CLUBS, RUBS + PUBS

ERIKA FROM AMERICA SHOWED ME HER LONDON

Rattling china and clinking silverware. That was the soundtrack of my Eurostar (ahem) Premier ride back à Paris on Monday night. Dinner was served exactly 30 minutes into the locomotive pulling out of the station – and one full hour in? Everyone’s dishes had become an orchestra of sporadic clinks and chimes. Très loud, and yet, très chic!

Backing up. Checking into my train at Gare du Nord, on the France side, very early Friday morning, the gate agents were extremely slow (expected) and extremely suspicious (unexpected) of my passport. Body on high alert that I may be breaking a law by leaving the country – and yet so grateful that they are FINALLY noticing that my visa is overextended. Maybe they’ll finally start to do something about it. 

Before stamping an empty page in my passport and motioning me through, I begged the gate agent to promise me that I would be able to reenter the country if I walked through those doors. I had explained all of my visa debacle and had my trusty official French documentation printed and ready for her eyes if she had asked for it. No need. She gave me her word and with a wink and smile – she said, “Welcome to England!” [Funny. Technically, I was still in France, but officially, by darkening the gate doors, I had crossed into England territory.] Happily, I strolled right by the guards and on to order (still en français) a tea and crumpet while waiting for the conductor's call to board. 

Fast forwarding. So, after four days of pure and utter J.O.Y. and the freedom in London to relax without having the constant ‘what is going to happen next in my French life’ thought on the front of my mind – I was now on the English side handing over my passport to reenter France and therefore, reenter the world of the unknown for ACB. My passport was damp by my sweaty palms as I braced myself for the 20 question drill I just knew was coming my way. Breath held, I watched as they took the LONGEST time with my passport. It was the kind of long wait that some cops take when writing you a speeding ticket. You know the kind of long wait – just to make you worry and wonder what on earth is happening and what on earth they’re investigating about you while they keep you in FULL suspense — only to learn that all they’re really doing is holding onto their power for a few more minutes before handing over your license and a ticket (in the case of a cop) or a stamped passport to let you into a new country (in the case you’re like me and waiting semi-illegally at border control). So, as they finally wave me through – after that long wait with ZERO questions asked, I found a seat in the station, opened my Harrods box with a piece of honey cake that I had bought an hour before – truly what my dreams are made of – and start flipping through my newly purchased World of Interiors magazine (the boat issue… STUNNING!)

Naturally, head buried in the pages, and 100,000 people swarming around me, I zoned out until I heard “If your name is Anne Caroline please report to the gate agent now.”  **** Hmmm what in the wild fill-in-the-blank?! Talk about sweaty palms. The magazine was practically slipping out of my grip walking to my sentencing. I just KNEW this was it. This was the time they were going to put their foot down. Hell, England doesn’t just have a government – they have a Crown that they have to abide by. Oh lord. What have I gotten myself into?! **** All of these thoughts ran through my head as I walked (I’m talkin, snail's pace) to the agent. I also was going through my mental rolodex of people who had offered me their guest room to stay if I needed it in London – Heidi, we’d have a ball and do tons of yoga and shopping!, Peter and Sarah, we’d progress in our Frenglish and explore other famous people’s homes (other than George Michale’s — whose we saw the night we got together) in Highgate, and Lansing, we could recreate our Ottolenghi meal together and laugh about American things – and then there would be Tess, or Ann, or Jeni, or all the other friends of mine there who I just knew would find this hilariously wonderful for me to get trapped there – in a country that I love and where they want me to stay!!

But. That’s not how it went. I am happy to report that all of those people were saved from my desperate phone call. Because I was being called up to, are you ready?, get an UPGRADE.

No joke. I learned that my assigned train seat had been soiled by a passenger (yuck) and therefore she was “wondering (very English to be passive in asking if I were ok, verses just telling me I was going to have to change seats) if I would be ok if she upgraded me to first-class?” **** Humm excuse me? You mean that I’m not here for proof of legitimacy of my French status? I’m not called up to beg for reentry into a country that can’t decide if it wants me or not? You mean I’m not having to pull out the big guns and sob my eyes out, making a scene, to get through? You mean to tell me that there is nothing wrong other than you wanting to give me a larger, more comfortable chair, a dinner on china plates, and my choice of a window seat facing in the direction we’re traveling? Hummmm, would I be ok with that??? Is this a real question? *** Those were my thoughts. My response went something more like: “I think first class would be just fine.” Then a smile of relief from her, a few clicks of her keyboard, and a printed ticket later… I was getting in line to board my luxurious journey back.

And speaking of lux! On our last night together, Erika and I reserved a movie in the cinema at White City House. And oh my gawd! I honestly might never be able to watch a movie in another type of cinema again. Individual velvet lounge chairs (yes, please!) with a pillow and ottoman (hum, yeah! Ok!), a small raised table in between each chair with tiny lamps so that ummmmmmm a waitress could deliver your dinner, cocktail, popcorn, candy, a blanket… you name it!!! I was in HEAVEN! And cherry on top? (on this trip, I discovered that the English only say "icing on the cake") We paid exactly $0 for the tickets. Erika from America knows everyone at White City – she and her husband used to live on the property for 4 years, so they frequented the cinema often. When she went to reserve our tickets they gave them to her as a welcome back! Tailwind! 

And cherry on the cake (how the French would say it)? It was THE best movie I had seen since, well, Conclave last week. Everyone. Stop what you’re doing and go NOW to see  A Complete Unknown. I can’t promise that you will love it with a capital LOVE because you may not be able to finagle your way into a luxurious cinema experience as moi. Mais… still go!!! It’s honestly the best film ever! Bob Dylan. No musician was better. (other than my spirit animal, Dolly Parton – who celebrated her birthday while I was in London. Random, fanatic fan, fact.)

---

ERIKA FROM AMERICA SHOWS ME HER LONDON

Friday, I arrived in London around 10am and wasted no time hopping on the Underground to White City House. Arriving only a few hours after Erika, who was thriving in her NYC jet-lag state!! We both gabbed for about an hour until our rooms were ready WAY earlier than expected, which was a tailwind, and then we made our way to one of her favorite pubs, The Cow – and my newest obsession. (This will be a must-visit every time I'm in London from now on. In fact, my friend Cara, who used to live in London too many moons ago, also recommended it – so it’s an establishment evidently.) The move? Go with a hungry babe (code for chérie in England) and order it all! We went for a pint of prawns, the full bowl of fish stew (MUST get), and the walnut and beet salad. We washed it down with what else? Two Guinnesses, of course. When at your first pub in London, it’s almost mandatory to order a loaf of bread to drink… oooop… I mean a heavy stout.

By 5pm, the locals started to trickle in and eat the same fare that we just had – which made us proud. The only difference was that these guys were much quicker at knocking back their pints – Empty mugs adorned their table, while dirty napkins adorned ours!

We decided to stroll back to the hotel to get in a bit of exercise. (If only we had known that that night was going to bring on a 3am kind of dance the night away club aerobics). We walked down Portobello Road and then found our way into her favorite health food store, then her favorite Mexican supermarket, and finally her favorite record store — where the owner couldn’t have looked more polished and put together, yet jamming to reggae. At one point, in fact, Erika was trying to explain where Montauk, where she lives now, is to the owner – and he just smiled and cranked the music louder and louder while she talked because there was a verse he didn’t want to miss. Hilarious! LOVED this moment! Getting a little preview of our night — Erika danced around blaming it on the jet lag. 

While Erika took a baby snooze in her room when we returned — I changed into my bathing suit and then bopped down to the gem where I immediately found myself with 20 others crammed into the sauna. After my people watching exceeded the forbidden 30 mins in the lux sweat box – I plunged into the pool and swam laps until a cookie was calling my name. That’s right! Another lux? Cookies. When you stay at White City House you get fresh cookies in your room EVERY DAY. 

Back up in my room, I emailed something like 25 lawyers with my visa question and then changed into my club attire (aka, my daily outfit. All black) and bounced off to Erika’s room where Georgina was already there keeping her company. This is wild, so get ready, but the first time I met Georgina we realized that we had two dear friends in common. She is from the UK, her husband is from Mexico, and they have never lived in SC. I am from South Carolina and have never lived in the UK or Mexico – so not a lot of commonalities. And yet she worked with Ben and Kate Towill — two of my friends in Charleston who own Basic Kitchen and who basically put my business, BibOn (rip) on the map. Their restaurant sold my donuts faster than hotcakes (there’s a pun in there somewhere). So, Georgina is always a joy to see. I feel even more connected to her because of our Ben and Kate connection. She wasn’t coming with us to the club — instead, as we were cabbing home at 3am, deaf in the ears from the sound and still vibrating from all the laughter and dancing, she and her husband were cabbing to the airport to catch a 6am flight to Copenhagen. We teased her that given the time we left, they could have joined us after all!! 

---

AT THE CLUB

Fabric here we come! We snaked around a twisty long line waiting our turn to be let in by security. And alas, we were at the front. With a strange turn of events, the guard had us all “follow him.” We left the line, crossed a street, turned a corner, and walked through a back alley of sorts when we saw that he evidently did know what he was doing – putting us in the VIP line. Ha! All the DJs were getting checked in back there and the cue was littered with ladies who, by the looks of their outfits, totally ignored that it was -0°out. We all got patted down and laughed so hard when Erika asked her security guard if she was getting a foot massage next? Between that, and the nasty wafting sewage smell that was creeping in the (didn’t we say this was the) VIP line – us late 30/early40 year old ladies had our tickle boxes turned to volume, HIGH. 

We laughed nonstop — probably all that second hand baby squid vape pen action. To provide context, the second we entered the club we were swarmed by babies. I’m talkin replicas of who we all were 15/20 years ago when we studied abroad for the first time and ran a muck with our friends at the clubs in Europe. They were precious and they were everywhere. Oh! And, the space looked like something out of the tv show, Squid Games. So, there you have it. We called them baby squids. 

At one point during the jam sesh of Audrey Danza (I want to be her!!) Erika and I spotted something that had us in a giggle fit. I evidently grabbed whoever was near me in the pure hysterics of it all. Enter baby Russell. He was PRECIOUS and immediately thought that the grab-laugh was an invitation from me for him to hang with us. I hadn’t even seen him standing there until we started laughing. And just like that I got hit on by a 21 year old – who thought I was HIS AGE!!!!!!! Hahaha that’s either an upgrade for me (which YES IT CERTAINLY WAS) or a sign that ‘you need to grow up and stop going to the club you old woman!’ (which isn’t NOT true). Whatever. Eitherway, I was flattered!

All night we’d look for the strobe light anytime one of us strayed from the group, or got too close to the stage while dancing and didn’t see anyone we knew. To find our way back to the ladies – we just looked for Olivia’s neon strobe-light hair clip. That’s right! Olivia was our SHEro. She told us that she bought it at her “regular clip shop” in Istanbul. That statement nearly sent me into another giggle fit. I had never heard something so hilarious in my life. “What? You have a regular CLIP shop?” I asked her. She’s like “Yes!” She said it’s actually pretty normal in Turkey to have a shop dedicated to just one thing. Clips, socks, hats, etc. I was dead. She was the highlight (pun intended) of our night! And has a mile long order-list for us who need one of those glow clips.

After we all piled into a cab and headed to the hotel (where the others got cabs from there), Erika and I said goodbye and retired to our rooms. We texted each other pictures of what minibar treats we were going to eat before drifting off to Lala land. And lucky us, both of our cookie tins had been filled up when we left. Best night!

We woke up LATE the next morning (but ironically had only slept like 5 hours) and went down to the gem to RUB out our muscles with our favorite rolling machine. One opened up so I got on and started talking to my fellow roller, Charlie, beside me. [Sidebar: It feels amazing to be able to TALK freely. In France (not a complaint, just a datapoint), I practice what I will say in French before I speak – so spontaneity is SLIM TO NONE for me in that country. But put me in a country that speaks English as their native tongue too? You can’t shut me up!] Turns out, Charlie had lived in Boston! The world continues to shrink each time I go on a trip. J’adore ça!

Later, after a cozy hotel Japanese lunch, Erika and I made our way to the Tate Modern for the Zanele Muholi exhibit. Something we decided to see after we realized there was no way to finagil our way into the Electric Dreams exhibit – what we really went for. It was a great show!

She then scooted off to see her friends for a home cooked meal/night in with them and I was off to meet Lansing for beers and dinner.

Lansing and I were meeting for the first time! He, dear friends with Carolina, Elisa, and Pilar (my three savors who took my luggage back with them last week to Charleston), lives in London – and when they learned that I was going over for another trip. They insisted that we meet. Two peas in a pod! It was so lovely to be with an American, to talk about all the things happening in our country and what we think about it – and talk about all the nuances about living abroad and away from true family and our best friends, by choice. We had a ball! Meeting for pints at Earl of Essex and then walking over to the original Ottolenghi in Islington for dinner. (I nearly squealed when I saw we were eating there. I LOVE Ottolenghi. I have nearly all of his cookbooks. In fact, I sent those back with Elisa – and told her to flip the pages while she has them – and not to mind the food stains and stickiness on all the recipes.)

That night, braving the tube all by myself, I arrived back to the hotel just in time to pop into Erika’s room for a gab and a melatonin sleep patch. You read that right! These exist. And, they work! 

Next morning was my date with my sweet babe, Tess! She and I met three years ago when I was en route to the Saatchi Gallery for the Vision & Virtuosity by Tiffany & Co. exhibition. It was the LAST day of the show and I had learned about it only two hours before. My former boss from Coach, Reed Krakoff, was the Creative Director at Tiffany’s at the time, and I wanted to go to see the exhibition to show my support. Plus, who am I kidding? I was dying to see the jewels and the lamps up close and personal! As I was walking halfway across the city to the museum, I turned a corner and bumped into this adorable British gal walking her dog. I asked her if I was heading in the right direction, and she said, “Why don’t you follow me? I live on the way.” We ended up chatting and realizing that we had so much in common. We exchanged numbers and have been dear friends ever since! I see her nearly every time I’m in London Town.

This time, we actually made plans in advance. And I still went to the wrong restaurant! I was so bummed. She’d chosen the chicest spot for coffee, and despite being early (as usual), I somehow wrote down the wrong address. She hopped on the tube to meet me where I was. And instead of chic, we ended up having our date at the total opposite spectrum – a funky pub by the Marble Arch stop. A glass of white for her, and a wake-me-up cappuccino for me. Every time we get together, it’s magic. She’s dating someone new now, so there was definitely love in the air – she was practically glowing. Precious to see!

I soaked in every minute with Tess before I dashed away for my second date of the day to meet Jeni, Erika, Mikey, Kate (sporting her NEW baby on board button on her coat. Eeep!), and Ann. When I arrived, we all crammed into a cozy booth and all ordered the Sunday Roast. We laughed for hours until we were booted outside in the freezing cold to enjoy our dessert of sticky toffee pudding and pears brined in mulled wine. 

Peter, my old French School classmate from Paris, met me with his wife, Sarah, for beers at the same pub after I finished my roast. They both came with rosy cheeks from their frozen bike ride over. We had a ball! So much so, that at one point, Pete looked at his watch and sounded the alarm that my time was about to be up! He wasn’t wrong. I had a movie date to get to next. So, I forwent (for the second time that day) the subway, so that I could get 20 extra minutes with them until my Uber came. I am in love with this couple! I want to be them when I grow up. (They’re my age, actually, and they are) Precious! 

And here we are. Back at square one. Where we began. With the most lux experience EVER. Erika and I went down to the movie where we met a fellow viewer in line trying to decide what he would order now that his favorite hotdog was sold out! Killed us! Hotdog? In a movie? He settled for the nachos. Ha! He was a comedy director and had worked on Ted Lasso. (I immediately thought of my mama and sister. They would have died! And probably made him a hotdog just to learn about that experience on set). 

And on my final day, I took the tube into central London, dropped my bags at the Dean Street Townhouse (closer to the train station for later), and then roamed about Marylebone (my FAVORITE), meandered through the cutest  grocery store Bayley & Sage, bought two books from Daunt Books (my happy place!!), got a white hot chocolate (what?!!! Mind blown. It was delicious) from Chiltern Deli, walked over to Hyde park, through Mayfair, popped into Harrods for cake to-go and a diamond try-on at Boodles, down to Chelsea, wrapped around Buckingham Palace to wave at the King, then over to Fortnum & Mason, to finally have arrived back at Dean Street to pick up my bags and head to the train station. Turning the corner from Saint Pancras Renaissance Hotel I ran INTO Ann on the street. Literally! World is getting small. UPGRADE.

SIDE BAR: The other day, Tess was wearing the most elegant, timeless tennis bracelets. Turns out, they were all from Boodles – A brand I heard of years ago from Marissa (my other Fashionista friend) who sent me a picture of the Boodles sign because it’s what I call all the babies in my life – Naturally, I had to check them out for myself (as in, see how they’d look on moi). 

Lucky me, the shop staff could tell I had champagne taste, but little did they know, my budget was more beer than bubbly — so I was just window shopping with my eyes. Anyway, I immediately exposed my bare wrist to Simon — Yes, that was the shop seller’s actual name. Can you even handle? — and he wrapped my arm in diamonds. Sigh GORGEOUS. But the piece that really caught my eye? The millennium ring. He said it was his best-seller, and I could see why. The diamonds looked like they came straight from a meteor shower. I tried the classic version first, then said, “Oh, Simon, I have to try that one too.” He laughed as he slid the larger diamond ring onto my finger. It fit like a glove and sang a sweet pricey tune of $75,000.

I left all the jewels behind (OBVIOUSLY). And as I left, Simon yelled out “Next time, Anne Caroline, come treat yourself!” I thought, oh, Simon. You have no idea. I treat myself to things like this $7.50 slice of cake, NOT a $75k ring. 

---

I left London again with a very full heart. I love these weekends with my babe, Erika — she kills me with her humor, her seniority, her kindness, and her community. She seems to attract the very best people to be in her posse. And since I’m one of them – I feel honored to have made the cut years ago. 

Until next week...  Consider asking someone (in a British accent no-less): "You alright?" – This statement is a charming example of how different cultures shape our greetings. In France, you’d say "Ça va?" In the US, you’d say "How are you?" And in England, you’d definitely say, "You alright?" –  The questions are all the SAME, yet asked in completely different ways. I LOVE it!

Xxo ac