the instructor let out an exasperated sigh and told Angie that she would most certainly fail the exam, but they will let her drive for now.

When I got behind the wheel, I had a slight advantage because I was used to being on the left side of the road from driving in Trinidad. We drove for about 30 minutes and I asked a lot of questions as my instructor was telling me where to turn and what not. After the 30 minutes, we pulled into a retail garden center and he gave me a quick summary - I followed the cars a little close on the highway (he keeps about a 4-5 second rule for distance so he's a little extreme), but said on the whole, that I was a very competent driver and then asked me if I would like to go have tea. I thought that was nice, so I did, we chatted and he dropped me off at home.

Angie was a little perturbed by the difference in our experiences, but is now very happy to know that she can hand over the keys and not have to drive everywhere anymore. I guess I'm happy with that too.

I'm also happy that things are starting to get a bit more familiar for me now that I've been here a couple weeks. Hopefully the differences won't be as extreme, although I'm sure they will continue for months to come.

The big jump across the pond

I've made it to England...finally! It's been a long time coming, a year in the planning as a matter of fact. Well, maybe not so much planning, but a lot of talking and a lot of throwing things out there and waiting for them to fall in place. A couple things have fallen into place and a few things are still up in the air. But this is not about that, let's instead talk about my journey and first experiences as a new "resident".

It began with a trip to O'Hare airport in Chicago. Angie and I were dropped off at Terminal 2 for Air Canada. We both flew Air Canada to Ottawa on different flights and then to London on different flights, but flying at the same time. We waited in line for about 30 minutes and finally got to the representative (no self check-in's for Air Canada). She looked at us perplexed and said:

"Oh, your flight is being operated by United, you need to go to Terminal 1. Have you really been waiting in line this whole time?"

"Yes we have."

"Oh jeez. I better check to see if anyone else is waiting for that flight too..."

So off we went to United, in Terminal 1. Fortunately it was only about a 3 minute walk and the representative for Air Canada gave us a push cart to load our bags on. We had two suitcases, a giant duffel bag, and to packed backpacks (carry-ons) filled with my stuff, Angie's roller derby gear, and her clothing from her 3 week vacation to the States.

At the United counter, we weigh our bags and (of course) they are over weight. The weight limit is 50 lbs and we had my duffel bag at 52.5 lbs, one suitcase (fairly large) at 60 lbs and the last suitcase (a normal carry-on sized suitcase) at 40 lbs. The charge for overweight bags is $200, regardless of how little or over the weight is. So we stepped aside to a counter where no one was at and started digging through the bags, weighing each item we removed and put it either into our carry ons or into the small carry-on sized suitcase. With my masterful skills, we got both overweight bags down to exactly 50 lbs and crammed that little carry-on sized bag up to about 45 lbs. These things were busting at the seams. I realize that this may all seem impertinent, but it comes back into play when you least expect it.

Anyway, we move back to the check-in counter and Angie asks if we can get on the same flight to Ottawa. Yes, but there will be a fee. (No thanks) We ask if we can get on the same flight from Ottawa to London, considering that both planes are leaving and arriving at the same time. Yes, but there will be a fee. (Again, no thanks) We check in and are off...

Angie is the first to fly. I get her on her plane and I kill about 2 hours until my flight. I hop on my plane and arrive to Ottawa to be greeted by a very nice, but very inquisitive immigration agent. He's asking me why I'm going to London. I'd like to say "What's it to you?" but decide to take the nice honest route and tell him that I'm going to meet my girlfriend who is living over there while I look for work. He then proceeds with the 3rd degree:

"What does your girlfriend do over there?"

"Is she American?"

"Do you know that you can't work on a visitor's visa?"

"Do you know the requirements to get a work visa?"

This goes on for a bit and I'm thinking...Holy crap! If this is what it's like to just pass through Canada, what's going to happen when I get to England? He eventually let's me pass and I meet up with Angie on the other side as my plane is getting ready to board. Not many planes were flying out of Ottawa at 10:30 PM in the international terminals. I ask her where her plane is boarding and she informs me that we are on the same plane. That my flight got merged with hers due to lack of seats being sold. Wait a minute!! Wasn't that lady at United going to charge me to get on the same plane with Angie? Whatever.

The flight is great. Sleeping pills work wonders on a red-eye flight. We arrive in London and proceed to English immigration counter. I'm starting to get nervous, but we decided that honesty is the best way to go. We tell the guy what the situation is (her working, me looking for work) and he says:

"You know you can't work on a visitor's visa. Just be sure you follow the proper procedures for getting a work visa and leave/re-enter the country properly if you do find work. Now be on your way."

??? I love the crack security in Canada for someone visiting England, but England is just like, "eh, whatever." Fine by me. And our adventure continues on the long tube ride from Heathrow to the connecting Central Line in London proper. Here is where it gets fun...

As we are heading up the escalator to get to the Central line, I'm pulling/pushing the large suitcase, carrying my backpack (nearly 50 lbs as well) and lugging the large duffel bag, while Angie leads the way with the heavy carry-on sized suitcase and her carry-on bags. As I approach the escalator, I try to get the suitcase on one of the steps straightaway. But I misjudged and it's balanced on the edge of the step above the step in front of me. So I try to slightly pull it back towards me, but apparently I pulled just a weeee bit too much. Being not so balanced with my heavy backpack and the heavy duffel slung over one shoulder, I proceed to fall over backwards, down the escalator. Fortunately there was no one directly behind me, because I fell down 2-3 steps. Two guys down the escalator a bit run up and help me get up asking if I was all right. I respond, "Yeah, I'm ok. Now that's not something you see every day." They didn't laugh. I felt (deservedly) like such an ass, I had to try to make light of it somehow. Maybe I should have told them a pirate joke.

We got to the top. A guy in front of me who grabbed the toppled suitcase hands it back to me and the guys behind me ask again if I'll be ok. "Yeah" I grumble and I catch up with Angie who is rushing to get to our train connection. We get there as people are piling in and I ask her if we can just wait a minute. She looks at me a bit perturbed but agrees and then looks down at the blood that I have streaming from the palm of my hand and yells, "What the hell happened to you?" Apparently she was the only one on the escalator who did not see what happened so I fill her in.

Fortunately, the rest of the travel was fairly uneventful. We got to Chelmsford (where we are staying for the next 3-4 weeks while we look for a flat closer to London) and proceeded to crash out for close to 14 hours.