Category: On Lifestyle

On Lifestyle/

Cotswolds: An expats must-know in England

“…When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.” Samuel Johnson

Samuel Johnson’s rather dogmatic quote happens to be one of my favourite; even it does get up the nose of a few good folks. Like it or lump it, London is a first class city—playground for the imaginative. And I truly don’t tire of the place.

Still, I enjoy getting out of the capital from time to time and seeing what else England has to offer. Otherwise, there is a risk of becoming insular, as if there isn’t anything or any place else in the country.

On the contrary, England has much to offer as is evident in the prolific writing of its many literary greats, including the Brontes, who lived and wrote in Yorkshire; William Wordsworth, who lived in the Lake District; Jane Austen, who worked in Bath; Agatha Christie, who used the English Rivera as a backdrop for her detective stories; William Shakespeare, who is believed to have produced many of his works from his cottage in Stratford Upon Avon; Charles Dickens, who set stories in his birthplace,Portsmouth, and so on.

But even beyond places that have been made well known through literature, there are others as beautiful and as inspirational.

Most recently we took a short break to the Cotswolds, where nature simply is at its best. From rambling vales to rising hills, the area is a walker’s treat—saw a few runners too. Not to mention the water enthusiasts from jet skiers to swimmers, though I still can’t imagine why anyone would like to swim in the Thames.  It’s rather murky, if you ask me.

Admittedly, however, the water at the mouth of the river, flowing in a stony creek, is crystal clear and even as the river widens and deepens, you can still see through the water. Also, there are other rivers and lakes galore in the Cotswolds.

But having written about the Thames Path back in April, I was delighted to see the river’s beginning and noted that it would take about ten days to walk from its source to London. I decided to pass, as we needed to be back home much sooner.

Besides, we’d heard about the weather forecast—rainy, rainy, rainy!

In the meantime, we visited several pretty villages—Bourton on the Water, Burford, and Lechlade to name a few. Endowed with lovely trees and cobblestone streets, most of the villages have unique characteristics of some kind, whether it is a 15thcentury church or a lovely water source running through it.

In terms of commonality, however, the English villages all feature  very beautiful limestone, a local church, a village hall, and pubs and tearooms, some more charming than others. For example, I can highly recommend the Lamb Inn for its delicious food, great ambience and hospitable service.

Meanwhile, in addition to its lovely villages, rivers, lakes, valleys and woods, where some wildlife can be seen, the Cotswolds also has nature reserves and farm parks, gardens, museums and endless country lanes and roads with quaint names such as Down Ampney, Charlham Lane, Beech Lea and Meysey’s Close. Sounds like a television show, a short story, a movie, doesn’t it?

No wonder such towns are often used as a backdrop for storytelling. Anyhow, for shopping and the likes, the pretty town of Cirencester is nearby as are other mid-size cities.

For an opportunity to see traditional England at its most natural, the Cotswolds is an expat’s must know. Great stop for those on holiday who want to see England outside of the capital, too.

On Lifestyle/

Expat writer prepares to go the distance

Yesterday morning I completed my last run before my first 10K on Sunday. Hurray! As I came to the end of the 5.1-mile run, I felt like I had accomplished the 6.2-mile job already.

Make no mistake about it, the run wasn’t easy and I’m sure Sunday’s won’t be easy either, maybe tougher. Meanwhile, I caught up with Paul before he dashed out to work and he, who never tells me I look a mess, couldn’t hold his tongue.

Never mind!

But having come back from the US just over a week ago with little preparation during the month of June, I wouldn’t have thought that I could make four miles, certainly not five.

And though I struggled at the 3.86-mile marker, I dug deep. The Chelsea Bridge, a mile behind me and the Albert Bridge, less than a quarter of a mile, I looked towards Wandsworth Bridge, theoretically. At that stage, I couldn’t see it for the bend in the Thames Path.

Still, I somehow convinced my knees and the rest of me that it was a necessary task to reach that bridge. It would serve us all well.

If the lady who smiled widely at me around that time is reading this, I’m glad for the opportunity to explain my singing, more like moaning. I was struggling and found myself digging deep to keep going. Thank Heavens for Kirk Franklin’s Smile and your smile too!

I couldn’t help smiling that last mile myself. After stretching and showering, I went through my email messages to find tips from the race promoters and the training program I am following:

Pick up my race pack  – ✔

Plan attire – ✔

Hydrate – Working on it but admittedly was stomped by the advice not to drink sports drink with protein until I read up on it. Eek so protein might have been at the centre of my digestion woes during Monday’s run. In any case, all is well that ends well!

Head to the start line – Will do with plenty of time.

And remember you always have one cup left. Good because I am going to need it!

In the meantime, I’m continuing to carb load but not too much and I’ve given my muscles some strength training as promised today to ensure that my knees are not the only ones working. Tomorrow, I’ll spend recovering.

And Sunday, I’ll run, bringing the mileage since April to 86 miles. A closer inspection might reveal that I didn’t put in nearly enough miles to properly prepare for a 10K , but at first glance, it looks like a heap of miles. Yeah!

On Lifestyle/

Expat writer returns to balanced existence

A month  in the US calls for a reality check. Never willingly or knowingly will I disown my birth country, but for the first time in 15 years, I felt seriously homesick for my adopted country, at least my adopted city.

Though my time in the US was both fulfilling and rewarding, it left me feeling rather melancholy.

I could blame the sombre feeling on a number of things, but I will spare us all the analysis and pin it on one thing–imbalance.

Precisely, the relationship between my life in the UK and my visit to the US were completely out of sync. In fact, my world in the UK ceased to exist, except for the short  conversations I had with Paul daily.

Rightly or wrongly, I found myself in a web of commitment  to my parents that left little room for anything else. Some say it was a web of guilt; in any case, that’s another story.

The point is most days from 5.30 a.m. to at least 11 p.m., I stayed on task, shirking the following: reading, running (except two hard three mile runs), exercising (withstanding two insufficient work outs) and writing, full stop. My dad likened me to our hardworking caregiver who reminds me of the never tiring Energizer Bunny, though I did tire.

For instance, every time I found the time to sit down with my iPad or my dad’s MacBook to write, I became listless, wordless to be exact. To my editor in the UK, I must say sorry for dropping the ball and never picking it up again on the Huff Post blog. Ironically, its subject had to do with writing (metaphorically) one’s own ticket via thinking.

Too deep I told myself and tried my hand at lighter subjects, including running in dreadful heat, dealing with cashiers as slow as molasses, and being hugged by a hostess in a restaurant. Still, I didn’t produce anything.

It was only after Nadal lost at Wimbledon, followed by Federer, then Maria Sharapova, and finally Serena Williams that I accepted the melancholy for what it was–imbalance.

No matter how accomplished you are if you are imbalanced, you’re likely to be off your game. Very well, I told myself! But it doesn’t have to define you.

Sure it has to be acknowledged and even mourned. But after that, it has to be left in the past.

So it has been. Today, I think back over the month of June and see that homesickness was less about leaving Georgia and more about returning to a balanced existence, that is if you can call a chaotic airport a balance. Heathrow, true to its reputation, was overflowing with thousands of passengers at the border, most of them foreign.  Good thing I tagged along with Paul or I might be still queueing now.

And never mind the weather’s cool and gray reception, far from Georgia’s hot and bright climate, even in the rain. Memories of sun rays burning through steamy rain are fresh in my mind. Now that was refreshing.

Still, it was time to say goodbye. Anyhow, with time the memories will become stale, as will the melancholy. Quite frankly I have a book to promote, several blogs to write, and a race to run, literally–10K coming up soon!

On Lifestyle/

Right time to be an American expat in London

On this side of the pond, everyone is talking about Usain Bolt, who won the 100 meters race last night in 9.63 seconds, and Jessica Ennis, the heptathlon champion;Mo Farah, winner of the 10,000 meter race; Andy Murray, the gold medallist of men’s tennis, etc. On the other side of the pond, I expect the nattering is well underway about Usain also, even if NBC didn’t show it live (excuse me!). His name has to be right up there with Michael Phelps, Missy Franklin, Serena Williams, Gabby Douglas, and Sanya Richards-Ross.

Yes, now is the time to be a citizen of the world and ever so right to be an American expat in London. Lucky me!  I am beaming with pride. To have both my birth country and my adopted country in the top three slots of the medals table is more than any expat could expect. China is first, the US second and GB third. And to live in the great city where it is all unfolding is the icing on the cake.

I didn’t think it could get any better than the athletics of Saturday night (Jessica Ennis and Mo Farrah firing up the stadium for team GB) until I saw Sanya Richards-Ross take her Olympic 400 meters gold in Chanel earrings. Now I know, I was not supposed to be focusing on style when this 27-year-old woman was making history, winning her gold in 49.55 seconds to give the U.S. its first track and field gold of the 2012 Olympics. But I couldn’t help myself.

May the team get more! But in the meantime, I have to give Mrs Richards-Ross her props. The athletes all have their own style, some with colourful beards and others with tattoos covering their muscled arms, but Sanya, if you ask me, is a cut above the rest in the style department–jewelry, nails, make-up, hair, etc…

Enough said but since I’m on the subject of style, I’m going to have my say about Gabby Douglas. The girl’s pulled back hairstyle is fine people, nothing wrong with it. And anyhow, as Gabby has so much as said, what’s hair got to do with it? This 16-year-old has won two gold medals in three days for goodness sake.

Were it not for her, team USA would be lagging behind China big time. It’s enough that they are three gold medals ahead of us as of this posting. Let’s stay focused here.

Tomorrow, Paul and I are back at Olympic Park for our final event and looking forward to being there and getting there. Last time around we discovered the Javelin, a high-speed train, from King’s Cross.

One Olympic volunteer described it as being faster than Usain Bolt. Maybe…okay so it is but it is a machine you know. But one thing for sure is that when this London Olympics is all said and done, we’re likely to stop talking about the Javelin. For years to come, however, the world will go on and on about Usain Bolt.

Go Jamaica and Happy 50th Independence Day. As I said, now is the time to be a citizen of the world! And to be an American expat in London is just right.

On Lifestyle/

Times Have Changed Since the Olympics

Women playing basketball and men jumping rope, Double Dutch at that, epitomised Day 2 of the 2012 Olympics. My, how times have changed since the first modern games in 1896.

But what hasn’t changed is the enthusiasm and drive of the athletes nor has the ingenuity of human beings. You have to see it to believe it. Honestly, before the Olympic Park and Westfield Shopping Centre of course, it was just land. Land!

But do not despair over lost land. It has been put to good use for the love of country and for sport, of course. From Anish Kapoor’s Olympic sculpture, the Arclor Mittal Orbit (like or it loathe it) to the sleek Aquatics Center, the crowds, me included, ooh and aah at every vista. Not to mention the enthusiasm for the up close and personal experiences.

You should have heard the crowds roar for the women’s basketball teams. Yes! We had a top row seat inside the arena, fondly called the mattress by BBC Breakfast presenter Bill Turnbill. To continue with that metaphor, the arena, though gigantic,  was cozy and comfy.

I can’t claim to have been in that many arenas over the years, though I have been in plenty of gymnasiums, but of the two or three I have visited, I can say that the mattress matched up. So what if it didn’t have a hotdog stand for my American friend but the sound, the energy, the crowds made up for it.

So we did, but speaking of coming a long way, women athletes most certainly have. So many of them are setting new records and clenching the medals. Eyes are on Zara Phillips, the Queen’s granddaughter, today as she rides with Team GB in the equestrian event.

Other women are raising the game too, case in point: the USA Women’s basketball team. I can’t say enough about their finesse, their professionalism. No wonder they have won thirty-four consecutive games as of last night.

As I watched them play, I attempted to text every American I could get in touch with to ask, if nothing else, why so secretive? These women are a national treasure and will surely change the game of women’s basketball the world over, if they already haven’t.

See my views on women’s athletes at London 2012 in my HuffPost blog.

Meanwhile, I’m exhausted today. Still on a high, I’m already thinking about what kind of shoes I’ll wear the next time we head out to the Olympic Park. Though I have found the travel advisories to be more bark than bite, the tips on getting around the park are real.

Comfortable shoes are a must as is rain wear and a darn good jacket. Never mind that this is the last day of July.  Gone are the days when summer was summer and winter was winter and so on.

My, how times have changed.

On Lifestyle/

Sixty Years On: How is Afro Hair in UK?

Today, the Queen marks the 60th Anniversary of her accession to the throne. On February 6, 1952, the young princess would suffer the loss of her 56-year-old father and find herself wearing the mantle of England’s highest public servant at the tender age of 25.

As I watched the footage of a poised young woman with coiffed hair, the epitome of an English woman’s hairstyle in 1952, I wondered about the hair of the women who had migrated from the Caribbean to England. Was professional hair care available to them?

According to the Moving Here website, which looks at a history of migration, it was difficult for a black woman to maintain her hair in the UK in the 50s. Unfortunately, this meant many women cut their hair off or ended up doing it at home, not necessarily caring for it properly.

When Beryl Gittens, a trained hairdresser, planned her journey to Britain from Guyana, her uncle advised her to ‘walk with her pressing comb’. Good thing she took heed because when she arrived she found virtually nowhere to get her hair done.

The Trinidadian pianist, Winifred Atwell, established a salon in Brixton in the late 50s to train English women how to style black hair. And in 1962, Mrs Gittens opened a salon on Streatham High Street, one of the first black hairdressers in London, Beryl’s Hairdressing Salon.

Fast forward forty something years when I relocated to London in 1998, though the situation had improved greatly, I moved from salon to salon, feeling a bit peculiar, as people explained that they didn’t know how to do my kind of hair. And when they did, they seemed to have outdated ideas about how much oil to put in it, for example.

It took me a few years to land safely with Joy Miller, co-owner of the award winning Junior Green Afro Hair Salon in Knightsbridge. A leader in Afro hair care, the trendy salon serves clients from all over the UK and from Europe and other countries. Although such salons are not necessarily rare anymore, they don’t come a dime a dozen like their European competitors.

New comers or business women can still find themselves in a pinch, depending on where they live. Many drive a couple of hours to London to visit a salon. One woman who lives in Berkshire told me she used to drive hours to Birmingham every two weeks to get her hair done, but now she comes to London instead. Another came up from Exeter to Bristol.

Why? What’s hair got to do with it? Everything! I believe it can be a woman’s greatest expression of her personal style, though some of the choices we make about our hair are subjected to political scrutiny. The truth is most of our choices, if not all of them, come down to practicality.

For instance, most of us straighten our hair to make it more manageable! Not to look and behave more European, whatever the political hype suggests. Case and point: there is a trend towards natural hair nowadays, but still women are blow drying their tresses to keep it doable.

And others of us wear extensions because they are lower maintenance. Still, some like braids because not only do they look good, but also they allow for complete hair freedom. It’s nothing to do with being overly ethnic. I know; I just ended a six-month period of braids. I absolutely loved the braids and am equally as hyped about returning to my softly relaxed hair.

As I said it’s a personal expression, nothing more, nothing less. And personally, I’m just hyped that the Afro Hair industry in the UK has come such a long way since 1952. Long may it grow!

On Lifestyle/

English: A Conundrum

Next door but one simply means two doors down, so why can’t they just say that?

Still I can’t resist trying out the English vernacular on unsuspecting Americans.  “Ee by gum.” Okay that is taking it a little far, since this comes from Yorkshire meaning “Oh my gosh!” And most people outside of the region won’t have heard of such a phrase, will they?

But seriously, who’s ever heard of donkey’s years? A Chicago friend of mine still thinks I made it up.  And who chivvies someone along when you can hassle her.  And then there is, “now that is just bonkers or barmy.” What about plain old nuts? But I must confess I absolutely love whinging instead of complaining. Much stronger, wouldn’t you agree. And it sounds better.

Come to think of it, most English words just sound more refined giving them an unwarranted complexity: boot for trunk, bonnet for hood and lorry (pronounced Laurie) for truck—yes they refer to a 16 wheeler as a lorry.  Others are flat for apartment, nappy for diaper, post for mail; nought for zero, people carriers for vans, pudding for dessert and solicitor for lawyer, the list goes on.

No wonder books have to be translated.

And what tell of spelling for clarification? Amazingly, the English like to throw in vowels for special effects. For example, they write gynaecologist for gynecologist, alu-min-ium for aluminum.  And overuse the vowel “u” and virtually ignore the consonant “z” or “zed” as they say. For example, color is colour and organize is organise. But hold up, they don’t like to overuse the “s.” So they replace it with a “c” and write defence instead of defense.

And strangely, they do pronounce zebra, zedbra. On that same note they say “shedule” for schedule. We sound the word as if it is spelled sk, and they focus on the sh. Anything spelled wick is pronounced “ick”. Never mind this is another column unto itself.

Continuing on the topic of spelling, there are words with similar spellings and pronunciations, but have slightly or entirely different meanings. For instance, an infant is a baby in the US.  She can’t talk or walk. Over here, an infant could be a school child up to age seven. Also, to Americans, a billion is a thousand million. To the English, it is a million million. Who cares? Editors!

This blog entry would be incomplete without mentioning those ugly words such as learnt and spelt that look like bad grammar, but they are very real. What we Americans call the perfect tense. These are the ones I can’t bear to speak or write unless forced by an English publication.  I do have to make a living here.

However, when left to my own discretion, I avoid such conjugations by a wide margin but once slipped learnt into an email to a learned girlfriend in Atlanta, and she was appalled. I haven’t tried since, not with a fellow writer.

Sadly, I do not have the hang of English pronunciations yet. I still say Warwick, the place in Georgia, not Warick. Get over it!

But I am caught up in their spellings. You only have to look at this website for evidence. Even when I am bound to American English, such as in my novels, I write pyjamas to the horror of my American readers. And centre. No wonder this column is a bit off center.