I {HEART} HRH

I have had numerous wonderful experiences in my four years living in England, and one that will rank right up there no matter how many years go by is standing inches away from the Queen. Yes, that one, Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth II. So close I could have reached out to touch her. So close that I suddenly transformed from fifty-something adult to giddy girl, gawping at her, waving my two-quid Union Jack on a plastic holder.

HRH was coming to Cowes to dedicate the new RNLI lifeboat station, adjacent to the Island Sailing Club, and to unveil a plaque along the Parade to commemorate her Diamond Jubilee visit. There was to be a parade of sail from Gurnard, just west of Cowes, where she would glide by on the Solent on board the 246-foot super yacht Leander, a whacking great vessel that just says majesty. (It was loaned to HRH by Sir Donald Gosling, former owner of National Car Parks aka NCP.) As the yacht passed the Royal Yacht Squadron, a 21-gun salute from the polished cannons sitting at waterside would begin. The royal party—Prince Philip was with HRH—would then walk up Trinity Landing, greet some of the local important people, and then head east on the Parade to dedicate the plaque, listen to local children sing, launch the lifeboat, and finally pick up a launch at the Cowes Yacht Haven to head back to London.

The plans were announced several months ago, and I decided as a part-time resident of Cowes that I should be there. I blocked the date on my work calendar. My friend Kim, a full-time resident of Cowes, had the itinerary at hand and we spoke on Tuesday evening to set our plan: queuing up on the Parade at 7 am, almost three hours ahead of the Queen’s arrival, to be assured of a good position to see her.

When we arrived there were already several people lined up against the barrier, and we decided to stand near the plaque as we knew the Queen would stop there to unveil it. A lovely family with two little girls had decamped with a blanket, folding chairs, folding prams and assorted bags of food, toys, and other distractions for the wait. We came alongside them, figuring that we could sidle up to the barrier when the Queen arrived, get a photo, and be happy.

It all came together perfectly—and on time. We saw Leander approaching, and then heard the 21-gun salute; the distance from the Squadron to where we were standing is not far; in fact from where we were standing we could certainly see the RYS castle.

I must say, the anticipation was palpable—by the time the hour was approaching for the Queen’s arrival the crowd was several deep, wondering what colour she’d be wearing, and how the Duke would be dressed, and who else would be accompanying them. As she stepped on the launch we caught a glimpse of the Queen’s apricot outfit. The crowd was cheering. I was feeling a bit, well, thrilled.

We could see her walk up the landing, and stop to greet the IoW VIPs who were lined up to curtsy or shake hands. The Duke was looking dapper in a lovely grey suit. Then, suddenly, they were in front of us, and Kim and I were able to move a bit closer to the barrier to snap a photo. One of the little girls next to us, called Grace, handed the Queen a posy, and she smiled and accepted it. I was still gawping, though I did manage to point my camera phone and click—and inadvertently took a 2-second video which you can watch, here (hopefully it works):

Kim managed a few photos with her camera, thankfully, and I recovered and took some, too.

We watched as HRH tugged the sash just a few feet in front of us to pull the red curtain open and reveal the plaque. Applause, more flag waving, and a bit of woo-hooing ensued. When the royal party moved away from us to hear the children sing, Kim and I made an attempt to follow through the throngs, but by the time we approached the area the song had been sung and the Queen and the Duke moved into the shade of the RNLI station, where speeches were being given. Fortunately there was a big screen mounted just outside the RNLI, and we were able to see and hear what was going on.

It was hot, and we were in tight quarters with people all around us, but it didn’t matter—it was fantastic. Kim and I kept exclaiming how really thrilled we were to have been so close, and to just be there to be a part of the Diamond Jubilee celebration. When it was over we walked the short distance back to Harbour House and I made us coffee—it was just after 11 am and a long time since breakfast, but not quite lunch time—more time to “debrief” and also just catch up a bit with our lives. We decided to head out and see if we could watch Leander leave, and we did catch a glimpse of the yacht heading back toward Southampton.

When my friend Sarah saw my photos she said “You’re so American.” I suppose my enthusiasm for something so British is not so British—but not everyone is reserved here, and some are even royalists! I do suppose that I was a bit more effusive in my enthusiasm than some—though judging from the crowd around me, we were all quite enthralled with the Queen’s visit. How lucky am I? Earlier this year I was dining with the Duke at a bar yacht club dinner, courtesy of Tim, and now this chance to see HRH close up. She reminds me of my grandmother. She is amazing for 86. She is always regal, ever personable, and, simply, elegant.

You might guess, then, what my favourite part of the Olympics opening ceremony was , , , the Queen's  perfect delivery of the line “Good evening, Mr Bond.”

What’s not to love?

Ten Things I Learned While Sailing

I recently spent a week on a sail boat—my first adventure off terra firma for more than just a few hours. I learned some things about sailing, and about myself, in what was a wonderful week of food, friends, and floating between Turkish ports. If you’d like to see some photos, please go here.   

Scopoderm works. Having had a bout with seasickness, I was concerned about being unwell and potentially ruining my holiday as well that of the rest of the “crew.” I visited my GP and requested the patch, worn for 72 hours behind the ear, and while not a guarantee I understood it to be a fairly reliable way to keep the queasiness at bay. And, it worked a treat! I never even took off the original patch, and I now have two in reserve for my next sail. (I sense Tim plotting a cruise in the Solent!)

Sleeping in the forepeak triangle is very different than a square bed. Tim and I don’t usually compete for space, but I did find myself wanting just a tad more space for my toes and not wanting to be too pushy! It was also quite warm in Turkey, and we had a windscoop to bring in the breezes through our overhead hatch—when there were breezes! Most nights were lovely, frankly. Kelly found herself often sleeping on deck; the midges were thankfully few and far between, and it was lovely in more ways than one—the sky, full of stars; the gentle breezes; the open air. I once or twice thought to join her! Spending appreciable hours on a boat takes some getting used to—the swaying, the loo pumping (giving new meaning to the acronym SOS), the closer-than-usual quarters—yet in the end it was all manageable: small considerations for what was a perfectly lovely, enjoyable week on the sea.

I can tie a fender on. Fenders, those foamy bumpers used to protect boats from colliding with the quay or another vessel, require a particular type of knot to keep them firmly tied on the lifelines or stanchions. Given that I wouldn’t be much help with other sailor-ly tasks, this was a good one for me to learn. One afternoon while motoring between destinations Tim had a lesson for all of us on how to form knots to tie on fenders, to make a square knot, and to make a bowline knot, useful for putting around a cleat when tying up a boat. I liked the mnemonic for learning the latter—the rabbit goes down the hole, around the tree, and back in the hole . . . or something like that! I think we all enjoyed the lesson, trying to get it right, with the more competitive sailors trying to tie knots the fastest or with eyes closed. I was just happy to get the fender knot correct! I did have a few other small duties as part of the crew—the occasional winching, turning the refrigerator on or off depending on whether we were motoring or sailing, shouting out instructions from the cockpit to the foredeck, and using the windlass to let the anchor up or down. I was glad to be helpful, steering clear of the more important duties—navigating, steering, and tacking, which the others, particularly Taron, Neil and Simon, did quite ably.

The combination of eight knots and a slight bit of heeling is exhilarating. We weren’t always able to sail—the wind in Turkey is fickle, and when we could find it, we took advantage. On one fantastic afternoon we found ourselves heeling (tilting sideways) several degrees while moving swiftly across the sea. We were watching the instrument panel to see how fast we were going, hoping to see the speed increase. I usually get a bit nervous when the boat heels a bit, though in this 44-foot yacht the lean wasn’t as much as I’ve experienced on Tim’s Contessa, where the rails are often in the water. I think as hard as Tim tried, it just wasn’t going to happen on the Moody! I can see why Tim enjoys sailing so much—when it’s good, it’s thrilling.

You don’t need a fancy kitchen to make fabulous food. I can honestly say that every place we ate was quite good—I’m a fan of Turkish meze, grilled fish and kebabs, so I was certainly in my comfort zone in all of the little places we moored each night for dinner. Most of the places we ate were marina-side, al fresco restaurants that didn’t have well-equipped kitchens (though they usually had decent toilets). My favourite “restaurant” was the shack-for-a-kitchen several yards down the beach from the tables on the water side. The owner came up to us as we moored, shouted us the menu (a list of six or so entrees) and told us to arrive at 8:30 pm. We were served meze first—the same for most places we ate—often aubergine salad, borek (fried phyllo dough usually filled with cheese), chopped salad, and fresh bread.  Entrees were often lamb, fish, or chicken, grilled or in a casserole. Turkish wine or beer always accompanied the meal, and was sometimes followed by Turkish coffee—made strong of boiled coffee beans and sweetened with sugar—or the more traditional filter coffee. We had to laugh one evening when, after dinner, a goat found its way into the “kitchen” and began licking the bowls clean.

Nothing beats a swim off the boat into the Med. It’s warm. It’s clear. It’s salty and buoyant. What’s not to like? Just about every day we found a place to anchor or moor and jump ship, literally. I was a bit less daring—mostly because I wanted to wear my sunglasses in the water to keep the glare down and protect my eyes from the sun—and often found my way into the water down the ladder at the back of the boat. Most everyone else—certainly the gents—jumped or dived over the side. It was wonderful—after a few hours of sailing and absorbing the heat of the day, it was so refreshing to swim in the sea, bring down one’s body temperature, and float. While everyone enjoyed Coldwater Bay, where cold springs bring water from the Taurus Mountains, I actually preferred the warmer waters of the other areas we visited.

I love Village bread. On certain days when we were moored in small marinas, a small power boat would zoom up in the morning carrying fresh, warm bread in large rounds that was doughy and delicious—sometimes with herbs or olives, always delicious. That was often breakfast, with a spread of butter, or a slice of cheese, with coffee that we made on board, and occasionally with fruit from the same boat. Simple and simply good. Oh, and, the same transport often brought ice cream  in the afternoon to visiting yachts as well!

Dolphins can make just about anyone smile. One day Tim spotted dolphins frolicking at our bow, and we were all thrilled—cameras snapping, oohing and ahhing while we waited for the next splash, a glimpse of fin, a small leap out of the water. We could easily see them, just below the surface, enjoying the energy the boat was making pushing through the water to aid their swimming.

I like Texas Hold ‘em. When you’re on a boat in small marinas where there’s nothing more than a small outdoor restaurant, you need to make your own entertainment in the evening. We played a few different games—Hit or Miss, where you pen a list of items based on a question, like types of automobiles, and then rolling the die for Hit or Miss you guess what everyone has—or doesn’t have—on their list. We also played Oh Hell, similar to Hearts. There was Trivial Pursuit, where it was a battle of the sexes (and very close at that)—I was chided for helping the boys by hinting at the answer to Tim; I’m not terribly competitive and he didn’t really need my help. Of all the games we played, my favourite was Texas Hold ‘em. One of the crew, Simon, is a regular poker player and taught me and Tim how to play. It took me a few rounds to understand the strategy, and at the end of the evening I found that I rather enjoyed it. I won’t be playing online poker any time soon—I wasn’t that good—but it reminded me of how much I enjoy a good game of cards. Growing up there was a lot of card playing in the household; weekly gin rummy nights had friends and neighbours around our kitchen table, and even later on just games of Rummy 500 with my mom and whoever of my siblings was around helped pass the time.

Tim is a wonderful sailor. When Taron and Neil asked Tim to skipper the boat, he didn’t hesitate; Tim loves to sail and the chance to do so in the warm Mediterranean on a lovely 44-foot yacht . . . well, no brainer. I was very proud of him—he handled the boat beautifully, taught us all a little bit about sailing, and graciously took on whatever role required—sometimes navigator, sometimes consultant, occasional taskmaster. When on the last day the engine starter failed and we needed to wait several hours for a repair, he offered to stay on the boat while we toured Gocek, showered, and relaxed. When he deftly reversed the boat into its snug mooring on B pontoon, I smiled. O Captain! My Captain!

Over the Moon

Have I ever shared with you my passion for reading?  I don’t watch much television—the set in London is rarely turned on by me, and when it is it’s to use the radio channels to tune in to classical music. There is no TV at Number 12; when there’s not a sailing event Tim and I will spend time reading, playing Scrabble, or watching the sailboats go by, and if there’s something we want to watch, the convivial atmosphere of one of the local pubs suits us. Reading is a way for me to pass the time in a relaxing way, or to learn about something new, or occasionally get lost in another century. Sometimes it’s all three rolled up in one delightful afternoon curled up on the sofa. Sure, I’ll indulge Tim and join him for an old black and white film now and again, but given the choice I’m more likely to find a book and sit near and ask the sound be not too loud!

It’s wonderful when you can take something you truly enjoy and share it with others, and as much as reading feels like self-indulgence, I’ve found a truly gratifying way to read that I suspect many of you have also enjoyed—reading with a child.

I have just finished my second year of reading with Joy. He is a bundle of energy with a big, beautiful smile who always greets me warmly and then dashes off for the current book we’re reading and our log that captures what page we’re up to and comments about the sessions.

I should correct myself before I get too far on to say that it’s Joy who does all the reading—I listen, occasionally helping him sound out a word or asking him to slow down at a full stop (translation: English for the punctuation period). We were partnered last year as part of the volunteer reading scheme for Camden Council in London. The Edith Neville primary school, near Kings Cross, has had a long-standing relationship with my company to have volunteers partner with children who need to improve their reading skills. I signed up for the scheme after an email requesting volunteers landed in my Inbox—frankly it was something I was interested in pursuing, having had a stint in the US with the Literacy Volunteers of America for several years, but I was concerned that taking on a similar role here might prove difficult, what with the differences in pronunciation of words, spelling differences, and even my accent, which could be deemed “disruptive.”

This was different—it wasn’t adult literacy, it was simply reading with a child under 13, with the goal to improve his confidence and skill. I had a bit of training, and of course there was the necessary CRB (a criminal background check) before being able to start. In due course I was approved and was ready to meet my partner, who turned out to be Joy.

My American accent was a bit of a draw rather than a hindrance—when I spoke it was different in an intriguing way, and the kids—usually the girls—would ask me where I was from and generally giggle when I talked. And if Joy was absent for a reading session, the hands would fly up when the teacher asked who’d like to read with me.

Joy is an eleven-year-old Bangladeshi who has a large family with siblings of various ages from 16 years to 16 months; I suspect it’s a busy household which is why the half hour each Thursday is special to him. We often start off with a little chat about what’s happened since our last meeting, especially if there was a school outing or a short break where he had some time with his family, and then we’d dive into the current book. 

We’ve had a few interesting reads this year—Not Yeti, which is about a boy whose parents are kidnapped and his search, with the help of Yetis, to find them; Zeus on the Loose, a rather funny book about a boy who creates a paper temple only to have Zeus show up to occupy it; a book about frogs; and even a brief history of Tutankhamun.

I always let Joy choose the book, and then will take a quick look through it to see if it presents the right challenge for his reading ability. We then find the quietest spot possible in a primary school (you’re not allowed to go behind closed doors) and settle in. Joy is easily distracted, as most boys his age are, so I am always looking for a place a bit farther away than the rest of the readers—there are at least a half dozen of us vying for space on Thursdays—and we often have a little glass-enclosed alcove to ourselves where Joy can focus without his classmates stopping by and listening, which they will do if at all possible!

I was prompted to write this post because I had a note from the school’s administrator in response to a letter I sent to Joy via her; the last official reading week is the one coming, and I’ll not be able to attend. While I had a chance to chat with Joy and tell him that and to wish him a happy summer, I felt like I wanted to put something in writing for him to let him know how much I really enjoyed our reading sessions together. It was a simply-worded single sheet where I embedded a few pieces of clip art, expressing how well Joy had done this year, really improving his skills at sounding out words, and how much I’m looking forward to being his reading partner as he starts Year 6 in September—his last year at Edith Neville, so our last year together. Amy sent me a note back later that afternoon to thank me, and to say how Joy was “over the moon” with the letter—he’d spent his entire lunch hour showing it to all of his classmates.

That, my dear friends, is priceless.

I will probably save Amy’s email and read it dozens of times because it has made me feel over the moon. I am already anticipating our reunion in September. In fact one of my fondest memories over the last two years is returning after the summer of 2011. When Joy saw me he immediately ran over and gave me a huge hug. We’re not allowed to touch the children in any way, though we are allowed to return a gesture, and believe me, I did. My colleagues standing nearby waiting for their reading partners all looked on and smiled, and afterwards they remarked how sweet it was that he showed such happiness in seeing me.

File this post under why we do the things we do; it often comes down to the love of something, doesn’t it? Like reading. With Joy.

Jubilation

It is such a remarkable summer in Britain, and a part of me feels as an expat that I should remark on the events that are exclusive to my place of residence.

First, the Diamond Jubilee. I did not stay in London, did not join the huge throngs lined up along the Thames to watch the Flotilla. Tim was participating in the Diamond Jubilee Regatta in Cowes, a series of races over the holiday weekend that began with a sail around the island followed by shorter races on Sunday and Monday.  My dear friend Leah came down to join her beau and was not sailing, so we had the opportunity to pull up stools at the local pub and watch the flotilla on a big screen TV. I must say, it was grand. There was this buzz, this anticipation about all sorts of things—what colour would HRH be wearing? Will it rain on her parade? How many boats are actually IN the flotilla? Well, I have to admit, I got slightly choked up when the Queen stepped out of her Bentley; she is a remarkable, elegant, truly regal woman and I was filled with respect for her. The weather was awful, yet she smiled and waved and stood for hours to the delight of all of those onlookers lining the waterfront.  It was fabulous watching (we could hardly hear the TV) and Leah and I enjoyed the lunch, the conversation, and the chance to see it all from a very comfortable position—maybe not the best seat in the house, but certainly one of the driest!

We had a funny incident at one of the post-sailing barbies that I still smile at: we popped into a water taxi to head back to Cowes after a less-than-inspiring gathering at the East Cowes Sailing Club where the beef was grey like the skies—to be fair, the BBQ was sponsored by a local charity, so the money we paid was not for a posh meal but for the hospice. It was edible, it just wasn’t very good. At the barbie there was a couple wearing HRH and Prince Philip masks, dancing in an oddly, almost creepy tete-a-tete, and just as we were getting ready to leave on the taxi the Queen pops into our boat! It turns out she was the boat driver’s mum bringing him some food. The way she wore the mask--with a scarf around her head--she looked, again quite oddly, just like the queen. We asked if we could take her photo, and she laughed and agreed, giving us a decidedly American pose when she detected photographer Taron's accent.

The picture quickly found its way on Facebook, and I sent it around to some friends the next day, some of whom commented at how authentic our fellow water taxi passenger appeared.

On Monday Tim and I planned to go see a local Isle of Wight Celtic band, but missed their set and instead found ourselves at the same pub Leah and I sat in, this time to watch the concert and fireworks that ended the Jubilee weekend. I found some of it odd—Alfie Boe and his duet companion Renee Fleming singing a tune from West Side Story . . . how is that a celebration of something quite British? Stevie Wonder? Well, it was all good, just not very British to me. I absolutely loved Madness doing “Our House” as they flashed different London scenes and buildings on to Buckingham Palace; if you haven’t seen it, give it a look here.

And so went the Diamond Jubilee. Britain was closed for an extra holiday, which was quite nice and gave us a chance to relax together after a busy weekend in Cowes. I was glad to have seen some of the events, even digitally, and felt it was a nice juxtaposition to the start of the weekend where we celebrated Leah’s birthday with a cake decorated with a huge American flag! Tim arranged it with the Island Sailing Club and it was just lovely, much like Leah.

Next, the quintessential British summer weather. To sum it up in one word: rubbish. When I first came to England I was surprised at how much the natives talked about the weather--always a good ice breaker, but this was beyond polite conversation. The whingeing! Well, having experienced what is now my fifth British summer, I can understand why everyone goes on about it. This year has been particularly bleak—not many days above 20 C / 70 F, and while there was a drought in May, it feels like it has not stopped raining since June. There are some positively glorious days which are little treasures, and I find myself wanting to sit in the garden until it gets too chilly or the dusk gives way to darkness, knowing that these are precious evenings indeed. Those of you who have been following Wimbledon know how it’s been a bit wet and windy this year; just imagine those two weeks repeated over three months! I do not envy New Jerseyites who are sweltering in scorching 38 C / 100 F, but I must say there are days in London when I simply shake my head at how many layers I’m wearing in summer, and how there are more women wearing scarves (and I mean the bulky kind) and boots in June and July than there are donning flip flops and tees! It makes an upcoming trip to sail in Turkey that much more desirable. I’ve just checked the low /highs for the week we’ll be there, and the low is London’s high, and the high is just under the scorching weather New Jersey has been experiencing—so I guess we'll get the best of both worlds there!

Last, a note about the Olympics. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m half-thinking to escape, at least for some part of the two weeks where the world descends on London and some of its outer reaches. I have been boarding crowded buses and trains in the last few weeks thinking how is London going to handle the crowds that haven’t arrived yet? Some of us still have to go to work, still need to take some transport. We’ll have to grin and bear it, adjust our hours and our attitudes and be polite to our visitors. I’m excited that I will be, at least for some part of the two weeks, in an Olympic hosting city. I may even go to one of the sailing events (albeit in Weymouth), and am anticipating the excitement in what is already a vibrant city. I know I will need to get to the office—training schedule in place, I will need to be there for the first of the two weeks. The second week, at the moment, is blissfully free of appointments that require me to find my way to Chancery Lane, which has been designated as one of the hotspots (likely because the station is on the Central Line, with a direct link to Stratford where the Olympic stadium and its surrounding park are poised.

A very exciting, unique British summer indeed. Excepting the dreadful weather!