Special Delivery

For anyone that thinks American deliveries are too consistent and convenient, I say this: Move to London.

Our first experience was when we ordered our bed from Ikea. When we scheduled the delivery, the guy at the counter said that the driver would call us an hour before arriving. Since the new place didn't have internet yet (and in fact still does not) rather than take a full day off, I planned to work from the short-term apartment and then hop a train to the new once once I got the call. When I did get the call however, it was from the delivery guy already at the new apartment. I looked at the receipt with the printed "We will call an hour before delivery" note to verify that I had not had an unreasonable expectation, and asked what was up. He claimed to have tried to reach me, but found the number out of service. As we were talking on that same number, this seemed unlikely to me. He asked if he could leave it ("it" being my queen-sized mattress and box springs) with a neighbor. I countered with "Can you deliver tomorrow and actually give me that call?" We settled on he'd have his manager call me and I headed in to work. By that evening I had heard from neither him nor the manager, and the number that I had been given for the delivery service had rang unanswered all day and had no voicemail set up. At seven that night I finally got through to the manager and arranged delivery. As this was two days before our short-term let ran out, it was a bit stressful to not have a bed in the new place.

Later, we ordered four items from a very odd store here called Argos. It's sort of like if Amazon had a storefront. You go in to what is effectively a small lobby, with some computer kiosks. You look up what you want from the kiosk, hand your slip of paper to the person at the register and pay for your items, then they are pulled from The Back and brought to the counter for you to take away. For larger items, you can also get delivery. Since we were getting a TV, a moderately-sized dehumidifier, a flat-packed wardrobe, and a dresser we went with delivery. We were given an eleven hour window (7 am to 6 pm) and an empty promise of a phone call an hour before.

On the appointed day were were delighted that they showed up in the early half of the day, but then a little surprised when only three items were brought in. The dresser, which we were arguably most excited about (it meant getting our last items out of suitcases) was missing. I called the nice folks at Argos and they let us know that that item is apparently sold out for delivery, but we could pick one up at our local store. The item. That I ordered for delivery. That they sent a confirmation email for. Was out of stock for delivery. We re-arranged to pick it up from our local store, and they have us a discount and gift card as an apology, but we are still pretty baffled that "just don't deliver an item with no warning or email" was even on their radar as an option.

We've had a few other fun run-ins with the service industry here (our apartment keys not actually including a key to our apartment; the electrician that we scheduled four times and had out twice, both times all-day) but while we can somewhat laugh about these later, it's making for a pretty down post. Ikea did later make up some goodwill with us -- when we went a different one (this on the same side of the city as our new place is) they not only had next-day delivery, but on a Sunday to boot. And they even brought all ten of our items and called an hour (and twenty minutes) ahead!

Human Shielding, or How I Learned to Jaywalk in London

One of the many ways in which London is different from Chicago is in how the roads work. The most obvious difference is that the drivers are on the 'wrong' side of the road, but there are many other little traps laying in wait. The streets tend to run and cross at odd angles, there appear to be uncontrolled intersections even deep in the city, and there are traffic circles. Also working against us is the fact that one-way streets appear to go totally unlabeled here. Crossing signals are plentiful, thankfully, though they only display the walk if you press the button. There are also words stenciled on the pavement at most crossing telling you which way to look, which are exceptionally useful. Finally, the little guy in the walk signal is flat-out jaunty, so it's hard to not to smile when you get the right-of-way. All that said, as a creature of the city I don't want to wait for the crossing signal. I want to jaywalk. I want to lead the light, and cross mid-block, and know if I can dash on the tail end of a red or if I must wait. We have been gradually relearning how to do all these, but it does take time.

Early on, our strategy was to toe the line unless we could employ the human shield. If other folks go, then clearly it is safe enough for us. As long as there is at least one other human between us and traffic, we're good. There are still a few tricks to this approach, mind you. It still requires you to know which way the traffic is going. You also need to gauge the speed of your human shield, as once they alight the opposite curve their usefulness expires. Whispering "human shield" to your wife while doing this is optional, but it's an option I strongly favor. One wonderful feature of the UK is the traffic signal cycle. Instead of going straight from red to green, there are a few seconds of red and yellow at once. This indicates that the light is about to change. Not only can taxicabs get a headstart, but you can also determine if you are about to lose the light and find yourself caught in traffic. It's magical; America totally should have imported this instead of One Direction.

Location Location Location

Mary and I love to househunt. We look every few years, we randomly pop into open houses when out for walks, and we watch and enjoy TV shows dedicated entirely to househunting. When HGTV came out with an international version of House Hunters, we were in hog heaven. We even discovered a UK version called Location Location Location, which was in ways superior to the US one (it's a full hour! It follows up with folks over a year later!) The apartment hunt in London, then, should have been a dream come true.

We admittedly got a late start to things, since we had focused early energy on trying to set up a bank account. This is a huge process here, at least at the first bank we selected. Later, we discovered that Lloyd's is the bank of immigrants, and they proved willing to work with us. It was still a 45 minute, in-person meeting to set it up, mind you, but at least I walked out with an account. Focusing on this process put us behind on the househunt, so we were on a tight schedule when things began.

One thing we did do well was to scout out neighborhoods in advance. Folks had told us that we needed to go into it with a few in mind, so for the first few weekends we made sure to wander different parts of the city, following up on recommendations from folks. We loved the Islington area, but could tell from the getgo that it would likely be too pricey for our budget. The Docklands had nice amenities, and seemed like a nice alternative (though it feels a touch synthetic, sort of like London's City of Tomorrow!)

Armed with a few neighborhoods in mind, we reached out to some lettings agents which seems to be how most properties are rented, here. These agents are neighborhood-specific, so coming in knowing the area you want is key. Thankfully we were using larger, multi-office agencies so at least they could refer us to other offices.

The first signs of trouble arose when we were told that there were zero properties in the Docklands area that allow cats. Turns out that while 90% of landlords in Chicago allow cats, in London 90% don't. I will admit that this put both of us on our back feet and got us pretty nervous. We spent every weekend and night for a week sorting listing, having new neighborhoods suggested, and going to see unsuitable properties.

And such unsuitable properties they were! We saw one that was literally across the street from a 50,000 seat football (soccer) arena, yet didn't have a single pub or restaurant walking distance away. We saw one that was reasonably OK -- if dated -- until we discovered the bedroom which was under the front stairs, barely wide enough for the double bed in it, and painted bright red. We looked at a small place with a lot of character, or at least we think it had a lot of character, because all of the power seemed to be off when we saw it despite it having a current resident. We also saw a reasonably-sized loft which effectively had unfinished plywood boxes for kitchen cabinets. It was quite an adventure.

In part, we are accustomed to owning and to looking for places to own. When you are listing your own property, you do everything you can to make it appeal to buyers. You spruce it up, stage it, and keep it neat and tidy. When you are a renter and folks are coming to view a place, you just go right ahead and leave the thin film of filth that has accumulated on all flat surfaces. This definitely made it a bit harder for us to see ourselves in units, and we had to think hard to separate a dirty tenant from a bad landlord that did not maintain the property.

One thing that we did learn, is that folks in London are apparently obsessed with double glazing. Agents went out of their way to mention that places had it, which just seemed odd to Mary and I.

Around about this point, we expanded our search South from the city, to some neighborhoods that folks fleeing the prices and sizes of closer in favor. We had actually tried to visit this way before, but train issues on various weekends cut that short. Our third attempt to get down South was the day that we were to meet our agent for a 10:00 am appointment, but when we got to the office we discovered that she had just called in due to her car being towed. We had taken a 35 minute train ride down, so we were not that excited to waste the trip. We ended up wandering in the area a bit, and we actually found that it could work for us. It was further out than we had wanted to be, but it had some nice pubs and shops and seemed clean and safe. Finally, something with promise!

We rescheduled our appointment with the towed woman for the following Monday and Mary came down alone, as I had some meetings I could not move. There were a few places with some promise, though again there were some lemons. One place was nice, but not available until weeks after our short let was up. One looked nice in the listing, but then a landlord who had accepted pets in the past changed his mind. Mary saw a place that seemed big enough (with a horror-movie basement for storage) but with a very odd layout which required passing through bedrooms to get to the lounge and the kitchen to get to the bath.

Finally, we got an email from our agent in the South suggesting a new place that had just come on the market. It was newly renovated and large, with two bedrooms. She had worked with the landlord before and had positive things to say about him. We headed down after work that evening to meet her there. The area around the Tube stop was cute, and the walk from there to the apartment was longish but reasonable. The place seemed nice and clean, and the area it was in was nice. It had lots of space, and even had a yard I could work with. The yard was a mess from the renovation that had been done in the unit, but the landlord was planning on waiting until spring and then having it cleaned up and doing some planting all at once. It was clean, safe, and had the most space of everything we'd seen. We took it.

And by "we took it", I mean we started the process. Because this is London, and everything is a process. We made an offer and gave two weeks rent as good faith money. We then needed to get references in place. Our agent made this seem like it would be a big deal at first, and like it could be challenging for us due to being foreign and not having accounts set up here yet. It ended up being not that bad. A lot of what he needed ended up overlapping with what we had provided for the Visas, so I still had scans on my machine. The nice lady in my HR department was able to modify a letter she had written when I was trying to get the bank account, and we were set. We then waited for the landlord to accept the offer (I was later told these rarely fall through at this point) and once he did we were set. All I needed to do was get a UK bank account set up (you need to show that you have set up an automatic payment for the rent, and that can only come from a UK account) and pay the rest of the deposit (which was slightly higher due to the cats.) Simple as that! By which I mean, a huge, time consuming process.

But at least, as our neighbor pointed out when we met him, we have double glazing.

Not Dead

I just wanted to pop in and leave a quick update that we have found and mostly moved into an apartment. While this is almost all upside, there is a slight downside: We won't have internet for a few weeks. I am planning on writing up posts on the apartment hunt as well as the apartment itself over the next week or two, and hope to post them from work. Assuming I don't get sucked into Civ 5 inspired just-one-more-turn-itis. Also, I am going to turn off comments here if I can figure out how. I get far more from spam than actual humans, and everyone who reads this knows my email address anyway.

In The Market

This past Saturday morning we went to the Borough Market. This is an open air market located just south of London Bridge, which has food stalls featuring delights from around Europe. Our goal was to pick up various foodstuffs for dinner, and we made out like bandits. We started with prosciutto di Parma, which was actually di Parma! We also got a nice rustic loaf of bread, a beautifully creamy fresh mozzarella, a decent tomato (considering the season), some apricots, and some great olives from Turkey. We picked up wine on the way home and had dinner sorted.

This is the second time that we've gone, and both times it has been very crowded. It seems to have a mix of brits and foreigners, but I am not sure how often Londoners themselves go there. The fancier fare was priced high, though the produce stalls that fringe it are more reasonable. There are many smaller markets around the city as well, so as we are setting into our new neighborhood we'll have to seek some out.

In the afternoon, we made our way to Ikea for a very different experience. We were testing out and pricing beds, primarily. Since ours is over 15 years old, we thought we may take the move as a chance to get a new one. Sizes are all different here, of course, and I suspect that I will miss the three inches in length. We also took a look at some options for closets (our place has no built-in ones which is not uncommon here) and kitchen work stations/islands. Our kitchen is nice and open, but lacking a bit of counter space so this would give us a touch more storage and prep space.

While there, I also picked up a small knife set. Our good knives are on the boat and the ones at the temp place are so dull they cut by erosion. So dull, in fact, that a one pound fifty knife set is noticeably better. There were signs posted that you need to be 21 to buy knives at this store, presumably due to UK rules. Drink at 16, chop at 21. Whatever, UK.

Pipsqueak and Pipsqueak

This past Thursday we went out for dinner (as we do about half the time these days) for burgers. The burgers ended up being great, but the highlight was the beverage selection. I usually read the beer menu by the descriptions, so when Mary announced "Are you getting a dead pony?" I had to go back and check the names. She ultimately had to get a cider, because it was Pipsqueak brand (and that, if you didn't know, is the name of one of our cats.) Both beer and cider were very good.

The real pipsqueak, meanwhile, has little spells where he has some trouble adjusting. We think that his main issue is the lack of space. In our Chicago place, he was able to run around like a madman and could sprint from one end to the other and back. Because of the size and layout of the temp apartment, there really aren't long runways for him. Instead, he has taken to totally spazzing out on two square feet of space. Now in reality, he did this some in Chicago too, but in such tight quarters it's much more obvious. His newest behavior is hanging out in a pillow fortress of solitude. As part of our move to London, The Firm provided us with temporary housing. Finding a place that allowed our little darlings was a bit of a challenge. When they ultimately did, a rather large deposit was required. Having not rented for a while, having the place be furnished, and not knowing how anal UK landlords are we live in a state of constant pet-monitoring vigilance. Unless we are sitting on it, the sofa cushions are all up. Also, we cover all arms and attractively scratchable bits with throw pillows, sweatshirts, or less destructible blankets. It's not the most attractive setup, but such is the life of the pet owner. Recently, one of the cushions of the sofa shifted enough to allow pip to get behind. He then when through a spazmo stage where he jumped in and out of this space a dozen times in five minutes, and magically he had created a workable hiding space! He may be dumb, but he's dumb like a fox.

Strange Things Are Afoot At the Circle-K

One thing that we are working on adjusting to is the absence of large grocery stores in our area of London. The main chain in the city is Tesco, and they are everywhere, sort of. You see, there are tiers of Tesco.

Everywhere you go, you see a Tesco Express. These have a little bit more than what a 7-eleven might have in the US, though not by much. They have 1-2 brands of the basics, with a focus on convenience foods. They do have a surprisingly decent fresh bakery section, which I assume that is brought in throughout the day. They have a very small selection of produce. They have one brand of litter, non-clumping.

A step up from the express is the Tesco Metro. These are less common, and bigger. They have a larger produce area, which has what must be the basics for the area. We were surprised to find no cooking greens at all (no chard, no kale) at ours, but they did have some exotic-looking-to-me stuff (rapini, some Asian ingredients I did not recognize.) They also have more basic ingredients, though those are mixed in with a large number of convenience items still. More brand selection starts rearing its head here: There were two brands of litter, both non-clumping.

I am told that if you venture outside the city that you might encounter a vanilla Tesco, or even that mythical beast the Tesco Superstore. We have not been to either of these just yet, though we have gone to a Waitrose which seems to be larger than a metro but smaller than what I would expect from a full-sized store. The Waitrose is apparently both fancy and schmancy, based on people's reactions to my saying that we had shopped there. It did have much more of a selection than our local Tescos, and you could tell it was aiming for higher end. It has fancier convenience foods (frozen pizzas with all kinds of exotic ingredients, for example) and a decent brand selection. Waitrose, finally, had clumping litter (though only store brand.)

A curious side-effect of doing our shopping at this series of ever growing, but never large, stores is that we are having some troubles acclimating to the grocery culture. For example, we were at the Tesco Metro, looking for chicken stock. This is a pretty common ingredient in the US, and something that we use in many, many dishes (probably more than half.) We had looked at the express and had no luck. Then we went to the Metro and started searching through the aisles. We got well past where we would find it in the US, and still had no luck. I eventually went back and asked a worker, but it wasn't clear he knew what I was talking about. He pointed out some cans of chicken gravy, and I stumbled my way from there to bullion cubes, which were close enough. The real problem with being in these small stores though, is this central conundrum: Does this item not exist in the UK, or does this item not exist in this store? In a larger supermarket, I could more accurately make that judgement, but with this series of smaller stores it's much harder to know if I should hold on to hope or adjust my expectations from life.

Update! Since starting the draft of this post, we made it out to a Tesco Superstore. I have apparently become more acclimated to local custom than I realized, because when we walked in I actually gasped aloud, "So big! So much stuff!" This fella was larger than a normal US grocery, and had home and office goods as well. What was odd (and probably representative of the culture) is that while the store was much larger and had many more items, it didn't necessarily have more brand variety for each individual item. We did verify that they did not have cans of chicken stock, so that's just not a thing. Oddly they did not have clumping cat litter, so we apparently need to aim for a middle-sized store for that. Very odd.