Shh, it's a secret

About two weeks ago, we decided to give our new old car some exercise. We drove first to nearby Newmarket, where we failed to get our UK provisional driver's licenses--we have to send in our passports to an office, we learned. Then we headed off to Chelmsford, a city about an hour from Cambridge and the home of a Winter Beer Festival. We had a delightful time, sampling about 10 beers, including some Belgians, over the course of a few hours. But before we got to Chelmsford, we almost got side-tracked by a most unusual road-sign.

Now, wouldn't you be tempted by the arrow to the secret nuclear bunker? Only the promise of beer kept us on the way to Chelmsford. But we do plan to vist the SECRET nuclear bunker soon. It's apparently a shelter built during the Cold War for military, government officials and other VIPs. It's now a tourist attraction and companies can even rent it out for retreats or conferences. Check out their website, appropriately named secretnuclearbunker.com
-JT

One Year.

The milestone of being in Cambridge for a year (as of 12 Feb.) slipped by unmentioned on the blog, but certainly not unnoticed. One freakin' year. Most of the time, it feels like one month. We're actually starting to worry that we're not going to have time to do everything we want to do in the U.K./Europe before we return – that is, if we don't change our return date of two years from nowish.

We've learned a lot about each other, ourselves, England, Europe, and travel. Here are a few lessons we've learned in the last year:

1. Always make tea. Neighbor drops by? Make tea. Plumber's coming? Put on the kettle. Don't feel well? Nothing like a cuppa. Stressed out, tired, awake, anxious, calm, mad, sad, happy? Make tea.

2. Always bring a towel. What works for Arthur Dent works for you, too. OK, maybe not literally a towel, but a washcloth is often handy when traveling. So's a travel clock – I've encountered very few hotels/B&Bs that have clocks in the rooms. Ladies, always pack a light (or heavy) pashmina, unless you're going to a beach, then make it a sarong. Toss an umbrella into the suitcase, too. I could go on – perhaps I'll stop here and revisit in a later post.

3. Learn a bit of the local language. Always try to learn how to say hello, goodbye, thank you, excuse me (often different words to get someone's attention or if you, say, knock down an old lady), I'm sorry (also helpful for aforementioned old lady), I don't speak English, and two beers, please.

4. Learn the tipping standards. The US is the highest in terms of tipping. In many other countries, you just round up the bill to the nearest dollar. Some places you tip a taxi driver; others you don't. Etc.

5. Invest in good shoes. Self explanatory.

6. Try the local food. OK, you don't have to eat snails. But find out what the local specialties are and try them.

7. Value personal recommendations over guidebooks. Find someone who's gone to the city you've gone to and get their recommendations. Guidebooks excel at making places sound absolutely amazing; if you only follow those recommendations, you're guaranteed some disappointments.

8. Watch people. Take time out from racing around and sightseeing to just take in your surroundings and observe the locals.

9. Don't assume that because you and they speak English that they will understand you.

10. Simple meals from a market can rival the best meal from a restaurant.

11. Pay at least the tiniest bit of attention to football (soccer); it will provide endless hours of conversation.

12. Eat bread in France, drink beer in Belgium, eat meat in Spain, drink port in Portugal, eat pretzels in Germany. (I'm sure there are many eating rules regarding Italy, but we haven't been there yet.)

13. When driving, you can always keep going around a roundabout.

14. You don't have to buy new. New furniture, new electronics, etc. Be an environmentalist: Repair things and buy second hand to reduce junk.

15. Watch British quiz shows. You won't understand a lot of things, but you get insight into humor and history.

16. Cycling is awesome, particularly in very flat areas.

17. Friends and family are just a plane flight/phone call/e-mail/IM away. The distance can be hard, but all these things make it much more bearable.

We can't wait to see what lessons the next year brings!

Long-distance Love

Since she's been in Texas and on her way to Boston today, I just wanted to use this venue to wish my lovely wife a Happy Valentine's day. You are much too far away. It's been a year this week since we moved to Cambridge and I couldn't have a better partner for this adventure. Come home soon. Love, JT

Just Like the Amazing Race! But Not.

Voiceover: The DC Editors leave the house at the same time for two different airports, bound for their respective parental homesteads. Who will get home first?

9:20 a.m.: The DC Editors walk out the front door.

9:26 a.m.: They arrive at the bus terminal. KT gets in the queue for the bus; JT gets in a taxi for the train station.

9:44 a.m.: KT's bus departs for Heathrow. She's settled into a seat in the third row – not her usual front seat to avoid getting bus-sick.

9:45 a.m.: JT's train departs for King's Cross station in London. No seats; he has to stand for the 50-minute ride.

10:45 a.m.: JT makes it to King's Cross, crosses the road to St. Pancras Station and hops a train to Gatwick with 8 minutes to spare.

Meanwhile: KT's bus is at Stansted airport. Someone in front row leaves, and KT nabs that seat. Score.

11:13 a.m.: JT's train crosses the Thames with a view of the London Bridge, the Gherkin, and the London Eye.

Meanwhile: KT's bus is on the M25 and has just passed a lorry (truck) loaded with cars that have been squished into little cubes. Awesome!

11:43 a.m.: JT arrives at Gatwick Airport.

11:53 a.m.: KT arrives at Heathrow Airport.

12:14 p.m.: JT is checked in for his flight and is having some lunch.

12:22 p.m.: KT is checked in for her flight and is having some lunch.

1:07 p.m.: JT is sitting on plane, due to take off at 1:45.

1:36 p.m.: JT's flight leaves the gate, and eventually takes off.

1:40 p.m.: KT is sitting on plane, due to take off at 2:15.

2:15 p.m.: KT's plane leaves gate, and takes off 25 minutes later.

4:18 p.m.: Flight attendant on KT's flight apologizes that AV system isn't really totally working. Remaining time to Chicago: 6 hours, 37 minutes. She spends the remainder of the flight reading magazines, listening to music, editing, and watching two episodes of 30 Rock and the first 30 minutes of Martian Child in three-minute, non-consecutive increments before giving up.

Meanwhile, on JT's flight: JT watches Michael Clayton, Dan in Real Life, and Gone Baby Gone.

9:58 p.m. GMT/4:58 p.m. EST: JT's plane lands in Detroit. Snow!

11:09 p.m. GMT/5:09 p.m. CST: KT's plane lands in O'Hare. Snow!

1:40 a.m. GMT/7:40 p.m. CST: KT's second flight leaves for San Antonio.

4:05 a.m. GMT/10:05 p.m. CST: KT lands in San Antonio.

3:00 a.m. GMT/10:00 p.m. EST: JT has hugged and kissed the family and extended family. He falls asleep.

6:00 a.m. GMT/12:00 a.m. CST: KT has hugged and kissed the family and falls asleep.

11:15 a.m. GMT/5:15 a.m. CST: The Family Cat reminds KT who's the baby around here with a bite on the hand. She's now officially been welcomed home.

Farewell Aunt Gloria

This is when it's tough to be so far away from family and friends. My godmother passed away yesterday after a long, stubborn fight against a variety of medical issues and a lot of pain. I'm incredibly sad but also grateful that she's at peace now. Gloria was a constant presence in my life. She and Uncle Si lived across the street from our house and I probably saw them at least every other day of childhood, most commonly when Gloria came over to chat, smoke cigarettes, and play cards with my mom in our small kitchen. I can't tell you how many hands of 3-person pinochle I played with the two of them. She and Si also vacationed with us in Canada during the summers. My heart goes out to Uncle Si and the rest of her family. She was a special gal. She was my second mom.--JT

Bikes, The Boss, and Bongs

I walk out of the train station (above) and notice an odd scent wafting through the night air. As I navigate all the construction and dodge crazy cyclists, I recognize the odor: marijuana. Yep, I'm in Amsterdam!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. My latest travels started last Sunday morning when I headed to Heathrow airport for a 45 minute flight to Amsterdam, followed by a 25 minute flight on a propeller plane to Maastricht, which is one of the oldest cities in the Netherlands (It fights for the title with Nijmegen). I can't remember the last time I took a connecting flight rather than a direct one, but it did allow me to walk through the nice Amsterdam airport, which amusingly has cheese counters everywhere.

When I arrived in Maastricht, I looked for the bus that went into town. But I got nervous about how often it ran on a winter Sunday night so I went back to the taxi stand. Uh-oh--empty. The airport is small enough that the taxis know when the few flights arrive and they had already left with the passengers smart enough to quickly grab a cab. But then a Finnish couple came to my rescue. The husband saw my plight and when his wife rolled up, they offered me ride to my hotel. As I hopped into their car, I briefly wondered if this was the smartest idea but they were very nice and we had a delightful chat on U.S. politics.

I went to Maastricht for a 2 day workshop on whether prizes can stimulate medical innovation i.e. could offering a billion dollar prize for a AIDS vaccine do more than, say, working through the normal drug patent system. Some see prizes as a way to stimulate drug research on neglected diseases; other see prizes as a way to break monopolies held by pharmaceutical companies and to lower drug prices overall. Interesting debate.

Maastrich itself was nice, though I had little time to play tourist. The city is in the most southern part of the Netherlands and almost as French and German as Dutch. A university town, Maastrich thankfully has many open restaurants on winter nights--unlike our experience in Provence! After I checked into my hotel--across the street from the train station!--I walked the cute cobble-stone streets and eventually settled into an Argentinian steakhouse where I curiously watched groups of people walk by in clown garb and other costumes. A trio dressed in wigs and colorful outfits at one point strolled won the street playing a tuba and 2 other horns. After talking to various waiters, I learned everyone is preparing for carnival in Maastricht. While Brazil may be most famous for its Carnival, many other places also have the pre-Lent festivities. Every weekend people are "practicing" for the big event in Maastricht, I was told. And during carnival, the whole town--cabbies, shopkeepers--are in costume. Indeed, anyone out of costume looks odd, a waiter told me. I liked Maastricht's whimsy--fun storefronts and cafes with amusing decorations, and some intriguing public art throughout the squares.

After my meeting ended Tuesday, I walked back to the hotel, picked up my luggage, walked across the street, jumped on a trained and 3 minutes later was on my way to Amsterdam. The train systems are something I really envy Europe. I read a newspaper, watched a DVD, and 2.5 hours later I arrived in Amsterdam, where I had a Wednesday meeting of science policy VIPs, including my publication's new head honcho who I was going to meet for the first time.

Again settling in was easy. I walked about 7 minutes from the central station to the delightful tropical-themed B&B I had booked when I found few decent hotels available at the last minute. The next morning I strolled over the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences, which occupied a beautiful building (far left). To be honest, I have mixed feelings about Amsterdam. It can be a beautiful city, with gorgeous canals, great museums, and fun cafes open later. But it's also riddled with drugs and panhandlers--it's, well, sketchy in too many areas for my comfort. Note that just a block away from the prestigious academy was the city's famous red-light district (left), where prositution is legal, live sex shows draw gaping tourists all year round, and window-shopping takes on a whole new meaning (Wikipedia tells me several stories on the origin of the term red-light district ). The owners of the B&B I stayed at surprised me with the news that the city had just bought out a number of brothels in the red-light district and was converting them to fashion design houses as part of an attempt to slightly clean up area. No open expects the red-light district to completely disappear, however.

Given that I had a 8am flight back to London and my lovely wife, I carefully skirted the red-light district when I walked home after dinner with my new boss. And that's about all I did on my brief jaunt. KT has never been to Amsterdam so I'm sure we'll back with some time to explore. By the way, for those curious about just how cycle-crazy Amsterdam is, check out this three-tier bicycle parking structure built on the canal just outside the train station entrance. Bikes whiz up and down it like cars in a multi-story parking garage. --JT

Election Fever

Here's one surprise about our move to England: I talk more about U.S. politics here than I did while living in Washington D.C.

Part of it is this is a pretty fascinating primary race, for both parties, but it's also that Europe is fascinated with and wary of what happens next at the White House. There's a general sense America has dragged down Europe with the Iraq war, particularly hurting England as Tony Blair followed Bush almost blindly. So whereever I go, the minute someone hears my accent, they start asking about who will be the next president, who will be the Democrat (Editor's note--I've corrected my initial use of "demoncrat" and deny it was a Freudian slip!) nominee, what's obama really like, etc.

Take this week's trip to the Netherlands (report coming soon). At the Maastricht airport Sunday, a Finnish couple who gave me a ride into town asked about whether Mccain was for real this time. I stopped in a cafe for dinner Tuesday--next thing I'm chatting about whether Obama had enough experience or was just charming. On my flight back to London, the British man next to me distracted himself from our rough approach to the airport by talking U.S. elections.

People back home have asked whether folks here follow the election--well, it's often front-page news in the UK, especially the Hilary-Barack battle. The land of Margaret Thatcher is curious if we will elect a woman and even more curious, given what they perceive about our divisive racial politics, whether we could elect a black man.

Just this week one of the national papers did a two day U.S. election special--one day the paper had a massive wallchart depicting the U.S. state map, with info such as the number of electoral votes, who they voted for in 2004, their primary date, etc. The next day the paper had a small book explaining U.S. elections and giving trivia. In fact, a German colleague walked into my office this morning reading the pamphlet with great interest--it had a list of all the losers of president elections and he was curious how many I recalled from the past 50 years. Not many, I sadly realized.--JT