So It Begins

May 30. The flight to Indonesia goes from Miami to Heathrow to Singapore to Bali.

The first leg is on Virgin Atlantic Airlines departing at 6:15 at night.  We called a taxi for 3:30. It rained at the exact moment we stepped out of our building to get into the cab. The driver had a very round-a-bout way to get to the airport. He never took a main road to get to Le Jeune road to the airport. He told us, "At this time of day, the main roads are completely blocked, so I go this way." All the back streets, like a London cabbie, and still, when he finally got to the main road, the traffic was heavy. You can't win. At least the fare is set at $21 to the airport, no matter how long it takes.

At the check-in area, there was a long line of people waiting for the flight. And we noticed that most of them were Blacks, from Britain, on their way home from the famous South Beach Urban Week, devoted to Black people from all over the States. This weekend has a bad reputation because drugs and alcohol and very very scantily dressed people get a bit wild. Last year, the police shot a man to death right in the middle of a crowd of people just enjoying themselves on the busy, crowded streets. So, this year, the city officials decided to load the place up with a heavy police presence. And, it worked, the participants had a great, fun week of dancing and partying. No problems.

Except for the Face Eater. Yes, a lady riding her bike on the Rickenbacker Expressway bike path, saw two naked men wrestling each other on the sidewalk under the bridge. She saw a lot of blood and called 911 and for other people to stop and help. It was so frightening a scene. When the police arrived, they shot dead one man, who was actually eating the face of the other man. He had chewed chunks out of the face, and was ripping out one eyeball when he was killed. It seemed that a new form of Extasy had hit the streets and it "made the internal organs boil", so people felt so hot they ripped off their clothes. This crazy event made all the headlines, but it did not affect the fun at Urban week.

Judy splurged in the $10 dollar store in the airport. She got a nice black clutch purse AND a puffy neck "U" for sleeping. "So I won't drool when I fall asleep." It was also Judy who said, "I could do with a beer." Can you imagine that? We drank a bottle of Presidente each waiting in the lounge before we were called for boarding. It had NO effect on us. A LOT of black guys and girls returning after the huge Urban Week in South Beach. They all look very sharp AND tired.

At the airport, we were in between a group of four English girls and three English guys. All seven were beautiful and bubbling and laughing and tired and full of energy and exhausted all at once. I asked them how the weekend went and they all said they loved it. I asked one guy, "Can you look your mother in the eye after this week?" He laughed and said, "I hope so." The other two laughed and one said, "You don't know his mother." I asked him if his sperm count went down during the week's fun and he answered, "I haven't had time to check it out."

The four girls were absolutely gorgeous. They were sisters from Liverpool and this was their first trip to America. One said, "I am the oldest. I'm 28. She is 26. She is 24 and the youngest, over there, is 21." I looked at the youngest and she was sitting on her suitcase, dressed in a very very small and tight bright pink top that left her belly bare. She had on tight, short pants and high heeled sandals. She took off the top (right in the airport) and was wearing a small florescent orange strapless bra top. Her skin was very dark brown. Right there, in front of everybody, she began rubbing cream on her shoulders and belly and chest. She was completely unconcerned with the effect her actions were having on marriages. She had earphones in her ears and was sort of dancing to the music. Back and forth she went. On and on went the cream. Over and around the bikini top. It was breath-taking. She was so pretty and unaware of the effects she was having. People stopped talking. The three guys froze. I froze. When she was done, she slipped on the pink top and put the cream into her huge beach bag. The show was over.

Her oldest sister talked to us about their family. "My father is from Nigeria and my mother is just a normal white girl from Liverpool. Her family didn't accept him. It was the 1980's. It was difficult for them at first, but now things are a bit better." All the girls had good jobs, one in the city government of Liverpool, one was a social worker, one worked in a bank and the youngest was in university. I asked her about the Miami girls compared to her life in Liverpool. She said, "We couldn't dress like they do at home. We would stand out in the wrong way." (I wondered about her youngest sister's
recent show in the airport). "We don't wear such high heels or short skirts."

We had seats in Row 59 way in the back of the Virgin Atlantic plane. We had the aisle and middle seats and Dennis, a BIG black Bermudian was in seat A next to the window. He told us, "I am studying business in London. It is a cheap study. I plan to return to Bermuda, where I have 'a business' already." Oh yeah, I can just imagine what business it is. But he is very friendly and happy and loved the Urban week. Dennis put his head on the wall of the plane and fell asleep right then and there and that was the last we heard from him. He didn't even wake up for dinner.

The flying time to Heathrow was supposed to be about nine hours, and I didn't sleep at all. I did relax an hour or so listening to Pavlo Beznosiuk play Bach sonatas and partitas on the classical radio channel. (of course I watched three movies also!) "The notion of interpretation seems irrelevant," says Pavlo, of Bach's "famously intimate solo violin works." I had to read this comment several times before I understood it. I guess I was tired, but it still seems like whipped cream.

Dinner: Judy had beef with airplane veggies. I had pasta with green sloppy shit, but it tasted GOOD. The roll had been cut out of a cannon ball, there was REAL butter, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes with a creamy cheesey white sauce and a gloopy chocolate pudding. All DELISH!! I even ate Judy's pudding. Why not?  Judy had a gin/tonic and I had a vodka/tomato juice. The steward in Yannick. I said, "Oh, you have a Greek name." He pointed to his Asian face and made a circel with his hand around his face. "Not with this face," he told me. "I have a friend named Yannis and he is French." I met Yannick in the galley at 9 to take my pill and get a second vodka, but this time with orange juice. Why? Well, because Judy wanted orange juice. Also, I got four packets of pretzels. Judy also dipped into the huge bag of M&Ms we bought at the airport in Miami. The flight was easy, but the breakfast was YECH!!!!

As we started the final approach, Dennis woke up. Judy thinks it is 2:00 AM in Miami, but we have no idea what time it is in London. Dennis said it is 7:00 AM now. Wow, an hour early!! Oh, Yannick insisted that for take-off and landing, "Would you please put your blanket uner your seat, or in the seatback pocket." What???? I've NEVER heard of that regulation in all my years of flying. 7:05!! "Well ahead of our scheduled time," the stewardess' announcement says.

The flight from Heathrow to Singapore was supposed to depart at 6:30 that night and take 13 hours. We have hours to kill, so we will freshen up in the airport before heading into London. I headed directly for the toilet and actually shaved! I brushed my teeth and changed my underwear, so I felt quite refreshed. We go slowly before we leave the airport.

By the way, Judy decided to travel VERY modern and here she is with her new backpack in Heathrow Airport. Looks so young, eh?

Now, what to do with our day. We have to be back to check in at about 4, so that gives us a whole day to fool around in the city. We call Richard Eisermann at his work and he says that he will meet us in Covent Garden at noon for lunch. That give us a whole empty morning. No point in going into the city so early, everything will be closed. We sit down for a pot of tea and fruit biscuits and plan the day. In fact, we are tired and not looking forward to just walking around the city until lunch. Museums don't open until 10 so that means going to stores. And we both have heavyish backpacks, so that adds to our indecision. Finally, enough is enough and we take the tube to Covent Garden. But, on the way, Judy says, "Why are we going all the way to Covent Garden, it is only 8:30, so let's get off in Piccadilly Circus and at least have some excitement." So, we did. The statue of Eros was already packed with tourists taking photos.

Then we decided to walk down Piccadilly Street to the London Academy, right across the street from Fortnum and Mason's food shop. When we got there, the line for entrance (opens at 10) was already so long that we decided not to wait, but walked around the block. Finally it got hard to put one foot in front of the other, so we stopped for hot chocolate and coffee AND cakes in Paul's. We dragged this out until about 10 and it was time to just swallow our tiredness and go to Covent Garden, where at least it was fun and we could rest.

In our rambles, we stopped at a couple of Antiquarian Book Sellers on Charing Cross Road, just to settle our minds and take a bit of time. Then, slowly towards Covent Garden. On the way, we found a Waterstone's Book Store and there, I found a novel by JG Farrell, an author I recently "discovered".  He wrote the Empire Trilogy about the British Empire in Asia. The first, TROUBLES, won the Faber Memorial Prize in 1970. It is about a decaying grand hotel in Ireland during the beginnings of the Irish war for independence. As the hotel crumbles, so does the Empire. His style is very funny and precise. I found myself laughing at the details of people's clothing and speech. His second novel, THE SIEGE OF KRISHNAPUR, won the Booker Prize in 1973. This is one of the funniest books I have ever read. As the Indians rise up in rebellion, the British army and government officials try to hold on to their "old way of life." And, finally, THE SINGAPORE GRIP about the final days of the British hold on Singapore as the Japanese attacked in World War II. Farrell had polio and it left him with difficulty in walking. He loved fishing off the rocks in Ireland and was drowned there in 1979. Farrell once said, "The really interesting thing that happened in my lifetime has been the decline of the British Empire." One of the key repeated phrases describes human life: As Life Progresses, It Always Gets Worse. To read this book and visit modern Singapore would be a pleasure.


We walked from Piccadilly up Shaftesbury Avenue to Covent Garden and got there about 10:30. Still a long time to wait for Richard. The only answer: shop for shoes. And look. Not only are the shoes CUTE, but they were not expensive AND the match her pink Viennese jacket. Boy, is she happy! Now it was time to sort of find the restaurant and wait for Richard. We found it in five minutes and still had 30 minutes to wait. "Okay, we'll walk more and break in the shoes." After 20 minutes, enough was enough. We went to the restaurant which opened at noon and sat down to wait. Whew! Tired.

The restaurant is at 66 Chandos Place right off Covent Garden. It is in the basement of the building. You can see down the stairs into the tables. It is WAHACA Mexican Restaurant, the brain-child of a famous chef who loves Mexican food. There are no reservations taken because the idea is that it is a street food restaurant, a lunch place. It is up-scale of course. Here is the Wahaca welfare standards statement: "All of our meat is sourced within the UK. Our pigs are outdoor reared, our cows are grass fed and our chickens are reared to a high welfare standard. Our haddock, plaice, goujons, shrimp and scallops are Marine Stewardship Council (MSC) certified."

Of course, this is totally a load of balony. The waiters are underpaid, the clientele is inner city types. I wonder if anybody actually walks out of a restaurant if the pigs are indoor reared. I love the idea that farmers and butchers are conscious of the health of the animals they bring to the slaughterhouse, but this is a bit much (in my opinion).

The menu is divided into three sections. DRINKS AND NIBBLES (soft drinks, Mexican beers, Tequila). With Hibiscus Water first off the mark (home-made cranberry flavoured Mexican flower juice. Freshly made and served by the large glass). Or, Citrus Fizz (freshly crushed lime, torn mint and sparkling water). See, this is a street restaurant, right? Just your local drop-by and have a bite to eat kind of place. "Hey, I'll have the Hibiscus Water and my wife will try the Citrus Fizz." Or, maybe you can just shoot us between the eyes and use the blood to make a Bandito Melange (blood from a fresh head wound, cactus spines freshly cut with a touch of Tumbleweed). Yikes! But we did order the Hibiscus stuff and it was so good we had refills immediately. STREET FOOD is the second section. Tacos, Tostados, Taquitos, and Quesadillas: Chicken Guajillo, Choriso and Potato, Pork Pibil, fresh tomato salsa and chips, spicy slaw (not too hot), and a lot of others. The SIDES section has Green Rice and Sweet Potato chunks dressed with smoky caramelised with mojo de aja. And, finally, the Platos fuertes, like British Steak, the Mexican Way (I think this means it is from cattle who have been rustled across the Rio Grande) and Burritos like Slow Cooked Pork with Pink Pickled Onions and Habenero Chillies. We were hungry just looking at the menu.

Here are two of the special Wahaca spoons I removed as a souvenir. Because, in fact, the food turned out to be delicious and fun.

We had a perfect time with Richard at Wahaca. It began to fill up with the "fast office crowd" and we ate several dishes all at once. Richard talked about his business and the future and we spent a very relaxing hour or so. Finally, he had to go to a meeting and we had to get back to Heathrow, so he walked us to the Underground and off we went. Thank you, Richard, for the lunch!