Cilantro

They say you either love it or hate it. I fall in to the latter camp. I got some Phở bò tái for dinner tonight and it was particularly delicious – there’s nothing like a hot, spicy soup on a hot, humid evening in Houston. It had some cilantro floating in it though, its only downside.

Anyway, I recently traveled to the UK for business. My adventure to the land of the angles began at one of New York’s premier air travel ports – JFK on a Monday. Okay, it wasn’t that bad. I found the long term parking lot after a bit of driving around, and got to my terminal via the air tram. My flight left on time, and soon I was asleep over the Atlantic, courtesy of my mp3 player. Thank god for that little device; there were three little babies strategically placed around my section of the cabin to give me a total surround-sound angst experience.

I landed in England on a Tuesday, in the early morning. My goal was to somehow get myself to my destination: the customer’s site in London. Unbeknownst to me, the location was in the middle of the downtown, just past the bend in the river. I went to check my UK-ready blackberry. “Emergency phone calls only.” I tried to call my contact, but apparently it wasn’t an emergency, because the call didn’t go through.  Given the situation, I snapped to my normal procedure, found a bus to take me to the rental office, and procured myself an auto.

My car’s steering wheel was on the righthand side of the car,  opened the left-front door. D’oh. I put my bag in the front seat like I meant to do that, then scurried over to the driver’s side door. I sat down and adjusted my mirrors. Looking slightly up and to the left to check my rear-view was slightly disconcerting. I looked down and saw my stick-shift next to my left hand. Great – at least the numbers were in the right order. Foot pedals, from left to right: clutch, brake, gas. Whew, those were in the right order too. I gave a little nervous sigh, turned the car on and started off. After my first clockwise-rotating roundabout, my GPS put me immediately on to M4, the highway which leads directly into the heart of London.

The stop and go traffic on M4 was manageable. I was fine when I had someone to follow. I can’t accurately put into words what it’s like to drive in downtown London in a right-hand drive car on the left-hand side of the road. I don’t like driving in Manhattan. London is Manhattan, but none of the roads are straight and there are roundabouts every other street. People sort of stay in their lanes. Sort of. I learned the hard way that flashing yellow lights mean you can go if nobody is trying to cross the street. I think the guy called me a tosser or something. My bad.

Also, the buildings in London are just tall enough to interfere with GPS functionality. I would drive a few blocks, my GPS would get a glimpse of a satellite it so desperately was trying to communicate with, and it would chirp at me letting me know that I missed my turn, and to turn down the next street. Yep, the one I just drove past. I continued on by Buckingham Palace. Wait, what?! Buckingham Palace? Wow. Cool. I wished I could stop to look and take some pictures, but there was nowhere to park on the street.

Somehow, an hour and a half after I set out from Heathrow, I managed to get to the plaza the customer was located at. Now to begin my quest for a parking spot. I reluctantly drove away from the plaza; there was no street parking to be found. I turned down one street, then another street. No street parking anywhere. Not even a place to stop to catch my breath. Checked the phone again, maybe it suddenly became UK ready. Nope. I looked around and a sense of dread crept over me as I realized the majority of the other vehicles on the road where double-decker buses, taxis, delivery vehicles and motorcycles.

Half an hour later, I found a spot to pull over. I got my mobile wireless hotspot out, which somehow was UK ready, and got myself on the internet. I sent some emails to my contact and my boss to let them know the situation I was in. A few more emails later, and I was on my way back to Heathrow. An hour and a half later and I was back where I started. Some rather nice people informed me of the Heathrow Express – a sort-of-high-speed rail with two stops: Heathrow Airport and London’s Paddington Station. I decided that I didn’t want to take my luggage on the train, so I went to the hotel and checked in, dropped my baggage and caught a shuttle to Terminal 3 – where the express train departed from. Fifteen minutes later I was back in downtown London. I hunted down the right tube stops, got a full day pass and crossed my fingers.

Somehow, I made it to a tube station that was only three blocks from the site. Nearly completely exhausted, I walked up to the security guard and asked to page my contact. A few minutes later, and I was where I was supposed to be.