Author: Sonja

On London/

Dust from Sahara blows into London

I went to the gym this morning. So what, right? Working out is the big thing nowadays. Beats lying in, that is if you wear a Nike Fuel Band like I do. That’s why I take to the Thames Path three times per week and spend one hour weekly training with an expert.

Of course, racking up fuel points is not the only reason for exercising, but it sure is a good motivator for it.

Admittedly though, after hearing on BBC Breakfast this morning that the UK air might not be the best place about now for anyone, let alone asthma sufferers, I stalled.

For the last several days, high winds have brought dust from the Sahara Dessert to England and Wales. A haze, for instance, hangs over Birmingham today. Yesterday, many Londoners found their cars lightly coated with red dust.

No wonder I couldn’t see the Thames for the smog yesterday and I was a stone’s throw away from it.

Umm… with low-grade asthma and sore muscles that hadn’t recovered from yesterday’s intense work out, I pulled on my kit, warmed up, and begrudgingly headed for the gym instead of the Thames Path.

Wrong answer, I thought as I laboured for thirty-minutes on the treadmill. As soon as I was done, I rushed outside to the nearest bench and went into an extensive stretching regime, using any breathing techniques I remotely knew of.

As I took in the seemingly fresh air, it got me thinking about the environment.

How is it that dust from the Sahara could settle in the UK? What, if anything, does this have to do with climate change? And is running in a haze of dust actually worst than toiling and sweating in a stuffy gym.

While I don’t have the answers to the former two questions, I have my opinion about the latter one. I’d much rather run outside any day than in a sweatbox, no matter how swish and roomy it is. But if the air is polluted, I have to be realistic, don’t I.

Fortunately for me, the air is expected to clear by Friday. Even so, environmental issues won’t flee.

While the Sahara’s dust will soon pass over the UK, it will sweep into another country and other issues will crop up or flow in here—something for us all to think about wherever we are. What does it all mean and what can we do about it? No soapbox or scare tactics here, just plain on realistic questions.

In the meantime, I am lagging in fuel points; I need to get going, perhaps for a short walk, even if it is hazy outside.

On Lifestyle/

Leaflet featured on BBC Radio now available

Now available to all sonjalewis.com visitors, the leaflet Beyond Barren: Putting Childlessness into Perspective served as the backdrop to my interview with BBC London Radio host Jo Good on 19 March.

“It’s a fantastic piece,” the talk show hostess said.

No wonder I have decided to make the piece public, which has been available only to registered users and journalists in the past. Now, visitors can download it here, directly from My Books.

Thanks to the women who shared their stories for the piece, it has been a valuable resource in getting out the overall message of The Barrenness: finding happiness in your own space, whether a mother or not.

Since I released the novel in 2011, the topic of being childless or child-free has become a hot topic. Are they one in the same? Some think so, some do not. One researcher explains that childlessness is not by choice, being child-free is.

In any case, it is a topic that is off the shelves so to speak and on the table. And with a bit of luck, this unto itself, is slowly lifting the stigmas often associated with people who do not have children. Long may the discussions continue, at least until all is well that ends well.

On Life/

Age-old Secret out of the Bag

Shush! Never ask a woman her age. And certainly don’t expect her to volunteer it. In my grandma’s day, this was definitely the case.

And while there are women now who still prefer not to talk about the matter, many of us are happy to let the cat out of the bag.

I have my say on the subject in my latest Huff Post blog. Not only am I happy to talk about my age, but also happy to tell why.

Check out the full blog here and do have your say or keep quiet. It is a woman’s prerogative, irrespective of age old beliefs or new ones.

On Travel/

Bath offers the best of the British Countryside

This past weekend, Paul and I had a short beak in one of my favourite places in the UK outside of London—Bath.

A historic city, known to many for the Roman Baths and Pulteney Bridge, for example, Bath is a rather regal city that also happens to be very pretty, and when I think of the word pretty, I think engaging. From the Georgian buildings to the lovely cobblestone streets, it is a great place for simply being.

This visit, we happened upon a National Trust property called Prior Park, just outside of Bath, where we saw the city from a different viewpoint. Built by Ralph Allen in the 1700s to exhibit the beautiful honey-coloured stone that is seen around Bath today, Prior Park offers breath-taking views of Bath.

And if one so happens to tire of looking at the pretty city in the distance, the garden itself has plenty to offer, including the mansion, now a private school. As it was the best weather weekend of the year, a tease of what’s to come, we had about a one-hour jaunt discovering the landscape garden.

Finally, Bath tops my favourites in Britain because it is an easy day trip from London, but offers great overnight accommodation, too.  This time around, we  stayed at Bailbrook House Hotel, a great find, if I must say so myself, though I didn’t find it.

Never mind, a good time was had by all, in this favourite hotspot.

On Lifestyle/

Ten-year-old changing the face of girl’s sports

Being an expat has its upside, exploring a new world, but there are downsides too, not that I want to dwell on any of them. Most are just trivial things such as finding a new doctor, hairdresser, etc.… Once cracked, no need to dwell on it.

But there is one downside that simply can’t be cracked—missing one’s family and friends. I don’t dwell on this either, as I try to live my life where I am, and fortunately, I get back to the US quite often.

Still I miss a big chunk of day- to-day life, particularly in the lives of nieces and nephews. So often I hear through other family members about their successes and the doting aunt I am, offer up my congratulations privately.

On this one occasion though, I have to publicly commend my youngest niece on her latest success.

Since December, Miss J and I have become as thick as thieves, so to speak, talking on Face Time weekly. Together, we are working on an all-around better Miss J health-wise and girl oh girl, this kid is excelling.

But that is not what I want to brag about or congratulate Miss J on for now.  We’ll celebrate this in a few months. In the meantime,  I must commend this straight A student on being a multi-talented softball player.

While softball has been around for as long as I can remember, I do think the professional women’s league is starting to take off. And with girls like J on the scene, pitching at 55 to 58 miles per hour at age 10, softball is sure to command big league attention. On average, girls her age pitch at about 45 mph.

This past Saturday, J struck out nine players. And that is not all. This kid was responsible for six of the seven points her team made for a 7 to 3 win. She made two runs herself and also brought four people in with her batting. I am told these are called RBIs, thus she made four RBIs.

J is not only making history, but she is also making a difference in the way young girls approach sports.  She demonstrates beautifully what a girl can do through sports as well as academics.

No pressure kiddo and don’t go getting the big head. Just keep focused and you will no doubt set new trends and change the face of women’s sports someday.

Let’s hear it for the girls.

On Lifestyle/

American pancakes for Pancake Day?

So what are you giving up for Lent? I’ll never forget the first time I was asked this question and who asked me. More than twenty-five years ago, when I had a fun stint as a petite model (anybody remember that), one of the more serious models posed this question.

Though a Christian all my life, I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about and shamefully didn’t let on. No Google at my fingertips in those days, I made do somehow, even if I didn’t understand it. Since, I have learned that Lent is the time during which some Christians (Lutherans, Catholics, Anglicans, etc.) give up indulgences, often food, for forty days from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday.

Now an Anglican, I observe Lent, even if my way of looking at it is simplified. And as we prepare for the season, I am struck by the many Britons, Christian or not, that are jumping on the band wagon so to speak to celebrate Pancake Day today, also known as Shrove Tuesday.

Over the years, folks have seized this opportunity to eat pancakes heartily in light of the abstention that they or others will practice until Easter Sunday. This might explain why recipes and tips for making pancakes have shot up in popularity over the last little while.  Some can be found in major newspapers and magazines.

Yesterday, while driving back from a meeting near Sloane Square, a radio announcer confessed, how his pancake making attempts went horribly wrong. One paper suggests that he use a recipe, any recipe. Just don’t mix in eggs, flour and milk at will, expecting to get edible pancakes. It’s not rocket science, is it? Any American knows that, even if we don’t make our own pancakes—more on that later.

The problem lies within the Brits idea of a pancake–a thinner, more crepe like food that is supposed to be a dessert.  No wonder there are so many flops.

For a sure shot, however, I suggest adopting American pancakes, be it for breakfast or for afters. And though this pancake loving expat has never made a pancake from scratch, she gets an excellent result every time. How? She resorts to a pancake mix.

Yes, it is mass produced packaged food, my dear trainer and all the rest who are gasping. Forgive me, if you will. Though I steer clear of such stuff as much as possible, pancakes are an exception. Hence, my stocking up on Aunt Jemima mix whenever I am in the U.S. Perfect, every time, whether I add blueberries or just enjoy them plain.

Now, I know Aunt Jemima may sound a bit stereotypical to some. I’ve had my say about this character over the years, too, but these days, this American favourite aunt deserves a bit of slack. If you ask me, she has kept up with the times. Most recently, she looks to have shed a bit of weight and has definitely splashed out on a soft, modern hairdo.

All she has to do now is cross the pond in volume, that is, and bring a bit of healthy competition with her. I don’t doubt that pancake mix, like many American specialty items, can be found in select shops, for a small fortune, which might be why folks in numbers haven’t caught on to this phenomenon.

In the meantime, however, what are you giving up? Me? Not pancakes, for sure. But as this is Shrove Tuesday, I’m at least in the know. Happy Pancake Day, to all!

Note: Shrove is taken from the word shrive, meaning to confess. Thus, participants traditionally confess what they need to absolve and spend the forty-day period of Lent, practicing abstention.

On Lifestyle/

Weekend in London for the BFF Books

On the heels of the acclaimed London Fashion Week, came the much awaited London Fashion Weekend (LFW), a style extravaganza for the fashion conscious members of the public. That’s me, and my BFF, of course, who flew over from New York for the weekend.

Paul got the tickets as a Christmas gift.

Anyhow, on Saturday, with our tickets in tow, we headed over to the brilliant Somerset House, where the venue’s winter skating rink had been replaced by an extraordinary marquee, which played host or rather hostess to the catwalk shows.

Crowds of stylish and a few ‘not so’ stylish young women, a few men, too queued to enter.  What was that about? Oh, the designer tote bag in exchange for the entry ticket. We’ll have one of those, we agreed, jumped the queue since we already had tickets, and collected the coveted bag. Hump, one look at it and we both wondered what the fuss was about, and after looking inside, we felt seriously let down—some Lavazza coffee, an energy bar, some lip balm. Enough said.

Still, we hoped for the best, remembering some years ago when the event was held at the Natural History Museum, a stone’s throw away from my (and Paul’s) flat at the time in South Kensington. There, we shopped until we dropped. Favourite buys included a sheepskin coat and a designer handbag for me. For her, a D&G leather skirt and a fabulous pony skin clutch bag.

With these cherished items in mind, we browsed from show room to show room, often being jostled by crowds, finally to conclude that either we had changed or the target market had changed and drastically. A bit of both I suppose but more the latter than the former. Though we were younger, at least 12 years, our good taste for fashion was well ensconced, even then.  Hence, we hoped that LFW had maintained its taste, too.

But sadly, the variety of designers had not only shrunk but also the ones participating held back the greatest and latest. For instance, I noted a Joseph dress from two years ago, marked down to a heart-breaking price. Heart-breaking because I bought it at full price at Harvey Nichols.  Never mind! The good news is that it’s still in style. Or is it?

Meanwhile, we caught a trend catwalk show, sponsored by the Outnet.com – very nice indeed! The young super models in training, we shall call them, seemed to enjoy strutting their stuff, all but one of them, who looked miserable. But at the risk of traumatizing her, I shall say no more.

Anyhow, though we had tickets for the Julian MacDonald show scheduled for later that evening, we decided to call it quits and head back to MatchesFashion.com on Marylebone High Street, where we had dropped by earlier.

This stock more than lived up to our expectations, featuring beautiful dresses, bags, shoes, etc., but we didn’t score there either. So off to Liberty we went, where we hit the jackpot – at least my BFF did.

I, on the other hand, was left thinking about a few items.

Later that night, we caught up with another friend at the popular Arts Club and dined and danced. And the night before had seen The Mistress Contract at the Royal Court with Paul and enjoyed dining at Chez Bruce, a Michelin star local.

In short, even if LFW didn’t meet our expectations, it turned out to be fashionable weekend in London after all – one that will surely go down in the BFF book of memories. In the meantime, I’m still thinking – all very nice thoughts, indeed!

On Travel/

Seeking the Silence of Prague in London

In London, we are bombarded with sounds, as daily construction work progresses and life in general takes it course, horns honking, sirens screaming, people shouting and so on. Even when I am running, I hear the jingling of bicycle bells and the rustling noise the tires make on the boardwalk.

As I write this blog, the jack hammering fills my ears. I can’t escape it unless I leave my home. Where am I to go—to a coffee shop, for a walk along the Thames Path, to the library? Where can I get some respite from this noise?

Lucky for me, so I think, I know just the place. I head out the door and make my way to the boardwalk, which leads to Hotel Verta’s luxury spa and gym, where I will see my trainer for our weekly one-hour session.

But no sooner than I join the footpath, I see her heading my way. So much for a quiet walk but her company is welcome. A pleasant woman, she engages me in interesting chitchat along the way. Still, in the distance I hear the screaming of an ambulance, a police car, the buzzing of a helicopter, even if it is only in my head by association. Verta is where London’s heliport is located.

Never mind, I smile to myself knowing that in minutes I will be inside the sanctuary—peace and quiet at last, so I think. More on that later!

For now, speaking of silence, Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic, has a quiet quality about it that is unbeknownst to most cities. Last week in honour of Valentines Day, Paul whisked me away to this magically beautiful city, where we had only been once in 2001. Then neither of us noticed its stillness, perhaps so overwhelmed by the tragic hijackings of September that year.

Heaving with tourists, particularly in its hot spots such as the Charles Bridge and Prague Castle, we found it quite possible to slip into stillness, admiring the historic buildings and imaginative sculptures positioned around the city.

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Were it not for the worry of pickpockets, as we were constantly reminded, and the consequences of globalisation—McDonalds, Starbucks and the occasional contemporary eyesore such as the Intercontinental, built in the 70s—we could have easily envisaged the city as it was centuries ago.

Also, while standing on a lesser-known bridge and overlooking a neatly manicured park, it was easy to imagine Prague as the perfect place for a clandestine rendezvous. Shush, not that, but rather a place where allies might have exchanged intelligence during the Cold War.

And maybe it was. As it happens we met a Dutchman, who told us of being in Prague as a little boy when the city was on the brink of Russian invasion.  He remembered people ushering his family in the right direction, so to speak, until they were out of the city. They had no idea what they might have come up against, until they returned to Holland.

What a remarkable story, as is Prague’s. For instance, the capital managed to escape any real damage to speak of during World War II.

According to a tour guide, folklore tells it that Prague was Hitler’s dream city, where he planned to live after the war.Whether this is fact or fiction, it’s a great hypothesis.

The city’s beauty is alluring, from the Old Town Square to Petrin Hill. My favourite place is Paris Avenue, where the couture designers are located, and not just for the shops but also for the stunning architecture. The city also boasts a magnificent skyline, viewed from several spots such as Petrin Hill and the top floor of the iconic Dancing Building, where we dined at Celeste, one of the city’s top French restaurants.

Fine dining… ah ha. That could be why I found this morning’s training session hard going and rather noisy. Forget what I said about a pleasant woman? On the contrary.

In the meantime, I did find peace and quiet right at my desk, if only for a spell. The construction workers, however, were up to their ears in rain. It, of course, has a way of putting a damper on things. In this instance, wouldn’t mind hearing it again, and soon.

On Life/

Latest Huff Post blog: Going with the crowd?

Ever went along with the crowd for the sake of keeping peace? If not, you’re in the minority. The majority, according to psychologists, follow a path that they don’t agree with at one time or another, often for fear of being socially excluded.

This concept, pluralistic ignorance, is at the centre of many historical atrocities and personal ones too. To read more about pluralistic ignorance and how to avoid it, check out my latest Huff Post blog.

Feel free to feedback and/or comment here on on the Huff Post.

On Lifestyle/

London Restaurants: Filling a Tall Order

Over the years, the restaurant scene in London has gone from abysmal to laudable, so I am told. As far as I am concerned, it has always been pretty good. In my 16-year experience here, the capital has been on the upswing with celebrity chefs putting it on the food map.

The trouble with this is that when the chefs cease being celebrated or experience a seriously big hiccup, so might London’s food reputation, needlessly.

Celebrity chef Heston Blumenthal’s two Michelin-starred Dinner at the Mandarin Oriental in Knightsbridge is at the centre of a norovirus outbreak and thus, will be closed for at least 10-days.

This is, of course, a serious matter unto itself but what makes it even more serious is that the chef had to close another of his great restaurants, The Fat Duck in Bray, in 2009, for the same reason.

While judgements and suspicions are flying around—is he experimenting too much—I am quick to defend the restaurant (went there last year for my birthday and loved it!).

The chef, also known for integrating science into his cooking, is wildly imaginative, creating dishes such as snail porridge and nitro glycerine ice cream.

I will have none of that, thank you. But absolutely love what he does with lamb, even beef, often slow cooking to perfection. We have tried it, at least Paul has, at home. Delicious!

To this end, abandoning Heston because he has had two unfortunate major events would be like turning my back on Rafael Nadal because he lost the Australian Open. Never!

Unless, Rafa somehow dishonours his public image in such a way that it is beyond a shadow of doubt that he’s no longer great, I’m standing by him. The same goes for Heston.

Anyhow, if you look at what the experts say, experimenting has nothing to do with norovirus.  According to the NHS, the illness, also known as winter bug, can spread rather quickly if an infected person doesn’t wash their hands before handling food, therefore, tainting it. Individuals can also catch it by touching contaminated objects and surfaces.

Recently, there was an outbreak on the Royal Caribbean cruise ship, affecting 600 or so passengers. In the case of The Fat Duck, it had to do with a bad lot of oysters. As for Dinner, the BBC reports that 24 diners and 21 staff fell ill.

Will I go back? Likely. Easy for me to say, you think. I didn’t catch the illness during my time at Dinner and, neither did thousands of others. But I do sympathise and can commiserate with those who were less fortunate. I have had food poisoning from at least two restaurants in my time–one part of a fine, fine hotel chain, and the other has plenty of accolades and willing dinners. Both places are still going strong.

And I have been back and am here to tell the tale. The difference in what is happening with Dinner and the places I had my bad experience is that it’s in the limelight. As such, the spotlight will shine on the restaurant and its celebrity chef in both good and bad times.

Let’s hope the bad times are over because if you ask me Dinner is one of the best restaurants in the capital and that’s filling a tall order nowadays.