London

Travel Dates: October 22, 2013 to October 25, 2013

London. A hustling-and-bustling big city with awe-inspiring architecture leading back to the Gothic era, juxtaposed by modern-day traffic teeming with cars, red double-decker tour buses, and pedestrians zipping through narrow streets rich with history.

London's bumper-to-bumper

 After figuring out the rather complex public transportation system, we made it to the Palace of Westminster (Parliament) and Westminster Abbey, gazed up at the jaw-dropping, intricate buildings, and listened to the pure peals of Big Ben.

Happy to see Parliament after some crazy bus rides there

Across the bank from Big Ben

Westminster Abbey: Burial site of Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots

Intricate architecture details

We took the double-decker bus to see such sites as:

The National Gallery with statue of Hahn/Cock in front

Nelson's Column at Trafalgar Square

St. Paul's Cathedral

Tower Bridge

The statue of Queen Boadicea of the Iceni tribe, who led a revolt against the Romans

Cruising around town

A picture with the horseguard

One of the highlights of London: Indian food. We dropped by a restaurant called Hot Stuff for dinner during our first night in town and had one of the best Indian meals ever.

Spicy Indian food cuts through the London chill

The next day, it's off the the London Dungeon, a Universal-Studios sort of walking tour where actors reenacted such legends as Anne Boleyn (decapitated wife of Henry VIII) Jack the Ripper (on the prowl for prostitutes to murder), Sweeney Todd (where Mrs. Lovett gets her famous "meat" pie ingredients), Guy Fawkes (gunpowder, treason, and plot), The Torturer (playing with all sorts of torture devices deep in the bowels of the London Dungeon), The Plague Doctor (hear ye, Bubonic Plague), and The Judge (guilty, guilty, guilty!).

 

Next, off to The British Museum with the ornate pediment. The outside is in a classic Roman style with ionic columns, so I didn't expect the inside to look so modern and well-lit.

Artistic angles inside the rotunda of the British Museum

Free museums: Another great part of London. Since this was the first museum we visited in Europe, we were in awe at all the magnificent, ancient works on display. Equally impressive were the throngs of schoolchildren on field trips. First off, it must be a crazy bus ride through traffic to shuffle a group of kids here. But what we thoroughly enjoyed was the sight of the kids in their Harry-Potter-like capes, getting a fully interactive lecture in front of original artworks  by knowledgeable teachers. Plenty of art students also sat in front of a painting to take notes, study it, and attempt to emulate it through sketches or oil-on-canvas. What a rich education that must be, to have direct access to these resources!

Burnished silver shield

Checking out the Egyptian wing

Writing in stone. How long could it have taken to write a novel back then?

Ginger, naturally-preserved by hot sand

Mummy

Coins of different kingdoms

Greek Armor

We spent so much time at the British Museum that we missed out on the Jack the Ripper walking tour I had intended to go on. Instead, we made our way over to the Tower of London and walked around the perimeter of the vast castle.

Egg-shaped London City Hall

Beefeaters guarding London Tower

The famous Fish n Chips

Local schoolkids were doing some sort of social experiment and going around asking if they could give free hugs. They picked the courtyard near the Tower of London around dinnertime to see if any of the tourists would oblige. Free hugs it is! One of the friendlier groups of Londoners that we came across.

As the sun began to set, we caught one of the last Thames River Cruises from Tower Pier back to Westminster Pier. We chose to sit in the upper deck despite the biting wind, but we got great views of the city skyline at sunset, and the City Cruises tour guide was a lot better--more educational and entertaining--than the double-decker bus drivers.

Modern London buildings all lit up

 

Shakespeare's Globe. I weep that I did not make it here to see a play.

Back at Westminster Pier, we rode the London Eye some 440 feet in the air to see London lit up in lights.

The Eye, the giant Ferris wheel erected in 1999

All aboard in one of the pods

London at night

On our last full day in the city, we ventured out by a two-hour train ride to the quaint town of Windsor to see the castle, Queen Elizabeth II's preferred residence. Queen Mary's lavish dollhouse can also be seen here, but Windsor does not allow any indoor photography.

"Mind the Gap"

The towers of Windsor

Panoramic view of Windsor's South Wing

I missed the Changing of the Guards at Buckingham Palace, so we saw a lower-key one at Windsor. I rather enjoyed this as we got there early enough to get a front-and-center viewing area.

Got a picture with one of the stoic guards!

 St. George's Chapel was one of the more impressive chapels I visited. The interior architecture is ornate and beautiful, done in the Gothic style, with a ceiling so high you'd have to crane your neck way back to see the flying buttresses.

The gardens

The view from a tower at Windsor Castle

For lunch, we ventured back to town outside of the castle and stopped by Gourmet Burger Kitchen for some of the best burgers we've ever eaten.

Tung's Camemburger with Camembert cheese and a hashbrown

I'm charmed by this little town. I wouldn't have minded staying here instead of London. It's quieter, slower-paced, and the people are nice.

For our last night in London, we toured the lively Trafalgar Square. I got a boost  up to take a picture with one of the "coddle-able lions" guarding the base of Nelson's Column.

 

That's it for London! Off to Paris we go.

Before my next-door neighbor "Big Mike" passed away from lymphoma, one of the last conversations Tung and I had with him was about our shared fence. Not yet hospitalized at Stanford for his medical treatment, Mike stood on his lawn and discussed general home repair with us, asking us how we felt about extending the concrete riser wall that only went partway into our backyards before a shorter fence, built directly into the ground, made up the rest of the length.

Where the concrete riser stopped and the dark-brown old fence began between Mike's and our houses

I think of Robert Frost's poem, "Mending Wall," whereupon the narrator's neighbor proclaims many times, "Good fences make good neighbors," in contradiction to the refrain of the narrator, "Something there is that doesn't love a wall." Truth in both statements--you'd think neighborly neighbors don't need to put up a barrier between them, and yet this "walling in" and "walling out" establishes boundaries, privacy, respect.

It's interesting to see how two houses built next to each other can have such different yards, with ours focusing on an abundance of fruit trees against Mike's neatly-manicured lawn with ornamental flowers and decorative bushes--"He is all pine and I am apple orchard." 
 

Mike's and Tracey's yard, exposed with the shared fence down, that we see through our rain-smattered bedroom window

There's much to be said about undertaking a shared fence project with your neighbor. It's a balancing act of establishing a budget, agreeing upon a contractor to get the work done, and hoping that the thin wood partition does not remain down for too long so the dogs can have off-leash freedom in their own respective yards. It tests your communication, negotiation, and schedule-planning skills as you'd want to continue a healthy relationship with your neighbor once the project is over. I've heard cases of neighbors--who probably didn't get along to begin with--being even more crossed with each other over fence negotiations (when to change out an old one, what to pay, who pays, etc).

Our neighbor's gardener was commissioned to swap out the old fence with a new one, and his brother-in-law worked on the concrete riser wall. Scheduling in two contractors was also a balancing act as one had to come tear down the fence before the concrete wall was put in and set to dry, then come back to put up the new fence.

Step 1: Tear-down of old wood fence and digging the trench for the concrete riser wall

Step 2: Adding wood beams to level out the trench at different segments

Step 3: First layer of concrete blocks that make up the wall

Step 4: Complete riser wall and braces for the heavier fence posts

Step 5: New fence goes up

Not long after we attended Mike's funeral, his widow Tracey picked up where he left off months ago and asked us about this fence project. In honor of his memory--Mike, who loved tending to his garden and home and providing for his wife and son; Mike, who put up seasonal decorations to make his front yard one of the most festive on our block--we decided that "good fences make good neighbors." A good, strong fence replaced the blackened old one. The dogs are happy to have their yards back. And we catch up with Tracey and Alex, their son, when we happen to see them watering the ornamental bushes on their front lawn, as Mike used to do.

Mike, this one's for you.

MENDING WALL

Robert Frost

---

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me--
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

---

Concrete

Home improvement continues with some concrete work we've been putting off for a while. One side of our house has dirt coated with red tan bark, and we would like to put in a tool shed there for extra storage. We decided to re-pave with concrete so the shed could sit on a structurally sound foundation.

First Step: Hauling away the red tan bark

 The small wooden fence that separates the front yard from the back had to be temporarily taken down for the project. We are thinking of pushing the fence all the way to the front of the house so that we could get more space in the "backyard" for future storage.

Next comes the rebar, when the contractors lay down a wire foundation to make the concrete more structurally sound.

Watering to pack the loose dirt

 The contractors called for a concrete truck to come onsite to pour the square footage of concrete that we needed. A separate "pourer" contractor had to come at this time to pour the concrete. Some neighbors came to gawk at the huge concrete truck parked on our street. They wanted to know if we were putting in a swimming pool. Maybe a project for another house or lifetime...

Next comes the messy part--donning waterproof boots, the contractors mixed and spread the thick concrete to even it out on the wire foundation.

Using a piece of wood, they evened out the surface of the concrete.

The concrete was poured in one huge slab! I always thought the partition lines meant that it was laid down slab-by-slab. Our lines were added after the concrete pour with a special tool for an even look of uniformity. Like wiping a floor starting from the inside, the contractor knelt on a square wood slab to spread out the pressure on the wet concrete and avoid deep indentations/surface scars. He then used a paving tool to detail the surface to smoothness.

View of the finished project from the front yard

View of the finished project from the backyard

With the fence replaced the next day

Here's a Before/After shot that Odin photo-bombed. The concrete was dry when we allowed him to walk on it. He was glad to not have to get leashed up to visit the backyard after the contractors departed.

First-Year Anniversary

August 25, 2013 came around way too fast. As Einstein's theory of relativity goes, Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it'll feel like an hour. Spend an hour in good company, and it'll feel like a minute. We had such a lovely first year filled with so much fun that our anniversary quickly came around.

Our aikido wedding cake topper

The festivities began on our actual anniversary weekend when we celebrated with breakfast at Bill's Cafe. There's always a wait a Bill's, especially on weekends, but with mimosas and breakfasts this good, it's worth the occasional indulgence.

The "Parisian" French Toast, in honor of us soon going to Paris for a vacation

We also went by Crabaholic for dinner for a delicious bucket of seafood seeped in Southern-style, Cajun spices. I sure do love my crab.

The week after, when the Hilton was not booked out, we redeemed our complimentary first-year anniversary suite for an overnight stay.

The perks of getting married at a Hilton

View from our 6th-floor suite

After we checked in, we found a wrapped gift tray waiting for us, bursting with chocolates and nuts, compliments of our Hilton Catering Manager, Gigi. She left a handwritten note welcoming us back and hoping that we enjoy our stay.

The Hilton even comped us with two appetizers, two buffet breakfast tickets, and two drink tickets, redeemable at their downstairs restaurant.

Nice, comfy King bed

Tung kicking back in his coveted round chairs

The appetizers were a meal in themselves. We ordered calamari rings and buffalo wings (no way Tung is skipping out on these when they're on the menu). I got a rum-and-citrus infusion, and Tung had a Blue Moon beer.

After meeting us for dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory in Downtown, a group of our friends joined us in our suite for a few rounds of Cards Against Humanity.

What makes this raunchy game even more diabolical? A round of booze, of course. Chester brought a delicious Tintero Moscato D'Asti. The uncorking seemed normal until...

It was clear that extra force had to be applied to get the cork out.

The guys are using some hardcore wine-opening techniques

Finally, the reward

Our anniversary cake was a yellow cake with mango cream, compliments of Cake Expressions.

So glad we are not eating top-tier wedding cake frozen for a year

The morning after the festivities, we took a walk to our Alma Mater where we met, SJSU, to digest the huge buffet breakfast. Right outside the Faculty Offices Building stands a pine tree that was smaller than me when I went to school there, since it had just gotten planted around that time. I dubbed it "The Tree that Never Grows." I guess it grew just a little bit eight years after my graduation.

Time flies. Trees grow. Love is eternal.

Words

I started associating words with meaning when I was riding wedged between my parents on their motor scooter in Viet Nam. As we coasted slowly through the Saigon streets, my mom pointed out the word “Pho” to me, illuminated in a green neon glow, a luring lantern in the muggy and bustling night scene. Such an awe-inspiring three-letter word, and my three-year-old self immediately grasped the concept that a building bearing this sign would house the comforting, homey smell of rice noodles in beef broth.

My cognitive world took a shift after my family immigrated to the United States. The tonal, monosyllabic Vietnamese language on which  my ears had been trained suddenly made way to something foreign called English. Thrust into a kindergarten where everyone spoke and understood it, I tried learning through observing actions and body language what I was expected to do. I counted colorful blocks to learn my numbers, traced dotted letters to study my alphabet. Strung together, the letters made words. Strung together, the words made sentences. Strung together, the sentences made meaning. I traced my hand under the big block words of an illustrated Rabbit and Panda book, finally able to read my first sentence, “The sun went up.”

Beyond the basic addition, subtraction, and multiplication, numbers continued to be elusive to me in their infinite mystery, but I latched onto words, following thrilling worlds in books and shows like “Reading Rainbow” with LeVar Burton.

In fifth grade, my teacher had us write stories from our imagination, any theme at all. When he handed my draft back to me, penciled in a blunt No. 2 about a cowgirl and her horse, he mentioned, “You have a way with words.” I knew even by then that I was hopeless at math; I was so pleased to hear that I may have undiscovered talent elsewhere.

In middle school, there was an essay contest in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It was a school where nerds were made fun of and jocks were cool. Secretly, I wrote an essay and entered. Weeks later, along with morning announcements over the intercom, the three winners of the essay contest were also announced. I held my breath in that split-second before the names were read...and exhaled when one of those names was mine. The prize was a trip to Red Robin burger restaurant with the teacher sponsoring the contest, Mr. Lewis. I had never been to a "fancy" burger restaurant before--my family subsisted mainly on home-cooked meals and rarely ever ventured into American restaurants to dine. The two other contest winners were amused at how much I marveled over the huge menu of burgers in so many combinations. My eyes glossed over the words, but my mind wasn't really paying attention. Instead, I was touched by the triumph, that a pen, a few pieces of paper, and the words I learned to shape were the things that brought me to this winner's table.

In high school Spanish class, my teacher posed a question as we were learning the vocabulary for the human body: “Cual es la funcion de la lengua?” What is the function of the tongue?

We threw out Spanish words from our physiology repository in attempt to answer the question: “To talk.” “To taste.” “To swallow.”

“What else?” the teacher asked, and when we all seemed tongue-tied, she offered, “Isn’t it possible that the tongue is one of the most powerful parts of the human body? It shapes words, and words can heal, words can wound.” Strung together, words are powerful. They can inspire. They can destroy. They remain immortal, passed down as literature through centuries after everything corporeal has turned to dust.

In college, I chose a creative writing major after working up the guts to venture away from my “undeclared” start. I spent my undergrad and graduate years reading, writing, studying, and living in stories. I refined my understanding of what makes things worth reading. Studied sentences and their mechanics.  Developed an ear for documenting dialogue. Learned to shape what my heart was feeling and lay it bare on a sheet of 8.5x11” paper.

I ventured into the corporate world, armed with a Technical Writing certificate. It was different from writing stories all day. I wrestled with the meaning of complex technology and gave up pen and paper to fumble my way through sophisticated authoring software. I confided in a friend of mine that in this left-brain/right-brain transition, I was afraid of losing my ability to write creatively. “That’s a part of you that no one can take away,” she assured. And in the end, taming the incomprehensible to make intended meaning clear to a given audience, I realized that I was still playing with words.

There’s nothing like the discombobulating feeling of being alienated from writing. It’s like your air gets cut off. You lose sleep from want of it. “All you writers are afflicted,” a college professor had said to us during a lecture, “by the sheer need for creation. The lust for wanting to put words on a page. You don’t just want to do it. You have to do it to survive.” Writing gives me purpose and direction. Without it, I feel like a husk at the mercy of an indifferent wind, a dried up shell housing only emptiness where once there was substance and heart.

They may not be much, only words. But I cling on to them with all I have, for they shape and define me. As the Bee Gees say,

“It's only words

And words are all I have

To take your heart away.”