Plymouth!

When I returned back from my Euro-trip in late August, I began an internship and three classes in my marketing research program. I went from Mr. Freetime to candidate for busiest man in the world overnight. That's my current life update, and also my excuse for being so slow posting everything. This trip was completely awesome and I will properly document it if it kills me.

I don't think I even realized Plymouth was in the area until we drove past it. Even then it didn't interest me until Mike explained it was that Plymouth. The one the Mayflower left from and then named a rock after. Then I was very much excited to check it out. I think Mike instantly regretted telling me. He was initially interested in doing outdoorsy things like surfing and camping. Well it was chilly and rainy a good portion of the time and we ended up doing touristy things and having a good time on the town instead. It all worked out in the end.

Our morning began at Mike's parents' lovely home. Their neighborhood was really idyllic, little streets with little shops. A really old stone church. A couple of old timey pubs. If I was rich I would have seasonal homes in the coolest places ever. This is the view from their back porch.

And then we drove to Plymouth. While Mike lives in Cornwall county, Plymouth lies just over the border in the county of Devon. I think Devonshire tea is the only instance I've heard this name before, but it was a really scenic place with a lot of fun history.

Plymouth Barbican on the waterfront was where our journey began.




The Mayflower Steps is the traditional leaving point of the Pilgrims on their most excellent voyage. The English are not a people in fear of misnomers, though, as this is likely not really the true historical spot they left from nor are there any steps. Good story anyway.






This area really identifies with its dairy products, so when I saw the classic ice cream truck I was already in. Then I saw that a little twist was available: for an additional 30p I could have my ice cream topped with clotted cream. As I mentioned a couple posts earlier, clotted cream is a butter like spread. So I'm conversing with Mike about whether getting butter smeared all over ice cream is something a human should really do, when a nearby person overhears our conversation and interjects. That nearby person just so happened to be Spangles the Clown! Spangles removes his bright red nose and begins what is hands down the most serious conversation anyone has ever had with a clown. He explains all about the ice cream, even going as far as asking the storekeep what brand of clotted cream they are serving. Talk about random.

Yes I am a weirdo, and yes I googled Spangles, and yes he has a website. It's right here. Don't judge me. His homepage informs that he possesses £10 million Public Liability Insurance. If I was a terminally ill child and had to make a wish, it would be: to be involved in some sort of incident with a British clown that causes £10 million worth of damage. That is all.

At this point I am pretty much committed. So against my better judgement I purchase a good sized ice cream cone with butter all over it.

The butter and the ice cream were nearly the same color, making each bite a surprise. It was actually quite good.


We did plenty of walking in this nice little area. There were lots of little bakeries and shops. That little smokestack looking guy in the middle is the Plymouth Gin Distillery. Heck yes I went in there.

The distillery had a tour of the facility available but it cost some forgotten amount more than free, which I disapproved of highly. It's interesting to me how decisions are made in different places about pricing. In the US a tour of a factory, brewery, or any other place where they make things you can buy is always always free in my experience. The place is going to be one big advertisement for whatever it is they are selling. Not a complaint by any means, but an observation. They did have a cool little area in the store where they talked about the history of Plymouth Gin. A couple of the stories were pretty damn awesome.

New Drinks were invented for this new style gin, notably by the British in India who created the Gin and Tonic when they mixed their daily dose of quinine, given to prevent malaria, with soda, ice, and gin. When the servants of the Raj came home they brought the taste for this exotic combination with them.

Plymouth Gin is still made at Naval Strength - 57% abv or 100 English Proof; as such because if gin is spilt on gunpowder at this strength, the powder would still light, a throwback to the days when the gin and gunpowder were stored side by side. Proof is a system of measuring alcohol invented by the Royal Navy originating from testing sailor's daily rations. A mixture of gunpowder and alcohol would be placed on deck and lit. If it burnt with a clear blue flame this was 'proof' that no water had been added. Eventually 'proof' was defined as 100 degrees.

I had no choice to but to buy some combustible Naval Strength gin. And that's the story of why you don't charge for tours.

It's hard to look tough while sipping tea and eating scones, but I did my very best. I once again had to borrow a jacket. I have some sort of mental block preventing me from packing anything other than short sleeved shirts when I travel.






Chips were an often talked about part of our collective diet. The funny part is Mike is deathly scared of eating fish, so we only ever got the chips. These were small, limp, and wet, exactly how Mike liked them. They tasted fine but an emergency trip to the restroom never seemed long afterward. Mike lamented that American style "fries" were infringing on the chip's rightful place in English society.


Said emergency "toilets". They really were "clean". I feel that in this "situation" that quotation marks are "unnecessary".






We met the parents later that evening for dinner. When I heard we were going to have Mexican food my first thoughts were not pleasant ones. It ended up being great though. I hope I'm not turning into a snob.


The local specialty drink was scrumpy. Once that word hit my lips I could not stop saying it. Scrumpy. Magical. Scrumping means to forage or steal fruit from the countryside. Mike's stepdad mentioned that he used to do it back in the day.


A sign for another local cider made by the same company.


Mike's fam has a British Bulldog. It was a great dog but the poor thing was dumb as a post. It spent so much time up at night barking at shadows and potted plants that they had to fit it with a shock collar. I don't remember his name, I alternated between calling him Scrumpy, Scrum, or the more respectful Mr. Scrumperton.

Cornwall

Mike was kind enough to use a couple of his vacation days while I was in country, and we took the opportunity to drive to his hometown, Callington. He even had a work related meeting in the area, so his employer was covering the gas. Can't hardly beat that. He is a solicitor, which I humorously assumed meant that he was some kind of salesman. The only time we use that word in the US is usually the "No Soliciting" signs in the parking lots of businesses. Well there it means lawyer of some type. It's really complicated, but the practice of law there is divided between solicitors and barristers. I'm not going to go further into it here, but the solicitor wikipedia page explains it in detail.

Anyway, back on topic. Callington is in Cornwall county, and it was a nice change from the noise of London.

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The clothing company Lands' End is named after the western most point of the English mainland, where... the land ends. It happens to be located in Cornwall.

So we packed up the car and hit the road. Just getting out of London seemed to take forever.

St. Pancras railway station


When I told Mike our signs simply read "yield" he thought that sounded too bossy.

The traffic on the highway ground to a halt, and we were a bit hungry by this point, so we decided to take a country road detour and rustle up some food while we were at it. It was at this point I learned that people in these parts had really strict eating schedules. It was around 3, and we likely tried four restaurants and tea houses. All of them were open, and not one of them would serve us hot food. Mike kept calling it "the lacuna" which I assumed meant Twilight Zone, but it means "the gap". Like the hungry, hungry few hours that occur between lunch and dinner. So we had an elegant meal procured from a gas station.

Rarely does a untried flavor of candy bar escape my grasp.

England seems to have completely ditched the old magnetic strip type of credit card in favor of cards with a chip in them that have a matching pin code. At first I was annoyed by my lack of this type of card, but I began to enjoy confounding the locals with my ancient credit card. Most stores had the hardware to accept standard credit cards but on several occasions the staff didn't know how to use it! While trying to buy a sandwich and a candy bar at this gas station I signed my receipt, waited while the attendant compared the signature to that on the back of my card, asked for picture ID, then called her manager over to confirm. "It looks enough like him, he's just shaved his head." OK.

I really enjoyed the scenery on the drive. Cities are one thing, but the country is where real culture is hiding. We stayed on the back roads so long that this trip took longer than flying from Chicago to London.


I was rewarded for my endurance with a delicious Cornish Pasty. It's basically a hot pocket that doesn't make your stomach sad. The traditional ones have steak and potatoes, but there were tons of other flavors. It's hard to say if the pasty has won out over my love of Australian meat pies, but they were damn good anyway.

Seoul Taco Food Truck

I had my first food truck lunch yesterday! It's a big life milestone indeed. The Seoul Taco truck(website) was at 8th and Market, but it moves all around town bringing Korean cheer. You can keep abreast of this delicious mobile restaurant on twitter here.

I went for the Bulgolgi tacos @ $2.50 a piece. They had a lot of flavor.

Afternoon Tea in London

Afternoon tea was an Englishy thing that I wanted to do so we hit that early. Mike wasn't incredibly excited about it, but he was nice enough to make a reservation at a nice looking hotel near a work meeting he had that day. I had some time to kill before our 4pm tea time, so I headed over to the Buckingham Palace area to battle the tourist hoards. I really walked all over town.

The day's travels began as they usually do, with a trip on the underground. Right off the plane I was smart enough to buy an oyster card, which is a rechargeable way to pay for train and bus fare. Not only is it convenient, but a significant discount is given over those who buy a ticket every time with cash. To top it off, the card keeps track of how many trips I take and caps the amount I spend at a certain point, making any additional rides free. I have hit that limit more than one time already.

Some tourists poking their cameras through the gates of Buckingham Palace. I just walked around the outside, as standard adult admission to this place converts to almost 30 dollars. The queen really needs to have a roller-coaster or something in there to command that sort of cash.


Victoria Memorial


The Mall is the big ceremonial road that stretches between the palace and Admiralty Arch.


Admiralty Arch


The Canada Gate

I popped in to the Burlington Arcade for just a second. The stores were way too high end for me, but one cool thing about this little place are the beadles patrolling the area. The beadle boys keep order in top hats and tails.


I wandered around in the National Gallery a little, but by this time I was pretty beat, and it was about time to go meet Mike for tea, which of course required some more undergrounding.






The place we chose was the Hotel Russel, which is located practically next door to Russel Square station. The two lifts that were available had a ton of people waiting on them. I noticed a set of stairs and figured I'd just hop on those to escape to the outside world. The stairs were winding, and going up meant that I was relegated to the thin part of the spiral staircase. While trudging along a recorded voice began speaking on the intercom and it went something like this: "There are 950 stairs on this staircase which equals about 15 stories. Use these stairs in an emergency only." I probably flubbed the numbers, but I thought it was funny to listen to over and over while I was huffing and puffing my way up the stairs. By the end I really wanted to show that discouraging voice who was boss. I didn't realize the tube was that far underground. No wonder they were used as bomb shelters.




The Hotel Russel looked really cool from the outside.

We split a tea, and it was still difficult for the two of us to finish all of the food that came with it. Here was the spread:

"High Tea £19.50
Finger Sandwiches, fine pastries, scones with clotted cream and jam
Smoked salmon, cream cheese and tomato, roast beef and horseradish, glazed ham and mustard, cucumber, prawn Marie rose, egg and mustard cress. (four fillings of your choice)"
I'm not really sure which of these sandwiches we received, but they were all really good. The number of dishes necessary for tea was impressive, and the table was soon crowded with food and drink. The pastries and sandwiches came on this tri-level tray all neatly arranged. The clotted cream is a bit difficult to describe, it's like butter but a bit creamier maybe? It's made by boiling fresh milk.

We picked this place because it looked nice but was on the cheaper side. The place to really splurge on tea in London seems to be The Ritz. It runs £40 a person, plus a jacket and tie are required for the gentlemen. Tea at the Russel was nice, but one thing we noticed was that they didn't give us a choice of teas, which is sort of standard in my understanding.

I take my tea with milk and a spoon of sugar.


A quick trip to check out Harrods filled out the day.


The place was full of really gaudy Egyptian statues and other decor. It brought to mind the Luxor in Las Vegas.

I've been all over the place lately and have hardly had any time to post anything. It's a good problem to have!

Oh, Mr. Milito, Your Money's No Good Here

I've been in London about a day now. The majority of that time was spent getting to Mike and Clarence's place and taking a jetlagged nap on their couch. I know both of these guys from teaching English in Japan, and I imagine there's about a hundred pictures of each of them throughout this blog already. I'm about to go to afternoon tea with Mike at a fancy looking hotel, so I will be brief.

After getting off the plane I had the pleasure of standing in the immigration line for a long time. The whole thing is really silly to me. I realize they have a job to do, but the questions they ask remind me of interrogating Japanese students during "conversation tests" in my teaching days.

"What's your job?" "Student"
"What are you studying?" "Marketing"
"Where are you staying?" "My friend's house"
"What's the purpose of your visit?" "Sightseeing"
"What sights do you want to see?" "All of them."

His story checks out.


Mike's place is in Islington, and I took the underground as it was the cheapest option.



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So I'm sitting on the tube, the ride must have been an hour, when the train stops, and everyone gets off, and it doesn't start up again. Great. A train worker pokes his head in the door and says that the Picadilly Line is now closed in both directions because a train is "smoldering" on the tracks. I don't know if this was riot related or not (I doubt it) but it was unsettling regardless. Luckily I was able to take another line the rest of the way and Clarence was kind enough to meet me at Finsbury Park station.

Clarence was hungry, and I was still pretty groggy and couldn't say if I was hungry or not, so we went to a cafe after dropping off my luggage.

I'm pretty much obsessed with doing local things, so I had the full English breakfast. It was giant. Highlights included a slice of black pudding and a giant pile of beans. It was enough food for like four people.

I finished my meal, paid for the food, and even put a pound in the tip dish even though Clarence said it was unnecessary. What a great guy I am. We are about a block away when the cafe's cashier catches up with us, holding the damn £20 note I'd just given him. He said he couldn't accept it because it was too old. What!? I handed him a different one. Nope that was too old too. So we walked all the way back and had a chat with the manager(we really should have just said tough crumpets and walked away; sometimes I think I'm too polite for my own good). Back at the cafe they were all really rude about it. I finally found a note in my pile that was to their liking. Another customer in line was also getting huffy, explaining that on new bills the watermark of the queen faces the picture of the queen. Really, do I look or sound like I care what you are talking about, when I have a pile of money that is evidently not suitable to buy things? How old the damn things could have even been when they had holograms on them is still confusing. At this point I'm a bit worried that I am holding a pile of fake money, bringing to mind my Peruvian counterfeit run-in. There was a bank across the street that luckily was willing to exchange these totally unacceptable notes for slightly differently shaded notes that all the looked the same to me. Crisis averted, day is saved. Mike told me not to embarrass him by saying "the queen faces the queen" at opportune moments all day. I won't be stopped.

Mike and I went to Camden market after he got off of work. Thing is, there were riots all over the place yesterday, so now all of the shops are closed, the streets are sparsely populated save for the packs of police patrolling the streets, and sirens were frequent. It seemed to me that the action in London was mostly over, but I've read that there have been riots in other cities as well. I'm not a huge shopper, so honestly I thought the area was cooler in its current state anyway.




I picked a pub that I thought sounded cool out of my guide book, and Mike was kind enough to accompany me there. At one point we sat in the front row on top of a double decker bus, which was a pretty darn cool view.






The pub I picked was The Spaniards Inn, which sounded cool because it had a lot of history. It dates to around 1585. They mentioned several cool people who liked to hang out there, but I got the hint some of it was advertisingly convenient "legend". Dick Turpin the highwayman lurked here, Dickens visited and mentioned the place in Pickwick Papers.

It was mentioned in Bram Stoker's Dracula.

The place was definitely cool, but I wouldn't say you could sense its ridiculous age by looking inside. We got a couple pints and chatted, but the food was too expensive so that was the extent of it. We had some awesome Indian food then went home. Mission Accomplished.