She Loves London

Tag: Other places vs London

10 Ways I’m Definitely Not Comparing London to Japan, Absolutely Not*

Have you been to Japan?

You can usually tell if someone’s been to Japan because they’ll tell you about how good it is without you even having to ask.

Even if the conversation is about something entirely un-Japan related, even if you’re talking about painting your house or how much you like rabbits they’ll pipe in with something about Japanese houses being wooden and Japanese rabbit cafes being the next big thing.

There’s even a Wikipedia entry for people who get a bit obsessed with the place. And much like other things that don’t make sense at first – dachshunds, short hair, spending £750+ p/m on rent, that bit at the end of yoga where you lie on the mat breathing – you’ll only really understand once you’ve been there yourself and seen the light.

For me, that light shone down within five minutes of my arrival at Tokyo Haneda International airport, which is also the time it took for me to find and use a toilet. Because Japanese toilets aren’t just toilets – as you’ll gather from the amount of times they come up in this blog post – they’re machines; machines that understand and cater to your innermost wants and needs.

Over the 11 days I was in Japan, I realised that toilets are just one of the things that Tokyo does very well.

In fact most Japanese cities I went to had their shit together – no pun intended – in a way that London categorically does not.

So here are the ways in which London could, quite frankly, try a lot harder.

1. Tube platforms could let you know where the doors will open

I know we’re all quite proud of knowing exactly where to stand in order to be first on the tube, and I realise that if this came into effect, us Londoners would have to find some other way to prove our superiority over tourists and other people who haven’t lived here long enough to know this important, life affirming stuff.

But wouldn’t it be better if there were, you know… just… markings on the floor letting you know where the doors will open and where to stand if there’s more than one of you waiting?

I know, it’s a crazy idea. But on the other hand… it just…sort of… works.

2. We could have loads more public toilets

Fact of life: you can never find a toilet in London.

Japan, on the other hand, understands that if a city has several million people wandering around it, then at some point those several million people will need the toilet.

And perhaps they won’t be near a McDonalds, or have 30p handy in exact change, or want to risk angering the owner of a Soho pub by nipping in without buying a pint, or want to beg the bloke in Costa for the key to their one, solitary loo.

So imagine a world where toilets are everywhere. A few in each big train station. One in every convenience store. Several dotted all around the park. A couple in every tube station.

What would my day be like? you’re no doubt wondering.

I’ll tell you. Your day would be much better, and it would also take a long time to get anywhere because you’d end up drinking so much water – because you can – that you’d feel compelled to stop at each one you passed primarily because you need the loo but also for the novelty alone, because you can.

3. Annnnnd perhaps those new toilets could have heated seats

Do I really have to explain this one? I don’t think I have to explain this one.

Basically buttons. We need more buttons.

4. We could have designated smoking areas on the street

Disclaimer: I don’t smoke.

Fact: Walking down the street trying to dodge the smoke being exhaled from the mouth of the person walking in front of me

+ having pavements that aren’t littered with dropped cigarette butts

= 10/10 something I would write policies on if I was mayor.

4. Oyster cards could also work in vending machines AND shops AND in other cities

I know we’ve got Oyster cards, and we’ve also got contactless, which, while we’re on the subject, don’t you think it’s weird that we’ve gone from having to verify everything with signatures, to typing in a secure PIN code, to suddenly actually you know what sod all that, who cares, just tap the card on the machine and there’s your drinks?

Anyway! How about a combination of the two, where we have smart cards that you top up and allow you to pay for stuff at shops, tube stations, vending machines, buses, lockers, loads of stuff, and let you also do that stuff in, say, Manchester and Brighton as well?

Vending machines everywhere. Deer optional.

5. Oh and more vending machines

And when I say “more”, I mean every few steps I would like there to be a vending machine selling water and ice cream and umbrellas and beer and green tea and everything else you might need in your bag for the day ahead, but neglected to pack when you left the house that morning because you still haven’t mastered getting stuff ready the night before even though you’re 31 and probably should be more organised by now

A very non-faffy restaurant, note machine on left for ordering outside

6. Our restaurants could be a lot less “faffy”

In London, “grabbing something quick for dinner” still means going through the formalities: waiting to be seated, getting the menu, then you’re left with the menu, then you order drinks…

…then the waiter goes away again, and then you order food. Then the food arrives and you eat it, you spend 5 minutes trying to get some ketchup for your chips, then there’s a gap where they clear away the plates, then you’re offered dessert, then you wait to flag them down or do The Eyes or the Finger on Palm Wiggle, you wait for the bill, you pay, you panic about whether to leave a tip or not, you leave, and you panic because that took ages and now you’re late for the theatre.

In Tokyo, most of the time it goes like this:

Find place you want to eat. Approach machine outside. Select the ramen you want. Add extra egg because it’s the best bit. Pay. Get ticket. Sit down. Hand ticket to chef. Pour glass of ice tea or water, which, miraculously is already on the table. Food comes. Eat. And now, ladies and gentlemen, up you get. On with your day. We are done. On you go.

Alternatively, all hail getting up when you’re finished and paying at the desk by the door. Can we do more of this, please? It’s quicker and I’m hungry. Thanks.

7. We could maybe try having some women only train carriages just to see how it goes

No it doesn’t address The Root Of The Problem and lol sure #notallmen.

And absolutely yes, let’s address the bigger question of why a city transport system might need carriages specifically to make women feel comfortable and safe in the first place, let’s address all that, please.

And in the meantime, I’ll put forward that travelling around in a carriage surrounded only by women and girls was just a very nice, relaxing, comforting way to go about my day, and leave it at that.

8. More lockers?

Put aside the security risk.

Also put aside the occasions in Tokyo where there were so many lockers that we had to ask for directions to find our lockers.

And that one time there were so many lockers that I took a photo of mine, wrote down a description of where it was in the station, and dropped a pin into a Whatsapp group so I could find it later.

Maybe we don’t need to go Full Tokyo on this one, but yeah, a few here and there would be good.

9. Umbrella cover dispensers for shops

This, my friends, is an umbrella dispenser. It puts a cover on your umbrella when you walk into a shop to stop water dripping everywhere, and it’s a very good idea that could possibly make you want to go into shops just to use one for novelty value alone, but that is entirely unconfirmed.

10. Can we have cartoon characters on our roadwork barriers

There’s literally no practical reason we should do this in London. But I saw these in Osaka and I just think making our city look more like a LEGO playset would be a good use of taxpayers’ money.

I’m also aware that after about 4 months of not writing anything on this blog about how much I love London, I’ve now returned with a blog post which is basically about how much Tokyo is smashing it in comparison.

I know how it looks.

And London, I’m sorry.

But on the plus side, I’m back. Stop complaining.

And did I mention Japan’s really good?

8th August 2016
You Can’t Really Compare Iceland to London, But I’m Going to Do It Anyway.

In October I went to Reykjavik.

It wasn’t meant to happen.

I was travelling on my own, and planned to go straight to see my mate in Boston, then over to New York. But then I found out I could get a free stopover if I went via Iceland on the way, so I thought, why not?

Then I didn’t give it much more thought until the flight, where the general theme seemed to be don’t you dare turn up in our country without knowing some basic phrases.

I’m not big on reading about places before I get there.

This is mostly because I’m lazy, but also because I enjoy the element of surprise when you turn up and don’t know where your hotel is. Or in the case of Iceland, where anything is.

Anything at all.

Seriously, Iceland.

Where is everything?

Iceland: big in the lava game

As such, I didn’t really know what to expect.

But I had a sneaking suspicion my trip might involve three things:

1) slipping on ice because I failed to bring shoes with any grip

2) volcano-related travel disruption

3) sustained periods of hunger, because sitting in a hotel room rationing out mini bar peanuts would arguably be less of an ordeal than walking into a restaurant and mustering the words “table for one”.

Happily, none of these things happened.

Instead, I found myself in a country with 80,000 horses, 328,000 people, a lot less ice than the name would suggest, hot water coming straight out of the ground – literally, see above – and an anti-incest app so locals can check if the person they’re flirting with is actually their sister.

Oh, and I also found “meat soup” on the menu, which, despite its ambiguous name, is deliciously comforting when eaten in any situation, but particularly when hungry, tired and on your own.

Basically, Iceland was brilliant.

In some ways, it was even better than London. And this is why.

Meat soup for one, bitches

The locals are unfathomably friendly.

The more I travel, the more I realise that the best way to spot Londoners abroad is to look for the people walking round slack jawed and wide eyed with amazement, frantically mouthing “but everyone here is just so nice!” to each other.

You never hear tourists saying that in London, which has led me to conclude that Londoners are probably friendly to other Londoners, and the rest, well… they all sort of just walk too slowly and get in the way.

In Iceland, no one’s annoyed at you when you get in the way. They are polite. And welcoming. And patient.

For example, not one person pushed this man into a puddle for using his iPad as a camera. Not one.

Even lost property is carefully looked after.

In London, lost gloves get kicked about, shoved on a wall and then eaten by a team of fiercely howling pit bulls in Dagenham.

In Reykjavik, lost gloves get collected together, put next to the other lost gloves and signed up for a speed dating initiative.

It’s beautiful.

In Iceland, (g)love never dies.

Then there are all the horses.

Oh, the horses.

Like I said, there are 80,000 of the little scamps milling about the place, and all of them seem extraordinarily happy with their lot.

Icelandic horses don’t muck about; there’s none of this plodding, lazy, oh-do-we-have-to mentality you get in the riding schools at home. If anything, this lot are massive overachievers.

Not content with walk, trot, canter and gallop, Icelandic horses came up with a couple more gaits to keep themselves occupied, like “tölt” and “pace”. This makes them the most comfortable things to sit on this side of IKEA.

And in Iceland, you guessed it, the horses just want to share a bit of love, too.

If you’re not into horses, there’s always the swimming pools.

With all the hot water steaming about underground, Iceland’s pretty big on outdoor swimming.

From what I gathered it’s less about actual swimming and more lying around in hot water having a chat, which pretty much sounds like something my dad – who also enjoys “swimming”, where “swimming” means “doing laps of the jacuzzi.” – could probably get on board with.

Anyway, one of Iceland’s most celebrated geothermal pools is the Blue Lagoon, which has a constant temperature of around 37-39 degrees all year round.

It’s also full of minerals which you can slather on your face and wallow about in for hours while the sky goes “watch me now!” and does nice colours.

Of course, we’ve got outdoor pools in London too.

Except here we call them “lidos” or “ponds”, and generally, they come with medical warnings against disease and hypothermia.

Observe the ~~public health warning~~ helpful information on the website of London’s most celebrated ~~pools~~ ponds, Hampstead Heath.

Finally, I think you can tell a lot about a country from the signs in its airport.

For example, Sydney Airport is covered in signs reminding people not to crack hilarious jokes about the bombs they don’t have in their luggage.

Boston Airport – and in fact any airport in America – has signs warning you not to do anything except look like a white, Caucasian male in possession of a US passport, and in London most of the signs just tell you where you can and can’t queue.

Over in Keflavík, Iceland’s International Airport, their main concern is that people just won’t want to go home.

And after two days in this excellent country, I don’t entirely blame them.

Sorry, London. I’m home now. I’ll blog about you next time.

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28th October 2014
Nothing Compares to London (except maybe a nice beach)

As much as we all love this city, I don’t know one Londoner who doesn’t also love leaving it.

Temporarily, of course.

No one’s saying you’ve got to pack your bags and actually go and live in Singapore or Switzerland or Boston or whatever (don’t be mental), but because living in London is like being in a bubble – a really expensive bubble where no one can afford houses and cocktails are £8.50 – every so often it pays to get out of the city and see what the rest of the world has to say about life.

And usually, it’s “£8.50? Sod that”.

While some people might choose to escape London for the English countryside – Epping Forest or Kew Gardens or something – I decided that a week in the French Alps, followed by ten days on a beautiful island in the Philippines would be a much better idea.

And you know what? It took upwards of 20 hours by plane, perilous road and boat to get there, but in the grand scheme of good ideas, this was probably the best one I’ve had in ages.

During this time of relaxation, reflection and slathering on Factor 30, I had plenty of time to ponder all the ridiculous reasons we have for living in a drizzly, expensive city like London when there’s a viable sunny alternative a mere 20 hours across the world – see above – where cocktails are 60p and the sea water makes London Fields Lido look like a muddy puddle.

I did also consider the practicalities of changing my blog URL and title to “She Loves London But If She Could Swap It For This Beach Then She Probably Would” dot com, but concluded, over a mango Mojito and a plate of fresh tuna, that it just didn’t have the same ring to it.

And so reluctantly, after ten days in paradise, I came back.

The niggling question of “why do I live here? Why do I write this blog about loving London when I could be writing one about how much I love a beach? WHY? WHY?” followed me all the way to Heathrow, through the pit of despair that is baggage reclaim, and lasted right up until I walked into arrivals and threw my suitcase into the capable arms of Mohammed.

And trust me, if there’s one person you want to see after a 13 hour flight, it’s Mohammed.

Without him, I’d still be in Heathrow, hammering on the doors of a grounded Singapore Air A380 wailing “take me back, please, I’ll do anything, just take me back”.

For Mohammed was a chauffeur, and chauffeurs hold signs with your name on and make everything better.

They also help you remember why you live in London and write about it, because when you do, you get limousine companies like Blacklane asking if you’d like a free ride sometime and kids, in my moment of need, that time was now and that chauffeur was Mohammed.

And he had water bottles in the armrest and everything.

We drove through London at 7am, zooming through Hyde Park, Kensington and Knightsbridge, past Kings Cross and over to Dalston, and in between putting the world to rights I wondered how many blog posts I’d have to write, or which member of Made in Chelsea I’d have to kiss, in order to get driven everywhere, forever more.

Then I was home, and Mohammed was gone, and the post holiday despair returned.

But it didn’t last long.

Because there are many lovely beaches in the world, but where can you walk down a busy street and see a man casually walking his ferret along the pavement on your lunchbreak?

London, that’s where.

So with all that beaching and holidaying out of my system, normal London service will now resume.

The blog is also now on Instagram, where you can see ferrets, dogs, disappearing buildings and dubious tinned meat from Dalston’s Turkish shops on a daily basis. Follow: @SheLovesLondonBlog

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30th March 2014