Happy Thanksgiving!

The Anish Kapoor sculpture in Kensington Gardens.

To all Canadians near and far... Happy Thanksgiving! I actually forgot it was this weekend until a blogging buddy (thanks, Jemi!) reminded me yesterday. To that end, The Man and I took a wonderful jaunt through Kensington Gardens in the Indian-summer air, then over to the local Tesco's to buy a bird. Despite trying to explain what 'traditional' turkey means (i.e., plain) The Man still insisted on stuffing the fowl with cracked wheat -- but I'm not complaining, at least he's doing the cooking!

Have a great gratitude-filled weekend!

As Promised: Ping Pong!

The Serpentine Pavilion in Kensington Gardens.

Who knew the potential of playing ping-pong could be so exciting? Certainly not I, but when The Man found out the new Serpentine Pavilion featured ping-pong tables he was practically salivating. Having grown up playing the game, he was now itching to put his skills to the test again.

The beautiful game.

Desperate to stop his bragging at just how good he really was, on a hot and sunny day we marched through the park and over to the tables. The two of us playing any game is usually a recipe for disaster -- we'll practically kill each other to win -- but we'd be in public so I was confident we could control ourselves. That, and we'd sipped a glass or two of wine while waiting in the shade for our turn at the tables.

Thankfully we were both a bit out of practice and the only thing heating up was our bodies under the beating sun. We soon retreated back to our shady patch, wine in hand... until the next match!

Mind the Barnet!

Barnet = Cockney for hair

You don't want your barnet to look like this, do you? (Oh wait, I'm not meant to be poking fun at him anymore...)

As anyone who has known me for awhile can attest, I am obsessed by hair (athough in recent weeks it's lucky if it gets brushed!). Over the years, my hair has been long and short; red and black; blond; and back again several times. I'm willing to wear clothes from Primark, to eat rice and pasta for weeks on end, but I'm not willing to skimp on my hair. What can I say, I'm just that shallow -- or I have a medical condition, hairophelia (I made that up, just in case it wasn't obvious).

When I moved to London, one of my biggest concerns was not whether I could find work or not. No, it was this: who would I find to cut my hair? I'd had several bad experiences in Poland, where I couldn't speak enough Polish to accurately express what I wanted. I looked up 'highlights' in my Polish-English dictionary, then crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

I had one distinct advantage in London: I could speak English. And over the course of several years, I finally found the stylist for me. Here are my top London recommendations:

Hair by Fairy, 8-10 Neal's Yard. Tube: Tottenham Court Road. http://www.hairbyfairy.com/. If you're anxious for a cut and you don't want the fuss of making an appointment, just head over to Neal's Yard. From punk cuts to simple trims, they'll have you in and out in no time... and there's a great organic restaurant across the courtyard in case you get hungry. Cheap and cheerful.

Toni and Guy, Kensington Church Street. Tube: Notting Hill Gate or High Street Kensington. Before I settled down with one man (my stylist, I mean), I'd go here every once in awhile. I was never disappointed. Although they seem to have a high turnover, all the stylists are friendly and competent.


And my favourite...

Gina Conway Aveda, Westbourne Grove. Tube: Bayswater, Queensway or Notting Hill Gate. It ain't cheap, but it's worthy paying when the results are this good (if I do say so myself). Ask for Kenny or Patrice, and relax. You're in the hands of masters.

Is This What My Life Has Come To?

I am inordinately excited that The Cupcake Company is opening on my street! CUPCAKES!

Summer Days

I'm feeling lazy (yes, again -- well, it is summer after all!), so instead of exercising my brain I will leave you with these recent photos.


The new pavillion at the Serpentine Gallery, Kensington Gardens.


Rogue piano plunked down at Portobello Market for all to play.



Veggies at Portobello Market.



Late-night dancing at the National Theatre, South Bank.

Hidden London: Kensington Church Walk

This fifty metre stretch is one of my favourites in London. And even better, it's in my neighbourhood! I always try to walk through there whenever can. With its old-school shops - miles away from the chain gang on High Street Kensington - you could almost believe you're back in the 1700s when Kensington was the 'royal village'.

The first part of Church Walk - off of Holland Street. Image courtesy of RduJour

Church Walk runs from Holland Street (just off of Kensington Church Street), behind St Mary Abbott's Church, through Alec Clifton Taylor Gardens and finally finishing at High Street Kensington.

Flowers in bloom last weekend in Alec Clifton Taylor Gardens. Yes, that is a tombstone.

St Mary Abbott's church and cloister.

St Mary Abbott's back door.

London Springwatch

Today is 14 C and sunny. It truly feels as if spring is on the way! The Man always makes fun of my enthusiasm for spring, but after you've lived through Canadian winters it's hard not to be excited at any hint of greenery. London trees flower much sooner than Canadian ones, and he's getting a little sick of my 'Look! The trees are coming out!' cries -- not that it stops me.

Flowering trees on the way to Portobello.

We woke up this morning to brilliant blue skies and decided to walk to Portobello Road, where The Man needed to pick up the finalized soundtrack for his upcoming film. It was still early and the stalls-owners were just starting to unpack their white vans. After picking up the DVD from the small mews where the studio was located, we grabbed a quick coffee (more later on an interesting character we encountered) and then meandered through Kensington Gardens on our way back home.

Kensington Gardens.

.

First lemonade of the year by the Serpentine Lake.

The Search Is Over

When I was nine, I understood what heaven was. I was in Seville, travelling with my parents through southern Spain. It was almost 40 degrees, and we took shelter inside to get something to drink. I ordered my favourite beverage at the time -- chocolate milk. But what I didn't realise was that I was actually requesting hot chocolate (which accounted for the strange look the waiter gave me -- I'm guessing most Spaniards don't drink hot chocolate in the summer).

When it came, it was even better than the cool chocolate milk I'd been craving. This was hot chocolate unlike any other I'd tasted. In fact, I'm not even sure you could call the powdered variety 'hot chocolate' next to this. Oily and thick, you could practically feel it sliding down your throat, its richness coating your mouth.

For the next 20-odd years, I was destined to wander the world in search of hot chocolate that would measure up to my childhood experience. Nothing did -- until last weekend, when the hot chocolate of my dreams re-entered my life. And it was only been a ten-minute walk from my door-step.

Hotel Chocolat, on High Street Kensington, is a purveyor of all things chocolate, from olive oil to chocolate baguettes. After a walk through nearby Holland Park, The Man and I nipped in for our tea. Always cold, my eyes searched for something to warm me -- and fell upon the 'Liquid Chocolate'. I tried hard not to get excited; I'd been let down so many times before. But this looked promising. There were five varieties, from Valencian Orange to Azteca (with chili). Ever the traditionalist (when it comes to chocolate, anyway), I chose the Classic -- a dark chocolate version. I waited, trembling in anticipation. Mug in hand, I breathed in the heady aroma. So far, so good.

The first sip transported me back to Seville. As the liquid oozed down my throat, I knew the search was over.

Art in the Park

Serpentine Gallery, Kensington Gardens

We are so lucky to have the Serpentine Gallery in our back yard (or back garden, as they say over here. When I first moved to London, I told my super-posh flatmate William that I loved our back yard. I'll never forget the look of horror on his face as he made it clear to me that a yard is a concrete apron outside of factories etc., and this was a 'back garden'. But I digress...)

On my first forays into Kensington Gardens, I was more interested in Kensington Palace or the Lido at the Serpentine Lake. I never even realised that the pretty brick-and-white building was an art gallery until The Man took me inside. Small -- with only 5-ish rooms -- and intimate, the gallery often exhibits one artist at a time, allowing you to feel like you've entered into separate compartments of the artist's mind. Recently, we went to see a collection of works by Indian artists and we were blown away by the massive, brightly coloured paintings mounted around the outer walls of the gallery.


'Indian Superhighway' Exhibition, Serpentine Gallery, December 2008






Every summer, an internationally renowned architect is commissioned to design an outdoor pavilion. We watch it rise with curiosity, wondering what unique shape it'll take on this time. Last year, Frank Gehry created a geometric behemoth of glass and wood, complete with different platforms almost at tree-top level. Outdoor parties, concerts and films are shown there all throughout the short British summer.




Pavilion by Frank Gehry, Summer 2008


The Serpentine feels like our own gallery. As we watch tourists peruse its offerings, we always feel a strange proprietorial air, as if this inauspicious gallery among the trees of Kensington Gardens has done us -- and Londoners -- proud.

My Own Little Piece of Heaven

I honestly couldn't think of a better place to live. Kensington Church Street is known for antiques; it even has its own Antique Dealers' Association. I've often wondered how such shops survive, and in the past few years I've seen quite a few close down as more mainstream shops take over their premises. I always feel sad when that happens, as if a little piece of our utopia has been overtaken by capitalism (which it has, I guess). But surprisingly, most seem to hang in there despite the quirkiness of their goods for sale: elaborate chandeliers; Japanese war armour; and mammoth bed frames, to name a few.

Typical antique shop on our street.

In its 1-km long stretch from Notting Hill Gate to High Street Kensington, there are three shops dedicated solely to wine; three nail bars; at least six estate agents (although there may be fewer now); and four hairdressers. Gives you a good indication of what the residents of the area are interested in -- alcohol; property and appearance. I started to feel a wee bit jaded about our neighbourhood.

But last March some of my faith in the future of the street was restored with the opening of a brand new bookshop, Persephone Books. And recently, Chegworth Valley opened their first store just beside Waterstone's bookstore.

And of course, it's hard to miss Churchill Arms, famous for its Thai food (oddly enough). In the summer with our windows open, the smell of frying garlic wafts through and it's all I can do to hold myself back from ordering a steaming plate of Pad Thai.


Churchill Arms.

Our street is on the bus route for the Big Bus Company, a tour operator whose open-top buses roar by every fifteen minutes or so. One summer, The Man and I were out on our balcony, enjoying our dewy glasses of kir on a warm evening. As the tour bus went by, several tourists raised their pretend glasses to us in a silent 'Cheers!'. As we lifted our glasses in response, contentment washed over me. For some, our street was just one more stop in the tourist merry-go-round. For us, it was home.

Our Neighbours, The Israeli Embassy

The Israeli embassy, only a five-minute walk from our flat on the way to Kensington Gardens, has always made its presence known. Concrete barriers block any access to its entrance, and it's surrounded on all sides by ominous looking policemen complete with automatic rifles (a rarity, since police in London amazingly aren't armed). Any picture taking is strictly forbidden. Jogging by it almost every day on my way to the park, I had become somewhat accustomed to the heavily guarded fortress.

But never have we been more aware of its presence than in the past week. Ever since Israel's incursion into Gaza began, there have been daily protests in and around the embassy. One night, trying to drive down High Street Kensington towards central London, we came face to face with the protesters as they marched past the embassy gates, waving signs and chanting slogans. For the most part, they seemed a calm, orderly group and while somewhat intimidating in their numbers, we didn't feel threatened.

Tonight, though, as helicopters circled overhead and sirens whined on and off for over three hours, it almost felt like our neighbourhood was under siege. Until I switched on BBC News, and the situation became somewhat laughable. A reporter from High Street Kensington, where the protest was taking place, did her best to make the demonstration seem dramatic. While there were plenty of people about, most were simply ambling about on the street -- some even sitting and resting on the curb. Small children cantered down the centre of the road. The scene seemed more in keeping with a street party than the violent protest I'd been imagining based on the sirens and helicopters.

I'm not saying the police presence wasn't necessary. I wasn't there, and I'm sure there were a few threatening moments. But for every protester, it looked like there were at least two to three policemen. And really, a police helicopter? For hours on end?

If good fences make good neighbours, the Israeli embassy need to pile up some more of those concrete barriers. I'd be happy to help.

Neighbourhood History

Coming from a country where 'old' generally means anything pre-1950 (OK, I'm exaggerating here, but still -- Canada wasn't even a country until 1867), I'm constantly amazed by the history of things around me. This includes the very neighborhood in which we live.

The Man moved to England from his native Cairo almost 11 years ago now, and our flat in Kensington was his first London abode. He knew the area mainly because of the Royal Albert Hall, which he'd read about from Egypt whenever a famous musician from his country would play there. When the estate agent showed him the flat, he immediately put in an offer.

I can see why. Our flat is tiny (by Canadian standards) and on a busy street, but you can't beat the location. We're on a stretch well known for its antique shops, smack between Notting Hill Gate and High Street Kensington, and only five minutes to Kensington Palace and the green of Hyde Park. Surrounded by tiny bookshops, great pubs and wonderful cafes and coffee shops, it's a wonder we still have any money left!

And in the summer when the Proms are on, The Man still can't believe his good fortune as he relives his childhood dream of walking through Kensington Gardens to the Royal Albert Hall and listening to some of the world's best music for only a fiver.

As part of his Christmas gift, I found some old photos of our neighbourhood. It really brought home to me how wonderful it is to live in an area that's existed for hundreds of years, and how we're now part of its fabric.

High Street Kensington, 1811

High Street Kensington, 1929.

Notting Hill Gate, 1800s

Notting Hill Gate, 1920s

Muzio Clementi's house, Kensington Church Street

Kensington Church Street, 1970s

Christmas in Kensington

Londoners cannot compete with North Americans when it comes to decorating their homes for Christmas. But the understated lights and shop-window decorations have a festive air all their own.

**I should preface the following photos by saying that first of all, my phone takes rubbish photos at night (always easier to blame the phone). But secondly, I am the world's worst photographer. I can never keep my hand steady! So I apologize for the quality of the forthcoming shots!**


The Churchill Arms. Delicious Pad Thai!



Front window of &Clarke's, Sally Clarke's deli. Delicious, delicious goodies inside here and my favourite - Monmouth Coffee.




Window of one of the many antique shops on our street.




The only house with Christmas lights in our neighbourhood!





Wine shop around the corner from our flat. This is why we drink so much wine!

Holland Park, The Hidden Gem

One of the best things about living in Kensington is the amount of green space. Growing up surrounded by trees and woods, if I didn't have access to parks I think I'd go crazy. We're so lucky that Kensington Gardens is just around the corner that we tend to forget Holland Park is only a ten-minute walk away.

Kensington Gardens is always populated by tourists gawking at Kensington Palace and the Diana Memorial. But Holland Park tends to be locals only. Rarely do you see tourists wandering through the immaculate Japanese Gardens or examining the peacocks by the Orangery.

While Kensington Gardens is neatly groomed, with paved walkways through widely spaced trees, Holland Park has dirt paths through winding pines. You almost feel like you're in the forest, away from everything - remarkable when you're surrounded by 8 million souls in the centre of the city.

One of my favourite memories of Holland Park is of one summer night, when the Egyptian and I went for a walk just as dusk was falling. As we pushed aside the gate into Holland Park, opera music from Mozart's Magic Flute drifted through the warm air, coming from the Open Air Opera that's performed every summer in the park. We sat on a bench and listened to the music as darkness tainted the sky, watching the lights of the planes on their way to Heathrow. Without paying for the £50 ticket, we had a brilliant performance in one of the best seats in the house.

My Perfect London Day

After reading Londonelicious' description of the perfect London day, I was inspired to write my own. So... here's my perfect London day!

Weather (since it plays such a major role in London life):
18 degrees Celsius, clear blue sky and aeroplane tracks criss-crossing above me.

8 am (I'm not one for sleeping in):
Mammoth croissants and strong coffee with warm milk at Patisserie Valerie, Kensington Church St. It will be crowded as usual, a nice buzz, with waiters dodging between tables. Lovely blackberry and raspberry conserves in their tiny jars dot the table.

8:45 am:
Meander through Kensington Gardens while it's still quiet, down around the Serpentine Lake, and loop back to Kensington Church St.

10 am:
Check out Kensington Farmer's Market just behind Waterstone's. Drool over the cheeses, meats and fresh veggies.10:30 am:Peruse the best sellers and 'Local Authors' sections at Waterstone's. Spot my novel on the shelf. (I can dream!)

10:45 am:
Head to Portobello Market, which for some reason will not be over-run with tourists. Pick up a Red Velvet cupcake at Hummingbird on the way through. Browse the stalls under the Westway and pick up some bargain vintage one-offs.

12 pm:
Lunch at Falafel King just across from the Westway.

1 pm:
Head to the South Bank. Buy a drink (or two) on the terrace of the Royal Festival Hall and watch the buskers on the promenade below, and the boats on the Thames. Walk down to the Tate Modern, attend the Rothko exhibit, then walk across the Millennium Bridge to Blackfriar's and St Paul's. Have an sickly sweet Tarte de Pommes at the French bakery Paul and a cup of tea, then head back across the bridge to the Carpenter's Arms pub, where a crisp glass of white wine awaits (I've just reread this and noticed how much eating and drinking there is -- on a perfect day, I wouldn't get full nor unpleasantly drunk).

4 pm:
Pick up a bottle of champagne and back through the park to the Royal Albert Hall, where we set up camp across from the Hall to drink the champage and pass the time before listening to Yo Yo Ma in the gallery at the Proms.

9 pm:
Down High Street Kensington for the best burger (I am North American, after all) at Byron. Walk back home in dusk through Holland Park, listening to the lingering notes of the outdoor opera float on the air.

Honourable mentions:
Brick Lane, Wigmore Hall, Camden Market, Borough Market, Sadler's Wells, Balans, Liberty, Selfridges, Whole Food Market, Harvey Nichols, Royal Court Theatre, L'Oriel, Black and Blue, Le Pain Quotidienne... I'm going to stop now!