London Calling

If I could, I would go to London every other weekend. I would see my lovely UK cousins (see first post). Stroll around Richmond Park. See my childhood friend and her family. Go to Victoria and Albert and to the British Museum. And generally just dream walk.
It's hard to describe how I feel about London, but here is a try:

A good writer once said that all his hopes lay in one city, but it took moving to that city for him to realize it.
As far as I know, there is no steadfast rule that one actually has to live in the city where one’s hopes lie. I’ve lived in a number of cities and have learned not to pin many hopes on any particular location, no matter how big and versatile. At the same time I have not yet learned to let go of my hopes. They still exist and and, in my mind, at least, I still like to find a pleasant spot for them to reside in, without me having to move with them. It is a much nicer exercise, since they, the hopes, don’t have to rent or buy a place, contend with high prices and unfamiliar line-up of goods, worry about jobs or schools. The hopes are free to go wherever they want. They are my representatives to the world and they can reap all the benefits the place has to offer, without any of the inconveniences.
The search went on for quite a while, but I am happy to say that I finally settled on a place. All my hopes lie in London.
I have been to London only once, and I must say that the visit was crucial in finalizing my choice. I could not go as far as to choose a place solely on the authority of others.
London turned out to be really beautiful – full of roses, and old trees, and parks with free-roaming deer. The Thames is not all embanked in stone and you can watch the tide rise and subside on its shores. It has great and small bridges and you can tread on most of them at your will. Each of the many railway stations – Waterloo, Liverpool, Paddington, Victoria – has its own history and distinct character. Being inside them is like stepping out into the world without ever having to leave the city. Looking at London, who would ever think that it is situated on an island?
It was a thrill to be there. The only day that somewhat faded from my mind was the day we spent on the sight-seeing bus. To be fair, the day was rainy and we had to stay on the first floor of the double-decker.
I knew I would like London. I didn’t know I would love it. I cannot imagine the world without it. Its reputation precedes it and it does not disappoint. It’s the only place in the world where to be affected is quite natural.
It is very old, of course. Feet have been beating its pavements for almost 2000 years and that alone is reassuring. London burned more than once and was bombed repeatedly, yet it is as densely built and as densely populated as ever. In earlier times, London would signal its approval or disapprobation by opening or closing its gates. It is still used to having its opinion consulted and bestows it generously and decidedly on matters ranging from world politics, to music, to shopping, to literature, through its many newspapers and magazines.
To the outside world, London as a symbol of traditionalism, of old, entrenched views. To the people who live in it, it is all about the newest and the latest. Tradition lives well when it is continually challenged.
London is a relentless self-promoter. There is no other city in the world the streets of which we know so well by name, without ever setting foot there. “So and so of London” on a label is as much a boast as it is a craftsman’s guarantee. London is so seductive, because it wants you. It wants you to come and set up shop and bring your family. It wants you in its stores, its restaurants and its clubs. To that end, it is prepared to shuttle you back and forth across the city in its sprawling underground and its colorful comfortable buses at practically any time of day and night.
London is an enduring experiment in self-determination. From the earliest days, it has been its own highest authority. The government that has its seat there is not the boss – it’s a tenant, like countless other outfits and organizations. The Royals are at the service of the city and not vice versa. They add glitter and pomp to its events and serve as a huge tourist attraction.
Finally, London is unsentimental. It does not find joy in romantic decay of glories past. It is rather annoyed by them and prefers to concentrate on future glories. The bronze kittens of the Trafalgar square are as hungry as ever. At Paddington station, a little bronze bear positively shines with anticipation of future marmelade sandwiches. I’d better get my hopes a ticket on that train

Armen's Cafe, Southampton, Ontario, Canada

One of the greateast freedoms is the freedom to travel. Anybody raised in Eastern Europe would tell you that.
A lot of times you don't have to go far to find a treasured spot.
Here is a piece of travel writing about one of my family's favourite spots.

Food is about trust, security, and feeling good about yourself and the world.
Armen Higgins understands that. After spending several years as a chef at some
of the culinary hot spots of the posh ski-resorts of Alberta and British
Columbia, he came back to the picturesque lake-side town of Southampton,
Ontario, where he grew up , to set up his own shop.

He chose a narrow two-level loft for his restaurant and named it “Armen’s Cafe”.
Inside, he covered the walls with photographs from his travels, paintings by
local artists, a collection of vintage hardware and World War I memorabilia.
Upstairs the walls are decorated with antique Armenian rugs (his mother was
Armenian) and printed silk scarves from India. A pair of skis hang from the
balustrade.

This sets the tone for the food. The menu runs the gamut from quesadillas, to
eggs benedict, fritatas, borsht, and hummus made in-house. It’s a medley of
tastes and nations and Armen is not one bit self-conscious about it. His
restaurant is what one may call fusion, but mostly it reflects the owner’s
adventurous spirit. He is unabashed about his use of spices – they are by no
means overpowering, but quite assertive in most of his dishes. To some, the
abundance of greens and alfalfa sprouts creates the impression that “Armen’s”
is an “alternative”, or green” food place. Armen definitely offers many
extremely attractive options for vegetarians, but his choice of ingredients is
unrestricted, except by culinary and practical considerations. Don’t be fooled
by the casual atmosphere – behind every bite is Armen’s steady hand that
guarantees quality and consistency. Taste, presentation, fast and friendly
service, all speak of a consummate pro. Smiling and chatting with the patrons,
Armen makes it look easy, but he definitely does not take it easy.Very little
escapes his attention. That is why his establishment is thriving after eight
years in business.

“Armen’s Cafe” is known far beyond the limits of the county. Once, as a joke, at
the beginning of the cottage season, Armen put up a “for sale” sign in his
window. Frantic calls came from as far as Toronto, which is 150 miles away.

Armen also finds time to nurture a new generation of food experts. His manager,
Jenn McLaughlin, started behind the counter, but, spurred on by Armen and her
own curiosity, gradually developed a passion for pastry-making. As a result, on
any given day you might be surprised by pasteis de nata – the famous Portuguese
custard tarts, Moroccan sesame cookies, or some other delectable dessert, on
top of the regular dessert line-up. The twenty-five year old Jenn is absolutely
fearless when it comes to tackling demanding recipes. The expression “labour
intensive” is an invitation, not a turn off. Jenn also designs menues for
Armen’s world cuisine nights and follows through on every little detail, from
writing down the ideas to personally waiting on the guests, making sure that
they are happy and satisfied. The attention to each and every customer is
definitely a hall-mark of “Armen’s”.

If you are ever in our corner of the world, drop by. You will see that great
chefs can be found anywhere.