Aix and Beyond: Londres and Nottingham

London was calling in February and for the first big vacation of the semester I decided to hop a plane to the English capital for a few days in a big city. One of my best friends from high school, Ella, has been studying there since August and she offered to put me up during my stay. So on the first Saturday of break I hopped on the bus from Aix to the Marseille Provence airport to experience my first flight with RyanAir.

The flight was quick and painless and I arrived at London Stanstedt airport at about 9 in the evening. An unfortunate tradeoff for the excessively low prices RyanAir provides is that the airline uses non-primary airports. Stanstedt lies about an hour and a half from central London, so upon arrival I had to find my shuttle and watch headlights flash by until we reached our destination in the middle of town. From there I headed into the Tube and followed Ella's directions to her dorm in Islington - an up-and-coming neighborhood in west-central London.

We were both pretty tired by the time I got there, but I was hungry as usual. It was late and we were both too tired to make anything, but Ella pulled some suspect looking portobello mushrooms out of the fridge that were topped with goat cheese and sundried tomatoes. She assured me that they were "fresh," but I'd put my money on them being between 6 and 25 days old. We mingled in the kitchen as I ate my reheated salmonella cakes before washing the dishes and heading back to Ella's room. We hung out and shot the shit for a couple of hours before succumbing to heavy eyelids. I stooped to find my glorious air-mattress waiting for me. I say air-mattress, but a more accurate description would probably be "tarp." Although a thing of beauty when inflated and a body on top of it, after about an hour on top of the thing I found myself in an odd sort of hammock/fetal position. My ass was touching the floor where the mattress had sagged due to the loss of air, while my upper back and lower legs both loomed up above my sinking mid-section. Meanwhile, Ella was sleeping peacefully on her lavishly comfortable bed.

The next morning we got up and readied ourselves for a day on the town. From Ella's dorm we walked about a mile to a local cafe that caters to London's many cyclists. The place was hoppin' with morning patrons, but we managed to find a table and order a couple of excellent americanos and some porridge made from muesli and topped with tangy creme fraiche and fresh strawberries.

After breakfast we began what would be a long day of walking. From the cafe we made our way through the city. Our first stop was the area around Liverpool street where a Camden street market sets up on Sundays. A few square blocks are turned into a pedestrian causeway with vendors peddling homemade and hand-crafted wares, while hockers offer up all sorts of exotic and more familiar foods. We wandered past carts selling fantastic looking chorizo sizzling away over charcoal with delicious looking ciabatta buns waiting to be filled with rocket (dandelion greens) and the spicy sausage. Caribbean stalls offered up goat and curry, while a plethora of Japanese, Chinese and Southeast Asian purveyors tried to sell us on various kinds of noodles, dumplings and rice dishes. As tempting as all the foodcarts were, it was almost overwhelming to pick and with so many to choose from the fear of wasting our money on something unsatisfying led us away from the market to Poppies Fish and Chips.

Poppie's had only opened a few weeks earlier and already was becoming a classic according to the guy at the door. An old style fish and chip shop, the dining room was adorned with tile walls and floors, while waiters and cooks wore clean whites. The fish and sides sat behind a big glass counter to act as a sort of psychological aperitif. After waiting about 15 minutes for a table to open up we were hustled inside and handed menus displaying the daily selection. All the usual suspects were there - cod, halibut, hake and others - along with a few more exotic species. The sides were classic, too. Mushy peas, jellied eel and fish cakes.

We both ended up going with the halibut, but I ordered a side of mushy peas to at feign an attempt to eat some vegetables (or at least something green) with my gut-bomb plate of fried seafood and potatoes. The service was prompt and the results were of the highest quality. The fries were fries - thick cut and crispy enough, but the main event - the battered halibut - was excellent. The fist retained it's shape and broke apart in large, tender, but meaty chunks when tested by a fork. The batter was crispy and not at all greasy - it wasn't one of those wipe your face after every bite kind of meals, the way some fish and chips can leave you feeling like you have a film of oil covering your face. Furthermore, the whole piece of fish remained delicately juicy and crunchy on the outside for the duration of the meal (even the side lying on the plate, which has a habit of losing its appeal as it gets soggier and soggier). The mushy peas were excellent as well. The consistency of good mashed potatoes and with ample salt they went terrifically with the halibut.

After lunch we decided to walk off our delicious indulgence and headed over to the Spitalfield's market - an indoor collection of independent sellers presenting everything from things for the home, to purses jewelry, baked goods and clothing. We passed a stall selling fresh caught British oysters and I managed to convince Ella that this was the perfect occasion to try one for the first time. We ordered one each and watched the proprietor skillfully shuck the things without spilling a drop of the briny "oyster liquor" or losing a digit in the process. We topped each with a squirt of lemon and a little spoonful homemade dressing consisting of red-wine vinaigre, sugar and shallots. We toasted to a fantastic day in London before knocking back our treats. I enjoyed mine thoroughly, but I think Ella was (and remains) unconvinced about the joys of oyster eating.

From the market we meandered further into Central London until we came to St. Jame's Park. We made our way around the large manicured grounds surrounding a large lake positively filled with swans, ducks and all sorts of other water fowl. The Churchill War Rooms sit at one end of the park and as it was beginning to drizzle, it seemed like the perfect place to escape the elements and attempt to soak up some culture. The Museum comprised of the private bunker used by the British Prime Minister during WWII to avoid the dangers of German air raids. The structure remains exactly as it was when the war ended, as the fortified bunker was simply left when Germany finally surrendered. Patrons can listen to an audio guide as make their way through the subterranean structure and learn about what life was like in the European nerve-center of the allied forces. One of the most striking things I noticed was the stark, and somewhat ironic contrast between the standard military architecture and the rather extravagant living quarters kept for Churchill, his family and some of his key cabinet members - despite the threat of German warheads toppling London, Churchill managed to live pretty well all things considered.

Emerging back into the daylight - even the lackluster London grey - was hard on the eyes after an our below ground. Ella and I traversed the park for a second time on our way to meet another friend from high school, Devon, who is spending the semester in London as well. We rendez-voused at a bar near her dorm dowtown. We caught up for an hour or so over a beer before going our separate ways before the next day.

Ella had class Monday so we just caught the subway and headed back to Islington. From the subway station we ambled down to the corner store and pick up a few things to make fried rice with. We ambled back up to her communal kitchen and set to work frying ginger, garlic and leeks before tossing in some soy sauce, chili paste and the rice. We topped it off with a soft friend egg and washed it all down with a bottle of Danish beer. We mingled with some other people who were busying themselves preparing dinner before cleaning up and heading down to see some of her friends that live in the building with her.

On Monday Ella got up for school early and cajoled me out into the world. It didn't take much nagging since I was ready to go explore the city. My first stop was breakfast at an awesome french bakery called Sweet that sits on a fantastic little pedestrian street about 5 minutes from Ella's dorm. The staff were french and I actually ordered in french and shot the shit with them for a bit before sitting down with my muffin and coffee to read the paper. From breakfast I made the trek - with handwritten directions in pocket - to London's cool, but disappointingly small Chinatown. It was about a 30 minute walk, but eventually the waters parted and the pagoda-like entrance stood before me. I made my way down the allies taking in the sights and looking for someplace to get dumplings that looked popular with the local asian crowd. The one problem with Aix is that there doesn't seem to be any good asian food aside from expensive sushi. I get cravings for vietnamese pho, simple chinese dumplings and good thai curry. Luckily, I'd done a bit of research beforehand and found Jen Café - a renowned spot for just what my stomach was asking for.

I entered the small restaurant and took a seat by the window. The staff was still finishing up their lunch - which I don't think was on the menu, but looked fantastic. I ordered a quarter of a BBQ'd duck and some steamed pork dumplings. The duck was good - succulent and rich, with sweet crispy skin, but nothing overtly special. The dumplings, on the other hand, were delicious. The filling was excellent - not too dense, or heavy. The table was complete with all the necessary condiments to create your own personalized dipping sauce and I managed to concoct a decent melange of sweet, spicy and salty which complemented the little packets of porky goodness.

Luckily for me, Chinatown lays a stone's throw from all sorts of cool stuff to do and see. I made the 5 minute walk to Trafalgar Sqaure and London's National Gallery. All of the museums in London are free to the public which made it impossible for me to skip the opportunity to look at some ancient and incredible art. The gallery is filled with masterpieces from many different eras ranging from massive and imposing scenes portraying the miracles or crucifixion of Jesus, to lovely and bright oil paintings capturing the undeniable beauty of the Venetian canals or Florentine piazzas. However, my personal favorites are the impressionist era Van Gogh's and Cézannes that occupy an unfortunately small wing of the building.

From the National Gallery I pushed onward and took the touristy route and strolled Regent's Street - the giant boulevard that houses expensive retailers and overpriced restaurants - sort of the equivalent of the Champs Élysées in Paris or a numbed-up version of Time Square.

I intended to cross the Millenium bridge and head to the Tate modern art museum, but somehow after cross the Thames I missed the museum (which is apparently directly on the other side). So, instead I went on a little adventure that lead me around the other side of the river. On the way I managed to give away 9 pounds (almost 20 dollars) to a homeless woman who asked if I could get her something to eat and then refused a delicious sandwich on a fresh baguette for a big mac meal with large fries. The lady knew just how to play on my sympathies - I can't refuse someone asking for food, it's so much better than just giving money away blindly. What's more, as I started to think about it, that 20 bucks would have been really nice to keep, but all things considered I think I'm doing pretty well - I mean, I'm spending a semester in the South of France and was on a visit to London to see a friend...I was only going to spend that money on some overpriced cappuccino anyways.

By the time I was through being lost across the river and found my way back to the other side the daylight was fading. I had just enough time to admire Big Ben in the growing twilight before making the journey back to Ella's dorm. The walk back had grown to about an hour and fifteen minutes by this time thanks to the fact that I had been blindly walking the city.

I got back to Islington a little late, but the walk was nice and it was cool to see the city bustling as people made their way home after work.

Ella and I had agreed to meet Devon at a cool little bar about 15 minutes away. The two of us got there a littler early so we decided to grab a couple of beers and relax in a couple of the big comfy chairs that lined the inviting interior. The atmosphere was reminiscent of Ron Tom's in Portland - low key, comfortable and a good place to kick back and talk the night away. When Devon arrived we ordered another round and picked up where we had left off the night before - it was really nice to see the two of them and hear how their lives were going. It's hard to stay connected back in the states when everyone is spread throughout the country, let alone when people are abroad and exploring their new surroundings and trying to make the most of their experience that disappears so quickly.

We stayed in the bar until the last call just chatting and laughing before easing ourselves up out of the impressions we'd left in the couch and stretching our stiff legs on the curbside. We walked Devon to the Islington tube stop where she had to grab the metro to take a short trip across town to her dorm. Ella and I walked the few blocks back to her dorm and hit the sack - Tuesday would prove to be a busy day for me.

The next morning I got up and prettied myself before snagging a quick breakfast with Ella on the same street as the french bakery. We grabbed coffee and toast before she headed to class and I made the long commute from Islington to Plaistow - deep East London - to see my friend Kosa's wonderful Aunt Doreen. Back in 2006 Doreen housed Kosa's family and I for 9 days in her home and extended the same hospitality to me that you would expect from my own mother. This time around it was no different. I'd offered to take Doreen out to lunch, but she insisted that I come over for a home cooked meal at her place. The plan was to have her kids, and her kids' kids, over for a little reunion. Unfortunately, my schedule was a little tight because I had to catch a bus from London to Nottingham that evening.

When I got to her house she was putting the finishing touches on some unbelievable West Indian roti - a non leavened, pan-fried flat bread like naan. Doreen is 80 now, but in all honesty doesn't look, act or move like she's a day over 50. Her capable hands directed a little symphony as she twisted, turned and flattened the roti before brushing it with butter and throwing on the flat-top to cook through quickly. To go with the roti, she had made a wonderfully rich, spicy and complex curry with chicken, potatoes, carrots and other veggies. Then, as if this wasn't enough, she pulled a perfectly cooked behemoth of a pork roast out of the oven - crisp from a sweet, salty glaze - and calling my name. Doreen cut me a thick slab of the moist pork to accompany my already overside plate of curry and flat-bread. As I ate and drank my Ribena, Doreen and I talked about everything form my school to Kosa, Morris (her late husband) and Joseph (Kosa's dad and Doreen's brother) and life as a kid in Guyana. Her overwhelming hospitality literally brings tears to my eyes as I right this - she was genuinely happy to see me and so welcoming it blows my mind. When the time came to leave so that I could catch my train I didn't want to take off - the conversation and company was excellent (and I hope she feels the same).

From Plaistow I caught the tube back to Islington and rushed to pack my bag before heading back downtown to find the bus that would take me to see another long, lost friend in Nottingham. The bus ride was uneventful and I managed catch up on some sleep.

When I got to Nottingham it was about 11 p.m. and the bus station was dead. Then, like a guardian angel, Coco made his way through the doors at the end of the waiting area. It was amazing to see him, and after two years apart it was a great reunion. He walked me from the bus station to his apartment in downtown Nottingham where he lives with 11 other people. The complex is massive - spanning four floors - with two kitchens and a plethora of bathrooms. We met a few of his friends who lived in the building before relaxing and catching up on all the stuff we'd missed out on for the previous two years. Eventually the fatigue of school and travel hit us both and we went to bed.

The next morning we got up and prepared for a busy day. We made our way downtown and grabbed a quick breakfast and some coffee before Coco gave me a brief walking tour of the city - which turned out to be a pretty awesome university town. The main square was lively and clean and the city as a whole seemed like a great place to live if you weren't in London. From the city-center we walked out past Nottingham-Trent University to where Mark's car was parked before taking a short drive to the University's sports center. Coco's soccer team had a league game scheduled, but the other team bailed so they decided to play the university B-team instead.

The sun was shining and the temperature was perfect when the game kicked off and it was fun to watch some football being played in another non-American environment. Coco's team ended up winning by a goal or two, which was good, and after the game we trekked back downtown. We parked the car and slid onto a passing tram that brought us back to the city center.

After a shower and a bit of relaxing the two of us got dinner at a Portuguese restaurant that had excellent grilled chicken served with sides of your choice. From the restaurant we popped back up to Coco's room and played some Fifa while we drank a couple of beers before calling my roommate back in Vermont (and Coco's ex-roommate) on skype and encouraging him to come visit us both in Europe.

Before we knew it it was time to head out into the night and enjoy the Nottingham party scene. Mark showed me an excellent time in Nottingham and we stayed out until about 4 a.m. Unfortunately for both of us, my bus back to London left at 7:30 a.m. the next morning, so we both only got about 3 hours of sleep before we haggardly got ourselves up and stumbled down to the coach station where we said our goodbyes. It was so good to see him again finally, but the trip was so damn short it felt rushed. I'm hoping that he will be able to make the short journey to Southern France so that I can show him a good time here in the sunshine and wine country.

It was bittersweet to leave both Nottingham and London so quickly - definitely one of the best trips I've ever taken. London is such an incredible city, and exploring it with Ella, who now knows its ins-and-outs, made it even more fun. My first trip to Robin Hood country was fantastic - I got to see one of my best friends of all time and enjoy a couple of days soaking up the North England university life... complete with a delicious cheese-covered, onion-toped, mustard doused 3:30 a.m. hot dog sold from a truck by a guy that sober probably would have been enough to make me wretch.

I did get pretty horrible food poisoning the next day... but I don't want to jump to conclusions and blame that delicious tube of mystery meat. I think Ella's day old portobellos might have been the culprits that did me in...