'Welcome to London!'

The word 'Sommerferien' (Summer holidays) has been buzzing around my ear like an irritating fly for the past two months. I was still waking up early and going for classes while the kids coloured their faces and put on their most hideous outfits to roam the streets. 

If you notice a shop here closed for a couple of days, don't assume that it has closed down. As much as the Spanish are well known for siesta hours, most small shops and companies here can remain completely closed for up to three weeks! The institute that I'm attending my German class at is taking a modest 2 weeks off. Even though I'm no longer teaching and feeling the constant need to struggle for breath, the conditioned stimulus to the word 'holiday' is 'taking a flight'. Days before the Sommerferien, I put on another layer of skin and invited myself to London. Juvena (my NIE friend) and her husband Kelvin put me up in their chic Docklands apartment for four days. I saw London once again, albeit from a very refreshing angle. 

How can I not have at least one kitschy photo with a Tube station sign... Canary Wharf should also be known as the station for bankers since it's most probably where you can spot some very smartly dressed men. *winks* But oh well, The Mister probably put it down in the divine plans that I should visit during a Bank Holiday. ... 

It may sound rather like an insult that one of the most pressing reasons for this visit is food. Because I didn't go to London for fish and chips, but for Dim Sum, Laksa, Nasi Lemak and Teh Tarik!! All thanks to the temporary Londoner, Juv, I lost some culinary homesickness and gained a pound. The Laksa was tasting almost like home, only that they used normal bee hoon instead of thick bee hoon. Minus one mark (only) for lack of authenticity. 

The Dim Sum here got me wondering now whether Hong Kong cuisine in Singapore could possibly lose out. It satisfied me so much that I didn't even need second helpings. Then again, deep down within my taste buds, I probably think the Dim Sum in Singapore is the best in the world, even better than the ones in Hong Kong. This reminds me of a discussion I had once with The Mister about food experiences. He said that once, a North American crossed the borders into Mexico and tried authentic Mexican food. But because he previously had Mexican food in his hometown, he thought what he had back home tasted better than the original. I wonder if the Germans, I want to sell some cookery classes to, think likewise about the appalling selection of "Chinese" dishes at the popular buffets offered here.  

The gem of my London food adventure is the hamburger lookalike above. For the uninitiated (don't look ar me that way. Mostly when I say "macarons", I get blank looks followed by "har, what is that?"), it is French cookie creation known as a macaron. A bona fide one is supposed to be incredibly delicate, with a crunchy top and chewy insides. To say that it's my current obsession is an understatement, according to The Mister, because I can bake batch after batch, after batch, on consecutive days, just to get the frilly feet, or the right texture, or simply a round shape. It has definitely been one of the toughest baking ordeals I have thus far endured. I am close, very close recently, to making it failproof. The Mister is probably giving thanks for the money he would save on eggs in the coming month. 

Anyway, the green macaron above is a pistachio cream one. I have yet to get over the giggles of joy it has created in me while I savour every mouthful. 

The colourful ones were all of various fruit flavours. Hard to beat texture but a tad too sweet, even for the sweetest of all teeth me. 

Europeans often joke that the English are not Europeans, although politically, they belong to the E.U. It takes a trip into the accused land to realise why. I found more similarities between Singapore and London than Singapore and Bremen, for instance. That Singapore is an ex-colony is unmistakable; that the U.K. is unique from other European countries is equally lucid. Upon arrival in the passageway from the plane to the terminal in Stansted Airport, one is confronted with warning signs about illegal immigration and asylum seekers. You wouldn't see any photos here either because I didn't dare take my camera out. 

There are three different queues at the customs clearance - U.K. passes, E.U. passes, "Rest of the world". I have no idea why I was offended to belong to that last category. I suppose the term simply creates a queer sense of subordination in ethnically sensitive me. 

The sign below was amusing. Grated that it is important to warn of danger. But to remind parents to keep their children safe is crossing the line into mocking adults. That belief stayed until Juvena enlightened me to the reason behind such a sign. Apparently in the U.K., you can sue for anything and everything. Sounds like home huh, except that there, we can only complain about anything and everything. 

MRT or the Tube? It took the stale air and narrowness of the cabins to remind me of where I was. Such impressions are striking because I have yet to come across such signs in the buses and trams Bremen. Yes, I am sure. I read enough German now. 

I should be really glad I blend in with certain public objects, if not the people in Germany. The Germans have a preference for the colour  yellow and paints all telephone booths and postboxes in a bright you-can't-miss-it yellow. The Brits are their brothers in red, with red buses, telephone booths and postboxes. It seems almost as if the Europeans need to identify themselves using colours. I'm curious now to visit Ireland.

This blogpost is specially dedicated to Juvena and all other Londoners. Their tolerance of bulls**t is definitely a notch higher than the average Singaporean and probably German. Before I even arrived in London, I was prompted that a stay in this restless city should be a calm one, without perverse objectives. Juv proclaimed me to be a really lucky girl because there was a planned strike the day after I would leave the madness behind on schedule. She warned me about the unreliability of the public transport system and to prove her point, they dutifully failed for me to complete my London adventure. 

I was told that I should not expect to be ferried where I would like to go, despite paying full fare. Buses are known to end their journeys at any stop along the way and passengers file out the buses without even muttering a 'fuck'. Juv explained the procedure, "Just look out. The bus driver would shout an announcement from his seat that the ride terminates here, switch off the lights, then flicker them a couple of times and then you know that's it." True to their English promises, it happened not once but even twice during my four-day stay. 

I wondered then whether I am indeed a calm person because I was beyond irritation. In Bremen, your ticket gets checked perhaps once in three months and there is no tapping in and out of Oyster/EZ-link cards. It takes one like Juvena to survive London beceause she managed a wide smile and proclaimed, "Well, welcome to London!"