It's a small, small, small, small world!

Before I get on to the meat of this posting, I just wanted to update friends and family about my job. I did write a posting earlier railing on about how little I do at work, and how I was amazed at the different, let's call them "work output expectations" in an office job versus teaching. After this posting, I got many e-mails and telephone calls asking me how my job was and was I still staring blankly into space on most days... well, let me put your worries to rest - I am a busy bee now, and instead of supporting three divisions/departments, I am now supporting seven (okay, okay, so one of them is only a one-person department. Fine... six.) So worry not, friends and family - I am not sitting idly, staring at the second-hand as it tick-tocks away. I am actually quite busy and running around the office. And the people I work with are so nice, that I enjoy going to work. Even if the work is not too mentally invigorating - at least I have nice company while I do it. ;)

And to top it off - we had a lovely company Christmas party (dinner and dance). Open bar, flowing champagne, little bowls of creamy food, and a dance floor of perfect slipperiness (it allowed me to totally bust a move in shoes that are otherwise impossible to walk in). We had a great time.

We even dressed up!

You get the general idea --- shmancy!

So have I put your minds at ease? Hana = busy. Not to worry.

Allright, now that I have cleared that up, now I can tell you the real story. I will preface the story by warning you that it does go back some years... but I need to take you back and tell you this story in chronological order. So sit tight - it will make sense why I'm telling you this story now - you just have to read it right to the end.

About 5 years ago, when Rob and I still lived in Japan (and before we were even together, I think!) we went out with a group of friends to a club in Osaka. We danced until the wee hours and then caught the last train home to my friend Nana's house in a small town called Gojo, in the south part of Nara prefecture. Gojo is the last stop on the last train running from Osaka to southern Nara, and it's special in that when you get on in Osaka, you have to sit in the appropriate coach, as about halfway through the voyage, the train splits; one half goes north to Kyoto, and one half goes south, to Nara. We arrived at about 2:30am in Gojo, the last stop at the very south end of the line, when we notice another group of foreigners get off the train as well. Well - at the time, my friend Nana (Asian-American) and another girl (an Asian-New Zealander) were the only foreigners in the town, so to see a group of white girls at 2:30am was quite a sight. Obviously, they didn't know where they were, and as we had suspected, they had got onto the wrong coach. Instead of heading north to Kyoto, they ended up with us in what was essentially the middle of nowhere.

It was lucky that they took exactly the same train as we did, and stayed on the train until the very last stop - or they might have been stuck out in the cold, sleeping at a train station! But through complete chance, they were on OUR train and got off at OUR stop... so they came back to Nana's house, and we all spent the night there, snuggled up all together so we could fit. And funny enough, two of the girls were Canadian, and one was even from Vancouver! What a small world, we thought. Fancy running into another Vancouverite in such a remote place in the middle of the night! And on top of that, she taught in southern Kyoto, very close to where my grandparents lived. What were the chances? (Are you calculating them...?)

Flash forward to the winter of 2005 - two years ago - at my former boss' house-warming party in East Vancouver. As I have a habit of being perpetually on time, I was there about an hour and a half before anyone else showed up... except for another friend of my boss, who was a teacher in Richmond. And hey - wouldn't you know it, I was teaching in Richmond at the time as well (supply teaching). What a coincidence! And hey - we had both taught in Japan on the JET program at roughly the same time. Another coincidence... but not SO strange, as there are many teachers in Vancouver who have done the same. But wait... we taught in a similar area of Japan as well - she even taught very near to where my grandparents lived. Ummm... wait a minute.

"This is going to sound like a really strange question," I asked, "but while you were living in Japan, did you ever take the last train home from Osaka and get stranded in a remote town and have to stay with a Japanese-American girl and a bunch of her friends?"

YES. It was HER! The same Vancouverite from that night almost three years prior! Now.. what are the chances of that?? We laughed to think that we could meet again on the other side of the world, and ended the night jokingly with, "We don't need your number, I'm sure we'll see you again on the other side of the world!"

Are you getting where this story is going?...

So last Thursday, we went to go and see my friend Alexia's band play at a pub near Kings Cross Station. And while standing at the bar, speaking to Lex's boyfriend and his friend, a random Canadian girl walks up to me and asks me, "Sorry, but are you Canadian from Vancouver? Is your name Hana?"

I know what you're thinking... impossible! She is pulling my leg! Well... at least it's not your finger... and no, I'm not pulling anything! This was the same girl. We HAD met on the other side of the world!! So just to prove that it's not a lie, here is a picture with her and her husband.

Convinced that this could not be mere coincidence, we have finally exchanged numbers and e-mail addresses, and plan to meet deliberately next time. :) The world is definitely a small place.

And another good thing about that night...The Heartstrings (http://www.theheartstrings.com/) . They are really fun to watch. And, as all good bands do, they have a trumpet and glockenspiels! (Lex gets to play the glock!...and keyboard and percussion and vocals... but the glock is the coolest!!)

They will be playing again in the new year, so keep checking their website if you are in the London area. Or even if you're not - they have some tracks up to listen to, and it's just a cool website.

Nothing beats a glockenspiel.

Life (and friends) in London

Welcome to Finsbury Park, London - home to:

- the Arsenal Football Club and the Emirates Stadium (where you can find some of the highest payed athletes in the world)
- North London Central Mosque (notorious for it's connections to Sheikh Abu Hamza, the one-eyed, hook-handed cleric allegedly linked to the 9/11 bombings)
- the "crazy CD-lady" who wears old T-shirts, spandex, and stands on the corner with her walkman and headphones, singing (guessing from her wardrobe - you can't tell what she's actually singing) along to what we can only imagine to be mid-'80's favourites

... and us!

From left: Rob, Machiko, Hana, and Stu

It was lucky for us that we found Machiko, who is just as serious and mature as we are - otherwise we wouldn't be able to invite over our friends....

wait... maybe that's why we met

Ben at Portobello Road

Nicola in South Bromley

and Jon (and his new baby!) at Spitalfields Market...

But in all seriousness, it's lovely to be here with such lovely flatmates. Just to give you a taste of what it's like to live in our house, here is the menu from last week:

Monday: Asian Noodle Salad with miso soup
Tuesday: Roasted winter vegetables and rice
Wednesday: Stuffed peppers and squash soup
Thursday: Eggplant Parmigiana (at Rachel and Howie's house!) and to-die-for chocolate cake
Friday: Corn Chowder and wholemeal buns
Saturday: Quesedillas with home-made Pico de Gallo salsa and guacamole
Sunday: Margherita pizza and tomato and fresh mozzarella salad, followed by Ginger cake!

mmmmm.... anyone want to come and visit?

So even though there is random yelling in the courtyard behind our house, our whole kitchen/living room shakes when the people upstairs do their laundry, the neighbours downstairs have a band who rehearses from midnight to 2am on Wednesdays and sometimes we come home to find large piles of poo on the sidewalk in front of our house... we are eating well! And did you know that today, October 28th is National Pudding Day in the UK? A day where the nation eats dessert...

...all I can say to that is

Happy National Pudding Day!

Turning to meat...

Prune juices, prune yoghurts, prune biscuits, prune jam... London loves prunes. And although at first, I thought it a strange flavour to market (North Americans have learned to shun the prune as something only old fogies eat, and even then, only out of necessity) I have learned to love them, too.

But those prunes, in combination with British yoghurt (whose labels read: "aids in digestive transit"...transit!) started to make me run to the loo every other hour, resulting in, let's just say... discomfort.

So I decided that in order to restore regularity in my digestive "transit" system, I'd start to eat meat again. Being a new vegetarian, Rob was not that hyped about it at first, but bless his heart, he ended up being the ultimate in support:

Elementary, my dear Weston

Yes, Yes, so it's been a while. But I have a good excuse! I was solving a mystery!

I don't know if I mentioned in my entry about my new job, but it's on Baker Street - home of the Baker Street Irregulars, and Sherlock Holmes and all things detective. The Baker Street tube station is even decorated with mosaics of Sherlock Holmes' profile (complete with hat and pipe, naturally)!

So here is how the mystery begins, and it begins as all good mysteries do - on a perfectly normal day.

So there I was, it was a perfectly day normal day at my regular job on Baker Street, and I was, as usual, watching the large mechanical screen that the management insist I keep at my desk. I'd been watching it for days, now, and nothing ever happened except that after turning it on and going through the procedure they term "logging-in" with a secret password (this part of my day I enjoy) nothing happens for approximately 5 minutes, after which the screen shows a swirling array of colours. This continutes all day, and would have on this particular "perfectly normal" day if I hadn't suddenly received a letter. And not just any letter - one by "electronic post"! It appeared on my screen and summoned me to the Sherlock Holmes Hotel on Baker Street. It read:

"Dear Ms. Detectivelefsen,

You are cordially invited to spend an evening with us at the Sherlock Holmes Hotel. The evening will be free of charge and includes dinner and a continental breakfast. Please invite a guest if you wish.

Sincerely,

The Management."

"What a mystery!" I thought to myself. Who is this "management" and why is he (or she, as the case may be) offering me an evening in a hotel - for FREE!? I thought of the crime bosses I'd encountered of late. Could it be...

The dancing twins of Tooting Bec:
Leaders of a group of pick-pocketers who
"Fossy" their way into the wallets of trusting patrons of the arts?"'Ug' the Thug" who lives above the pub,
speaks in grunts, and is a gang of one?Or perhaps the pointy-shouldered "Madame Neon"
who runs an intricate ring of thin, robotic slaves
who wear only designer labels?

Straight away I knew that I could eliminate one of the suspects. The electronic letter was clearly written by a literate mastermind, and therefore could not have been written by "Ug the Thug", who only communicates in grunts. Even if he had been able to write a letter, it would have appeared like this:

"Ug Ug,
Ug Ug Ug UG Uggg UgUGggUUUg.
Ug uug."

So there were only two suspects left and I had only begun my sleuthing. The game was already afoot - this was clearly a mystery I was up for solving.

I rushed home at precisely 4:30pm, gathered my detecting materials in a rolling suitcase, and brought along my faithful sidekick, Weston, to help me solve this mystery.

Here I am, on the case.

After entering the hotel, Weston and I were ushered to the second floor, where we were shown into a luxurious "executive suite" and wished a comfortable stay. We looked around:
It looked normal enough - two twin beds for Weston and myself, a writing desk, and windows overlooking Chiltern Street behind. And although the glass door to the toilet was unusual, I didn't find it particularly full of mystery. (In fact, it really took a lot of the mystery out of certain activities.)

And then I noticed another large mechanical screen in the corner. (There were two, actually, but only one was of import.) It read:

Aha! A clue! "Weston!" I exclaimed, "We can deduce from this welcome letter, that our suspect is not only literate, but working in a team. You might have noticed that in the electronic letter I received on the electronic screen at work, my surname - Detectivelefsen - is spelled correctly, and yet in this welcome message, is is misspelled as 'Dethlefsen'. Clearly, the letters were written by two separate people, one who could spell, and one who cannot."

Weston was quiet and thought for a while. "Does that mean that our prime suspects are the dancing Twins of Tooting Bec?"

"Precisely," I replied. "Madame Neon's robotic slaves are too underfed to do any work besides walk up and down a stage - writing a message of welcome would clearly be too strenuous for them. And the twins... well - one is clearly stupider than the other, wouldn't you say?"

Weston stared at me blankly - "which one?".

"Never mind," I sighed, "Let's search the room for other clues. We must find out who 'the management' are, and why they invited us here!"

And so we searched:

First I searched the living room - even inside of the magazines.

Weston took the sitting room and looked for clues in the books.We searched for hours - and came up with nothing else. We were both tired and getting cranky. I decided I would look in one last spot... the writing desk. There, I found a menu and my next brilliant idea. "What if," I proposed to Weston, "we head down to the lounge for a drink and a ponder?" Maybe it will clear our heads and allow us to solve this mystery."

So, still feeling groggy and frustrated from not finding any clues, we took the machine-propelled dumb-waiter to the ground level, and sat down for a drink and a pipe (you can see the pipe on the wall behind my trusty side-kick, Weston).

And that is when Weston said the words which cracked the case - "I say, Detectivelefsen, you were right. I do feel much perkier after a drink."

"Weston, you're brilliant! You've solved the mystery!"

"I have?"

"Yes - you did it just now! Now we can safely eliminate all of our suspects and solve the mystery! Let me explain. First, I have known all three suspects for many years and never have I received any kind of invitation or offer from any of them. In fact, the only letters I have received from them have been death threats! Secondly, I have only been working at this office for a few weeks, which is the only new development in my recent life, which leads me to believe that this invitation has something to do with this new development. Thirdly, I received the electronic message at WORK. So the mystery is solved!"

Weston, my ever-faithful side-kick looked at me and blinked. [blink-blink] "I'm not sure I get it, Detectivelefsen."

"It's elementary, my dear Weston, with my new job, I received this invitation to stay at the Sherlock Holmes hotel as a PERK!"

[I can hear your groans resounding through cyber-space. No need to insert them as comments.]

Is London still "The Opposite of Easy"?

Long anwer short: YES.

For those of you who read my August post railing about how difficult it was to get a bank account --- don't worry, I STILL don't have access to it. I do have an account, but my first bank card was stolen before I even received it, my name was spelled incorrectly on my second card, and I haven't yet received the PIN number necessary to access my money!

And I won't even get started on Rob's bank account. His will take even longer - even with a British passport!

So far in the race against Japan, land of bureaucracy (in triplicate, please!) London is still in the lead for the title "The Big Not Easy."

Musings on "The Office"

Office work. It's bizzare. You sit and create documents, make telephone calls which result in more documents, and then pass those documents on to other hands, where they are signed, passed on for authorization, documented in a database, and then filed for posterity (or however many years is legally required) in the appropriate filing cabinet - to sit and collect dust.

Who came up with this idea? It's so strange that the act of someone signing a page is considered "work". I don't know if it comes from growing up in a blue-collar family, but the whole idea of pushing papers is so far from my idea of "work", that I can't believe someone is paying me to do what I do all day!!

And what I do is - "office administration". Which, for this particular brand of "office administration", means that I make flight, cab and hotel bookings for people travelling between the various offices of a particular company. This generally takes up about one hour to one and one half hours of my day. Sometimes, when it's REALLY busy, I even get to do things like order stationery, put out sandwiches for meetings, send reminder e-mails ("Don't forget to order company Christmas cards for your clients by Friday!") or book meeting rooms. And if I'm lucky, I'll even get to change the toner in the photocopier!

Now I understand the the TV show "The Office". I thought that show was exaggerating the amount of free time and ridiculous nature of "work"... but it's all real! It is not a comedy - it is a realistic portrayal of life in an office environment!!! For all of my friends doing active work out there - keep your teaching, directing, writing and constructing jobs and avoid office work like the plague... it will rot your brain!

It's true! I do almost nothing all day... and get paid to do it (it = nothing)! The only problem is - I'm paid hourly, and want more hours. So each time my manager asks me how I'm doing, I have to pretend to be busy, so he will think I need more hours to do it and offer to make me full-time. As dishonest as that sounds, friends who are shaking your heads and saying quietly to yourselves "What has happened to Hana? ... She used to be such a hard worker!" in my defense: I have already offered to do more work. Every day for the first two weeks, I have asked "Is there anything else you need me to do?" And always, the answer is, "not right now, I'll let you know." So I've filled my time with job-related tasks. Making contact lists, writing multiple to-do lists (categorized by time, priority, like-ability of task and task-type, depending on my mood), and memorizing the names of the people on my floor from the map left on my desk. I have even produced a manual on how to do my job in the free time I have at said job. It is printed it in colour, organized in a fully-referenced binder with colour-coded, labelled tabs for each section. And as of today, it also has pictures of the computer screen at each step of any given task. So don't say I haven't been doing work, friends... but I'll give you the fact that it's not important work. Or useful.

It's a strange feeling, doing useless things all day. But on a working holiday visa, nobody really wants to employ me to create a new approach for program-delivery at a museum or plan cultural events that promote Japanese culture and language. They just want to pay me to sit on my a** all day and e-mail with the girl in the next row about how we have nothing to do all day. It doesn't make sense. ( And she evengets paid more than me for her brand of nothing!) If a country is going to invite me in to work for a limited amount of time - it should milk me of all the skills I have while I am here - get me to write a new and innovative textbook for language learning, or introduce young children to a new scientific concept, or help design and plant a sustainable vegetable garden in conjunction with a centre for the homeless! Use my youth and energy for the good of your country! Don't let me waste away my time browsing a gym brochure to see if I can make it to a yoga class and make it home in time for dinner!

... but on the upside - I have never been so stress-free. I have time to jog in the mornings, play board games in the evenings, socialize with friends, and I have even read three books in the past two weeks! As a result, my skin is clear, I have lost a kilo, and I'm sleeping 8 hours a night!

Now, if only I can figure out a way to get the best of both worlds - mental/emotional job satisfaction of a "real" job AND the good health/personal leisure time of office work.

Any suggestions?

"Fork"-ing Around in London

As indicated by the fact that the very first picture I took in London (left) was of food, it is safe to say that food is one of the loves of my life. I love a good "fork"-ing, no matter where I am!

Therefore, let's explore my gastronomical adventures in a special, online edition of "Forking with Hana: London."

I must credit myself with managing to get in a good forking wherever I go - as indicated by the delectable pasta dish to the left. But I must admit that I have been eating particularly well since my arrival in London. (Good thing I started jogging!)

But I would be lying if I told you that all of the great forking food was made by me... there has certainly been some fantastic forking performed by friends and members of the general public.

Many people know Burrough Market (where celebrity chef, Jamie Oliver, does his food shopping), but did you know that just off to the side is a charming little patisserie which bakes a rainbow of massive... meringues? It was there I first forked with this pear tart - what a tart!

At the same patisserie (different day, don't fret. I've learned the lesson that too much forking in one day can leave me feeling less than frisky) this tiny lemon cupcake put a forking huge smile on my face. While not a tart, it was perfectly so - and cute, to boot!

And it's not just restaurants that are making me crazy about forking... housemates, too! My housemate Stu has kept me busy by keeping the oven hot at home.

And boy, can this man work that oven! This scone was my very first (scary) foray into clotted cream. It was intimidating, all of that thick cream, but ultimately a rewarding experience. I can see how clotted cream can become a forker's dream.

But what is food in England without the ultimate English forking experience?

For the Brits, the best forking happens in the morning (preferably the day after a long night of drinking). And thanks to the new abundance of veggie-friendly food in this city, it's not too difficult to find a vegetarian version of the classic British "get-me-up" session: (veggie) sausages, egg, toast, baked beans and fried tomato and mushrooms. Who needs forking meat, anyway? A dollop of English mustard, and I was left panting at the end of the meal.


Actually, looking at all of these pictures is making me excited to have some more forking adventures! If you have any suggestions for where I can go in London for a good forking, speak to my (comment) box!

Thank you, London!

YES! It's happened!

I got my first job in London! It starts on Thursday, so I will have to make my way there around the tube strike... but I'll get there if I have to walk all the way! Thank you to all of you who sent me your "get a job" vibes -- and hooray for London!!

London: The Big Not Easy

Okay, I take it back. I spoke too soon. There is no balance - just "not easy"-ness.

My friend Joe commented on my posting "the opposite of easy" by saying that my experience at the bank was nowhere near as difficult as any of our experiences with bureaucracy in Japan. True - that experience wasn't... but last night's ordeal officially makes London more difficult than most anything I've had to deal with in Japan.

In order to make this (very) long story short, suffice it to say that - due to a maintenance worker's strike on the tube - traveling to and from the airport to pick up Rob was more than a little difficult. What should have been approximately one hour each way, with 30-45 minutes of wait time at the airport turned into cramped, hot, sticky masses in the last Piccadilly train to Heathrow, two and a half-hours of waiting at the airport, and a more than 3-hour/1-train/3-bus trip all around London, and eventually - home at 2am. My seven hour travel time yesterday, in fact, took longer than it takes to fly from Toronto to London!

Luckily, Rob held back until we arrived home to drop the bomb --- a man he sat beside on the plane had offered to give us a ride home! AAAAARRRRRGH!

I have to hand it to Rob's dad, Eddie, for giving me a new name for London - "The Big Not Easy."

London: Redemption

Today London started to redeem itself (if you don't know what I'm talking about, read the previous post).

First off, Rob arrives tonight - Yipeeee! - and so I was prepared for it to be the longest day of waiting EVER (I have been waiting anxiously all weekend for today to arrive). So I thought I would make myself busy by job-searching to occupy my time.

I called the agencies that had forwarded my CVs to Japanese companies, and although the first two ended up fruitless, the third more than made up for them --- I got an interview for later in the day at the job that was (so far) as close to the top of the list as I could get. Double-Yipeeeee!

I still had some time, and so I headed out to do some minor 99P store shopping with Stu for some household goods, and on my way out - more "Yipeeeeee", I got a letter from the bank saying I had been approved!! Triple-Yipeee!! However, my bank card won't arrive for another while "for security purposes". Way to take the fun out of good news, London!

So I got myself looking professional (quite stylish, if I do say so myself) and had my very first UK interview today at 3:00pm at a company near Baker Street - that's where Sherlock Holmes' fictional office is, for those of you unfamiliar with the area. The interviewer was very nice, and the interview went well, but I won't find out until Wednesday morning if I will get the job that starts on Thursday morning!! Argh - again with taking the fun out of it! The long wait takes most of the wind out of my sails for now... but the agency says they had some very good feedback about me, so everyone out there - send me your "get a job" vibes!!

But all is well - Rob is on his way and... what's that? An announcement in the tube station says that the Piccadilly Line is experiencing "severe delays" -- that's the line I need to take to pick up Rob this evening. And when I get home, Stu informs me that, in fact, there will be a strike on all but a few lines tonight on the tube!! Luckily, the Piccadilly is still running, but instead of roughly an hour, a station attendant informed me that I should budget for 3 and a 1/2 hours to get to the airport (one way!!!) --- way to take the fun out of meeting lovers at the airport! I'll be Stinky and Grumpy and any number of other dwarves by the time I meet Rob! (I guess "Stinky" isn't an official dwarf, but he should be!)

But in the end - as long as we get home tonight, today has been a good day - a triple-yipeee day. And I guess all of the difficulties about London serve to highlight the good things. If there weren't any strike, or a wait for my bank card or to hear about the job, life would be too easy and the exciting things like getting an interview or picking up your partner at the airport would get to be routine... Right??

London: The Opposite of Easy

Before moving here, I was told all sorts of things about London - how great it was, how expensive, how diverse, how historic, etc. but there is one phrase that sticks with me now that I've been here for three weeks, and it's one that was told to me by my good friend Ashlie, who lived in London for a year, and elsewhere in England for another year. While she loves London and raves about it, her slogan for the city is "London: the opposite of easy".

And so I arrived with a little bit of dread in the back of my heart. Maybe this wasn't going to be the adventure I was hoping for - maybe it would just be one challenge after another, one bureaucratic hoop after another. But, within the first day, I was having a very different experience. Our friend Stu had found a great, cheap place to live. It's a three-bedroom flat, but because Rob and I will share a room, we can rent out the third room and cut the rental costs for everyone - three cheers for Stuart! The tube was easy to get around, the sights were great, and everything was falling into place easily. Sure, things were expensive, but I came expecting that, and it's really not much different from prices in Japan.

Getting a bank account, which I had heard horror stories about, looked like it would be no problem -- all they needed was a copy of my passport and driver's license, and I should have a cash-card account within 10 days. A lovely lady even sat me down and gave me a number to call if I hadn't received a debit card within the allotted 10 days. How simple and efficient and friendly! What did those people at home (who had lived here for thousands of days longer than I had at that point, or still have, for that matter) know about life in London?! Things are SO EASY. Just look at the simplicity of getting a bank account! Nothing to it. "London is EASY," I thought to myself.

Even getting a job seemed a piece of cake (or scone, or tea loaf, to be culturally relevant). After submitting my CV to job agencies (specializing in placing Japanese speakers), I received phone calls within HOURS, asking me to come in for an interview and computer test at the agency. One agency even hinted that they'd even like to hire me in the near future! Now, how much easier could things get! The people who had warned me about the difficulties of life in London must have simply had anomalous experiences - everything was going well for me! Look at this, apartment, bank account, job, friends to play with - it all confirmed my thoughts that "they don't know what they're talking about... London is EASY."

The next challenge of finding another flatmate quashed Ashlie's slogan as well. It appeared as though this could be our first lump in the pudding, as a mate of Stu's, who was to stay for two full weeks (and pay rent for those two weeks) found a new pad and only needed to stay for one. "Crap!" we thought, and quickly posted an ad for our last room. Well, within hours, we had calls galore, and by the end of the evening we had set up interviews with 9 potential candidates over two days - one of whom was a Japanese girl. (We were secretly hoping she'd be the best one, so that we'd live once more in a state of Japan-nostalgia and improve our Japanese whilst cooking and eating Japanese food.) And what do you know, Machiko wins! We didn't even need to interview on the second day - we knew she was the one. So what were these people talking about - "London is EASY."

So it's all figured out - I have a great, cheap place to live, with a lovely new Japanese roommate, we have all of the basic necessities for our house (and a really quiet and eco-friendly in-house washing machine to boot!) there are three reputable and professional job agencies looking for work for me, and I am jogging in the park every other day and keeping of the dreaded "Heathrow stone" (the 14-pounds that girls gain upon arriving in London). Rob is on his way to London soon, friends are visiting left, right and center, and we have a fabulous Ethiopian restaurant one block down from us -- let's say it all together -- "London is EASY."

The first indication that I am dead wrong comes while banking. I hadn't yet received my cash-card, and so I called the number given to me by the lovely lady at the bank first thing in the morning so I could avoid those terrible musak tunes whilst on hold. And I don't have to listen to the musak --- noone answers my call. It just keeps ringing and ringing. Well, not to worry, my pamphlet also has a toll-free number to call with inquiries. Now, I DO have to listen to musak, because it's already 10am and hundreds of people are phoning to complain about the number that doesn't work.

[insert musak here - classic John Tesh]

When I do get through, the person informs me that I'm calling the wrong number. "But I tried the number given to me by the lovely lady at the bank!" I cry. "Sorry, madam, I'll have to put you through to the customer service line and you'll have to wait for an operator there." Well, the politesse got me - he called me "madam" -- "Certainly, sir, that's fine. Thank you so much for your help."

[insert musak here -
by the way, it's hard-rock musak -
electronic keyboard versions of heavy metal with bell and angel sound effects]

When I finally get through, the guy at the other end searches under my name and finds nothing - nothing indicating that I've even applied for an account. "You'll have to go to your branch - we can't access your information here."

I scarf down a sandwich and head out. By 1:30, there is a line-up that weaves back and forth from the tills all the way right to the entrance of the bank. In addition, there are 6 or 7 people waiting in the "Personal Banking" area, some of whom have fallen asleep and are snoring. (All right, one is snoring, but the others didn't look very happy.) I haven't a clue whether to join the snorers or line-up, but the people in the queue seem happier (or at least, more conscious) than the people in the personal banking area, and so I wait in line... 20 minutes later, I am told by the cashier that I'll need to wait in the personal banking area.

By that time, the even the lone banker who is helping the "personal bankers" is bored, and has left his post, and there aren't any seats left for me. It's been a bit of a pain in the bum, but I'm still not frustrated - the cashier was very sympathetic and assured me that the personal banking assistant would smooth out all of my problems, as he was the "only one" who could call the number and receive more detailed information. So I pick up a magazine, "Psychologies" and hope to at least expand my mind while waiting. An older gentleman clucks his tongue to show me his disappointment in the young man opposite for not offering me his seat, and I smile as if to reassure him. "It's okay - I'll just expand my mind with this magazine, I'm fine to stay standing," my smile conveys this, and the gentleman settles back into his seat with a sigh, still disappointed in the youth of today and the length of his wait.

The theme of this month's "Psychologies" is "attractiveness" - what is the science behind two people meeting and being attracted to one another? How can we make ourselves more "charismatic", according to science? Well, science shows it's by having glowing skin, lustrous (I am quoting this word - "lustrous") hair, a good waist-to-hip ratio and being 4 inches shorter than your male partner. Article after article, the magazine plummets further and further into the depths of shallowness (is that possible?) and repeats to its female readers - "buy the shampoos advertised in this magazine, inject with the new and 'lite'-er collagen and botox, and follow our 12-step yoga workout for a higher 'attractiveness-rating'! " I am shocked, but entertained for the full hour it takes for me to get to the personal banker. I finish the whole magazine and then some.

If you have followed along this far, you are a far more patient person than I, because I almost lost it when "the one" person at the bank who can get more detailed information attempts to solve my problems by opening up the very booklet I had used that morning, searching for phone numbers to call. Even he - "the one" - has to wait in queue, listening to musak, to talk to an operator! There is no special number, no special status, other than the fact that he prefaces the exact same questions I had earlier that morning with, "Hi, this is XXXX from Barclays' in Finsbury Park". Christ... next time, I know what to do --- "Hi this is Hana from Barclay's in Finsbury Park - where the $&^%*# is my cash-card!?" Well, really, I shouldn't hold it against XXXX from Barclay's in Finsbury Park. If he's not given any sort of extra power even as an employee of the bank, then his job is probably a lot more frustrating than mine (especially since I don't have one). So by 3:00 that day, I do know a BIT more than I did that morning. Namely, that it takes four weeks (not the aforementioned 10 days) to be reviewed for a cash-card account. I'm still not sure if any head office anywhere has received my application. Oh, and I got another number to call in case I don't receive my cash-card within the alloted time.

I'm beginning to understand the phrase, London: The Opposite of Easy

First Posting from the UK!

Hello all! Welcome to the brand new blog of Raw Banana (Rob & Hana). This is just a short note to say that this blog will be started properly soon, once I have a moment to sit down and get my rear end in gear. But I'm safely and soundly in London, job-searching and flat-mate searching. In fact, we have several interviews left today and several tomorrow, so the next time I update, we will be that much closer to "settling-in" to our flat here in Finsbury Park.

Just for those of you who are too curious to wait, here are a couple of pics of the flat.

the entrance (left - we are above some shops)

the kitchen (note the duct tape keeping in the washing machine!)

the common room

our bedroom

Stay tuned for bigger and better updates on the UK Adventures of Raw Banana!