The Wandering Two…

“You find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”         

-Samuel Johnson

“Rain gray town, known for its sound”  – The Byrds

Seemingly overnight, Summer awakens London as it hopscotches Spring. Blossoms explode aside dreary pubs, drinkers pouring out, pints and vapes in hand. Change is afoot everywhere in the Commonwealth Capitol.

Our center in London for 2 weeks is Rosebery Aparthotel in trending Clerkenwell. It’s an approachable area, near friendly Exmouth Market, similar in feel to British villages 30 years ago, however with much better food and vibes.

Let’s get to the essentials:

Food

Best meal was around the corner from our digs at Quality Chop House:   https://thequalitychophouse.com  It is run by a “thirty something” who is the son of Britain’s legendary wine critic (mother) and the restaurant reviewer from the FT (father). “Ingredient-centered”; simple food, well prepared.

Reasonably priced, unfussy, it would be a winner in NYC, Napa, or anywhere. This is a must for any future visit. Adjoining provisions shop bears extraordinary full-fruit jams, farm cheeses, orange-yolk eggs, pampered meat.

Another recommendation is Moro in Exmouth Market: http://moro.co.uk/menu/. Spanish/ Moroccan influences. A little loud (hehhhh…?) just a notch down the critical scale from QCH (above) and memorable.

We manage to take in Pho (2x) at tiny Ngon Ngon, also in the hood:   http://www.ngonngon.co.uk/menu1/  Sometimes ya’ just want chicken-soup-comfort a la Hanoi style.

Lunch at Frog by Adam Handling, https://www.adamhandling.co.uk , with former intern at our firm, who proudly has grown to be a star consultant here. We usually shun hip glitz and designer liveried wait staff, however the inventiveness and unexpected preparations entertain and please.  Chef is Scottish!

Gail’s Breads and Marks and Spenser Greek yogurt fill in the AM gaps over coffee..

Entertainment

We catch The Ferryman (Jez Butterworth) in the West End. Astonishing, especially the extended opening act: ensemble acting, subtle, nuanced writing, epic engagement, and extremely relevant.

Amadeus at the National Theatre (Southbank) is a revival of body and soul. Great theatre mixed with divinely-inspired music and unforgettable dialog by Peter Shaffer. Bravo!

Opera: Marriage of Figaro at ENO (2nd-tier company). Enjoyable, not the Met, though Mozart’s exquisite craft shines through.

[Pre-theatre curry thali at Masala Zone http://www.masalazone.com/locations/covent-garden/ highly recommended for quick taste buzz.]  (See Food)

For proper Opera: Russian Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk at the Royal Opera.  Challenging, discordant, providing opportunity for well-needed sleep. Wagner seems like Gilbert & Sullivan in comparison to Shostakovich.

Incredible photo exhibit at Hayward: German Andreas Gursky. Vast, impressive scale and creative vision. My iPhone will never be quite the same.

Towering Tate Modern across the Thames is a treasure. We worship in the Rothko room – a billion $ of overwhelming art set in dim meditation.

Saatchi Gallery, nobly set in Chelsea is always a “can’t miss” treat with revolving exhibits.

Excursions

Hi-speed train to Whitstable, not far from Dover, an off-beat coastal hamlet. Strolling along Eastern shore, in newly discovered sunshine, produces its own culinary reward: lunch of fresh, meaty oysters and Dover sole at Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company.  http://whitstableoystercompany.com/menu/  (cross reference Food)

An unexpected enchantment is bright 4-mile walk along Regent’s Canal – from Little Venice to Camden Locks.

London reveals a vein of quiet canal life moving though palatial St. John’s Wood with a terminus at bustling Camden Locks, now pulsing international Street Food stalls in Dickensian spectacle.

Haircut

Stephano at Roots in humble Exmouth expertly harmonizes hirsute for Lisa and I. Good cappuccino pair with the cut. Watch for errant hair in the coffee.

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‘Berlin, the greatest cultural extravaganza that one could imagine.’   — David Bowie

Scene I

“You have committed a criminal act!” With that condemnation, our accuser and judge, a plainclothes DB Bahnhof fare inspector, wearing “Brooklyn” emblazoned sweatshirt, puffy vest, “Chicago Bulls” baseball hat, deflated us to un-remediated offenders.

Our crime? Miscalculating our day-pass ticket cost by €1.60! Never mind that the machine wouldn’t initially accept our Visa card. Disregard the pressure imposed by a foul-breathed old drunkard hanging over my shoulder as I struggled to navigate a DIY ticket machine. Forget that wintery Good Friday was our first trip on the transit system. We were guilty of a serious violation of the rules.

The penalty of €120 is extorted from us on the spot by 3 burly transit cops. …Or else consequences will show-up on our “permanent record”! We fold like overcooked spaetzli.

We shock back to sobering reality: there are rules in Germany, and they will be enforced with a polite, yet iron hand!

Scene II

This indignation stands in high contrast to our general experience returning to Berlin – a surprising city of refined old-world character set against edgy, new-wave sensibilities.

We are treated to simple pleasures strolling through quiet, reclaimed neighborhoods. Food often deepens feelings of immersion. “Extraheiss” cappuccino, accompanied by home-baked cakes at woman-run Die Stulle, evoke grandma’s memory.

Snacks and light bites (doner kebabs and spicy wurst) that span the ethno-culinary spectrum offer mid-day geschmeckt. Salads and fresh-juiced digestives are the staples of superfood hipsters. Superb pho and “Green” Asian food offerings are local faves that we return to, often.  Hearty German fare of schnitzel and calves liver satiate- when ya’ just gotta do it!

At the slightest hint of warmth, drinkers and diners linger at outdoor tables for hours. We can’t forget sitting in fragile sunshine under woolen blankets at Pasternak savoring steaming beet borscht and Russian ryebrot.

Scene III

We are in residence at storied Hotel Am Steinplatz in (potentially) leafy Charlottenburg. The blossoms of spring are still huddled in branches awaiting Winter’s siege to break. We often think there is little reason to leave this village within a city, as everything we require is close by.

We begin our mornings with daily bio-saunas in the private, immaculate spa, a floor above our room. This routine sets the tone of revitalized calm for the day. We are slowly decoding the energy of this town: there is no rush.

Musical highlights bracket our day-to-day “as and when” explorations:  Bach’s intimate, sublime St. John’s Passion with chorus at Kaiser Wilhelm Church on frosty Good Friday. Italian opera sung in German at very correct Deutsche Oper reveals high standards for music in this burg. Wagner’s Parsifal, along with large, soft pretzels and diet coke, transfix our souls for five hours at the Berliner Philharmoniker!

Berlin is vast, varied, cosmopolitan, gritty, radical, traditional, exciting, haunted, sometimes a bit scary, and under the radar of most visitors to Europe. Its energetic future is eclipsing its disturbing past.

David Bowie discovered something happening here 40 years ago. We’re just catching on.

All images captured on iPhoneX.  Click any pic to ride the photo carousel.

“A Chinese poet many centuries ago noticed that to re-create something in words is like being alive twice. ”                      ― Frances Mayes, Under the Tuscan Sun

The sheer terror of driving in Italy rivals blood sports such as running with the bulls and squirrel-suit diving. Entering traffic flow from Rome’s Hertz garage to navigate through the anarchy of death-wish motorcyclists, swerving micro “smart-cars”, unconscious jay-walkers, splashing potholes, and maddening directional signage, all harmonize to produce a slow-building panic.

Upon finding l’Autostrada, we snake through verdant hills of Lazio and Umbria offering little relief from gripping road angst. Choices are reduced: meekly subordinate oneself to a tedious queue of trucks hauling loads bound for Slovakia or Romania, or risk the “fast lane” where our underpowered Fiat Punto is bullied by Audis and “Bimmers” lights flashing inches behind the rear bumper, pressing the issue without warning at 90 mph! I steer back to the brutish caravan of truckers only to repeat the process ad nauseum, as the road twists through hills and evaporates in dark tunnels!

The antidote to all this frenzy would seem to naively take a leisurely drive among the woodlands and sleeping vineyards of Tuscany. Not surprisingly, I am reduced to oaths of “never again” as narrow blind curves reveal sports car enthusiasts skidding nightmarishly into our lane. Madonna!

Fortunately the family Agriturismo, where we are lone-pampered guests, offers healing from PTSD (Post-Toscana Scared Driving). We are treated to home-cooked Tuscan meals served by a roaring fireplace. Many of the ingredients for the cucina are della casa including dry Chianti, freshly-laid morning eggs, and tangy olive oil.

Headlines of our week under a chilly Tuscan sun include: a six-hour Sunday “lunch” with friends at their farmhouse in rustic Umbria; wandering strolls through classic Florence; savoring salads with redolent stracciatella and crisp focaccia at mid-day; a seven-mile energizing passeggiata among the terraced hills above Savernano, where we discover a seemingly forgotten Roman footbridge crossing a valley stream overgrown with forest moss.

Photos provide additional texture…

All images captured on iPhoneX.     Click on any thumbnail to surf the photo carousel!