Laundry (LITUK, Part 5)

After spending 5 years living in an apartment without a washer and dryer, I was so thrilled to be finally living somewhere that didn't require me to go to the laundromat (or just wear dirty clothes). It is pretty great to have laundry at home...but like most things here, even that is taking a little bit of learning, flexibility, and adjustment!

When we first moved here, I went to Tesco, our local grocery store, to stock up on the essentials (remember that 80 pound load?). One of the essentials on the list was laundry detergent. In a store that has far fewer options from what I am used to in the States (there are only 2 types of peanut butter, not 16; 2 brands of pasta, not 24, etc.), I was surprised to see the wide variety of detergents and softeners. There were powders, liquids, capsules. Some were called non-bio, some bio (I still don't know what this means). There was concentrated and non-concentrated. Half of it looked like dishsoap. Some were yellow, some blue, some green. Too many choices for this jet lagged, bewildered American displaced to the foreign lands of Scotland. So, I did the only thing possible.....I found a nice looking, female customer and asked her to tell me what I needed. Fortunately, I found a woman who not only looked nice, she actually was nice and she gave me a brief explanation before pointing me to the brands that she thought best.

If that was the only difference, laundry probably wouldn't get a post all on it's own. But, that is not the major difference.

Here, in bonnie Scotland, it seems that most places don't have dryers. Just washers. Small washers at that. I love the idea of hanging my clothes out to dry, but, like many idyllic and quaint traditions...it sounds so lovely because you aren't actually thinking of the practicalities.

First, we don't have a private yard...which means all our unmentionables would be hanging out to dry for all of Dean Village to see. And, it rains a lot here. Given that it is likely to rain, at least a little, on many days, it makes hanging your clothes out to dry on the clothes line a little....less useful. Think laundry lines in Seattle. Not really practical.

We, however, got lucky (or so we thought), in that our washing machine is actually also a dryer. I don't really get how that is possible, but it is. And it works. If you don't mind one load of laundry taking about 5 total hours (1.25 for washing and 3.5 for drying completely). This is further problematic since the washer really is so much smaller (1 load in St. Louis = 2-3 loads here). As much as I did not like taking the laundry to the laundromat, there is something to be said for having all your laundry done in less than half the time it now takes me to do one load. (The grass is always greener...)

Our washer/dryer combo

Since drying takes so long and is not really economical, we were also happy to find that our flat comes equipped with an inside drying line/rack. To be honest, it actually took us quite awhile to figure out what this was, and didn't actual solve that puzzle until someone told us. But, that what these 4 wooden slats, suspended on a pulley system turned out to be. So, after doing a load of laundry, you pull out your clothes, lower the bars, hang your clothes on them, and hoist it back up.

Our super special indoor drying rack

Did I mention these are typically installed in the kitchen (along with the washer/dryer)? This works just fine unless you make something really fragrant for dinner....then your clothes end up smelling that curry sauce you just made. It also means that gone are the days of fluffy, warm, straigh-from-dryer towels, and snug, just dried jeans. Ah, well. C'est la vie.

Smile! You're on CCTV (LITUK, Part 4)

While Americans debate the pros and cons of privacy infringement in light of national security, Great Britain is literally covered with reminders that Big Brother is always watching. CCTV, or closed circuit television, is the UK's attempt to deter criminals from their dastardly deeds. There are even CCTVs on the bus, complete with a sign notifying you of their intention of preventing you from committing any anti-social behaviours. I don't know how effective CCTV is in preventing criminals from committing criminal acts, but it sure has made me think twice about doing anything anti-social like picking my nose or leaving the flat without looking my best.

CCTV monitor at front of bus

Anyway, there is data to suggest that there are 4.5 million CCTV cameras throughout the UK and that a person in London can/may/is likely to have their image captured by CCTV 300 times in one day.


Regardless of whether CCTV actually achieves its end goal, it does provide for some very good entertainment. Check this out (apparently from Russia, gets interesting around the 35s mark):

Of course, by entertainment, I meant points/evidence for a stimulating debate about privacy. How does CCTV footage even get released to Youtube. Surely that's not ethical.

I don't think CCTV is going anywhere soon, so just remember to smile. Because you're on CCTV.

Robbie Burns Day

Yesterday, the 25th of January, was Robbie Burns Day in Scotland. This is the day in which the Scots celebrate the birthday of their national poet, Robert Burns, who was born 25 January 1739.

The day is marked by special Burns Suppers held all across the country. Though the celebrations may differ, there are some common elements of every celebration. The celebration may include some or all of the following:

• Start of the evening
• Host's welcoming speech
• Entrance of the haggis
• Supper
• Loyal toast
• Immortal memory (short speech about Robert Burns)
  
• Appreciation (the host thanks the previous speaker)
  
• Toast to the lasses (a man gives a toast outline his "views on women")
  
• Reply to the toast to the lasses (a woman responds giving her "views on men")
  
• Other toasts and speeches
• Works by Burns
• Dancing
• Closing

In addition to those Toasts to the Lassies and Laddies, I think the most interesting part is the Entrance of the Haggis. Apparently when it is time for the supper to be served, a man playing a bagpipe marches in, followed by another man carrying the Haggis on an elegant platter. To this, the crowd cheers. The Haggis is presented to the host who then recites Robert Burns' poem, Address to a Haggis (thanks to the Alexandria Burns Club for the translation):

Address to a Haggis Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o the puddin'-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye worthy o' a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o need, While thro your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour dight, An cut you up wi ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive: Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums; The auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 'Bethankit' hums. Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi perfect scunner, Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll make it whissle; An legs an arms, an heads will sned, Like taps o thrissle. Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies: But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer, Gie her a Haggis

Address to a Haggis Translation Fair and full is your honest, jolly face, Great chieftain of the sausage race! Above them all you take your place, Stomach, tripe, or intestines: Well are you worthy of a grace As long as my arm. The groaning trencher there you fill, Your buttocks like a distant hill, Your pin would help to mend a mill In time of need, While through your pores the dews distill Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour wipe, And cut you up with ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like any ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm steaming, rich! Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive: Devil take the hindmost, on they drive, Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by Are bent like drums; Then old head of the table, most like to burst, 'The grace!' hums. Is there that over his French ragout, Or olio that would sicken a sow, Or fricassee would make her vomit With perfect disgust, Looks down with sneering, scornful view On such a dinner? Poor devil! see him over his trash, As feeble as a withered rush, His thin legs a good whip-lash, His fist a nut; Through bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit. But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his ample fist a blade, He'll make it whistle; And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off Like the heads of thistles. You powers, who make mankind your care, And dish them out their bill of fare, Old Scotland wants no watery stuff, That splashes in small wooden dishes; But if you wish her grateful prayer, Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!

We didn't have any plans to go to a Burns supper last night, but a last minute invitation to a friends resulted in a lovely evening complete with the traditional Burns Day menu (Haggis, Neeps and Tatties). Though, no, it was not paraded into the room and we did not recite the Ode to the Haggis. Because, and only because, our sweet friend prepared the meal, I actually tried the Haggis. Can you believe it?? Normally, I am not an adventurous eater. I like good food and am all for the gourmet, but I want to know what I am eating and generally don't want to try any meats that aren't....mainstream. But, last night was my exception. And, you know what? It was good. I don't think I'm ready to go on Survivor, but maybe I'll be a little more open-minded when it comes to food next time. Well, probably not. But, I was last night.

Just Call Him Emeril

It must be noted that when I met Joe, he subsisted on pasta, cereal, pb&j, and soup. This, in his words, equated a well balanced and healthy diet. I begged to differ. He hated onions, olives, sauerkraut, and only knew about cheddar cheese. Basically, he was oblivious to all things delicious.

I am happy to report that now, after 2.5 years together, my dear husband has expanded his food palate to include such tasty morsels as feta and goat cheese, chorizo, onions and shallots, garlic, olives, sauerkraut, and mushrooms among many others. He has also learned that fruit is good and veg too.

But that's not all.

No, my dear husband has not just learned to enjoy the delights of good food, suddenly he has become quite an enthusiastic chef. Nary a day goes by that he is not hard at work in the kitchen. In fact, spurned on by doctor's instructions not to lift anything heavy with my left hand, Joe has been doing the shopping and, subsequently, the cooking for the last couple of weeks. To quote the Brits...it's brilliant! He has also taken to baking....bread, of all things. From scratch. And, quite tasty bread too.

Joe really is a great cook. He is great at experimenting and has a really good knack for figuring out what flavors go best together. He has made some really good meals.

Last Monday, I came home from work to a warm flat and was surprised to find that Joe was home and dinner was ready! This delicious chili also gave me some warm, hearty lunches this week! I, for one, am hoping my hand never feels better so this can continue!

Joe kneading some yummy Olive and Feta Bread

Great, thick white bread

It was looking questionable there for awhile, but based on these developments....I think I'll keep him around.

(It should be further noted that someone thinks I have taken liberties with the truth in this post. However, that someone is simply in denial about his previous lack of culinary sophistication).

I'm Back....

Sorry for the long absence in blogging. Not too much going on that is blogworthy...we're all settled into life here, the Holidays are over, and I haven't had any crazy misadventures lately. I'm sure things will change on that latter point soon. Plus, I think I've suddenly become un-funny.

In the meantime, I've got a few new posts written and ready to go....so check your inboxes (for you subscribers), your google reader, or the site over the next few days for some less-than-entertaining reads. You'll find out all sorts of stimulating and thrilling bits of information like, how we do our laundry (not a euphemism. I really did a post on laundry), a special Scottish holiday, and other random and mundane information about life in the UK.

If anything actually interesting, or better yet amusing, occurs, I'll get it posted straight-away.

Today, in the head of Amanda Rivera

I have tons of ideas rolling around in my head for blog posts, but, well, I just can't get them out of my head an onto the "paper." So, since I don't want my thank you note to be late, I've compiled a list of my random thoughts for today:

• I have had the same song stuck in my head since Monday morning. I kid you not. I hear it all the time and it is driving me crazy (-er).

• Tonight I am making risotto with squash and chorizo for dinner. Yum.

• I really like how my coworker says the word "chorizo." She adds a t between the i an z.
  

• I think my boss thinks I'm preggers. I'm not. (Really, mom. I'm not).

• All my stockings have big holes in the toes, so I've tied the ends into a knot. This is helping expand the longevity of them, but is kind of uncomfortable to walk on.

• I haven't been shopping in 4 months.
  

• I've walked the route between home and work at least 60 times. Yesterday, I got lost.

• Our trash smells really bad. Trash day was this morning. There's no outside dumpster. Bummer.

• I made it 4 months before acquiring a fine at the public library. That's like some kind of record. I should get a medal.
  

• Today, I took the #36 (that's a bus) 4 times. Twice on the eastbound route and twice on the westbound. I saw the same man get on the bus on both of the westbound trips.

• I see the same man every morning at 8:09am in front of St. Bernard's Well as I walk to work each morning. He is walking to work too, but in the opposite direction. He's a very distinguished looking gentleman. I haven't seen him since Christmas. I like to imagine that he is now being driven to work by his Italian chauffer so that he doesn't have to get his Armani shoes mussed in the snow.

• Every single time I call my mom, she asks me what time it is in Edinburgh. I actually think this is very funny, but don't tell her that. (Shoot. I just realized she reads this blog. Drat. My cover is blown).

• My mom also tells me, no matter what time I call, that it's is very late for me to be calling. With the 5 hour time difference, I have never called my parents past 5pm their time. My dad, on the other hand, once called me at 1:00 in the morning, my time.

• I can write all the funny things I want to about my mom and dad because although faithful followers of the blog, they haven't figured out how to post a public comment. So, all my secrets are still safe!

• That song is still going through my head.

• I installed a tracker on this blog so I can see how many "hits" I get. I can also see where people are who are looking at the blog. Probably 80% of the hits come from cities in which I am not aware of knowing anyone. Strange (but, of course, very welcome). Readers, who are you?

• I still haven't taken the Christmas tree down.

• I have ideas for 10 books I'd like to write. 9 of them compose a series of books for children for CBT therapists to use in session. 1 is a book about expatriation. I have a strong suspicion I will never write these. I lack motivation.
  

• I am a bilingual typist. Seriously. When I'm at work, without thinking about it, I write in British English, naturally using the British spelling of words (like behaviour). When I'm at home, I write in American English, naturally using the American spelling (like behavior). I don't even think about it. I think this is a real skill.
  

Thank you and good night.

Thank you notes

I am painfully aware that it has been 10 days since my last post. Thank you to my faithful followers (mom and dad and grandpa Ford) who haven't given up on me yet.

Just like I think making friends is a lot like dating, I think blogging is a lot like writing thank you notes. You know....something that you think is a great idea, really want to do, and have the best intentions towards. But, sometimes it's just so hard to actually sit down and do.

First, there's the pressure to be fresh and sincere. Of course you could write a thank you note that says, "Thank you so much for the beautiful scarf. It is beautiful and I will think of you when I wear it." While that may be true, doesn't that sound like you Googled "writing a thank you note" and just copied their example. It's so...predictable. Of course, you don't want to go to the other extreme where people just roll their eyes at your obvious lack of sincerity and toss the note to the side.

And, then, let's not forget that very real phenomenon in which you have every intention of writing the thank you note the very next day. But that day comes and goes and before you know it, a whole week has past. "Oh no," you fret. "I'm so behind getting this out. What must they think of me?!" And so, you put it off not wanting to deal with the question of whether or not to directly acknowledge your abhorrent lack of timeliness. But then, it's been a month and well, you just figure it's better to not send a note rather than send one that is so tardy and will inevitably bring lots of attention to your cave-man like manners. (I, for one, have never been guilty of such an indiscretion).

Let's not even mention what happens after a big party when you have all those thank you notes to write. And the longer you delay it, the more overwhelming the task becomes. Where do you even begin? Pretty soon, you've just said, "the heck with it" and you don't write a single one.

But, alas, fair readers. I have not succumbed to the temptation to quietly sink into the deep, black hole of never-to-be-written thank you notes. I am back in the blogosphere and eager to regale you with my tales of life in the foreign land. I know you were very worried.

A True Story of British Healthcare: One Woman's Experience

Sadly, all the snow here in Edinburgh has resulted in something much less enjoyable a week later: ice. And, lots of it. The roads are well cleared but the sidewalks....well, not so much. After several near misses, on New Year's Eve it happened. I slipped and fell. Not once. Twice. The first was a little underwhelming. I slipped and landed on my bum. It hurt, but not had and there was only one witness--a gentleman behind me who graciously offered to help me up. The second time was a bit more dramatic.

I just stepped onto the sidewalk when I noticed a woman sitting on the pavement screaming. She had not fallen, but was quite agitated over seeing another woman fall. That woman appeared unconscious and there was quite a crowd gathered. No sooner did I see the scene, when I myself slipped and fell. How I fell, I cannot tell you, but I landed face down, hitting my chin, hand, and elbow pretty hard. Mortified by the crowd of witnesses, I quickly got up and went on my way. Just a bit down the road, I realized my hand hurt. A lot. I tried to shake it off, but to no avail. It still hurt. Ice helped--some. Tylenol helped--a little. But still it hurt. In the morning, the pain was so bad, it woke me up. My hand was (is) so swollen and blue that Joe and I decided a trip to the doctor was warranted.

Now, seeing as it was New Year's Day and all, all the local doctor's offices were closed. There are no urgent care centers. So, it was off to the Accident and Emergency Department of the Royal Infirmary Hospital. This was our first experience with healthcare here, and we weren't sure what to expect. Here's a faithful account of our day.

11:00am: We prepare to depart. Holiday bus schedule is checked and rechecked and route is confirmed. Passport, national insurance card, bank statement and lease (both to verify our address) is packed in order to confirm my identify and my eligibility for care. Our survival kit is prepared: 5 books for Joe, a 500 pager for me; snacks and water; playing cards; the ipod. We're preparing to spend the first day of the New Year hunkered down in the waiting room of the Royal Infirmary.

11:55am: Arrive at the hospital. Check in immediately with the receptionist. The following conversation ensues:

Receptionist: Hi
Amanda: Hi. I slipped yesterday and hurt my hand. I'm worried it might be broken.
R: Okay. What's your surname?
A: Rivera.
R: Date of birth?
A: 4/8/79 (mentally prepares for a long litany of questions)
R: Okay. So, are you Amanda? At 10/3 Dean Path?
A: Um. Yes. How did you know that?
R: Once you register with a doctor, you get entered into the system to make everything go more quickly.
A: Oh. Ok. (prepares for more questions)
R: Just have seat and someone will be with you.
A: (stands there, dumbfounded--clearly this woman does not know what she is doing. Don't they need all my id? My fingerprints, my mother's maiden name, my shoe size, the name of my first grade teacher?)
Joe: Oh. Um. This is our first time using health care here. Don't we need to do something? Paperwork? Pay something?
R: No. You're all set.
A: Oh. Thanks.

We then sit in the waiting room and prepare ourselves for the long wait. We agree to try to amuse ourselves by talking first. Who knows how long this will take and we can't use up all our entertainment options right away.

12:10pm: The doctor, himself, comes to the waiting room and calls my name. He takes me to the exam room and does a brief exam before declaring I need x-rays. He takes me to wait for x-rays.

Joe and I think, "this must be a fluke. Who gets seen in the ER, by a doctor, for a hand injury in 15 minutes?!" So, we prepare for what we're sure will be a very long wait. After all, it seems the A&E department is packed with people who are there for possible breaks. There will certainly be a long wait for the xrays.

12:30pm: Radiologist comes to get me for xrays. She takes 2, reviews the film and decides they need a 3rd. Takes the 3rd and sends me back to waiting room.

Joe and I break out our books and start reading. Clearly, now we are going to wait. We'll probably even have to remind them later that we are here and they need to find and read my xrays.

12:50pm: Doctor comes to the waiting room. He explains that no breaks have appeared on the xray. It appears it is just a very bad contusion. He gives me home care instructions and guidelines for when to seek additional medical attention regarding this matter. Answers some questions and sends me on my way.

12:55pm: We confirm with receptionist that we can in fact leave. No payment needed. Now or ever. No paperwork. We can just go.

Joe and I leave asking each other--did we really just go the ER, on New Year's, and get out in an hour without paying a pence? Seriously? Awesome.

And that friends, is the true story of our first experience with national healthcare.

Hogmanay

New Year's in Edinburgh is quite an event. It is called Hogmanay here and is one of the biggest New Year's celebrations around. Events began on Tuesday and go all through today (Saturday). There are concerts and parades, exhibits and a carnival. There are also some really interesting events like the Loony Dook during which loads of costumed people go for a swim in the Firth of Forth and the Torchlight Procession where hundreds of people walk about town with fire torches before ascending a large hill and setting a massive bonfire. The week culminates on New Year's Eve with a huge street party and fireworks at midnight.

Joe and I spent New Year's Eve with friends who hosted a lovely evening of drinks and food for several international couples. We departed shortly before midnight to catch the fireworks, which are reportedly the best in Europe. We made it to the top of Calton Hill, which I had read had the best vantage point for 5 of the 7 fireworks displays launched from 7 different hills about Edinburgh at midnight. We were only able to see fireworks from the Castle and Calton Hill but they were amazing and covered the whole of the city center. I love fireworks and had such high expectations that I must admit I was disappointed that these magnificent fireworks lasted only 3 minutes.

here we are with some friends, in front of the crowds just outside the street party.

On Friday, Joe and I ventured back to the City Center for an evening street theater installation: Carabosse. The group is French and I've not been able to find information on the web about them (their website is in French and I'm afraid my French skills can only get me so far), but Joe and I were enthralled by their fire installation.


The Royal Mile was lined with these fire pieces. Some were just burning on their own while others had a Caraboose performer operating them.

Center of the exhibit

Up close to the "chandelier"

In the courtyard in front of City Hall, the exhibit continued. There was a one-man band, of sorts, playing music amidst the other pieces on display.

There were numerous fire cylindars with cut out symbols and words in various languages.

Joe beside a piece
My favorite were these large fire spheres

We did not get a picture but there were several other pieces scattered throughout that utilized an operator--a member of the Carabosse company who used a system of a wheel and flue to control the flame. It's sort of hard to describe the whole thing, but we were really taken in by it. I did find a number of youtube films of the installation (from other parts of the world). This one is the best quality and should give you an idea of the sights and sounds.

Anyway, after our Hogmanay experiences, Joe and I came home and made a traditional New Year's meal (traditional for my family as well as for many German, Dutch, and Swedish people): Sauerkraut, sausage, mashed potatoes, and homemade applesauce! It was delicious and a perfect way to start the New Year!

Holidaze

Our holiday week is coming to an end--it's hard to believe the time has gone so quickly! On Tuesday, Joe will be going back to school to resume his full time studies and I am heading back to the office. It's been the longest I've ever had off for the Christmas holidays (11 days) and it has been a really enjoyable time.

Joe and I had a great Christmas here in Edinburgh. We spent Christmas Eve with friends who came to our flat for dinner, games, conversation and then joined us for church at a beautiful, old Episcopal Cathedral. We spent Christmas morning just the two of us before heading off to spend the afternoon with two other couples and then later talking with our families on the phone. The day after Christmas is Boxing Day or St. Stephen's Day, here in the UK. This is a day where, historically, servants had the day off and celebrated with their families, and gifts were given to the poor and those in services positions. We spent Boxing Day with some friends who hosted us, and 2 other couples, for a lovely afternoon of dinner and conversation. We finally had enough room in our stomachs to make our own Christmas dinner on the 27th!

We spent the rest of the week walking about Edinburgh, enjoying the sights, watching movies, reading books, and playing games--usually in front of our fireplace, which we just discovered works!

Even though we missed being home with our families, this Christmas was really special for us. We enjoyed the opportunity to bring together traditions from our families with new traditions we want to establish for our own family. And, it was fun to share in the traditions and celebrations of friends. We hope this Christmas was just as special for each of you.

2010

Happy New Year!
2010