On Monday night I had the usual project dinner and experienced the other side of English Cuisine. The Sunday lunch at  Crofter’s in Sheringham not being that successful (my boss commented, well, a restaurant you go to with your grandma), we were at Gee’s Restaurant in Oxford.
This restaurant is offering a kind of cooking which I like: modern, European but focussing on local ingredients. The dishes are not overloaded and present a taste reduced to the essential taste of the dish. Ingredients like parsnips or beetroot still are part of the menu.
Interestingly enough prices on the normal evening menu do not differ that much. But protions certainly are larger at Crofter’s.

Well, of course expectations are different between a university town and a traditional seaside resort.

On Monday morning I had to leave Hanna and Michael as I had to go to work. I took the tube to Paddington, where as is known by Agatha Christie and Margaret Rutherford trains leave to Oxford – in my case at 10:22 am and not 4:50 pm. However, trains were not equipped with steam engines but with a Diesel powered traction unit. Other details still are like 60 years ago. Just as on our last train ride I had a train with no door latches on the inside. To get out of the train one opens the door window and then uses the latch on the outside. It is also interesting that you find a first class on this train, but no second. That would be devaluing in any case.

In Oxford I did not have to go to one of the traditional colleges but to Oxford Said Business School, which also is part of Oxford University, but is located in a modern building. I think that it is quite adequate even if architects criticise the mix of styles as I heard. But this mix is even more extreme in old colleges as one may find horrible 70′s buidings planted into medieval structures.

In the 1960s and 70s it was quite common in architecture to declare the concrete used as a modern working material and not to hide it in any way. Not everybody liked it and this was the beginning of a saying: “Apity that concrete does not burn!”.

At that time in Toulouse they constructed a large area with science buildings (Scientific Complex of Rangueil) and obviously covered it with buildings made of concrete in a short time. You will find there technical universities with different directions including aerospace. I imagine that this area was built in line with the rapid success of Airbus at that time.

In this ground you may see that concrete does not need to burn, it will crumble just by itself. More and more they have to repair those buildings which are not that old, and in the course they start to hide the concrete as well.

All the decorating elements, which were produced in concrete (low-grade?) as well, of course have a very low priority in renovation.

Before we went back to London from Sheringham we had a typical Sunday lunch in a restaurant. The meal was like you would imagine English cuisine, in every aspect. A choice of typical roasts: beef, pork, lamb, turkey and fish, with roast potatoes, cauliflower, cabbage, carrots and peas. The main criterion for a good meal seems to be quantity rather than quality.

A bad habit in restaurants today, which I also experienced in Hamburg, is the preparation of roast potatoes: boiled potatoes (home made or more often the small convenience stuff) are thrown into the chip pan for roasting. This will make a wonderful leathery skin and a mouldy tasting interior.

Michael and Reginald had to do to the sea after lunch. I was there the day before.

After just a short night we only had a small breakfast and the went on to Sheringham. Supplies for the train ride of 4 hours were bought on the way and as the boys had the trolleys I had to pay. A very friendly woman at the cashier’s desk asked me rapidly if I had a Boot’s card. As I did not know what she meant, I had to ask her twice what she meant. Everybody was talking English quite fast. If I ever get into a situation like that again I will simply say that I forgot my hearing aid. Well, onto the train and changing into a slow train in Norwich. Axel’s image captures an impression of the beautifully rebuilt Norwich station.

From here on it was like a journey into the past somehow as the scenery made me think that Peter Ustinov as Hercule Poirot would come around the corner at any moment. On the train we found a seat across from a gentleman, who might have been a retired colonel, and he told us a lot about the area. Right from the beginning he realised from my accent that we might be Germans and greeted us with some German words. At Gunton station he told us that there was a royal edict making every second train stop there, even if nobody would get on or off. Background to this edict was that Eward VII owned a the country estate Sandringham (still a royal estate) and therfore always used this train. This edict obviously still is in operation.

Note from Axel: The Gentleman obviously mixed two facts. A short research revealed that Gunton was built for Lord Suffield who lived there and was one of the main investors into the “Bittern Line“. Edward VII’s station is Wolferton, also in Norfolk but not on this line.

In Sheringham we still managed to go to the butcher’s and by some wonderful cutlets, as we wanted to prepare a common dinner. Most of the houses in Sheringham are decorated with big pebbles from the beach which are either used in half or wholly. There are nice gable decorations made from wood, painted in different colours, therefore all in all a picturesque scene.

Saturday we then for shopping. We had planned a dinner with friends of Michael’s which proved to be a success. Ironically two Germans prepared a typical English dinner and if we had found muffin forms in the house, Axel even would have prepared a Yorkshire pudding to accompany the roast beef. Doreen, a lady in her seventies, rounded of the imagination of remembrances from Agatha Christie novels. She had the blackest humour which I ever experienced in a lady of her age. Englishmen are much more tolerant towards foreigners I think due to the long experience with the British Empire and that continues until an old age.
It was a wonderful evening.

Prologue

We still sat together before the usual Thursday Jour Fix as I still had some time because Gerd and Karsten were taking me to Ostkreuz by car.

First Act
Only when I went down the ramp from the platform towards the airport at Schönefeld station I realised that the jeans which we had bought at Ebay were “hanging buttocks trousers” (Axel’s expression). And now I walked towards the terminal, one hand at the waistband the other at the trolley handle, as the shuttlebus is no longer operational.

When I then sat watching the gate indication equipped with a cheeseburger and all flights with a departure time after ours were on, only mine was not called, I got slightly anxious. Hence I asked my nice young neighbours, Englishmen, what our gate would be. They told me, also slightly uneasy, that they did not know either, but that they were there since 7 am (it was past 8 pm now) as their first flight to Stansted had been cancelled. Therfore we were quite relieved when our flight was called.

We then went (my hand still securing the waistband) to the farthest corner of the departure hall and I even found a seat. However, no plane arrived. Instead there was an announcement that we would take off about 90 minutes later than scheduled. I managed to call Axel who was affected similarily, so that we were about to arrive at the same time in the end. We agreed to buy the tickets for the train from Stansted to London on the plane already as he thought that the trains to London would run until 1 am at least.

When in the end we were seated on the plane after more than one and a half hours, the admirable pilot told us that it wouold last about 20 minutes before a deiceing machine would be available to prepare the plane for takeoff. When I asked him the steward told me that there would be a continous bus shuttle between Stansted and London. I just accepted my fate.

Second Act

After the arrival at Stansted I went to the baggage hall as fast as my trousers permitted. In the meantime it was 1:15 am and I hoped to meet my beloved husband there. But he was not there as he had the same wish for a cigarette, he was there much earlier than me and already had collected all information for our trip to London. My mobile still had enough energy to call him and, pacified by the call, I got my suitcase from from the conveyor belt with the help of my new female acquaintance. All the men just hung around and did not help me. Finally I then found Axel and after 5 hours was able to smoke a cigarette in front of the building.

It took another 30 minutes until we arrived at the correct stop with (unfortunately) more than 100 other travellers. Of course the first bus left without us and the next arrived within 20 minutes with a very reliable driver. He first loaded the luggage onto the bus before checking the tickets and then allowing everyone onto the warm bus. Even if the seats were more comfortable than Ryanair’s waiting in the cold had the effect that I was not really able to relax during the trip. Well, in the end we arrived at about 3:10 am (4:10 am Berlin time) at Liverpool Street Station.

Third Act

I saw a cab and asked Axel for the duration of the walk to Michael’s and he answered that I already had walked it and the it was ok., about the distance from our flat to the Ostkreuz station. After 5 minutes walking he corrected himself and said it was more like the distance from our flat to the policlinic in Grünberger Straße. After a further 10 minutes I refused to walk on and sat down at a bus stop. I was about to cry and my trousers still were slipping, even if Axel already had taken control of both suitcases to make it easier for me. Axel’s persuasion in the the end made me to walk on, well, there was no bus running anyway, and in the end we arrived at Michael’s, me be thrown back to the mental state of a five year old petulant child.
Epilogue

If somebody goes on a journey… I never thought that a trip to England would be as exhausting as one to Toronto. Michael’s reception in the middle of the night however was that cordial that in the end I even thought to have arrived in Canada, with my family.

On 9 February I was reminded of a variant of an old joke: Two snowflakes meet in mid-air an one asks the other: “Where are you going?” – “To the Alpes to enable wonderful skiing for people. And you?” – “To the UK to really disturb air traffic.”

In winter one should really avoid taking an airplane. After I had the “Italian experience” at the and of January, since the 9th it is the “Stansted experience”. During the morning of that day there was snow in the UK and some airports had to close down for a couple of hours. Until lunchtime the landing strips were free again, but all schedules had broken down.

Hanna wanted to fly from Berlin and I from “Hamburg (Lübeck)”. My flight was supposed to arrive 40 minutes later than Hanna’s, and we planned to go to London together comfortably. But comfortable it was not to be. Ryanair’s schedules were severely disrupted, my flight from Lübeck was 70 minutes late and I started to worry that Hanna had to wait too long. But no, she had not even landed, her flight was 2 hours and 20 minutes late and was the last to be at the gates in Stansted at 1:08, so it lasted until half past one until she finally appeared.

That really was not a severe problem, even if the last train went at one, but fortunately there are buses running all night long. However, not only our flights were late, and therefore there were masses of people at the bus station to get a seat. Of course we did not catch the first bus and had to wait for half an hour in the cold.
In the end it took until half past three until we reached Michael’s place. We then had to recover before going to the North Sea to Sheringham the next (same) day.
The image above by the way shows the totally cosy departure lounge in Lücbeck, a provisional construction, which may be recycled as a beer tent when no longer needed at the airport.

Generally I think that the “real” French cuisine is principally overrated. Of course this is different with top-range restaurants and French chefs have influenced their colleagues throughout the world. But the avarage Frenchman likes to feed on Entrecote frites or even consumes horrible dishes like baguette filled with French fries. Worst are those restaurants that want to offer a good cuisine and utterly fail.

Of course I am lucky enough that the French seem to “smell” my opinion and make every effort to confirm my prejudices. Last week in Toulouse it happened again: out 10 meals mine was first forgotten and only was served after asking for it.  The “Noisettes d’Agneau” turned out to be fat old mutton.
After dinner the drink outside in the evening at 11 (in mid-November!) compensated for the meal.

Even for Toulouse it is quite unusual to sit outside on 15 November in the sun with 18 Celsius. Usually it is not really cold at this time of the year, but often very rainy.

As you can see, again I was travelling for a project meeting and was quite surprised to find a relatively untouched old town in this city.

Quite noticecable was the French red brick architecture, which I did not expect down there, even if there are true French magfificent buildings.

Otherwise Toulouse is a very busy and very young city. No wonder, with just over 500,000 inhabitants there are about 110,000 students in town.
Also the very small lanes in the old city are very busy, surely also as even the smallest lanes have not been converted into pedestrian zones, so all kind of traffic is squeezing through.

Toulouse of course is known for its Airbus plant, which I was able to visit on Friday. Unfortunately taking photographs was not allowed, I therefore am not able to present images of the A380, of which I have seen a few under production.

Axel really has made so wonderful reports from Prag, that I have some difficulties to add my comments. Normally I try to buy books about the history of the city I am in. This time Axel was with me and found a wonderful book published in 1999 and therefore I was able to understand why Czech people really avoid the German language. They really were the underdogs under Habsburg rule, several attempts to govern the city, in which they had an 80% majority, failed.
Today the lingua franca for trourists is English, there are masses of them and they like to perform their sightseeing tours in groups. Therefore I was not identified immediately as foreigner (I was alone) and by error got the menu for Czechs in the restaurant, with many cheaper offers. Just when I asked something in English, the menu was confiscated again. Well, the average income of the natives probably is lower than that of tourists, therefore it might be ok.

By the way, the nastiest nationalists are and were in the past the Sudeten Germans, who talked and wrote lowly about their fellow Czech citizens.