Traveling to Milan

The notice that the British Underground was striking on the day we were leaving was heart warming. I had never thought I had that much influence on the Underground.  There was no doubt though that this threw a wrench into our getting to Heathrow. 
We checked out of the Westbury Hotel.  It was a really fine place though for 3 nights we heard a soft radio all night, BBC news. Mind you it was the BBC news that told us the Underground had struck.  Fortunately the Underground wasn't communicating with the Overground so we were able to get on the C1 Bus to Victoria.  Unfortunately our luggage blocked aisles and caused near riots.  Were it not for the baby trams which were joining us in solidarity we'd likely have been lynched. 
We barely reached Victoria because the Underground traffic came up Overground and everyone with a car, truck or motorcycle was using them to the chagrin of the bus driver. 
At Victoria we switched to a Coach Bus, the British equivalent of Grey Hound.  This wasn't as easy as it might seem because all the rest of the travellers in London were thinking the same thing. Victoria Station became the centre of the exodus to Heathrow.  We stood forever and then some in a line waiting for tickets all the while the intercom system warned us about gangs of theives and pick pockets passing as street people.  We thought several were in the line itself and held our luggage tightly.
The coach made the trip to Heathrow in good time with us aboard.  Still it was only 10 minutes before gate closing that we actually arrived at the plane 5 hours after leaving the hotel room.
The British Airways plane was packed.  Laura and I were separated and I was settled in the middle of two very serious men reading spreadsheets and such.  I nodded off a couple of times, their reading being that boring.
At Milan, Laura accompanied me while I had my first Italian Cappucino.  Yes, the coffee did taste better.  Yes, it did.  While I was savouring the coffee I realized I had left my itinerary on the plane. All we had was the hotel name and address.
We were tired still and rather than taking a bus I opted to take a taxi.  The fellow was dressed in khaki carrying an AK47 and didn't speak English.  Every few miles he'd look over his shoulder and give us a toothless grin and say suicide, suicide with a nod of his head.  If he'd said suicide in English I might be more concerned but he spoke it with an Italian accent and while it sounded like Suicide I ignored it because the hampster running a treadmill connected to the rate meter was obiously doing crack.  The price just kept rising while we seemed to be orbitting the planet.  86 Euros later, he let us out of the car. 
The Ibis Hotel, Best Western, Milan was a joy to reach. For one thing all the reception spoke English.  The menus were in English. The rooms were somewhat minimalist furniture design but all clean lines and new.  When I lost 2 Euros in the coke machine the very pretty receptionist gave me two more. These were promply swallowed by the coke machine without any return at all. She quickly restored my money laughing and pointed me to another coke machine across the hall.  We had our meal at the hotel restaurant too.An Angel from the British Airways phoned to say that they'd found my itinerary. They called the hotel without my even calling them and I made arrangements to get it back with the departure tickets etc.
In the hotel restaurant, Laura finally had her Italian pizza while I had Italian sausage with quacamole sauce.  Just the Italian ambience towards food caused my saliva to become operatic while my stomach sang 4 part harmony and my bowels rejoiced with Hallelujas.
Now it's time for bed.  I'm at the International Society of Addiction Medicine tomorrow.  They've booked seats at an opera with dinner for Wednesday night. I don't know what the show is but it's good to be part of a group that likes Opera. 

Lily Tandoori Restaurant, UK

Lily Tandoori Restaurant ,66 Lillie Road,UK,SW6 7

The Knightsbridge Tailor had recommend Khan's in Kensington. We'd almost gone there but walking, stopped for soup at a marvelous covered outdoor cafe place across from the London Lamborghini store. We drank lattes, ate delicious soup with garlic toast and looked across the rain at beautiful sportscars.

Staying near Earl's Court we'd thought to eat tandoori there but Laura hadn't ridden a double decker bus. We caught one headed south on Earl's Court past Old Brompton Road. That's when we saw Lily's Tandoori from the upper deck. It was a spur of the moment decision but we were wanting Tandoori chicken.

I first ate it in Winnipeg when I was working as an Intern dying from hospital food. A lovely East Indian couple opened a restaurant beside Winnipeg Health Science Centre and saved my life with exceptionally tasty nutrition.

Near midnight the streets didn't seem at all seedy but walking about a bit I didn't know how far I'd go in any side street. The Lily Restaurant, though, had all manner of awards certificates pasted on the door. Two beautiful young women were sitting just inside the entrance, obviously enjoying their food and delighted in each others conversation and company. They had that vaguely educated upper class quality about them. It made me think that we'd chosen well. The district was safe and quality would eat here. The rest of the restaurant though shrouded in privacy had what looked at a glance as a smattering of every nationality including Indian. I liked the muted decor. It all felt cozy.

We'd just been to Nanda's daughters wedding back home and this place had that sense he and his wife, Anita give to a place. Warm.

"What was that drink you introduced me to," she said.

"Lassie," I answered.

"That's it. I want a mango lassie."

Just as she said that the waiter, movie star handsome, arrived to take our 'starter' order.

"I'd like some pompadom, that's the crickling bread, right?" He nodded and asked
"Any drinks?"

"I'd like a Lassie," she said.

"The Mango one," he answered.

And so we had Lassies and crinkly bread and chowed down happily on that strange assortment of chutneys, yogurt dishes, pickled onion bits and some mustard type dip. It was all so very delicious. I never know what I'm eating in East Indian restaurants because I've always eaten at East Indian friends or am out with them and they order. It's a bit like being a passenger in a car. You love the party you've been too but because you weren't driving you forget the directions.

The curries and masala's were stupendous. Another waiter, possibly the owner, came by and while the first had been reserved, this almost rolly polly personality was a humorous delight.

"I've brought you some water just in case you have to put out anything." he said setting down a large jug of iced water after filling our glasses. When I asked for napkins he answered, "I'm sorry, that shouldn't be." And quickly he brandished two fresh clean napkins like a matador in the ring. The tandoori chicken had been finger sucking good but I did appreciate the napkins nonetheless.

Soon all the dishes were done. The King Prawn in the yoghurt coconut sauce was a piece de resistance to vy with the tandoori meats and chicken.

The Bombay potatoes were scrumptuous. I said I'd been to Bombay and the waiter said the Bangladeshi Indian food is quite similiar. Laura and I hardly spoke once the food arrived. Little animal sounds oozed out of our mouths around the poignantly savoury feast. Soon we were like sated babies freed from a mother's breast.

Signing checks, gathering bags and jackets, we moved off in slow motion, waddling our way home.

I wrote a Lynne, a friend who'd been in London last year that we'd eaten Tandoori.

She wrote back, "I'm envious. East Indian food in London is to die for. I found myself craving it months after I returned home."

Well, if Lily, randomly picked is any reflection on the whole of London's east Indian fair then I'd fear DT's on return home were it not for the home cooking of my East Indian friends wives.



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Alcoholism in London

You can't help but notice the pubs and bars everywhere. When I lived here 25 years ago they were on every corner. The pub was such a part of life that they seemed integral to the community. Now that's changed. Just as smokers are standing on street corners there are coffee houses everywhere.
I've just come from a 12 step meeting too. Over the years I've met and communicated with many doctors who have sobered up in AA from the UK. There's a powerful recovery movement among the British doctors. Such a change from my internship years when I'd met English and especially Irish trained physicians who drank matter of factly on call and one colorful fellow who took obstetrics call from the pub. The rising consciousness of the ill effects of alcohol abuse parallel the consciousness about the ills of tobacco. I'd heard obesity was a problem here but compared to the overt evidence of this in the US I've simply not seen it. My friend attributes that to all those subway stairs.
Not only do I remember myself after a night working as a weekend bar tender falling into hedgerows back, then it seemed somewhat of the norm. That said I've been here a few days and simply not seen any public drunkenness the likes of what I recall. That's not a scientifically or epidemiologically sound observation. Just my happy experience. Back then it was the end of the 60s and the early 70's and of course we were all young. The same goes on for sure to some extent but perhaps I'm just thankful to not have it so in my face. The same is occurring I believe as what has occurred with the smokers. As a former smoker I remember my attitude was that you should cut me some slack. That sense of entitlement just went with the territory but I don't see that now. Not with smoking and increasingly not with drinking. It's frowned upon and people are increasingly aware of the dangers.
I found this meeting tonight near Earl's Court. It was in my Iphone application called "STEPSAWAY". Coupled with the GPS it's again located a meeting for me near where I'm staying. The first time I was helped this way was visiting my Dad in Ottawa. He's 91. Telling him about how I'd found an AA meeting with my phone and how the GPS had located it and how I'd followed the flashing dot impressed him to no end. We're so very fortunate in our recovery process today. It was only 75 years ago that there was simply no hope for alcoholics and no cures known. Thanks to Bill and Dr. Bob it's been recognized that abstinence is itself a daily cure. Today there are Detox Units, Treatment Programs, Recovery Houses, Doctors are taught about Alcoholism and the benefits of AA, and even tell their patients. There are meetings everywhere and increasingly the means to finding them gets easier and easier.
Tonight a gentleman gave me a booklet from AA Southern Service Office, Jacob House, 3-5 Cynthia Street, London N1 9JF. Each week there's 60 pages of meetings that can be accessed with just a phone call to 020 7833 0022 in London. And that's just AA. There are Al Anon Meetings, for the families and friends of alcoholics. Then there's the meetings for all those with nearly any form of addiction from narcotics, cocaine, food, sex and even shopping as well. It's quite the recovery movement.
He also gave me SHARE, "Our Meeting Between Meetings", The Fellowships Recovery Magazine.
I confess I'd not thought AA such a big phenomena in London even though it's everywhere in Vancouver where I come from. I'd thought the same before going to Mexico City and learning that there's pretty well an AA meeting everywhere there as well.
I shared at this meeting that I was visiting from Vancouver. I also shared that my recollection of Earl's Court was a vague drunken night with Australians. Naturally I blamed the drunkeness on the Australians and English as a good Canadian boy such as myself would never abuse alcohol alone. However much to my own surprise without any help from Australians and English back in Canada I continued to drink to excess. I shared that I was happy today that I could now associate Earl's Court with sobriety.
Alcoholism is present in London but the cure is equally alive and well.
One young well coiffed and attractive woman shared that she'd let her drinking get out of hand and had gone to a very expensive treatment center in town only to be told that she had to go to AA. In AA she'd found the spiritual solution she'd not now found in a bottle.
It was liked Dr. Carl Jung joked, alcoholics were spiritual people looking for the spirit and getting lost in the spirits.
I'd been out for dinner a couple of nights here and seen all the once comforting old names, Jamieson, Pinot Noir, Bushmills, Seagrams, Cabernet, Guinness. They don't sound comforting today. Indeed they sound like the Sportsman, Players, Rothman's and other such names do to me.
When I was working here more than 25 years ago I think I thought drinking and smoking were manly too. I'm thankful that I have a different sense of manhood today.

Tomorrow I fly out to Milan for the International Society of Addiction Medicine's conference at the university there. I joked with fellow tonight who'd lived in Vancouver and knew a Brad there he'd once sponsored. I told him that I really hadn't got drunk in the past for myself but as research for the benefit of mankind. We certainly laughed at that. We get drunk because we like it. It's fun. It's fun and trouble. Then it's trouble. The secret is knowing that you don't have to take the down elevator all the way to the bottom but you can get off at any floor.





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The Tower of London

The guidebooks recommend Tower of London as one of 3 World Heritage sites. It's that popular which explains the crowds. I didn't remember liking it the last time I was there. I did remember liking the Armoury and the Crown Jewels. As Laura had not been we had arranged to go taking the Sightseeing Ship down the Thames River to Tower Bridge. It was rainy and windy and cold. I think it was like that the last time I was at the Tower. I've found castles in general inhospitable. There were bus line ups for tickets. 18 pds a person or roughly $36 dollars. Laura was as impressed as I'd been by how little the early kings were as indicated by the armor. A lot of Little Man Syndromes going on with British kings to match the French Napoleon syndrome. That's how the Scots thought of them, especially Henry VIII, a particularly quarrelsome sort. These buildings were filled with armaments and whenever the Scots, Welsh or Irish or local peasants acted up, the arms were handed out and a bit of mayhem for the Knights ensued. That at least was what happened when the English weren't bashing the even more irritable French.
In the Jewelry room there's a vault and the fellow ahead of me a ways got roundly told off for taking a flash. Next thing I'm being reamed out and publicly humiliated for trying to take an Iphone picture, without a flash, of the jewelry. "You knew you weren't supposed to take any pictures." a British guard chastised me.
"No I didn't, " I said. "Yes, you did."
There are button hole cameras that takes videos. If I was wanting to take pictures on the sly I'd have used that. But really if I'd been given a test, "are you allowed to take any pictures of the crown jewels," I suspect I'd answer no. It was just that I figured it wasn't a flash thing because the other guy had a flash. The sign saying no dogs was all I'd seen. No "no picture" signs in the dim light and crowds. I'd have thought dogs would be liked in castles.
They're not worried about pictures of the crown jewels really, it's to limit thieves wanting pictures of the containment, that or that the crown jewels might be duplicates and the real things are stashed somewhere away from camera carrying Canadians.
Everywhere else pictures were fine. All the mail and steel shields and flint lock weapons aren't cutting edge technology by any means. All manner of bash and stab and poke things were on display. More was behind glass probably following my last visit when they allowed more hands on and I probably got carried away. I was there with one of the blokes and a couple of girls so vaguely recall some kibbitzing about.
We visited where the Princes got poisoned and the cell where imprisonment took place. Outside it was wet. Laura and I tired soon of all the stair climbing and waiting in lines while idiots ahead read lengthy treatises. Laura loved it all though was glad to go for a cup of tea. I felt like I'd tolerated another couple of hours of imprisonment in the Tower of London and got a little taste of what the poor folk who were forced to stay there felt.












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Thames River Circular Cruise

After Laura and I attended Westminster Abbey's Matins service, we walked over to the Westminster Pier and boarded one of the River boats heading downriver to the Tower of London. Enroute we passed several bridges, saw St. Paul's Dome and the Egg shaped architectural wonder, HMS Belfast ship and the Tower Bridge. Sitting inside in the warm looking out at all the sites along the river was a fine way to travel on a rainy windy day.





















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Westminster Abbey Matins

I couldn't figure out why the Queen of England was going to a catholic church till I figured out the guidebook was referring to Westminster Cathedral, not the Abbey. The Cathedral is catholic and the Abbey is Anglican (Episcopalean).
Laura and I were up at the break of dawn. While she bathed I had the hotel continental breakfast. We were both dressed for church and on the street beating the rain to the tube, walking in sunlight and blue sky. From Earl's Court we took the District line to Westminister. I got more pictures in the sunlight and we arrived just as people were being let in for Matins.
The boys choir was as magnificent as the inspiring interior of this grand man made creation to God. It took a moment to get into the solemnity of worship though because Monty Python singing 'Every sperm is sacred", popped into my head." The surroundings triggered it. I told Laura I'd heard a similar boys choir somewhere else only to conclude I'd forgotten being here for service years before.
The sermon by The Reverend Dr. Jane Hedges on Christian attitudes towards pets seemed at first a little light given the weighty history of the church. Then she got around to mentioning that this week was associated with St. Francis and that there was a celebration of animals who'd helped in war going on in London. It seemed then a fitting subject to juxtapose with Christ on the cross and shrines everywhere to the fallen British military. As with America it doesn't take long to realize that the British are a warrior race and their leaders are leaders of armies. They worship in the churches and the churches serve them but they're not the sort to turn their cheeks 70 times 70. When Chamberlain did he was quickly ousted for Winston who said "we're fight them on the beaches".
Dr. Jane Hedges mentioned that the British had spent something like 2 Billion on pet food. I really would like to know just how much of that went on the Queen's Gorgis. My Cockapoo Gilbert imagines they're eating pheasant pate while he's eating "little caesars'. The clothing people spent on their pets could clothes a third world village. It was something like that she was saying and I was thinking of Gilbert's Harley Davidson helmut, goggles and t shirt and waxing back and forth between feeling guilty and wondering if I shouldn't get Gilbert a British Guard Tunic. He'd never tolerate the big beaver skin hat but he looks quite dapper in red. That part of the service ended soon enough and we went back to prayers and singing and such. Then, being Anglican, they had cappucinos and mochas after the service. We sat and drank them sitting on the rocks about the court yard. As always I felt better after the service and thought the people friendlier and the colours more enriched.
We enjoyed the Westminister Abbey giftshop where I bought a t shirt. I noticed they didn't have one for Gilbert. Gilbert, is very much an Anglican dog, having already met the Bishop. Dr. Jane Hedges did say she imagined Jesus would be kind to pets. I just don't know if he'd have a cockatoo or a Gorgi. Seemed like the sort to have sheep dog.



























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London Photography

I'm having a lot of fun taking pictures. London is truly one of the most picturesque cities in the world. Everyone is so friendly. As a tourist everyone is so helpful but part of that is whenever I ask someone for directions or assistance they turn out to be another tourist. I have an Iphone camera, a Nikon Coolpix digital snapshot camera and the new Nikon Digital SLE D5000. I'm walking about with these things hung about my neck and an over the shoulder leather sack carrying my Ipad and Keyboard. In some countries I'd not make it 10 feet from my hotel without being stripped of all my possessions by pirana thieves. It's not that way here. Every other person is a tourist and sporting his or her own assortment of camera. Some don't even bother taking shots and leave the video cameras running constantly. Everywhere one looks there's something interesting and that's just the back drop. The people are funky. So many different languages, styles, accents and all ages. Riding the tube is as much fun people watching as sitting in the outdoor cafe's. I'm just loving taking pictures. Victoria and Albert Museum is where I spent many a lunch hour away from work exploring the huge collection. Westminster Abbey we returned to in the day along with Parliament Square. Somehow I'd not seen Whitehall at all in the downpouring rain and night even though I'd snapped a picture of the Winston Churchill Monument. Many a monument or shrine we can only gawk at not knowing at all what it's significance is, just impressed with the splendor.
































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