Oot and Aboot
Records of the past two months.
It’s 10:13am on May 19th and I’m sitting at my living room table intermittently staring at my south-facing (not to brag) window. Outside it’s raining and grey and a man (maintenance, I assume) just walked across my balcony. Inside, it feels like 14 degrees. Or something like that. I’m not actually sure what the temperature is, but 14 degrees seems like an appropriate guess for a situation that requires two sweaters, a second cup of green tea, and skin-to-skin contact with the living room (not to be confused with the bedroom) heating pad.
Indoors, a similar situation unfolded last week, when on the 54th day of London’s glorious spring, an aggressive hail storm threatened to destroy my balcony plants and any chance at overcoming a vitamin D deficiency.
AND YET. I remain convinced that London is one of the greatest cities in the world. This post isn’t about that though.
Recently - to the chagrin of my homebodiness, but delight of my internal temperature regulation - I haven’t been here all that much.
Opening Song: Graceland, Paul Simon
GREECE
In the final days of March, I jetted off to Greece for a partial family trip (3/5 Banks’) around the Peloponnese Peninsula.
My early morning journey to Athens was desirably uneventful. Live play-by-play commentary forthcoming.
7:00am: At the airport. Called “sir” only once. (This happens, without fail, every time I travel alone).
8:00am: Boarded the plane. The woman seated next to me eats a bag of cheddar cheese and onion chips.
8:40am - 10:40am: First half of the flight. Try to play the NYT crossword. Embarrassingly unsuccessful.
10:40am - 12:40pm: Second half of the flight. Zone out to the Tomorrow, Tomorrow, and Tomorrow audiobook. Jealous of the CC&O chips woman for her ability to sleep so deeply in the back row middle seat of a RyanAir flight when all I can do is zone out.
1:10pm: My family meets me at the airport and we set off on our adventure.
Here are some highlights.
And, of course, quality family time. Sharing a room with my mom (shoutout mom) and avoiding eye contact with my brother (shoutout brother) so as not to laugh at inappropriate moments are only possible in situations of close proximity. And as a long-distance daughter with a genetic tinge of Jewish guilt, it’s my duty to remind you not to take proximity for granted!
Onwards.
I departed from Athens on a Wednesday. My airport “sir” count was one (well actually five if you count each time the security officer repeated the honorific in an effort to direct my attention towards the bag tag that had separated from my carry on). The plane ride was unmemorable.
FRANCE
The following day I set off to Paris to celebrate the 90th birthday of my boyfriend’s iconic (understatement) grandmother. Three days of quality time (by now you must realize that this is my love language) excellently coordinated by his logistically savvy parents to the wishes of a 12-person group.
Allow me to demonstrate my comprehension of passé composé.
Nous avons pris the Eurostar which really, when you think about it, is an exceptional feat in engineering.
Nous sommes restés in a deceivingly small hotel room that required one person to remain atop the bed if the other wanted to walk from the window to the bathroom, or from the bathroom to the door.
Nous n’avons pas mangé pastries, bread, or pasta thanks to the convenient timing of Passover.
It was cold so nous avons porté jackets. After nous avons marché 10,000 steps, it became a little bit less cold.
Nous avons passé du temps at assortment of restaurants, galleries, and historical sites. Such as…
Each time I’m in Paris, I’m reminder that I would love to live in Paris. And that I should continue with my weekly French lessons, despite a recent feeling of stagnation. Et que je dois continuer à lire L’Etranger de Albert Camus malgré les critiques négatives de mes amis français.
ITALY
From Paris I took a 7 hour train to Milan (see Le Prime 72 Ora) where I stayed for three weeks. My spring stint in the city - not to be confused with my fall stint in the city (see Milan Darling, Milan) - was an acute reminder that people who don’t like Milan have poor taste.
Milanese entry ways are exceptionally beautiful; coffee doesn’t leave a bad aftertaste; the interior of M3 subway cars are painted a very complimentary shade of baby blue and mustard yellow; and grocery store branzino is less than 2 euros per fillet. The city is small, but not too small. Trams are slow (but cute), Italian is a beautiful language, and aperitivo culture is indisputably chic. I also happened to live down the street from a gelateria.
My last week in the city coincided with Milan Design Week. For the peripheral person (design enthusiast or not), an opportunity to visit temporary exhibitions, access otherwise closed-off areas, stay out late, and socialize at an above average rate.
Here are some installations that I enjoyed…
Google AI Summary tells me that in William Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, somebody says this: “What is the city but the people?” Without any context, I agree. My experience in Milan, beyond the subway colourway and non-acidic coffee, was made special by the people there. It’s not always a given that you’ll feel at home in an Italian city when the only sentence you know is posso avere questo biscotto, per favore? This, I don’t take for granted.
Long distance friendships suck. But as Shakespeare wrote in Richard II: “I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul rememb’ring my good friends.” And here I am, agreeing for the second time in the span of a few sentences, with William Shakespeare. I think he might be onto something. Baciiiiiiii.
UK
I returned to London with a tightly packed suitcase, a newfound appreciation for house music, and the promised relief of a temporary return to introversion. Which, on account of the friends I missed when I was away, didn’t hold up.
Highlights to follow.
Four days later, I was back at the airport. This time, en route to the motherland (home of my family, good bagels, crunchy pickles, and the Tim Hortons Iced Capp I had been craving since my last trip home in August).
Canada
Nope! Not yet!
An hour into our extremely peaceful flight, as the plane approached the Atlantic at a cruising altitude of 34,000 feet, the pilot came on the speaker and said this… (Or something like this…) (Oh, and he said it in a very deep piloty voice, so try to read it as such…)
“This is your Captain speaking. Well, uh, I’ve been made aware of an unknown odour coming from the front of the plane. I know this is not what you want to hear, but out of an abundance of caution, I’ve made the decision to turn the plane back ‘round and return to London Heathrow. [Static noise] There will be emergency vehicles on the ground and we will have a maintenance crew come onto the flight for an inspection once we land."
Then I panicked. Mildly. (My boyfriend says that “mildly” isn’t an accurate assessment of my response. He says “extremely” is more appropriate).
An hour went by until we re-landed in London. On the ground, we sat. And waited. And sat some more. And waited some more. Until a few hours later, the pilot came on the speaker and said this…
“This is your Captain speaking. Unfortunately, uh, this flight will need to be cancelled. We’re really sorry about this”
To which I panicked some more, but I’ll spare you the details. Instead, I’ll include a picture of me looking super calm and extremely unbothered and let you know that, after a 22 hour travel day, I made it home!
My 8 days back home were very special and, with a resolve to fit in everything I wanted to do / everyone I wanted to see, meticulously planned. In what felt like my busiest week of modern history, I was able to attend my grandmother’s 80th birthday party, raid my other grandmother’s closet, catch up with friends, watch my brother’s softball game, cuddle with Puddy and Elsie, dance at my cousins bat mitzvah, see a Toronto FC soccer game, replenish my supply of floss, film a self tape, get a foot massage, look through old stuff, AND… most importantly, spend time with my extremely cute family.
Some highlights below.
I also got through a healthy number of bagels, more than one jar of pickles, and a satisfactory stream of Tim Hortons Iced Capps.
UK
I’ve been back in London for a week and a half now. Yesterday, May 20, was the final day of cold. Tomorrow, a heatwave will shake up the city and Londoners will come out of hibernation. Life is good. I’m off again tomorrow, but I’ll keep the suspense high.
Closing Song: Mr. Blue Sky, Electric Light Orchestra
OTHER THINGS
Eating: I’ve made a string of mediocre recipes this past week which is both disappointing and uncharacteristic. However, here are two that I’ve enjoyed (both paywalled by the NYT. I apologize on their behalf) …
Reading: I do not need to buy more books. I am already reading three books. This is what I say to myself when I enter a book store. Sometimes I am strong. When I enter London Review Bookshop, I am weak. Recommended to me by a restaurant server a few months ago (see Eating, Drinking, Thinking), yesterday I bought On The Calculation of Volume by Solvej Balle. The first of a seven-novel-series (right now I’m non-committal to the other six) translated from Danish to English and shortlisted for the 2025 International Booker Prize. Let’s see how it goes!
Thinking: The other day I read the back cover of Adam Zeman’s book on imagination - The Shape of Things Unseen. This is what it said:
“From how infants perceive the world to how we can anticipate the thoughts of other people, from the benefits of play to mental disorders, The Shape of Things Unseen dazzles and delights in its insights into the workings of the human mind.”
I think about imagination quite a lot. Also when I was younger, for a day or two I wanted to become a neuroscientist (don’t we all!). I think I should probably read this book.
Drinking: After 35 minutes on the phone with a customer service agent from Nespresso, my suspicion was validated… my perfect little yellow machine had taken its last breath. Now, I’m the proud owner of a perfect little blue machine (which came at a steep discount and with it, the inclusion of 50 pods). It’s taking admirable self restraint not to over caffeinate.
Listening: As a Bob Marley purist, the thought of deviating from any original music is unappealing and frankly on the cusp of sacrilege. But, as I deal with a persistent desire to dance, let me confess that I’ve been listening quite a bit to Jamming - FISHER Rework.
Okay byeeeeeee!
Oh, but before I go… 101 people reading my writing is slightly crazy. If I were to make a speech, this is what I would say:
“To those who I forced to subscribe and to those who my mom forced to subscribe, thank you for being here. You all deserve a forehead kiss.”
Loving your blogs. Cheddar cheese and onion chips! Thanks for the giggles Skylar. ❤️
Living vicariously through your words is a real joy! You make all your related experiences and observations jump off my screen into some sort of real world kaleidoscope full of fun!