Meeting the Mancunians

After our little whirlwind London visit, we got up early and took a cab to the train station, and on to Manchester for five nights. Our driver was a Dev Patel body double. I didn’t get a picture of him, naturally, but here’s Dev.

We were his first customers, and he was a sweetheart. The cabbie we took from the airport kept saying how hot he was (it was a heat wave for England) and when he pulled over for gas (who fills up a tank with the fare in the car?), he asked if we wanted a water, which he’d buy in the gas station. This other guy, Dev, offered us water and Werther’s candy and had a full tank of gas to boot! His story: He had operated a computer, iPhone and electronics repair shop for two years, only to find out it was illegally leased to him. While he is in litigation to try to get it back, he’s driving the cab and taking Harvard University on-line courses to learn more. He grew up in Pakistan, has a girlfriend and a bright, promising future. But, he said, he worries he may never get to see the United States because if Trump wins, he won’t be allowed in. He refused a tip.

We got to the train station way too early and I can’t remember why, but moods were FOUL. All I remember is the long faces….. Might have been something to do with my seven pairs of shoes and my heavy suitcase :(

Manchester is really cool-looking. Lots of orange. Brick buildings with all kinds of details. Pubs on every corner. Flowers spilling out of hanging pots. And there are canals with locks all through the 

section where we stayed, with tons of boat houses. 

 These little beer towels are hung like prayer flags.

We dropped our bags and went directly out for a bite so we would have an appetite for dinner four hours later. This pub was right around the corner. Really cozy—about four or five little rooms. Just chips, or crisps, as it were, because the kitchen wasn’t open yet. There were college (or Masters program) graduates in cap and gown with their parents all over the city.

Learn more about this awesome pub we were so lucky to have stumbled upon:

http://pubs-of-manchester.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/007.%20Britons%20Protection%20-%20Great%20Bridgewater%20Street

Our dinner restaurant was recommended by the hotel staff. NOT their finest hour. The place was called the Paramount and had slot machines and very drunk people arguing and crying and storming out and back in again. Can’t say it wasn’t entertaining!

Next morning, after an amazing buffet breakfast, Fred went off to his Symposium and the boys and I walked to the Northern Quarter—again, the part of town that is to Manchester what Williamsburg is to Brooklyn. Maybe a little more gritty—several thrift shops on every street. And one five-story store that was a throwback to Harvard Square’s The Garage from the ‘70s.

Everywhere we go, sketchers!

Quick lunch at an Italian place—silly thing to do, I know, but we had intended to have a coffee and then decided the food looked too good. I spoke Italian with the owner who was delightful. The bruschetta was too.

Owen found an amazing Barbour windbreaker—vintage, never worn—which he bought. I bought Henry a white shirt made by PINK for about twenty bucks. Also, a steal. 

Freaky plant!

Belts & scarves!

We then went to the Football Museum which was basically a big place to babysit your kids. HUGE disappointment. Luckily museums are free here, and the boys got to play ping pong at their outdoor table.

Then tea, scones and clotted cream at the quintessential tea house called Sugar Junction. Each menu was placed inside a hardbound copy of the same used book (The Saturday Book). Charming.

The day ended with a cocktail party for Fred and me (to go to, not in our honor!) to kick off the Symposium, followed by dinner with the boys at an Indian place next to the hotel—highly recommended by Trip Advisor, not the hotel staff, and delicious. Again, tensions running a bit high. Traveling can be taxing.

Fred met a man with whom he'd only been in contact via email—he wrote a book that Fred's in! His name is James Hobbs. The book is Pen & Ink.

https://www.amazon.com/Pen-Ink-James-Hobbs/dp/0711238049/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1470580833&sr=1-1&keywords=Pen+and+Ink+james+hobbs

To the Mother Country We Go

One week after the boys arrived in Viterbo, we left for a week in England. Fred is a correspondent with a group called Urban Sketchers, as I mentioned earlier. He has attended symposiums in Barcelona, Brazil, and now Manchester, England, with sketchers from all over the world. It’s a very cool group. 

When the kids found out this year’s Symposium was in Manchester, and that Fred got accepted (he has to propose a workshop each year and get voted in), and that it did not compete with our time in Italy, they listened anxiously to hear if they’d be invited along.  And they were. Sort of our last hurrah for a while, since they (and we) really need to save money for their tuitions.

We got up very early on Saturday morning to catch the train to the airport, having turned in the rental car the day before. There’s no sound quite like that of the four of us clacking down the cobble stoned streets at the crack of dawn. People peek out to see what’s up. The Americans are leaving today, they must think.

First thing that went wrong was I booked us tickets for 6:10 pm, not am.  (18:10! I’ll never get used to military time!) When I realized this, I got in line at the bar where they sell train tickets to buy the right kind—morning tickets for the 6:25 am train. They only take cash. I had none. The nearest ATM? Down the street. Henry and I bolted/ran the few blocks to the machine, got the money, got the tickets, with ten minutes to spare. Standing around waiting for the train it occurred to me I had bought tickets to Rome, not further on to the airport. (It’s a two-legged trip.) Back we went to the counter. Thank GOD I had enough cash left. It was terribly stressful. We have really heavy luggage and when the train does come, you have to walk across four tracks to get to it.

Once we got on, it was pretty smooth sailing.  At Heathrow where we landed, we found a cab that I had booked already on line. Nice guy. Drove us the hour (!) to our Airbnb in the Peckham section of London. It’s kind of like the Williamsburg of Brooklyn. Hipster. Twenty minutes from the city by train. Our flat was GREAT. Clean as can be. Awesome decor (two artist owner—graphic and interior, I think). Kids’ beds in a loft, ours on the lower level. The place is on the fourth floor of a converted Victorian schoolhouse. Really good find.

We had asked our host for dinner recommendations for this night, thinking we’d stay local. Peckham Bazaar was her favorite, so that’s where we ate. Amazing place. Outdoors on a warmish night. Small plates of Balkan foods. We got seven plates and tasted flavors we’d never experienced before. So far, so good! I didn't take this shot, but this is EXACTLY how it looked that night. Mine was blurry.

Fred got a grant to add this quick stop in London onto our Manchester trip, so he spent his time in two museums: The British Museum and the Imperial War Museum. It so happens, the boys were interested in the former, so I went off to Notting Hill for the day. Turned out to be a little lonely, and NH was more hippy than I’d realized. But it was fun to see the blue door of the flat where Hugh Grant lived (in the movie, Notting Hill). I shopped and walked and visited the Cath Kidston store, which I find sweet. 

Here's Fred getting ready for his day of research at the British Museum.

This bench... I've never forgotten this sweet inscription of the bench from Notting Hill. Nobody can access it because the garden is private, but I found this online.  "For June who loved this garden from Joseph who always sat beside her."

The blue door!  Behind that tree.

Very British pugs.

A Cinquecento INSIDE a store!

No idea the significance of these buildings, but they were colorful and others were shooting them. Something from the movie, I imagine.

Henry's girlfriend asked for this : )

When I met them back at the museum we had to run over to a phone place to have some new SIM cards installed in our phones. We needed to be able to reach each other if we did separate things or got separated accidentally. So that was done. Ten pounds for each phone for a week of data and unlimited texting.

Dinner was at a very traditional pub—maybe more of a restaurant. Turns out pubs stop serving food at 8, which is an hour earlier that we’ve been used to eating in Italy. This took a little getting used to. 

That's pork in the middle... layers of meat and squishy fat, topped by crispy fat. Yep.

Hendrick's & tonic with cucumber. When in London!

There were a lot of less than pleasant times during these few days in London because it’s just too short a time to see a city like this and learn the tube and bus routes, etc. But we survived.  

Next day, up and out for Fred to the War Museum, and up and out for the rest of us to get Henry theater tickets to meet up with a friend from home that night (doing stem cell research in London for the summer!). After that, we grabbed lunch, then booked a Hop On/Hop Off bus tour to get around. First stop was Harrod’s for Owen’s birthday present—sunglasses. Then it was time to get back to Fred. Having not done much on the bus, we sent Henry off to his play and the three of us did a huge loop on the bus and saw all the sights. A really nice way to see a city. 

Harrod's candy shop.

Dinner was at a really cool pub called Gladstone’s (or The Glad) that had pre-made meat pies that were not bad!  The atmosphere was magical. There’s just nothing like these pubs at home.

Adorable little tonic water bottles.

We got home around 11 and around 12:15 I got a text from Henry saying his last leg of the trip was a bust because the tube stops running at midnight. He was about five miles away. He said he’d walk home, which of course was NOT an option in my mind. So I got an Uber to go get him. Actually, I got two Ubers to go get him, but the first one bagged after not finding him. It was tough because I couldn’t text with the driver because my Uber account has my US cell phone number as a contact. I tried texting and got an automated response that they did not recognize my number. So I had to agonizingly watch the little car icon on my screen back up and turn around and LEAVE the station where Henry was standing. The next guy, God love him, came immediately and found Henry.  YEARS off my life over this one. Turns out my bank doesn’t like Uber so they put our credit cards on hold the next day., without any communication with me. Just suddenly no money. Locked out.

Next day another cab would pick us up at ten to take us to the train station—on to Manchester!

Penthouse Pizza Party

The night before we left Italy, we had dinner with the extended Basile family, our friends next to whom we lived our first year here. What a dinner it was. Every time, actually. Last year was at the home of one of the daughters' family in a neighboring town. We had grilled EVERYTHING that day—steaks, potatoes, onions, peppers, tomatoes—everything that's ripe enough to pick, you eat in July in Italy.

This night's dinner was at another daughter's home just a few blocks from our place in Viterbo. Alessandra and Mauro's son Leonardo, whom we've known since he was 7 (now 17) met us with his girlfriend at the gates to the city. We live inside. They live outside. Apparently, Mauro is known for his pizzas—and now we know why. Since their apartment is on the top floor, they can have a pizza oven on their balcony, built right in. Unbelievably cool. We'd never seen such a view of the town we call home for one month of the year.

Mauro made 28 pizzas!  I can't remember how many kilos of dough he turned into those 28 pies, but WOW. We ate all night from tomato and cheese, to sardines, to Nutella pizza for dessert! Followed, of course, by homemade limoncello, orange liqueur, mirto (sort of like a blueberry liqueur), and Jamesons. :)

Pre-Pizza Party

Mario, the patriarch.

Just four of the 28.




Rooftop pizza oven.









Things in full swing.



Emilio & Roberto. A Basile son and a Basile son-in-law.



Leonardo & Sara.



Georgia & Mario.



Alessia & Ilaria



Antonella & Assunta (the matriarch)



Mauro! The pizza man!






Sisters—Allesandra & Emanuela



They are waving goodbye to us from the balcony as we make our way home. Does it get any better than this?