Manchester is two hours north of London, and the new home of an annual conference for HR professionals in the UK.

I was happy for a chance to get a look at the English countryside. I am a huge fan of English literature, and sure enough, I could easily imagine Tess of the D’Urbervilles walking through the landscape.

Best of all: the rolling green hills dotted with white sheep. Of course, this was in stark contrast to Safran Foer’s book about factory farming in America, where animals spend their whole lives in crates in buildings, only seeing the outdoors when being transported to slaughter.

Manchester is (or was) an industrial city of pretty significant size, it seems. The conference was held in a former train station — a beautiful old building. It was raining and gray, which is — according to the people we talked to — the way the weather in Manchester always is.

The conference was interesting — we met a good number of people, including a colorful contingent from the continent — a Dane, a Swiss and a German, all led by an energetic Dutch fellow.

I chatted with a vendor who told me that he had some issues getting into the US because his passport showed he’d just been in Israel. I didn’t know what to tell him — I don’t understand where a visit to Israel would pose a problem. But it did remind me of Kevin, and how HE would probably raise some suspicion in customs… Kevin’s a devoted traveller, but those visits to North Korea and Iran (where else did you say, Kevin?) are no-nos in the US.

***

Just had lunch with an elder statesman of Reward in the UK. Delightful! He just had vegetables for lunch since his wife would be preparing a lovely fillet of Dover sole for supper. Can you tell how I’ve been rendered giddy by his British-ness?

I almost keeled over with glee when he mentioned that he has a subscription to The New Yorker, which he reads when he takes the train into London.

We discussed national healthcare and segued into politics. Yes, London is a liberal American’s HEAVEN! We’ve read the same books and laugh at the same politicians (*cough* Palin *cough* Blair), and shake our heads in wonder that issues like abortion and gay marriage are trotted out for political debate. Sigh. I love it here.

And a note to Mom: You’d be so happy — the Brits love Obama.

Pictures of the hotel where we had lunch:

Orderly and safe. Nice. At 6 AM I set my yoga mat down, settled on a bench, pulled out the iPhone, and read for the 13 minutes that had to elapse before the next train arrived.

After practice, a breakfast of latte (as I ordered, I realized that my pronounciation — lah-tay — was corrected to “one lat-tee” as the counter guy called out my order to the barista). Along with the latte, Greek yogurt with rhubarb purée and almond granola. Heavenly!

Breakfast finished, I spent some time thinking about the oblique anonymity of urban spaces. Cities are great. You can go around with your own thoughts in your head, and all around are other people. It’s social and private at the same time. Streets, subways, stores, restaurants — tons of people, but everyone going about their own business.

Lunch was a business meeting and lasted 4 hours. Very interesting. At one point our British hostess asked us about why global warming doesn’t seem to be on America’s mind. Then she asked, prefacing her question by saying she didn’t want to insult us, what the deal is with creationism. Sigh. We need to rehab our image…

More discussion of the triple bottom line: economic return, ecological sustainability, and social responsibility. Goodness, it’s really on everyone’s mind!

Dinner meeting took place in a pub. Uh, not good. The place was packed with guys having a pint before heading home. One fellow offered to buy us a round.

“What’re you celebrating?” my colleague asked him.

“Getting through the day,” the man answered cheerily.

I had about an eighth of a pint and was done. The conversation was interesting but the standing in a crowd in a hot space for 90 minutes wasn’t so much fun. And beer isn’t a good dinner for me. As soon as the meeting ended, I ran back to the hotel and called room service. I need to kick back and get some rest. Tomorrow we take a train to a conference in Manchester.

Pics of an art installation in front of… oh, I can’t remember what this building is. One of our London commenters will remind us, I trust. Anyhow, there are ten of these huge stumps on display — remnants of deforestation in Ghana. Tons of people out looking at them, photographing and filming and milling about. Sustainability and social responsibility. Are we sensing a theme here?

Read a book about globalization by one of the people I was due to meet with in the morning. Surely that’d put me to sleep? But no, he’s a very good writer.

Played some solitaire, read some more. Decided I might as well start yoga practice once 4 AM rolled around.

When it was finally time to go to my meeting, I took the Tube to Embankment station, near Trafalgar Square. But first, some drama as the station I was starting from had flooding and was out of commission on one side. Oh, no! With my terrible sense of direction, I only know one way to get to the places I want to go. Impromptu redirection is NOT okay. Happily, a transit worker actually helped me — and he was even pleasant about it. This really is a wonderful city. So I got to Embankment station. A bustling place — street vendors, crowds of people.

A colleague and I spent a couple of hours over coffee, chatting with a local professor about current research, conferences, the state of the profession, stuff like that. Here’s what I learned: the Brits are *serious* about the triple bottom line. It’s a concept that, if it even gets mentioned in the US, is usually nothing more than a bunch of lip service in the service of unbridled capitalism, but today I heard earnest concern about social responsibility.

Second meeting was a three hour lunch. The menu in this upscale restaurant included pig belly, which freaked me out, and again the conversation turned to humans doing the right thing, for self and others — and how being socially responsible benefits individuals and organizations alike. I was thrilled. I wonder how this concept’ll fare in the US?

Dinner with Vanessa at a charming restaurant featuring such yumminess as sweet potato falafel. Whee! No pig belly.

It’s such a treat meeting yoga friends around the world. We all know Vanessa’s a teeny, lively, exotic yogini, and we know she’s from Spain. Still, I didn’t put it all together in my head, so was surprised by her beautiful Spanish accent. We had a delightful meal. And I saw her eat chocolate.

Alrighty, I have to go to SLEEP! Wish me luck. Tomorrow, I share the tale of Kevin’s passport and why he can never enter the United States of America.

Surreptitious photo of St Paul’s & other stuff:

Suddenly Prince Charles’ campaign against modern architecture, which I’d always assumed was just stodgy ignorance or maybe political disingenuousness, becomes a good (actually, a desperately necessary) idea. Altering the facade of this city would be a tragedy, and I can’t imagine developers will have any consciousness of what they’re destroying.

What I will always think of when I think of London is Susan forging ahead, leading us along, the fairy-like diaphanous hem of her gray blouse and low wedge-heeled boots weaving happily among pedestrians and wares and cars. Angeline and Kevin kept an eye on me as I followed along, conscious of the signs painted at my feet at each curb: “Look right.” It didn’t really help, the instructions — I am programmed since childhood to look left for oncoming cars. Forget about the traffic circles and intersections where the signs were reeling off directions “look right,” “look left,” “look left,” “look right,” faster than I could compute. If I’d been wandering by myself, jet-lagged and mesmerized by the city, I imagine I’d have managed to get hit.

Cars are, duh, mostly European. I’m not car-curious, but D loves ‘em, so I made note. Lots of Volkswagens and BMWs and Mercedes. Also cars with a brand mark that’s a griffin or a lion, and what I think were Peugeots, with a brand mark that’s a chevron. And in the midst of it, surprising and homely (perhaps because of its nondescript branding at home, as compared to the exotic luxury branding of Mercedes and Beemers), a few Fords.

Okay, it’s 2 AM, I’ve been up for an hour after sleeping for four. Back to bed now that I’ve downloaded a few of the day’s impressions…

I packed up my mat and took the Tube to Yoga Place on the east side of London. Yoga studios often feel like little hidden oases in the midst of cities, and Yoga Place is no different.

It was great meeting practitioners I know from the online Ashtanga community — Kevin, Susan, and Angeline. It’s so funny to kind of know someone, but to have never met in person. We practiced, then went out for a three-hour brunch and a nice walk through part of the city.

Now I’m back in my room, feeling dazed from jet lag, pretty much good for nothing, but feeling like I ought to try to resist a nap & just go to bed really early tonight.

Here are some of my blurry travel photos. The first is of the sitting area outside the practice room, and the other is of a window in the wall that let’s you see through to the practice space.

The weather was rough coming in. VERY windy landing. I get nervous when people on the plane go dead silent and then start gasping with each lurch of the plane. All I could think was “Great Britain is too northern, and too much of an island to be a good place for landing airplanes! It’s surrounded by rough seas and WEATHER!”

But then I realized the other option was to turn around and go back (for 10 hours), and that wasn’t a good solution.

And indeed, we managed to land and I then had a nice trip on the train and then the Tube. Just as a political aside, it was interesting to see, on the train, a news program that was showing video footage of British soldiers abusing Iraqi prisoners. I find it very interesting that we do not see things like that in the US. There’d be an uproar if that kind of footage was shown so freely and publicly. A few still images are enough to rile people up, never mind frequently-played video footage. Seeing this video was reminiscent of the subways in Singapore, where the issue of terrorism and transit bombings was graphically portrayed on the public subway system.

Perhaps I’m feeling particularly political because I’ve been reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s book “Eating Animals.”

Okay, enough of that. I just ate the best grilled veggie sandwich I’ve EVER had, with a nice glass of Chardonnay. Yup, some medicinal spirits. I’m ready to get some proper sleep. Tomorrow morning is practice and then brunch with a bunch of London yogis.

I did a little reconnaissance once I unpacked. Took a stroll to see where the Tube station I’ll be using first thing tomorrow is located. Found it easily, then had a bit of a stroll and a look around. Beautiful, ornate old buildings, curving streets, and alleys, alleys, alleys! I love the alleys — they’re not your usual alleys full of the backs of buildings — rather, they’re nooks full of other places to discover. Storefronts, little businesses. I’m more accustomed to straight alleys that house dumpsters and detritus. These alleys are architectural delights.

Oh, and one other detail — on the train from Paddington Station, I saw rows and rows of houses and flats. Noticed that ALL of the curtains were white. Every last one. I’m curious about that. Why does everyone have white curtains?

I am sitting here with my wool coat on my lap. It’ll make a nice blanket on the plane, and I’ll need it when I get to London. In the meantime, though, as I sit in Phoenix in my thick angora socks, I just seem like a nut. It’s been close to 90 degrees during the day here.

I’m picking, a little compulsively, at my black coat. There is significant evidence that Waylon has somehow gained access to the front hall closet. And it kinda seems, from the amount of white hair, that he might have tried on my coat.

Surreptitious photo of other travellers. Pretty busy in the airport tonight.

Somehow, the days seems to grow shorter and shorter as I frantically attempt to get enough accomplished at the office that I can be away for a week. It’s like one of those dreams where you’re trying to get somewhere, but you get lost, the car breaks down, and then when you start walking, the streets look unfamiliar and you realize you’re lost. So you keep walking. And walking. But you never get there.

Using magical thinking, I am figuring tomorrow will be abundant with time to go to yoga practice, get a good chunk of work done, pack, and even get in a bit of a rest. We’ll see.