Day 12: There are No Trash Cans in London. That's rubbish!

Litter

My favorite lunch spot

My new favorite lunch is an enticing, warmly toasted, brie and tuna baguette from a little hole-in-the wall spot called ‘Pain du Jour” two blocks down from campus on Goodge Street. The queue is almost always out the door at lunchtime, but it moves fast, and for about £2 you can get the freshest, warmest, tastiest, sandwich you’ve had this side of the Atlantic.

A few days ago, on my lunch break between classes, I made my way down to Goodge Street, bought my now standard fare of warm baguette and Oasis juice box, and did a little window shopping on Tottenham Court Road before I headed back to class. 
As I casually munched my sandwich and sipped my orange drink, perusing the storefront displays of Waterstones, Natuzzi, Kingsley Photographic and Cards Galore, I realized I had about 5 minutes left before I needed to get back to class (staring at camera storefront displays can really make the time go by)!

Rubbish

As I unattractively inhaled the remainder of my baguette and juice box, I quickened my pace, and headed straight for Keppel Street. 

Waste

Wiping crumbs off my face, I looked around for a trash can to toss my juice and wrapper in. There were none in front of me, but there would be one round the next corner I was sure. I turned the corner steadied for the throw-away and still no trash can. Hmm, perhaps there would be one on the next block. I walked on with crumpled paper in hand anticipating a nearing toss and nope, still no trash can. I walked the entire length to class and still found NO trash can! What?! Ok, I thought, I’ll just toss it when I get to the lecture hall. But wouldn’t you know it, that’s right, no trash cans outside the building, inside the hallway, inside the class room or anywhere else (that was obviously noticeable) around the lecture hall! Defeatedly, I zipped my trash in my back pack and went to class. 

Everything else.

On my walk back to the tube that day, I took special care to notice and count all the trash cans I came across (yeah, I know, nerd) and I counted none. That’s right. There are No Trash Cans in London. I have seen “rubbish bins,” “litter boxes,”  “waste baskets” and “recycling containers,” but never have I seen a “trash can.” It appears as though the City has gone to great lengths to neatly label, and appropriately place the proper receptacle for the proper item of disposal to be placed in. 

"Wheelie bin"

This is England after all, even the “trash” here must be cared for with the utmost of decorum and propriety. 
The finesse of sorting and labeling unwanted goods must be adhered to, otherwise all of this planning would simply go to waste. 









(And now I know why: http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/02/03/uk-britain-bins-idUSLNE81203320120203)

 Speaking of waist….

Which one? Yes please.

Yes please.

Mine seems to be attracting the sweetest of temptations lately. Rows of London streets are sprinkled with the sweetest of discoveries tucked away in the most unsuspecting of corners. A serendipitous run-in to a quaint bakery or charming patisserie is one of my happiest finds. Unlike the over-commercialized bake shops of Sprinkles, or Krispy Crème, or the pre-packaged bakery sections of Ralphs, that sell a lot of a single variety, the classic European bakery still maintains it notable charm by serving an assortment of dainty, delicate, tasty, little things. And yes, I am aiming to try them all.

Quiche me.

Pain au chocolat, fruit tarts, cream pies, baguettes, quiche, turnovers, petit fours …all offered up in a single shop window! I wonder if Londoners know how good they have it when it comes to baked goods. Maybe it’s being warm inside a happenstanced patisserie on a cold, drizzly day that makes the hot chocolate taste better, the whipped cream melt smoother or the pain au chocolat seem flakier. Or maybe it’s the friendly waitress at the counter who always seems to have a French, Italian or Russian accent that makes the experience seem all the more authentic. Or maybe its the immediate flood of espresso effluvium melanged with caramelizing sugar that hits your nostrils the moment you enter the door, making you want to breathe in that delicious bakery moment forever, that make the magic. I don't know. But whatever it is that makes the European bakery so unreproducible, I'd like to bring it home with me.  With that said, “one entire patisserie to take away please, with extra whip cream on top.” One sweet dream.