It started with an LCD clock reading 7 a.m. and ended with a Pistons-Magic game on TNT.
These are my first and last official memories of London, the former being on the shuttle bus from Heathrow to the London Centre, the latter embedding itself in my mind as the JetBlue plane touched down in Rochester. A perfect four month separation strung together by countless memories and epic stories that are lumped together in a single hackneyed word used to describe every study abroad semester: an "experience."
True, that's about all it can be called since the perpetrators asking this question demand a concise ten second response before they move on in conversation. But there isn't much else that can condense a literal life-altering time in one's life and explain it. When you think it over, there are a myriad of things to consider about your favourite this and that, the best cities, the best food and so on and so forth. And when the conversations have ended and you're left alone to bask in the spring that May brings and the familiar scent of budding lilacs, mowed grass and unwashed dog, a deluge of London comes back without warning.
I have been drowned more times than I care to remember in the ensuing flood. The walks to class through Hyde Park, the taste of farafelle pasta with salt, pepper, butter and basil mixed with the musty scent of Arabic carpeting in Flat 95 and the shift of the sidewalk tiles on Edgware Road while walking toward Marble Arch still linger potently. Words are too cheaply used and yet they are all we have to convey our lives to one another. It's something I've tried to do ever since arriving in the States and have failed miserably at. Waking up in your own house and not knowing where you are for a full ten minutes due to culture shock can't be accurately portrayed with these simplistic utterances. Yet we still strive to encapsulate our lives, these moments, tragedies and comedies, sights and sounds, these...experiences into writing or oral presentations, knowing full well that most of it will never escape our lips and will remain locked in our souls for us to dip into eventually, much like the proverbial jar of sunshine saved for a rainy day.
Words may be forgotten, but London lives on subtle feelings and sensations; a collection of scattered sparks that will ever light the fires of my imagination. Yes, in case you can't tell, I miss London. And while this may or may not be the conclusion of my depiction of a semester spent abroad, it will remain something vivid and beautiful to me long after the writing ceases.
Thank you for reading this odd collection of writings about the past four months; your comments (and sometimes lack thereof) kept me creative and flowing. Cheers!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
You Just Might Wave Hello Again...
Well, it's starting to set in now, that mildly depressing oh-my-gosh-I'm-not-going-back feeling. It's been six days since our flight from Heathrow to JFK touched down at 4:40 p.m. and thoughts, emotions and feelings have been mixed. The least I can do to distract myself, as well as you, the reader, from sinking back into a post-European funk is to fill you in on the trip back.
After snatching about four hours of sleep at Amy's apartment, its inhabitants packed up their belongings and turned in their keys before embarking on a trip to the Piccadilly Line, which took us to Heathrow. Along the way, the towing handle on my morbidly obese suitcase snapped off, which led to the acquisition of my latest skill: carrying 150 lbs. of luggage and three winter coats across multiple airports. We squeezed into the nearest car and Lauren, Amy, Casey and I rode the car for about 40 minutes before arriving at Terminal 3. I re-learned the lesson that God's got a great sense of humour by experiencing the 70-degree, blue skies and sunshine weather outside of the airport just as we arrived. After checking in and grabbing a quick bite to eat, it was time to begin the rounds of goodbyes. Saying goodbye to Tahleen and Greg was sad, but Sara's was the hardest. We ran a lot together and talked and hung out quite a bit, so even though we'll be seeing one another in the fall, it's still difficult not to be able to see people like her every day.
As we boarded, my mind was distracted from its wanderings by the guy in line in front of me. He happened to be carrying a guitar in a Taylor case, which is a legit guitar to be carrying around. But, in an effort to cut down on my awkwardness, I didn't make conversation. Turns out that it was Rob Thomas from Matchbox 20. Good one. Kudos, me. Alexa sat next to me on the plane and we watched Juno in unison so that we could laugh in the exact same parts at the exact same time. Two movies and an episode of The Simpsons later, we were touching down in JFK. Luke and I detatched from the rest of the group after saying a lot of farewells around the baggage claim and hit up the JetBlue terminal, where we waited until getting our flights back to our respective homes. Mom picked me up in Rochester around 10:30 and then it was time to sleeeep.
Sidenote: something I still don't understand is why my Spanish keeps surfacing in the most random places. In church this past Sunday, "hoy en dia" slipped out instead of "today." And just now, it was almost "equipaje" instead of "luggage."
In an effort to keep this shorter than usual, I'll save the reflective stuff for another post. But yeah, now I'm back on American soil. And it's still weird. Yeah.
After snatching about four hours of sleep at Amy's apartment, its inhabitants packed up their belongings and turned in their keys before embarking on a trip to the Piccadilly Line, which took us to Heathrow. Along the way, the towing handle on my morbidly obese suitcase snapped off, which led to the acquisition of my latest skill: carrying 150 lbs. of luggage and three winter coats across multiple airports. We squeezed into the nearest car and Lauren, Amy, Casey and I rode the car for about 40 minutes before arriving at Terminal 3. I re-learned the lesson that God's got a great sense of humour by experiencing the 70-degree, blue skies and sunshine weather outside of the airport just as we arrived. After checking in and grabbing a quick bite to eat, it was time to begin the rounds of goodbyes. Saying goodbye to Tahleen and Greg was sad, but Sara's was the hardest. We ran a lot together and talked and hung out quite a bit, so even though we'll be seeing one another in the fall, it's still difficult not to be able to see people like her every day.
As we boarded, my mind was distracted from its wanderings by the guy in line in front of me. He happened to be carrying a guitar in a Taylor case, which is a legit guitar to be carrying around. But, in an effort to cut down on my awkwardness, I didn't make conversation. Turns out that it was Rob Thomas from Matchbox 20. Good one. Kudos, me. Alexa sat next to me on the plane and we watched Juno in unison so that we could laugh in the exact same parts at the exact same time. Two movies and an episode of The Simpsons later, we were touching down in JFK. Luke and I detatched from the rest of the group after saying a lot of farewells around the baggage claim and hit up the JetBlue terminal, where we waited until getting our flights back to our respective homes. Mom picked me up in Rochester around 10:30 and then it was time to sleeeep.
Sidenote: something I still don't understand is why my Spanish keeps surfacing in the most random places. In church this past Sunday, "hoy en dia" slipped out instead of "today." And just now, it was almost "equipaje" instead of "luggage."
In an effort to keep this shorter than usual, I'll save the reflective stuff for another post. But yeah, now I'm back on American soil. And it's still weird. Yeah.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Recap
Alright, let's clarify something here. There is no way that I could possibly be done with this blog after this update. Part of that is due to the stories, random memories and revelations that the summer is sure to bring and part of that is due to my own state of denial that I have been thriving in, telling myself that I'm only back in the States for a short period of time before heading back for another month or so of European glory. Yeah, I love it that much.
As for recapping, let's start with the last week of London/Lagos/Sevilla. Amy and I bumped out of London early, thus missing the end of term party at ISH, which was apparently a good time. I still wish we could have gone to it AND gone to the full Lagos trip, but when it comes down to it, I think Lagos had it beat. After nearly missing the flight and sharing a sweaty embrace in Stansted Airport, Amy and I flew down to Sevilla where we met up with Eric, Melanie and Norah to head over to the bus terminal. Our bus ride to Faro was three hours long, but the wait until our train was about five hours. We survived the night thanks to Eric's blunders with a reappearing black cat, some drunk Portuguese teens who we will remember forever and the Magical Portuguese Sleeping Grass that deserves capitalization. We got into Lagos around 9:30 and headed over to our hostel, The Rising Cock. The jokes that ensued over the weekend were...fairly predictable. The rest of the day was spent at the beach, where we all got burnt and headed back to the hostel resembling two-legged lobsters.
Saturday, we booked a boat tour of the grottoes on the surrounding coastline, which was great until we stepped onto the boat. The boat itself wasn't exactly what you'd call steady, so the rocking made even the most stolid of stomachs start to feel nauseous. This in turn meant that three people were blowing chunks over the side of the boat about 20 minutes into the two hour tour we were taking. Good times. The Mananita will forever hold great memories for us all. After that, we got a brief lunch and did some souvenir shopping before taking a walk on some of the other beaches on the coast and searching for seashells; Melanie, Norah and I were also the only ones brave enough to wade into the cold waters of the Atlantic. For dinner, I had squid rings, which are like onion rings, except with squid instead of onion on the inside. SO good.
Sunday and Monday can be lumped into one paragraph. Sunday morning, we cleaned up our room/apartment in the hostel, had breakfast and then left. Oh yeah, how could I forget?? For breakfast each morning, Mama, the cook/cleaner of the Cock, made us these amazing crepes that we filled with Nutella and all sorts of amazing goodness. By far one of the best breakfasts that we've had while traveling! We made it back to Sevilla around 8 or 9 and had ice cream at Rayas before walking around the city for a while; Amy and I eventually made it back to our hostel around 12:30 or so where we talked with this really nice Canadian couple who were backpacking around Europe for a month. The next morning, we met up with Eric and Norah to go into El Catedral (third largest cathedral in Europe) and La Giralda (the 36 story tower where they would ring the bell as a call to prayer back in the day). After that, it was back to CC-CS, their school building, where Amy and I sat in on Norah and Eric's Spanish-American Civilization class. It was really cool 'cause it was all in Spanish but my Spanish comprehension was good enough that I could understand nearly all of it. I was pretty proud of myself. From there, Eric, Amy and I took a three hour tour of the city on Sevici bicicletas, which is a public mode of transportation where you purchase a seven-day pass and ride the bikes from station to station. A bird pooped on my head at some point in the ride. We ate dinner and then headed over to Triana, where we almost went to a flamenco show, but ended up not going because Eric was feeling sick and Melanie had work to do.
Tuesday, Amy left around 11:15, so Norah was my tour guide for the day. We went into the Museo de Bellas Artas, a contemporary art museum and the Real Alcazar (pronounced ray-AHL AHL-cah-zar) and got paella at this restaurant called Los Angeles, where we were mistaken for two authentic Spanish people. Norah claims it was because of her skirt; I claim it was our mad Spanish skills. Then I sat in on the Spanish-American Civ class again, which was awesome again and eventually left for the airport. Norah and I said our goodbyes and I took the bus to the airport where I found out that Amy had missed her earlier flight and had been waiting EIGHT HOURS to get on this flight with. The rest of the flight and trip back to London was hectic and trying, but we made it back to her apartment around 2:30 a.m.
And that was the amazing five-day trip to Sevilla and Lagos. There will be a couple more posts that will hopefully be shorter about the trip back to the U.S. and random anecdotes about cultural differences that will be more interesting than they sound now, I promise. But I suppose that's all for now!
Pictures from the trip:
Lagos y Sevilla (Hombre, claro)
As for recapping, let's start with the last week of London/Lagos/Sevilla. Amy and I bumped out of London early, thus missing the end of term party at ISH, which was apparently a good time. I still wish we could have gone to it AND gone to the full Lagos trip, but when it comes down to it, I think Lagos had it beat. After nearly missing the flight and sharing a sweaty embrace in Stansted Airport, Amy and I flew down to Sevilla where we met up with Eric, Melanie and Norah to head over to the bus terminal. Our bus ride to Faro was three hours long, but the wait until our train was about five hours. We survived the night thanks to Eric's blunders with a reappearing black cat, some drunk Portuguese teens who we will remember forever and the Magical Portuguese Sleeping Grass that deserves capitalization. We got into Lagos around 9:30 and headed over to our hostel, The Rising Cock. The jokes that ensued over the weekend were...fairly predictable. The rest of the day was spent at the beach, where we all got burnt and headed back to the hostel resembling two-legged lobsters.
Saturday, we booked a boat tour of the grottoes on the surrounding coastline, which was great until we stepped onto the boat. The boat itself wasn't exactly what you'd call steady, so the rocking made even the most stolid of stomachs start to feel nauseous. This in turn meant that three people were blowing chunks over the side of the boat about 20 minutes into the two hour tour we were taking. Good times. The Mananita will forever hold great memories for us all. After that, we got a brief lunch and did some souvenir shopping before taking a walk on some of the other beaches on the coast and searching for seashells; Melanie, Norah and I were also the only ones brave enough to wade into the cold waters of the Atlantic. For dinner, I had squid rings, which are like onion rings, except with squid instead of onion on the inside. SO good.
Sunday and Monday can be lumped into one paragraph. Sunday morning, we cleaned up our room/apartment in the hostel, had breakfast and then left. Oh yeah, how could I forget?? For breakfast each morning, Mama, the cook/cleaner of the Cock, made us these amazing crepes that we filled with Nutella and all sorts of amazing goodness. By far one of the best breakfasts that we've had while traveling! We made it back to Sevilla around 8 or 9 and had ice cream at Rayas before walking around the city for a while; Amy and I eventually made it back to our hostel around 12:30 or so where we talked with this really nice Canadian couple who were backpacking around Europe for a month. The next morning, we met up with Eric and Norah to go into El Catedral (third largest cathedral in Europe) and La Giralda (the 36 story tower where they would ring the bell as a call to prayer back in the day). After that, it was back to CC-CS, their school building, where Amy and I sat in on Norah and Eric's Spanish-American Civilization class. It was really cool 'cause it was all in Spanish but my Spanish comprehension was good enough that I could understand nearly all of it. I was pretty proud of myself. From there, Eric, Amy and I took a three hour tour of the city on Sevici bicicletas, which is a public mode of transportation where you purchase a seven-day pass and ride the bikes from station to station. A bird pooped on my head at some point in the ride. We ate dinner and then headed over to Triana, where we almost went to a flamenco show, but ended up not going because Eric was feeling sick and Melanie had work to do.
Tuesday, Amy left around 11:15, so Norah was my tour guide for the day. We went into the Museo de Bellas Artas, a contemporary art museum and the Real Alcazar (pronounced ray-AHL AHL-cah-zar) and got paella at this restaurant called Los Angeles, where we were mistaken for two authentic Spanish people. Norah claims it was because of her skirt; I claim it was our mad Spanish skills. Then I sat in on the Spanish-American Civ class again, which was awesome again and eventually left for the airport. Norah and I said our goodbyes and I took the bus to the airport where I found out that Amy had missed her earlier flight and had been waiting EIGHT HOURS to get on this flight with. The rest of the flight and trip back to London was hectic and trying, but we made it back to her apartment around 2:30 a.m.
And that was the amazing five-day trip to Sevilla and Lagos. There will be a couple more posts that will hopefully be shorter about the trip back to the U.S. and random anecdotes about cultural differences that will be more interesting than they sound now, I promise. But I suppose that's all for now!
Pictures from the trip:
Lagos y Sevilla (Hombre, claro)
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Beaches, Grass and Bicicletas
Wow. So the last week has been incredibly busy and there's not time for a proper update, so I'll just give you the highlights before writing more in-depth later.
Thursday night, Amy and I flew down to Sevilla and met Norah, Eric and Melanie in Parque de Maria Luisa and headed over to the bus station to get tickets to head to Lagos, Portugal for the weekend. We took the overnight bus to Faro, got there at 2 a.m. and by some miracle dubbed the magical Portugese sleeping grass, made it until 7 a.m. when we had to catch our train to Lagos. The rest of the time there was spent on the beach and taking this crazy boat tour of the grottos on the Portugese coastline. It was great until one of the families that came along with us started throwing up over the side...then we got queasy.
We left there on Sunday and came back to Sevilla in the evening, where we went out for delicious ice cream at this place called Rayas and then walked around for a while before heading back to our hostel. Monday was a jam-packed tour day starting with el Catedral, la Giralda and a couple of plazas before we headed back to CC-CS (the school in Spain) to sit in on the Spanish-American Civilization class with Norah, Eric and Melanie. It was all in Spanish, but Luis, the profesor, was muy facil to understand once you got into the rhythm of his speech. After that, we went to lunch and then Eric, Amy and I rode bikes around the city to a few different places like the Cristobol Colon egg statue and la Isla de Magica, which were pretty cool. We tried to go to a flamenco show that night, but sadly, Eric wasn't feeling that great so we couldn't go.
Tuesday, Amy left around 11:30 or so after we walked around the city for a bit and then I sat in on Luis' class again before heading out to lunch with Norah at Los Angeles which had this incredible paella. Sidenote: the postres (desserts) here are phenomenal. From there, the two of us went to the Alcazar, which has really nice gardens and also where a bird pooped on my head for the second time that weekend. Norah laughed hysterically...as did I. After that, I got my luggage and it was time to head back to London to catch my final flight from London to JFK...which leaves in about 10 hours, considering it's 4 a.m. right now. Yeah, I'm tired. I'll actaully update later.
¡¡Hasta luego!!
Thursday night, Amy and I flew down to Sevilla and met Norah, Eric and Melanie in Parque de Maria Luisa and headed over to the bus station to get tickets to head to Lagos, Portugal for the weekend. We took the overnight bus to Faro, got there at 2 a.m. and by some miracle dubbed the magical Portugese sleeping grass, made it until 7 a.m. when we had to catch our train to Lagos. The rest of the time there was spent on the beach and taking this crazy boat tour of the grottos on the Portugese coastline. It was great until one of the families that came along with us started throwing up over the side...then we got queasy.
We left there on Sunday and came back to Sevilla in the evening, where we went out for delicious ice cream at this place called Rayas and then walked around for a while before heading back to our hostel. Monday was a jam-packed tour day starting with el Catedral, la Giralda and a couple of plazas before we headed back to CC-CS (the school in Spain) to sit in on the Spanish-American Civilization class with Norah, Eric and Melanie. It was all in Spanish, but Luis, the profesor, was muy facil to understand once you got into the rhythm of his speech. After that, we went to lunch and then Eric, Amy and I rode bikes around the city to a few different places like the Cristobol Colon egg statue and la Isla de Magica, which were pretty cool. We tried to go to a flamenco show that night, but sadly, Eric wasn't feeling that great so we couldn't go.
Tuesday, Amy left around 11:30 or so after we walked around the city for a bit and then I sat in on Luis' class again before heading out to lunch with Norah at Los Angeles which had this incredible paella. Sidenote: the postres (desserts) here are phenomenal. From there, the two of us went to the Alcazar, which has really nice gardens and also where a bird pooped on my head for the second time that weekend. Norah laughed hysterically...as did I. After that, I got my luggage and it was time to head back to London to catch my final flight from London to JFK...which leaves in about 10 hours, considering it's 4 a.m. right now. Yeah, I'm tired. I'll actaully update later.
¡¡Hasta luego!!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Heart of a Child
It's crazy to think that I'll only have two more days left in London after today! Time is really dwindling down and there is still so much left to do here that won't be done. Granted, there's only so much of a city like London that you can see, but you often find yourself wishing that you could have done everything in the short span of months and days that you were in Europe, everything from travelling to more countries to seeing museums to learning more about the history and stories behind artists' masterpieces.
Still, I'm thankful for the time that I have had here and I know that this will not be the last time London has its streets graced with my presence. Heehee.
Something that has come to mind lately, though, is the recognition of moments that brightened my days here. Most of them occurred in a tube station or on the tube itself and, somehow, as I sit here letting my fingers take the flow from my brain onto the screen as I listen to the spring rain fall outside the Victorian windows, it's easy to reflect. Every time any child smiled at me on the tube, it made my day. It's nearly inexplicable and may sound mildly creepy, but there were moments where my spirits was lifted above their present state because of their simple actions. Two instances stand out in particular. The first was on the way back from church one Sunday. A family of four, a boy of eight and a girl of 11 and their parents, had just gotten onto the tube and were looking for places to sit. The boy sat down across from me and the girl started to move toward him to sit beside him, but then saw me and backed up. I started to get up and asked her if she'd like to sit down. Her brace-clad smile shyly shone back at me as she dipped her head downward and politely declined. The next stop came and I got up to leave, passing her on the way out. She looked up at me for a half second and smiled with a quiet joy as if I was leaving the train car just for her to sit down. The bright innocence that radiated from her face still haunts me. The second instance was today at Lillywhite's department store in Piccadilly Circus. As I browsed the jerseys and footballs (soccer balls), a boy who looked like he was about 10 walked up to his mother for no good reason (she hadn't bought him anything yet) and gave her the wettest, longest and most beautiful kiss on the cheek. The smile that split across her face when he pulled back was inimitable. Then she kissed him back on the cheek and the entire situation was reversed.
Moments like these restore my faith in a loving humanity, in a compassion that will not die with time, in chivalry and in the pure joy that we see so little of. This is why we love to love. This is why we should live to love.
Still, I'm thankful for the time that I have had here and I know that this will not be the last time London has its streets graced with my presence. Heehee.
Something that has come to mind lately, though, is the recognition of moments that brightened my days here. Most of them occurred in a tube station or on the tube itself and, somehow, as I sit here letting my fingers take the flow from my brain onto the screen as I listen to the spring rain fall outside the Victorian windows, it's easy to reflect. Every time any child smiled at me on the tube, it made my day. It's nearly inexplicable and may sound mildly creepy, but there were moments where my spirits was lifted above their present state because of their simple actions. Two instances stand out in particular. The first was on the way back from church one Sunday. A family of four, a boy of eight and a girl of 11 and their parents, had just gotten onto the tube and were looking for places to sit. The boy sat down across from me and the girl started to move toward him to sit beside him, but then saw me and backed up. I started to get up and asked her if she'd like to sit down. Her brace-clad smile shyly shone back at me as she dipped her head downward and politely declined. The next stop came and I got up to leave, passing her on the way out. She looked up at me for a half second and smiled with a quiet joy as if I was leaving the train car just for her to sit down. The bright innocence that radiated from her face still haunts me. The second instance was today at Lillywhite's department store in Piccadilly Circus. As I browsed the jerseys and footballs (soccer balls), a boy who looked like he was about 10 walked up to his mother for no good reason (she hadn't bought him anything yet) and gave her the wettest, longest and most beautiful kiss on the cheek. The smile that split across her face when he pulled back was inimitable. Then she kissed him back on the cheek and the entire situation was reversed.
Moments like these restore my faith in a loving humanity, in a compassion that will not die with time, in chivalry and in the pure joy that we see so little of. This is why we love to love. This is why we should live to love.
Friday, April 25, 2008
I'll Bowl Your Wicket
It's been a while since there's been a single event worth writing about. Normally, it's a trip or a weekend or several things that occurred over the course of the week. However, today presented an event so spectacular, so inexplicably amazing that there was no way that it could not be shared with my online family and friends who read this blog so very faithfully...unless it's too long, in which case you just skip over the entry and go back to reading perezhilton.com.
Today, after going to the London Centre to meet with Bill about my internship, I took a walk through Hyde Park because it was such a gorgeous day outside and walked past the Tennis Courts and glimpsed the Serpentine, the small lake that divides Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. While passing by an expanse of grass used for sporting events, a familiar looking group of people caught my eye; they were from the London Centre and with them was Bill, the director of the London Centre, setting up what looked like bundles of sticks in the middle of this field. Suddenly, it clicked in my mind: Bill promised us today that he would teach us to play cricket in the afternoon.
And so it began.
Once everyone arrived, we numbered about 20 people, including Bill, Chuck and Diane, a married couple in their 50s who also work at the London Centre teaching music. Chuck is probably my favourite person in the world; he is loud and obnoxious while having fun and, as we all learned from our cricket match, yells jokes across the field when he is playing any sport. The rules of cricket have to be taught by either watching or playing a match; it's nearly impossible to explain the rules without visuals. It's similar to baseball, but it's really not. You play in a 60-yard circle and can hit the ball when it is bowled (the equivalent of pitched) to you, except you can hit it in any direction, including behind you. There are three sticks behind you with two small wooden sticks on top of those called wickets. If the ball is thrown (bowled) and one of your wickets falls off, you're out and the next batter comes up. From there, it gets complicated.
So after warming up for a good 45 minutes, we started our match. It was reminiscent of a high school gym class; the boys were hard-core and into the game and the majority of the girls stood or sat in the outer rim of the field, talking to each other and picking grass out of the grass to let fall from their hands. The thing that surprised me the most about the match, though, was the competitive ferocity that Bill exhibited from start to finish. Picture your typical grandfather figure, subtract 10 years, add a library of historical and literary references to his head with a dash of love for football (soccer) and rugby, and you have Bill Sheasgreen. The man was an animal. He yelled at the batters, telling them to swing harder. He taunted them when they still could not hit a single ball bowled to them. When a bowler (pitcher) hit a wicket and got the batter out, he threw his hands in the air, screamed exultantly and sprinted toward the bowler to give them a hug. It was INTENSE. Naturally, our team won, 43-14, in 40 overs. However, there is one scene that needs to be described.
Alex Krasser, a theatre major, is up to bat. He is new to the game, like most of us, and doesn't exactly have athletic tendencies. He's the kid in gym class who would rather be back inside, standing alone in the auditorium and practicing his own rendition of "If I Can't Love Her," from Beauty and the Beast...or maybe that was just me on selected days in high school. At any rate, he's let the first two balls go by without swinging at them. Bill, who is bowling, turns to him and says, "You need to swing at these. You can do better than that." Alex let the next ball go by as well. Bill walks back over to him and tells him, "Swing at these! Don't be a wimp! C'mon, let's see you swing! Let's GO!" Bill hurls the ball toward Alex and it all happens in two seconds. Alex swings and hits a line drive straight at Bill's chest. Bill hunkers down, brings his hands up, catches the ball in his chest, then stares at Alex for what seemed like 10 seconds in pure defiant glory as the rest of the students explode into a cataclysmic "Oooohhhhhhh!!" Ridiculous. That is why I love cricket.
Today, after going to the London Centre to meet with Bill about my internship, I took a walk through Hyde Park because it was such a gorgeous day outside and walked past the Tennis Courts and glimpsed the Serpentine, the small lake that divides Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. While passing by an expanse of grass used for sporting events, a familiar looking group of people caught my eye; they were from the London Centre and with them was Bill, the director of the London Centre, setting up what looked like bundles of sticks in the middle of this field. Suddenly, it clicked in my mind: Bill promised us today that he would teach us to play cricket in the afternoon.
And so it began.
Once everyone arrived, we numbered about 20 people, including Bill, Chuck and Diane, a married couple in their 50s who also work at the London Centre teaching music. Chuck is probably my favourite person in the world; he is loud and obnoxious while having fun and, as we all learned from our cricket match, yells jokes across the field when he is playing any sport. The rules of cricket have to be taught by either watching or playing a match; it's nearly impossible to explain the rules without visuals. It's similar to baseball, but it's really not. You play in a 60-yard circle and can hit the ball when it is bowled (the equivalent of pitched) to you, except you can hit it in any direction, including behind you. There are three sticks behind you with two small wooden sticks on top of those called wickets. If the ball is thrown (bowled) and one of your wickets falls off, you're out and the next batter comes up. From there, it gets complicated.
So after warming up for a good 45 minutes, we started our match. It was reminiscent of a high school gym class; the boys were hard-core and into the game and the majority of the girls stood or sat in the outer rim of the field, talking to each other and picking grass out of the grass to let fall from their hands. The thing that surprised me the most about the match, though, was the competitive ferocity that Bill exhibited from start to finish. Picture your typical grandfather figure, subtract 10 years, add a library of historical and literary references to his head with a dash of love for football (soccer) and rugby, and you have Bill Sheasgreen. The man was an animal. He yelled at the batters, telling them to swing harder. He taunted them when they still could not hit a single ball bowled to them. When a bowler (pitcher) hit a wicket and got the batter out, he threw his hands in the air, screamed exultantly and sprinted toward the bowler to give them a hug. It was INTENSE. Naturally, our team won, 43-14, in 40 overs. However, there is one scene that needs to be described.
Alex Krasser, a theatre major, is up to bat. He is new to the game, like most of us, and doesn't exactly have athletic tendencies. He's the kid in gym class who would rather be back inside, standing alone in the auditorium and practicing his own rendition of "If I Can't Love Her," from Beauty and the Beast...or maybe that was just me on selected days in high school. At any rate, he's let the first two balls go by without swinging at them. Bill, who is bowling, turns to him and says, "You need to swing at these. You can do better than that." Alex let the next ball go by as well. Bill walks back over to him and tells him, "Swing at these! Don't be a wimp! C'mon, let's see you swing! Let's GO!" Bill hurls the ball toward Alex and it all happens in two seconds. Alex swings and hits a line drive straight at Bill's chest. Bill hunkers down, brings his hands up, catches the ball in his chest, then stares at Alex for what seemed like 10 seconds in pure defiant glory as the rest of the students explode into a cataclysmic "Oooohhhhhhh!!" Ridiculous. That is why I love cricket.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Dia duit agús sláinte!
The title means 'Hello and good health!' in Gaelic, the native tongue of Ireland, where a large group of students from ICLC went to spend the weekend in Dublin...including myself. It was the longest trip that the school has scheduled; we left Friday morning and came back late Sunday night and actually ended up flying on Aer Lingus (crappy airline, try not to fly with them). Sadly, the main discovery of the trip was that Ireland is not all rolling hills, sheep and drunken redheads. Dublin was mainly industrial, had little to no sheep that were sighted...but was still filled with drunken redheads.
We touched down around noon and waited around for the coach to arrive, who then took us to our hotel. It was a really nice one that fed us a full Irish breakfast, which consisted of rashers and sausages, black and white pudding (sesame seeds and pig's blood compressed into half-dollar sized patties), eggs, hashed potatoes and croissants. YUM. After dropping our stuff off at the hotel, we popped back onto the bus and took a tour of the city in the coach with Sarah, one of the administration at the London Centre, doing the city commentary, which was ridiculously funny. Normally we have Bill, the director of the Centre and omniscient historical/cultural/literary guru, doing the narration and he goes on these long-winded historical stories about the area we're in that are really fascinating. But Sarah would read two sentences off of the paper she had been given and followed that up with, "...and that's all I've got." Hilarious. Since we were running so late, we only stopped for 25 minutes in the National Museum of Ireland to see a lot of weapons, a giant Viking ship and creepy mannequins before being dropped off in central Dublin for a couple of hours. Luke and I found this relatively inexpensive crepe and panini place tucked away in a little alleyway that had amazing crepes for dinner purposes.
Shortly after this, we regrouped at the Ha'penny Bridge Pub where we began our musical pub crawl. A pub crawl is a gathering by three or more individuals who travel from pub to pub, having a pint along the way at each pub. Yes, our school organized this. However, this was not any ordinary pub crawl; this was a MUSICAL pub crawl. Irish musicians accompanied us on a glorious parade as we bought a pint, sat down and were taught Irish folk songs while we sipped from our foaming glasses. Some had more than others and...well...as our guide taught us to do, if you can't sing well, sing loud. From there, we walked to Brannigan's, on the opposite side of the river Liffey, where eight people (including myself) were put into the centre of the room to learn a traditional Irish partner jig. It was probably the closest to authentically Hollywood Irish that any of us had ever come. From there, we met up with Sara and Alexa and a group of other people to wander the Temple Bar area for the rest of the night.
Saturday morning, we were out of the hotel by 9 a.m. in time for Bill's first walk to Sandy Cove. Bill's walks are very educational and quite extensive; this one was no exception. However, it was rather frigid and windy, not to mention a slight stinging rain was falling to complement the surging ocean spray that dashed its way over the walls every 15 seconds like clockwork. In a dark sort of way, it was beautiful. You could see through the eyes of Joyce and Burns and realize what made them write as they did about the Irish coastline as you took in the shushing crash of the Atlantic against the rocks and the blowing goldenrod that grew tangled and wicked up the hillsides. Even though spring had not yet fully awakened, it was still breathtaking to walk to the tops of the hills and cliffs above the eastern shores of Dublin and see something as chillingly beautiful as this was. Upon our descent, most of us descended upon the Guinness factory and toured the brewery, receiving a trophy in the form of a freshly pulled pint at our journey's end in the Gravity Bar overlooking Dublin. The domination of Guinness in the region reminded me of a Shaw play called Major Barbara, where a munitions factory does the same with a town and rules the town with a gentle fist. We did some souvenir shopping afterward, then grabbed a quick dinner in Temple Bar before walking around the city some more. By that point, we hadn't sat down for more than (not over, this is quantity we're talking about) three minutes, so Luke and I decided to head back to the hotel before going out again. We ended up reading for two hours and by the time someone called us to go out, it was 11:30 at night and there was no way we could go and still have energy left.
Sunday was another walk with Bill, charged with the same energy that the entire weekend had been filled with...oy vey. It began to rain around 10:30 and kept on going through the early afternoon, so by the time that we had hiked from "night town" (their red light district, where James Joyce hung out as a teen and where Bill ended our walk) back to Temple Bar. Greg, Luke, me and our friend Sam went to the Irish Film Institute, which was actually really cool and filled with Irish cinema, obviously, but a good amount of British, as well. We ate lunch there and finished souvenir shopping. As much as Ireland was an amazing trip, by far the best ICLC trip we've taken, I hope never to see that much green in one store ever again. The country is ridiculously commercialized...probably worse than Rome, in fact! (Zing! European insult!) We wandered a bit more and then took the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) back to our hotel, where we headed back to the hotel, got our luggage and went to the airport to head back to London.
And now I raise a toast for Ireland, land of my mother's ancestors, well known for its drink, love of green and redheads, and famed beautiful countrysides featuring sheep, verdant hills and the occasional poop-filled cobblestone street. Huzzah for Eire!
Pictures from this weekend:
Sláinte! - Dublin
We touched down around noon and waited around for the coach to arrive, who then took us to our hotel. It was a really nice one that fed us a full Irish breakfast, which consisted of rashers and sausages, black and white pudding (sesame seeds and pig's blood compressed into half-dollar sized patties), eggs, hashed potatoes and croissants. YUM. After dropping our stuff off at the hotel, we popped back onto the bus and took a tour of the city in the coach with Sarah, one of the administration at the London Centre, doing the city commentary, which was ridiculously funny. Normally we have Bill, the director of the Centre and omniscient historical/cultural/literary guru, doing the narration and he goes on these long-winded historical stories about the area we're in that are really fascinating. But Sarah would read two sentences off of the paper she had been given and followed that up with, "...and that's all I've got." Hilarious. Since we were running so late, we only stopped for 25 minutes in the National Museum of Ireland to see a lot of weapons, a giant Viking ship and creepy mannequins before being dropped off in central Dublin for a couple of hours. Luke and I found this relatively inexpensive crepe and panini place tucked away in a little alleyway that had amazing crepes for dinner purposes.
Shortly after this, we regrouped at the Ha'penny Bridge Pub where we began our musical pub crawl. A pub crawl is a gathering by three or more individuals who travel from pub to pub, having a pint along the way at each pub. Yes, our school organized this. However, this was not any ordinary pub crawl; this was a MUSICAL pub crawl. Irish musicians accompanied us on a glorious parade as we bought a pint, sat down and were taught Irish folk songs while we sipped from our foaming glasses. Some had more than others and...well...as our guide taught us to do, if you can't sing well, sing loud. From there, we walked to Brannigan's, on the opposite side of the river Liffey, where eight people (including myself) were put into the centre of the room to learn a traditional Irish partner jig. It was probably the closest to authentically Hollywood Irish that any of us had ever come. From there, we met up with Sara and Alexa and a group of other people to wander the Temple Bar area for the rest of the night.
Saturday morning, we were out of the hotel by 9 a.m. in time for Bill's first walk to Sandy Cove. Bill's walks are very educational and quite extensive; this one was no exception. However, it was rather frigid and windy, not to mention a slight stinging rain was falling to complement the surging ocean spray that dashed its way over the walls every 15 seconds like clockwork. In a dark sort of way, it was beautiful. You could see through the eyes of Joyce and Burns and realize what made them write as they did about the Irish coastline as you took in the shushing crash of the Atlantic against the rocks and the blowing goldenrod that grew tangled and wicked up the hillsides. Even though spring had not yet fully awakened, it was still breathtaking to walk to the tops of the hills and cliffs above the eastern shores of Dublin and see something as chillingly beautiful as this was. Upon our descent, most of us descended upon the Guinness factory and toured the brewery, receiving a trophy in the form of a freshly pulled pint at our journey's end in the Gravity Bar overlooking Dublin. The domination of Guinness in the region reminded me of a Shaw play called Major Barbara, where a munitions factory does the same with a town and rules the town with a gentle fist. We did some souvenir shopping afterward, then grabbed a quick dinner in Temple Bar before walking around the city some more. By that point, we hadn't sat down for more than (not over, this is quantity we're talking about) three minutes, so Luke and I decided to head back to the hotel before going out again. We ended up reading for two hours and by the time someone called us to go out, it was 11:30 at night and there was no way we could go and still have energy left.
Sunday was another walk with Bill, charged with the same energy that the entire weekend had been filled with...oy vey. It began to rain around 10:30 and kept on going through the early afternoon, so by the time that we had hiked from "night town" (their red light district, where James Joyce hung out as a teen and where Bill ended our walk) back to Temple Bar. Greg, Luke, me and our friend Sam went to the Irish Film Institute, which was actually really cool and filled with Irish cinema, obviously, but a good amount of British, as well. We ate lunch there and finished souvenir shopping. As much as Ireland was an amazing trip, by far the best ICLC trip we've taken, I hope never to see that much green in one store ever again. The country is ridiculously commercialized...probably worse than Rome, in fact! (Zing! European insult!) We wandered a bit more and then took the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) back to our hotel, where we headed back to the hotel, got our luggage and went to the airport to head back to London.
And now I raise a toast for Ireland, land of my mother's ancestors, well known for its drink, love of green and redheads, and famed beautiful countrysides featuring sheep, verdant hills and the occasional poop-filled cobblestone street. Huzzah for Eire!
Pictures from this weekend:
Sláinte! - Dublin
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Walt Disney's Army
One of the more peculiar things about my internship is the building in which it is set. Technically, I work for NASN, the North American Sports Network (your home for North American Sports!). However, they were bought up by ESPN about six months ago and since ESPN is owned by The Walt Disney Company, I therefore work in the Disney building in London. The walls are covered in images of coming movies, such as The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian and Wall-E, as well as various movie posters from the past like The Little Mermaid and The Lion King. There's even a Lion King themed meeting room on my floor. No, I am not joking. Yes, it is covered in images of Pride Rock. On the third floor, the walls are lined with pictures of Meredith Grey, McDreamy and the cast of Grey's Anatomy. I stay away from there as much as possible.
The weirdest part of working in a glorified child's environment, however, is the vast array of stuffed animals and plastic figures that are scattered around the building. Everything from Pongo and Perdy from 101 Dalmatians to the dragon from Bedknobs and Broomsticks cover every conceivable spare space in the building. Unused desks are piled with mounds of dogs and Piglets and I've even seen Ariel chilling out in some desk chairs near the copier room. My mind being the way it is, I suddenly had a thought today. A horrifying thought.
What if these inanimate figures of joyous, childish pleasure were to come alive and revolt against the office in an effort to take over London?
It may be unlikely, but think about it. When you see the number of plush-covered mammals on every floor, there has to be at least a 1:1 ratio of employees to animals. Animals like the dragon could easily take on three people, while the over-sized Pongo in accounting could bound across two rows of cubicles and take out the marketing executives before you could say 'Cruella DeVille.' Ariel will be useless without legs, which makes me thankful that we don't have Ursula around here somewhere. And as for the Zac Efron who would come out of the 873 posters on every floor, he'd just dance his way around the office, oblivious to the fact that his fellow human beings are being slaughtered left and right by a raging Pumba.
I know what you're thinking; how on earth is Seth going to be prepared for this? Well, I've been stocking up on hairspray and cigarette lighters, which should take care of most of the plush toys. Trying to take out the plastic one is still a bit of a mystery to me, though. Axes are out of the question, but I don't have any real idea of what to do. If you have any helpful hints on this subject, your help would be greatly appreciated. And now that this imaginative session is drawing to a close, it's probably time to get back to working at the internship.
The weirdest part of working in a glorified child's environment, however, is the vast array of stuffed animals and plastic figures that are scattered around the building. Everything from Pongo and Perdy from 101 Dalmatians to the dragon from Bedknobs and Broomsticks cover every conceivable spare space in the building. Unused desks are piled with mounds of dogs and Piglets and I've even seen Ariel chilling out in some desk chairs near the copier room. My mind being the way it is, I suddenly had a thought today. A horrifying thought.
What if these inanimate figures of joyous, childish pleasure were to come alive and revolt against the office in an effort to take over London?
It may be unlikely, but think about it. When you see the number of plush-covered mammals on every floor, there has to be at least a 1:1 ratio of employees to animals. Animals like the dragon could easily take on three people, while the over-sized Pongo in accounting could bound across two rows of cubicles and take out the marketing executives before you could say 'Cruella DeVille.' Ariel will be useless without legs, which makes me thankful that we don't have Ursula around here somewhere. And as for the Zac Efron who would come out of the 873 posters on every floor, he'd just dance his way around the office, oblivious to the fact that his fellow human beings are being slaughtered left and right by a raging Pumba.
I know what you're thinking; how on earth is Seth going to be prepared for this? Well, I've been stocking up on hairspray and cigarette lighters, which should take care of most of the plush toys. Trying to take out the plastic one is still a bit of a mystery to me, though. Axes are out of the question, but I don't have any real idea of what to do. If you have any helpful hints on this subject, your help would be greatly appreciated. And now that this imaginative session is drawing to a close, it's probably time to get back to working at the internship.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Stratford-upon-Avon and Oxford
So in case you didn't know, this weekend consisted of another awesome ICLC trip. This time, we visited Stratford-upon-Avon, which is Shakespeare's hometown where he was born, raised and wrote a good number of his plays. The town itself is a quaint and cute one, although we learned that we are not allowed to use the world "quaint" for some reason. It's probably yet another innocent American term that has dirty British connotations...much like fanny.
We got up early on Friday morning and got to the London Centre around 8:00. I managed to down a cup of tea before leaving the flat, so I was unusually perky. As many people who have lived with me or around me can attest, my disposition in the mornings is not exactly that of a morning person; I tend not to talk much, which unfortunately gives off the air that I am angry at the world...which I sort of am because it's giving off light much too early, but that's beside the point. I was perky and happy to be taking a bus trip. Luke, Mallory and our friends Jenn and Kathleen talked for the first hour and a half of the ride, trading odd queries including my personal favourite, "Would you rather eat a baby or have to wake up every morning and club a baby seal for the rest of your life?" Friends are awesome.
We made a four-hour stop late that morning at Warwick Castle, which was beautiful and filled with many towers, gardens and wax statues. Sadly, hail and rain punctuated the visit at unexpected times, so our feelings about the castle weren't quite as stellar as they would have been on a perfectly sunny day, but it was still quite fun to wander the Ghost Tower and various halls. The Peacock Gardens were probably the best part about the exterior of the castle because of the many peacocks filling the blossoming gardens that were already full of various shades of green;
the best part of the interior was by far the wax statue of Queen Elizabeth II in the Great Hall. Actually, a tie for the exterior would have to be the launching demonstration of the trebuchet at noon!! It started raining more then, so we went inside and got hot chocolate and Ben & Jerry's to pass the time. After leaving Warwick Castle, we traveled a bit further before arriving in Stratford-upon-Avon. We ended up going to The Dirty Duck for dinner and ate some fish and chips before heading to the Courtyard Theatre to see a production of The Merchant of Venice, which was quite good, although the costumes and set were pretty modern. Oh yeah, we ended staying at a bed and breakfast. Luke and I had the girliest room out of everyone, I swear, with pink flowered sheets and comforters and lilac patterns stenciled onto the wall. But we got a full English breakfast the next morning, so it was all good.
The next morning, we went to the Holy Trinity Church of Stratford to listen to a talk by Dr. Kidd, who told us about Shakespeare's life in Stratford. Apparently, the word 'avon' means river, so when you say the River Avon, it's redundant. NICE. The river is still beautiful, though. There are willow trees along the edges and a park sprawling on one side, while the Holy Trinity Church borders the other side. It gives an age to the river to see the moss and stones on the banks of the river, so you get an idea of how old the town actually is.
A tour of the church followed the talk and Shakespeare's grave, alongside his wife's, was inside there, which was pretty cool to see. From there, we wandered off from the group and toured the town ourselves. Along the way, we saw Anne Hathaway's cottage, Shakespeare's original house, went to the farmer's market and got chocolate at this fantastic shop in the heart of Stratford's shopping strip. Their 'shopping strip' is actually a cobblestone street, come to think of it. After collecting our bags from our B&Bs, it was off to Oxford, which was actually one of the highlights of the trip. Everyone descended upon the university clothing stores to purchase some form of clothing. I snagged an Oxford Crew t-shirt for myself, as Jenn had told me the previous day that I looked like I did crew. *shrug* We toured the town, the streets of which were filled with Welsh-English dancing, which was fun to watch. We also got to go through the grounds of one of Oxford's colleges, Christ Church. The stately buildings and gardens around were breathtaking...and of course I took pictures!
Last night, we hosted an Office party in our flat to celebrate the resurgence of The Office after its hiatus due to the writer's strike.
Only Sara and Alexa came out of the five people who originally said they would come, but it was still a ton of fun. Hopefully we can make it a weekly occurrence! And now it's back to working at my internship.
Here are some more of the pictures from this weekend:
'Speare and Oxford
We got up early on Friday morning and got to the London Centre around 8:00. I managed to down a cup of tea before leaving the flat, so I was unusually perky. As many people who have lived with me or around me can attest, my disposition in the mornings is not exactly that of a morning person; I tend not to talk much, which unfortunately gives off the air that I am angry at the world...which I sort of am because it's giving off light much too early, but that's beside the point. I was perky and happy to be taking a bus trip. Luke, Mallory and our friends Jenn and Kathleen talked for the first hour and a half of the ride, trading odd queries including my personal favourite, "Would you rather eat a baby or have to wake up every morning and club a baby seal for the rest of your life?" Friends are awesome.
We made a four-hour stop late that morning at Warwick Castle, which was beautiful and filled with many towers, gardens and wax statues. Sadly, hail and rain punctuated the visit at unexpected times, so our feelings about the castle weren't quite as stellar as they would have been on a perfectly sunny day, but it was still quite fun to wander the Ghost Tower and various halls. The Peacock Gardens were probably the best part about the exterior of the castle because of the many peacocks filling the blossoming gardens that were already full of various shades of green;
the best part of the interior was by far the wax statue of Queen Elizabeth II in the Great Hall. Actually, a tie for the exterior would have to be the launching demonstration of the trebuchet at noon!! It started raining more then, so we went inside and got hot chocolate and Ben & Jerry's to pass the time. After leaving Warwick Castle, we traveled a bit further before arriving in Stratford-upon-Avon. We ended up going to The Dirty Duck for dinner and ate some fish and chips before heading to the Courtyard Theatre to see a production of The Merchant of Venice, which was quite good, although the costumes and set were pretty modern. Oh yeah, we ended staying at a bed and breakfast. Luke and I had the girliest room out of everyone, I swear, with pink flowered sheets and comforters and lilac patterns stenciled onto the wall. But we got a full English breakfast the next morning, so it was all good.The next morning, we went to the Holy Trinity Church of Stratford to listen to a talk by Dr. Kidd, who told us about Shakespeare's life in Stratford. Apparently, the word 'avon' means river, so when you say the River Avon, it's redundant. NICE. The river is still beautiful, though. There are willow trees along the edges and a park sprawling on one side, while the Holy Trinity Church borders the other side. It gives an age to the river to see the moss and stones on the banks of the river, so you get an idea of how old the town actually is.
A tour of the church followed the talk and Shakespeare's grave, alongside his wife's, was inside there, which was pretty cool to see. From there, we wandered off from the group and toured the town ourselves. Along the way, we saw Anne Hathaway's cottage, Shakespeare's original house, went to the farmer's market and got chocolate at this fantastic shop in the heart of Stratford's shopping strip. Their 'shopping strip' is actually a cobblestone street, come to think of it. After collecting our bags from our B&Bs, it was off to Oxford, which was actually one of the highlights of the trip. Everyone descended upon the university clothing stores to purchase some form of clothing. I snagged an Oxford Crew t-shirt for myself, as Jenn had told me the previous day that I looked like I did crew. *shrug* We toured the town, the streets of which were filled with Welsh-English dancing, which was fun to watch. We also got to go through the grounds of one of Oxford's colleges, Christ Church. The stately buildings and gardens around were breathtaking...and of course I took pictures!Last night, we hosted an Office party in our flat to celebrate the resurgence of The Office after its hiatus due to the writer's strike.
Only Sara and Alexa came out of the five people who originally said they would come, but it was still a ton of fun. Hopefully we can make it a weekly occurrence! And now it's back to working at my internship.Here are some more of the pictures from this weekend:
'Speare and Oxford
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Honesty
So remember a few posts back when I tried to define the city of London and all that it entails? Well, that still holds true. No words that man has made can encompass all that the eye can take in, ere it fail to ensnare that which is most fair, most dangerous, most lovely of a city built of stone and time. By the way, I went to Stratford this past weekend, hence I'm writing a little bit old school every now and then. More on that later.
At any rate, while making plans for the end of the semester after classes let out, a conversation came back to me that I had had with a friend of mine a few months back. I jokingly told her that I had fallen in love with a city I had never met, to which she also jokingly replied something about my girlfriend not being too pleased if she ever heard about it. However, that joke has now turned out to be something quite true. I have fallen in love with Europe, more specifically London. Perhaps it's the independence or the lighter class load, or maybe it's the chance to break out of the mold and meet some new people, create new memories in new places and sip wine in a flat while watching a horrendous BBC sitcom. Maybe it goes deeper than that, though. It's something different than what I am used to and I don't envy anyone who has to put up with my restlessness this summer. Or could it simply be that morning runs through Hyde Park, bus rides with laughing friends at 3 a.m. and a kind female voice telling me to mind the gap have crept into my sub-conscious and made me feel at ease or even, dare I say, at home?
The long and short of it is...I don't want to come back. I can't leave this, my first true taste of life outside the busyness of the United States and of international travel. It digs into a certain area of the heart and lies kindred with some ancient desire to roam and see the world that I had forgotten until now. This has little to do with what is in store for me when I return to New York, both with summer plans and with family and friends. I have grown to love the sunsets out the window and the relaxing feeling of strolling down the street past a museum or passing by pubs that are older than the nation I was born in. There is a list of thousands of things that make this place feel, just...right to me and when you've found something right, you shouldn't let it go.
At any rate, while making plans for the end of the semester after classes let out, a conversation came back to me that I had had with a friend of mine a few months back. I jokingly told her that I had fallen in love with a city I had never met, to which she also jokingly replied something about my girlfriend not being too pleased if she ever heard about it. However, that joke has now turned out to be something quite true. I have fallen in love with Europe, more specifically London. Perhaps it's the independence or the lighter class load, or maybe it's the chance to break out of the mold and meet some new people, create new memories in new places and sip wine in a flat while watching a horrendous BBC sitcom. Maybe it goes deeper than that, though. It's something different than what I am used to and I don't envy anyone who has to put up with my restlessness this summer. Or could it simply be that morning runs through Hyde Park, bus rides with laughing friends at 3 a.m. and a kind female voice telling me to mind the gap have crept into my sub-conscious and made me feel at ease or even, dare I say, at home?
The long and short of it is...I don't want to come back. I can't leave this, my first true taste of life outside the busyness of the United States and of international travel. It digs into a certain area of the heart and lies kindred with some ancient desire to roam and see the world that I had forgotten until now. This has little to do with what is in store for me when I return to New York, both with summer plans and with family and friends. I have grown to love the sunsets out the window and the relaxing feeling of strolling down the street past a museum or passing by pubs that are older than the nation I was born in. There is a list of thousands of things that make this place feel, just...right to me and when you've found something right, you shouldn't let it go.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Ice, Ice Baby
You never think the spontaneous and generally unplanned weekends are going to be the best ones until you're at the end of them. A little voice in my head (one of many) told me that this would happen, but I didn't give it credence until we were halfway through the weekend. Long story short, this weekend was pretty sweet.
Every now and then, the weekend needs to start early. Thursday night, Luke and I were victims of a lack of tickets to one of London's best shows: Billy Elliot. The British Pop Culture class went and took Mary and Mallory with them, but sadly we were unable to obtain tickets. But that's okay because when you're as awesome as we are, you don't need tickets to see a 14-year old dance and sing his way around a stage for three hours. What do you do when you can't get into one place? Why, you go somewhere better, por supuesto! After reading for about a half hour, the boys of Flat 95 put their heads together and came up with a smashing idea: Below Zero London, also known as the Ice Bar.
For those of you who have been unable to witness the sheer joyous splendour of the Ice Bar, it is a bar/nightclub entirely constructed of ice. The walls, ceilings, seats, bars, stools and even the cocktail glasses are made of ice, imported from Sweden and sculpted probably by some insane laser technology that you have to go to a special school in Slovakia to study. After paying the £15 cover charge to get in, we donned these coats that were a cross between fur-lined parkas and metallic blue radiation suits (but looked awesome regardless) and went through some hanging animals skins and a glass sliding door to the bar itself. It was about -5 degrees Celsius in there, so the coats were well needed. Luke and I each grabbed a cocktail from the bar, which ended up being mostly filled with an overly-sugary mixer. After our 40 minute session was over, we slid our glasses down the bar and tried to hit each other's glasses...or in this case, wouldn't they be ices since glasses are made of glass? Anywho, I smashed his ice-glass and it was fine because it was only frozen imported water. After that, we met up with Dan at the International Students House for karaoke night and ended up back at the flat around 12:30 or 1.
The next morning, we all woke up early for a Saturday because we had decided a couple of days before that we wanted to go to Dover for the day! After snatching up some cheap train tickets, we took a two-hour train ride to arrive at the coastal town of Dover. Dover is famous for three things: Dover Castle, its White Cliffs and being the closest point to France in England. We toured Dover Castle, which was spectacularly filled with cannons, weapons, high walls/turrets and one of the most magnificent views of the Channel that I have ever seen. The white of the cliffs bordering the chilly, ice-like blue of the waters was only added onto by the gentle browns of the stones on the beach separating the cold little town from a aquatic gateway to France. Seeing that and harsh, darkening clouds bringing rain toward us was pretty darn picturesque. We took the train back a little earlier than expected due to the rain and lack of open restaurants to eat in.
Sunday and Monday were worth mentioning too, I guess. After getting out of church, I made a bee-line straight ot Marble Arch, where the Olymic Torch relay passed by!! It was really exciting to see the torch itself, although being surrounded by Tibetan protesters didn't help the experience much. Monday is worth mentioning solely because I took a trip after class to the British Museum. It's filled with tons of art and artifacts and architecture from various civilization, my favourite of which has to be Assyria. The massive Royal Lion Hunt hieroglyphic stones were incredible, not to mention this big block of rock with writing squiggled on it. I think it was the Rosetta Stone, but I'm not sure.
At any rate, I've got some internship writing to do. It's crazy to think that this semester only has a few weeks left; we picked classes for next semester today!! But the rest of this month will still be amazing, that much I know.
p.s: Pictures for the Ice Bar and the Dover trip are below.
The Ice Bar/Dover
Every now and then, the weekend needs to start early. Thursday night, Luke and I were victims of a lack of tickets to one of London's best shows: Billy Elliot. The British Pop Culture class went and took Mary and Mallory with them, but sadly we were unable to obtain tickets. But that's okay because when you're as awesome as we are, you don't need tickets to see a 14-year old dance and sing his way around a stage for three hours. What do you do when you can't get into one place? Why, you go somewhere better, por supuesto! After reading for about a half hour, the boys of Flat 95 put their heads together and came up with a smashing idea: Below Zero London, also known as the Ice Bar.
For those of you who have been unable to witness the sheer joyous splendour of the Ice Bar, it is a bar/nightclub entirely constructed of ice. The walls, ceilings, seats, bars, stools and even the cocktail glasses are made of ice, imported from Sweden and sculpted probably by some insane laser technology that you have to go to a special school in Slovakia to study. After paying the £15 cover charge to get in, we donned these coats that were a cross between fur-lined parkas and metallic blue radiation suits (but looked awesome regardless) and went through some hanging animals skins and a glass sliding door to the bar itself. It was about -5 degrees Celsius in there, so the coats were well needed. Luke and I each grabbed a cocktail from the bar, which ended up being mostly filled with an overly-sugary mixer. After our 40 minute session was over, we slid our glasses down the bar and tried to hit each other's glasses...or in this case, wouldn't they be ices since glasses are made of glass? Anywho, I smashed his ice-glass and it was fine because it was only frozen imported water. After that, we met up with Dan at the International Students House for karaoke night and ended up back at the flat around 12:30 or 1.
The next morning, we all woke up early for a Saturday because we had decided a couple of days before that we wanted to go to Dover for the day! After snatching up some cheap train tickets, we took a two-hour train ride to arrive at the coastal town of Dover. Dover is famous for three things: Dover Castle, its White Cliffs and being the closest point to France in England. We toured Dover Castle, which was spectacularly filled with cannons, weapons, high walls/turrets and one of the most magnificent views of the Channel that I have ever seen. The white of the cliffs bordering the chilly, ice-like blue of the waters was only added onto by the gentle browns of the stones on the beach separating the cold little town from a aquatic gateway to France. Seeing that and harsh, darkening clouds bringing rain toward us was pretty darn picturesque. We took the train back a little earlier than expected due to the rain and lack of open restaurants to eat in.
Sunday and Monday were worth mentioning too, I guess. After getting out of church, I made a bee-line straight ot Marble Arch, where the Olymic Torch relay passed by!! It was really exciting to see the torch itself, although being surrounded by Tibetan protesters didn't help the experience much. Monday is worth mentioning solely because I took a trip after class to the British Museum. It's filled with tons of art and artifacts and architecture from various civilization, my favourite of which has to be Assyria. The massive Royal Lion Hunt hieroglyphic stones were incredible, not to mention this big block of rock with writing squiggled on it. I think it was the Rosetta Stone, but I'm not sure.
At any rate, I've got some internship writing to do. It's crazy to think that this semester only has a few weeks left; we picked classes for next semester today!! But the rest of this month will still be amazing, that much I know.
p.s: Pictures for the Ice Bar and the Dover trip are below.
The Ice Bar/Dover
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Death, Hyde Park and Indian Food
Okay, so there hasn't exactly been anything exciting going on lately. Classes are starting to pick up a little bit and, as a result, I have two 10-page papers due by the end of the month, along with three presentations and a review for The Merchant of Venice. Being the Park Scholar that I am, this entitles me to the freakish feeling of excitement of being able to write a 10-page paper for European Mass Media by answering the question, "Has technology made life better or worse in 21st century media?" Questions like those are the ones I feel qualified to answer, as if I could get into a suit and tie and be on a televised debate with someone about it.
Of course I could never do that, but it's nice to dream.
But at any rate, when there's nothing else to write about and I'm in the mood to write something at work while my boss is catching up on e-mails, there's always something to grasp at. Hence the title. The death discussion wasn't necessarily planned, it just sort of happened. While visiting London, a good friend of Norah's family passed away. I had only met him once, but he sticks in my mind as one of the most genuinely nice, teddy bear personality kind of people I can remember. And then my mind started running with the baton of the afterlife it had been handed through this course of events. My own grandfather had a heart attack a couple of months ago and the seriousness of it is beginning to set it as he is recovering. It scares me that virtually no one close to me over the age of 75 has died yet. Granted, that may sound callous when you first read it, but it stems from the innate fear that everyone close to me within that age bracket will die within a year of each other. Death is inevitable and I'm confident in heaven, but the thought of losing these people is like repeatedly being beaten; one death knocks you down and then more keep coming and kick you over and over again until you're curled in the fetal position. A term coined by John Mayer, "quarter-life crisis," comes to mind when I think of why death comes to mind. Man, I'm morbid.
On the lighter side, I've started to take on a new English hobby that's quite fun and quite catchy.
It's called reading in a park. This activity combines two relaxing activities and makes them even more profound when placed together. If you think you're chillin' out in your flat while reading C.S. Lewis' Perelandra (or in my case, Campuzano's ¡Ole Mi Sevilla!), try it on a bench in Hyde Park, surrounded by blooming daffodils, budding trees and the rushing fountains of the italian Gardens. or if you're really ambitious, sit in the grass and lean up against a tree.
It's an experience that pulls you out of the craziness that is life in a city and lets you escape into the world of an author's imagination. If you have a sandwich or some cheese to snack on, that helps too.
Sidenote: Hyde Park has a concert series coming up June 28-29 that is totally unfair. John Mayer. Eric Clapton. Sheryl Crow (whatever). And Jason Mraz. I want to be here.
But, speaking
Well, my boss is finishing up with his e-mails, so I'd better get back to work. But keep me posted on what's happening where you are, whether by e-mail or by a quick comment. Comments by people without registered accounts on blogger.com are now enabled on here, so feel free to leave one (coughcoughmomanddadcoughcough).
Of course I could never do that, but it's nice to dream.
But at any rate, when there's nothing else to write about and I'm in the mood to write something at work while my boss is catching up on e-mails, there's always something to grasp at. Hence the title. The death discussion wasn't necessarily planned, it just sort of happened. While visiting London, a good friend of Norah's family passed away. I had only met him once, but he sticks in my mind as one of the most genuinely nice, teddy bear personality kind of people I can remember. And then my mind started running with the baton of the afterlife it had been handed through this course of events. My own grandfather had a heart attack a couple of months ago and the seriousness of it is beginning to set it as he is recovering. It scares me that virtually no one close to me over the age of 75 has died yet. Granted, that may sound callous when you first read it, but it stems from the innate fear that everyone close to me within that age bracket will die within a year of each other. Death is inevitable and I'm confident in heaven, but the thought of losing these people is like repeatedly being beaten; one death knocks you down and then more keep coming and kick you over and over again until you're curled in the fetal position. A term coined by John Mayer, "quarter-life crisis," comes to mind when I think of why death comes to mind. Man, I'm morbid.
On the lighter side, I've started to take on a new English hobby that's quite fun and quite catchy.
It's called reading in a park. This activity combines two relaxing activities and makes them even more profound when placed together. If you think you're chillin' out in your flat while reading C.S. Lewis' Perelandra (or in my case, Campuzano's ¡Ole Mi Sevilla!), try it on a bench in Hyde Park, surrounded by blooming daffodils, budding trees and the rushing fountains of the italian Gardens. or if you're really ambitious, sit in the grass and lean up against a tree.It's an experience that pulls you out of the craziness that is life in a city and lets you escape into the world of an author's imagination. If you have a sandwich or some cheese to snack on, that helps too.
Sidenote: Hyde Park has a concert series coming up June 28-29 that is totally unfair. John Mayer. Eric Clapton. Sheryl Crow (whatever). And Jason Mraz. I want to be here.
But, speaking
Well, my boss is finishing up with his e-mails, so I'd better get back to work. But keep me posted on what's happening where you are, whether by e-mail or by a quick comment. Comments by people without registered accounts on blogger.com are now enabled on here, so feel free to leave one (coughcoughmomanddadcoughcough).
Monday, March 31, 2008
Minding the Gap: Spanish Edition
Entertaining visitors is always a good time. And this was no exception. This weekend, Norah and Laura came up from Sevilla to visit. I got out of a busy half day of work (our channel launches in Italy tomorrow) and went straight to Gatwick Airport to pick them up. After collecting their luggage and taking the train into London, we arrived at our flat around 5:30 in time for some afternoon tea and crumpets. After chilling out for about an hour with Luke and Mary, Laura, Norah and I went out to the Bombay Palace for Indian food, which was pretty good, if a bit pricey. Then we went back to the flat and met up with Dan and Luke before heading over to Fabric to go clubbing for a bit. Sadly, the line was about a two hour wait, so we waited for about 45 minutes before we decided to go somewhere else. Nowhere else cool was really open without IDs, though, so we ended up going back to the flat around 1 or so.
The next morning, we all got up and ate breakfast (I made scrambled and fried eggs, crumpets, fruit and orange juice) before Mary, Norah, Laura and I started out for our tour of London's best parts. We walked through Hyde Park, past Buckingham Palace and through St. James Park before arriving at Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and Parliament. We made our way down the South Bank of the Thames, taking pictures and being the awesomest tourists possible, and eventually stopped at the Borough Market for lunch. They sold these really good toasted cheese sandwiches with spices, so Laura and Norah got one of those and we all finished off our lunches with smoothies. Mmmm.
After that, we met up with Amy, Eric and Melanie at the Tate Modern Museum. Laura went with them to go see the Museum while Norah and I went to get tickets for Spamalot. After we got our tickets, we came back to Westminster and took a ride on the London Eye before heading over to the Tate Modern for a little while. Then we went to go see Spamalot since neither of us were that hungry for dinner; Spamalot is always a hilarious show to see. After the show let out, we walked around the city for a bit and tried to find a fish and chips place, but no one would let us in because we were being discriminated against, so we just went back to the flat. Norah learned how to solve half a Rubik's Cube and then everyone went to sleep since daylight savings time had just gone into effect.
Sunday morning was pretty groggy for everyone, but we conquered our sleepiness with some Costa coffee before heading to Platform 9 3/4 and the Spitalfield/Upper Markets for the rest of the morning. Haha, along the way, I managed to get my debit card eaten by another ATM and only got it back from the bank this morning. Apparently it had eaten more than 20 cards that day, so it wasn't just mine. Anywho, after we left the markets, it was time for the girls to catch their train back to Gatwick, so we all said our goodbyes and parted ways. Melanie and Eric were taking the same flight, so we met up with them there and they all took the train together to the airport. Amy and I went back to her flat from there and made turkey sandwiches with hot sauce to take on a picnic to Hyde Park with Lauren, which was pretty cool.
But the day wouldn't end without something ridiculous happening. Luke, Mary and I went to Regent's Park after that to read in Queen Mary's Gardens for a bit. When we came back, our power was out. It turns out that the flat below us had had a flood and it leaked into the electrical, so the electricians who came had to shut the power out for the night. So, we did our homework by candlelight last night and woke up this morning to a building without hot water. It was an adventure and a half. And that was the weekend!
Pictures from this weekend are below:
Sevilla y Londres Ajuntos
(Sevilla and London Together)
The next morning, we all got up and ate breakfast (I made scrambled and fried eggs, crumpets, fruit and orange juice) before Mary, Norah, Laura and I started out for our tour of London's best parts. We walked through Hyde Park, past Buckingham Palace and through St. James Park before arriving at Big Ben, Westminster Abbey and Parliament. We made our way down the South Bank of the Thames, taking pictures and being the awesomest tourists possible, and eventually stopped at the Borough Market for lunch. They sold these really good toasted cheese sandwiches with spices, so Laura and Norah got one of those and we all finished off our lunches with smoothies. Mmmm.
After that, we met up with Amy, Eric and Melanie at the Tate Modern Museum. Laura went with them to go see the Museum while Norah and I went to get tickets for Spamalot. After we got our tickets, we came back to Westminster and took a ride on the London Eye before heading over to the Tate Modern for a little while. Then we went to go see Spamalot since neither of us were that hungry for dinner; Spamalot is always a hilarious show to see. After the show let out, we walked around the city for a bit and tried to find a fish and chips place, but no one would let us in because we were being discriminated against, so we just went back to the flat. Norah learned how to solve half a Rubik's Cube and then everyone went to sleep since daylight savings time had just gone into effect.
Sunday morning was pretty groggy for everyone, but we conquered our sleepiness with some Costa coffee before heading to Platform 9 3/4 and the Spitalfield/Upper Markets for the rest of the morning. Haha, along the way, I managed to get my debit card eaten by another ATM and only got it back from the bank this morning. Apparently it had eaten more than 20 cards that day, so it wasn't just mine. Anywho, after we left the markets, it was time for the girls to catch their train back to Gatwick, so we all said our goodbyes and parted ways. Melanie and Eric were taking the same flight, so we met up with them there and they all took the train together to the airport. Amy and I went back to her flat from there and made turkey sandwiches with hot sauce to take on a picnic to Hyde Park with Lauren, which was pretty cool.
But the day wouldn't end without something ridiculous happening. Luke, Mary and I went to Regent's Park after that to read in Queen Mary's Gardens for a bit. When we came back, our power was out. It turns out that the flat below us had had a flood and it leaked into the electrical, so the electricians who came had to shut the power out for the night. So, we did our homework by candlelight last night and woke up this morning to a building without hot water. It was an adventure and a half. And that was the weekend!
Pictures from this weekend are below:
Sevilla y Londres Ajuntos
(Sevilla and London Together)
Thursday, March 27, 2008
London Itself
While struggling to find something to write about, other than the ecclectic and random things I usually write about, I realized that the one thing I haven't said much about is the very city that I'm living in: London.
London is actually from the Latin "Londinium," taken from its days as a part of the Roman Empire, which is exactly how the city got its start. It's an expansive city and has a certain air of sophistication that you don't really get in many other cities, save Vienna and Prague...neither of which I have been to, but fingers crossed, it might happen before May. Most of the students here are saddened that they haven't seen as much of the city as they want to, myself included. This will inevitably lead to a rush of weekend activities in an attempt to see all the major landmarks and experience the city like we want to.
Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street and Regent Street are the places to do both shopping and window shopping, unless you count the markets. They're filled with every major designer from Armani to Zara and have a myriad of things to offer beyond food and clothing, like people watching. Covent Garden is another place that's good for that, as well as the Spitalfield and Camden markets. Lately it's become a partial habit of mine to go to Waterstone's or Costa Coffee, grab a cup of mocha, sit down and read/write for a couple of hours. It's not the need to escape from people that drives me to do this, it's just a calming, peaceful thing that allows me to relax and forget the bad moments of the day and experience some sort of awesome catharsis through a pen and paper. Great what that can do for you.
The view from our flat is pretty amazing, by the way. Sunset is around 5:30 or 6, which is just when most of us get home from work. It's a minor thrill to come home to see the skyline begin to shine with false lights as the true source of illumination dips below the horizon. The sun's been rising earlier lately, which has been great for running. Sara, a girl who lives nearby, runs with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays (and sometimes Saturdays), which has been great for motivation in the morning. We run and talk about summer jobs, writing, music and a good range other topics before realizing that we've covered a good four to five miles of pure wandering of the walkways and roads to meander around and through Hyde Park.
Hyde Park has been one of the greatest discoveries thus far in my time in London. Between the fountains, statues and wide-open spaces, not to mention the blooming daffodils and tulips. However, the greater Park discovery has been Regent's Park. It's a good 10 minute run to get there, but within the confines of those walls lies a historically glorious garden filled with an aura that has yet to be described. A gentle rain of peace trickles down your limbs as you enter the gates and the pathways open up to perfectly kept lawns and weathered benches in scattered directions. Walkways that lead away from the path well-traveled seem to beckon you, whether made of cobblestone or asphalt; either way, moss has no respect for these surfaces, yet commands a respect of its own. Small waterfalls trickle down into rippleless pools filled with ducks and shaded by shrubbery and trees. As the rain falls and ruins this mirror to the sky, I can't help but think how beautifully it has been ruined.
It's impossible for me to describe a city without going into poetics, much like it's impossible for me to close a post without a witty conclusion. I'll fill you in later on the happenings of this weekend, but don't expect anything too awesome. My tendency to discover excitement is like Britney's chances of winning a Nobel Prize...although maybe not that astronomically small.
London is actually from the Latin "Londinium," taken from its days as a part of the Roman Empire, which is exactly how the city got its start. It's an expansive city and has a certain air of sophistication that you don't really get in many other cities, save Vienna and Prague...neither of which I have been to, but fingers crossed, it might happen before May. Most of the students here are saddened that they haven't seen as much of the city as they want to, myself included. This will inevitably lead to a rush of weekend activities in an attempt to see all the major landmarks and experience the city like we want to.
Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Street and Regent Street are the places to do both shopping and window shopping, unless you count the markets. They're filled with every major designer from Armani to Zara and have a myriad of things to offer beyond food and clothing, like people watching. Covent Garden is another place that's good for that, as well as the Spitalfield and Camden markets. Lately it's become a partial habit of mine to go to Waterstone's or Costa Coffee, grab a cup of mocha, sit down and read/write for a couple of hours. It's not the need to escape from people that drives me to do this, it's just a calming, peaceful thing that allows me to relax and forget the bad moments of the day and experience some sort of awesome catharsis through a pen and paper. Great what that can do for you.
The view from our flat is pretty amazing, by the way. Sunset is around 5:30 or 6, which is just when most of us get home from work. It's a minor thrill to come home to see the skyline begin to shine with false lights as the true source of illumination dips below the horizon. The sun's been rising earlier lately, which has been great for running. Sara, a girl who lives nearby, runs with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays (and sometimes Saturdays), which has been great for motivation in the morning. We run and talk about summer jobs, writing, music and a good range other topics before realizing that we've covered a good four to five miles of pure wandering of the walkways and roads to meander around and through Hyde Park.
Hyde Park has been one of the greatest discoveries thus far in my time in London. Between the fountains, statues and wide-open spaces, not to mention the blooming daffodils and tulips. However, the greater Park discovery has been Regent's Park. It's a good 10 minute run to get there, but within the confines of those walls lies a historically glorious garden filled with an aura that has yet to be described. A gentle rain of peace trickles down your limbs as you enter the gates and the pathways open up to perfectly kept lawns and weathered benches in scattered directions. Walkways that lead away from the path well-traveled seem to beckon you, whether made of cobblestone or asphalt; either way, moss has no respect for these surfaces, yet commands a respect of its own. Small waterfalls trickle down into rippleless pools filled with ducks and shaded by shrubbery and trees. As the rain falls and ruins this mirror to the sky, I can't help but think how beautifully it has been ruined.
It's impossible for me to describe a city without going into poetics, much like it's impossible for me to close a post without a witty conclusion. I'll fill you in later on the happenings of this weekend, but don't expect anything too awesome. My tendency to discover excitement is like Britney's chances of winning a Nobel Prize...although maybe not that astronomically small.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Operation Exploration
Today was one of those days where you wake up with this feeling that something needs to happen. After about two minutes of thought, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I'd argue that taking matters into your own hands is always a good choice, but then you look at Abraham having an illegit son or K-Fed trying to raise his and Britney's kids and my point isn't really valid. But don't worry! In this case, it paid off really well.
The day didn't actually start out as planned. I overslept and got up at 10 instead of 9 because I woke up and shut off my alarm when I went off, which pushed back my five mile run to the afternoon. At any rate, since it was 10:30 by the time I had gotten ready and eaten brekkers, I decided to pop over to Buckingham Palace and rock out with the Queen and the Palace Guard. When I arrived at 11:15, the place was packed, complete with adults hanging like monkeys from statues and fences, police on horseback and the British flag flying high above the Palace, signifying to all that the Queen was indeed IN. One of the "bobbies" on horseback threatened to squash us all with her horse if we didn't move back behind the barriers before the Guard came through. Naturally, 95% of us moved and the remaining 5% just waited until she left and floated around in enough places that she wouldn't catch them in their sneaky ways.
The Changing of the Guard was pretty cool. All the soldiers in their grey uniforms, shouting orders and flipping their sabres around like majorettes, were solid and very impressive, as were their marching band counterparts fitted with their standard black poofy hats. Two very important details that you need to know about the COTG today: 1) It was so windy out that the wind blew the hat off of three different guards, some more than once. It was quite funny to see the one soldiers standing guard at the side of the gate goose-step properly to where the hat had fallen, then march it over to the soldier, put it back onto the soldier's head, then march back to his post. This happened not just once or twice; this happened FIVE times. Classy. 2) The marching band. Okay, I can understand wanting to have some international cultural relevance, but somehow I don't think that playing "A Whole New World" from Aladdin is going to make the COTG more reverent. Other selections featured by the band included It's Not Unusual, Sir Duke and my personal favourite...the Austin Powers theme song. Oh yes. They went there.
Shortly afterward, I got back to the flat, changed and went for a run in the opposite direction I usually go, due to the explorationization feeling coursing through my veins. It turns out that Regent's Park is beautiful, especially Queen Mary's Gardens. The flowers are already blooming and there are all of these off-shooting paths that go to small ponds and places like that; it was great. Sidenote: it feels strange to say that running five miles isn't a big deal anymore. In fact, three miles is pretty standard for me. Oh, how times have changed.
Post-showering and lunching, it was time for a trip to the National Portrait Gallery. There were lots of portraits of important people, including photographic portraits of Dame Judy Dench and other important women in one exhibit. Others visited included Charles I and the Civil War and the Tudors. British history is really starting to grow on me.
After walking out of the gallery, I wandered around Leicester Square for a while before meeting up with my friend Ce, who was visiting a friend of his in London while on spring break from Grenada. We stopped briefly into Sainsbury's to grab some dinner fixings and then split up; Ce and I went to Camden Town Station to meet up with Mary to go see Platform 9 and 3/4 in King's Cross, while Rachel went back to her flat to make dinner. Ce and I went back to Rachel's place after our quick outing, during which we saw an entire doubledecker BUS being towed away by some high-powered tow truck...didn't know they made those. Rachel's flat was pretty schnazzy, filled with scented candles and enough avant-garde art on the walls to make Sir William Orpen feel at home (haha, British art joke...I'm funny). We ended up talking about religion, a little politics (which THEY talked about) and finally settled on watching some British comedian at the Apollo before popping in Never Been Kissed, which starred a painfully awkward Drew Barrymore.
On the way to the Euston Square tube station, Ce and I were riding a bus with a lot of crazy and rowdy black teenagers in the back who might have been from Morocco. They staged a fake fight that was pretty obnoxious. The bus driver must have had some sort of secret signal or something that he flashed to police cars like the Batman searchlight sign or something because next thing you know, two police officers come running up to the bus doors and sprint inside, yelling something interspersed with a lot of "oy"s or something like that. They cornered one of the kids and made him get off the bus with two of the other ones; the rest dispersed at the next stop. They got off and Ce breathed a long-held laugh out of his mouth, as did I. All in all, it was quite the day (and night), which all goes to show you that it pays to be a Christopher Columbus for a day...minus the syphillis. I was going more for the explorations and discovering new territory thing.
The day didn't actually start out as planned. I overslept and got up at 10 instead of 9 because I woke up and shut off my alarm when I went off, which pushed back my five mile run to the afternoon. At any rate, since it was 10:30 by the time I had gotten ready and eaten brekkers, I decided to pop over to Buckingham Palace and rock out with the Queen and the Palace Guard. When I arrived at 11:15, the place was packed, complete with adults hanging like monkeys from statues and fences, police on horseback and the British flag flying high above the Palace, signifying to all that the Queen was indeed IN. One of the "bobbies" on horseback threatened to squash us all with her horse if we didn't move back behind the barriers before the Guard came through. Naturally, 95% of us moved and the remaining 5% just waited until she left and floated around in enough places that she wouldn't catch them in their sneaky ways.
The Changing of the Guard was pretty cool. All the soldiers in their grey uniforms, shouting orders and flipping their sabres around like majorettes, were solid and very impressive, as were their marching band counterparts fitted with their standard black poofy hats. Two very important details that you need to know about the COTG today: 1) It was so windy out that the wind blew the hat off of three different guards, some more than once. It was quite funny to see the one soldiers standing guard at the side of the gate goose-step properly to where the hat had fallen, then march it over to the soldier, put it back onto the soldier's head, then march back to his post. This happened not just once or twice; this happened FIVE times. Classy. 2) The marching band. Okay, I can understand wanting to have some international cultural relevance, but somehow I don't think that playing "A Whole New World" from Aladdin is going to make the COTG more reverent. Other selections featured by the band included It's Not Unusual, Sir Duke and my personal favourite...the Austin Powers theme song. Oh yes. They went there.
Shortly afterward, I got back to the flat, changed and went for a run in the opposite direction I usually go, due to the explorationization feeling coursing through my veins. It turns out that Regent's Park is beautiful, especially Queen Mary's Gardens. The flowers are already blooming and there are all of these off-shooting paths that go to small ponds and places like that; it was great. Sidenote: it feels strange to say that running five miles isn't a big deal anymore. In fact, three miles is pretty standard for me. Oh, how times have changed.
Post-showering and lunching, it was time for a trip to the National Portrait Gallery. There were lots of portraits of important people, including photographic portraits of Dame Judy Dench and other important women in one exhibit. Others visited included Charles I and the Civil War and the Tudors. British history is really starting to grow on me.
After walking out of the gallery, I wandered around Leicester Square for a while before meeting up with my friend Ce, who was visiting a friend of his in London while on spring break from Grenada. We stopped briefly into Sainsbury's to grab some dinner fixings and then split up; Ce and I went to Camden Town Station to meet up with Mary to go see Platform 9 and 3/4 in King's Cross, while Rachel went back to her flat to make dinner. Ce and I went back to Rachel's place after our quick outing, during which we saw an entire doubledecker BUS being towed away by some high-powered tow truck...didn't know they made those. Rachel's flat was pretty schnazzy, filled with scented candles and enough avant-garde art on the walls to make Sir William Orpen feel at home (haha, British art joke...I'm funny). We ended up talking about religion, a little politics (which THEY talked about) and finally settled on watching some British comedian at the Apollo before popping in Never Been Kissed, which starred a painfully awkward Drew Barrymore.
On the way to the Euston Square tube station, Ce and I were riding a bus with a lot of crazy and rowdy black teenagers in the back who might have been from Morocco. They staged a fake fight that was pretty obnoxious. The bus driver must have had some sort of secret signal or something that he flashed to police cars like the Batman searchlight sign or something because next thing you know, two police officers come running up to the bus doors and sprint inside, yelling something interspersed with a lot of "oy"s or something like that. They cornered one of the kids and made him get off the bus with two of the other ones; the rest dispersed at the next stop. They got off and Ce breathed a long-held laugh out of his mouth, as did I. All in all, it was quite the day (and night), which all goes to show you that it pays to be a Christopher Columbus for a day...minus the syphillis. I was going more for the explorations and discovering new territory thing.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
To Infinity and Beyond...wherever that is
This week has brought a lot more news from the kids at Ithaca than I've heard in a while. The results for the LA Program are coming in with a sort of divining rod effect, separating those who are to go in the fall and those who will be going in the spring. My friend Callie had a big rollercoaster on Tuesday: she was assigned to the fall semester, which she really didn't want, but then was notified that she's a finalist for the Park Scholar Rising Junior Award!!!!! I'm so happy for her because she totally deserves to get it...I just wish I knew who else was notified as a finalist. Hehe, I'm a cheeky little monkey.
Wow. That was way too British and I had no idea what I was typing until it came onto the screen.
At any rate, this week has also brought about quite a lot of thinking in regards to topics that are too numerous to name, too sensitive to put online and too complex to put into complete and coherent sentences. But, as a fairly competent writer/journalist, I will place some of my eggs into this e-basket and see what hatches at the end of my writing. The first and most prevalent topic is L.A. Long story short, I am questioning whether or not I want to go. I have not received any notification as to whether or not I have been accepted, but doubts are starting to surface and have bubbled to the top of my mind and stayed there for at least 4 or 5 days now. L.A. is a great place with boundless opportunities and all that schmutz you hear all day long from the admissions counselors who are trying to make some poor kid pay $43,000+ a year to experience that boundless opportunity. It's the West Coast, filled with sunshine, beaches, Disneyland, television production studios galore and all the networking an Ithacan could ask for. However, I honestly can't say if I'd be happy there or not. Peer pressure got the best of me when I was making the decision to go abroad for the second time...which is another issue in and of itself because who says that I have to go abroad twice just because the scholarship covers it?! Not I, said the cat.
But where else is there to go? Washington D.C. has crossed my mind a few times, simply because of it's obviously the news capital (and literal capital for that matter) of the nation...the United States, that is. Duh, I'm in London, not the U.S. There would be chances to get connected with serious news people there. I won't lie, crossing over to the print journalism side of things has run its way through my mind, too, since the Washington Post is there. And the Washington Post has multimedia capabilities and could use someone to help them out with that. And then there's the option of just staying in Ithaca. Newswatch 16 could use some stability in on-air talent and it would give me the jump I need to get into an anchoring position for senior year. Not to mention the fact that there would be Relay For Life, Finalist Weekend and all of the fun activities that I miss from freshman year. But then I'd need to figure out housing for that semester.
It's a quagmire of thoughts that I've gotten myself into. Thank God the internship worked itself out today; I landed a paid internship with Channel 13 in Rochester through the NYSBA and Ithaca. It's only $7.15 an hour, but it's better than having to pay for credits. I'm still planning on doing a bit of small part-time work over the summer, maybe contracting myself out as a videographer. *shrugs* It's still up in the air.
That's the main one that needed to be let out. One of the lesser trains of thought is of what might happen after graduation. *Note: the following is not a call for sympathy* There's this flitting feeling that comes in and out of my mind like one of those single-engine airplanes with a sign flying off the back and the sign reads, "Are you really cut out for broadcast journalism?" I've barely started seriously working for the station and at this point in time, certain other people I know who have the exact same goal are anchoring news programs and creating resume tapes and locking down serious internships in the city. Meanwhile, I'm off in London working in the marketing department of ESPN (yes, marketing) doing writing and trying to make the most of the time that I'm here without sacrificing the career moves the world says I should be making. Defining a path to success is nowhere near similar to what I'm going through right now. Feels more like I'm hitchhiking my way along the highway until I arrive somewhere that looks good enough to stay for a while.
It's been one of those days, you know? Where introspect seems to pervade every thought and movement in your body and mind. A constant sigh is always on your edge of your lungs and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to distract yourself from the ever-present reality that you are living in. This messed up world where you become absorbed with your problems and your own life to the point where you can't stop and realize that there are other people out there who are far worse off than you but you don't acknowledge it...which makes me a hypocrite because that's exactly what I've done in this splurge of writing.
This is supposed to keep you updated on my life in London, not give you glimpses into next semester/next year/the rest of my life. Although I haven't really done much in London lately, something that I'm not too happy with. Exploration needs to be the name of the game from here on out; galleries and restaurants and pubs and shows that remain to be seen, trading my hold on my bank account for a life well-lived. We'll see where that decision leads me, or all of the preceding ones that were just laid out for that matter.
Wow. That was way too British and I had no idea what I was typing until it came onto the screen.
At any rate, this week has also brought about quite a lot of thinking in regards to topics that are too numerous to name, too sensitive to put online and too complex to put into complete and coherent sentences. But, as a fairly competent writer/journalist, I will place some of my eggs into this e-basket and see what hatches at the end of my writing. The first and most prevalent topic is L.A. Long story short, I am questioning whether or not I want to go. I have not received any notification as to whether or not I have been accepted, but doubts are starting to surface and have bubbled to the top of my mind and stayed there for at least 4 or 5 days now. L.A. is a great place with boundless opportunities and all that schmutz you hear all day long from the admissions counselors who are trying to make some poor kid pay $43,000+ a year to experience that boundless opportunity. It's the West Coast, filled with sunshine, beaches, Disneyland, television production studios galore and all the networking an Ithacan could ask for. However, I honestly can't say if I'd be happy there or not. Peer pressure got the best of me when I was making the decision to go abroad for the second time...which is another issue in and of itself because who says that I have to go abroad twice just because the scholarship covers it?! Not I, said the cat.
But where else is there to go? Washington D.C. has crossed my mind a few times, simply because of it's obviously the news capital (and literal capital for that matter) of the nation...the United States, that is. Duh, I'm in London, not the U.S. There would be chances to get connected with serious news people there. I won't lie, crossing over to the print journalism side of things has run its way through my mind, too, since the Washington Post is there. And the Washington Post has multimedia capabilities and could use someone to help them out with that. And then there's the option of just staying in Ithaca. Newswatch 16 could use some stability in on-air talent and it would give me the jump I need to get into an anchoring position for senior year. Not to mention the fact that there would be Relay For Life, Finalist Weekend and all of the fun activities that I miss from freshman year. But then I'd need to figure out housing for that semester.
It's a quagmire of thoughts that I've gotten myself into. Thank God the internship worked itself out today; I landed a paid internship with Channel 13 in Rochester through the NYSBA and Ithaca. It's only $7.15 an hour, but it's better than having to pay for credits. I'm still planning on doing a bit of small part-time work over the summer, maybe contracting myself out as a videographer. *shrugs* It's still up in the air.
That's the main one that needed to be let out. One of the lesser trains of thought is of what might happen after graduation. *Note: the following is not a call for sympathy* There's this flitting feeling that comes in and out of my mind like one of those single-engine airplanes with a sign flying off the back and the sign reads, "Are you really cut out for broadcast journalism?" I've barely started seriously working for the station and at this point in time, certain other people I know who have the exact same goal are anchoring news programs and creating resume tapes and locking down serious internships in the city. Meanwhile, I'm off in London working in the marketing department of ESPN (yes, marketing) doing writing and trying to make the most of the time that I'm here without sacrificing the career moves the world says I should be making. Defining a path to success is nowhere near similar to what I'm going through right now. Feels more like I'm hitchhiking my way along the highway until I arrive somewhere that looks good enough to stay for a while.
It's been one of those days, you know? Where introspect seems to pervade every thought and movement in your body and mind. A constant sigh is always on your edge of your lungs and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to distract yourself from the ever-present reality that you are living in. This messed up world where you become absorbed with your problems and your own life to the point where you can't stop and realize that there are other people out there who are far worse off than you but you don't acknowledge it...which makes me a hypocrite because that's exactly what I've done in this splurge of writing.
This is supposed to keep you updated on my life in London, not give you glimpses into next semester/next year/the rest of my life. Although I haven't really done much in London lately, something that I'm not too happy with. Exploration needs to be the name of the game from here on out; galleries and restaurants and pubs and shows that remain to be seen, trading my hold on my bank account for a life well-lived. We'll see where that decision leads me, or all of the preceding ones that were just laid out for that matter.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Muddy Thoughts
I always knew that London had a dirtier side; it just never showed itself. It's like Hollywood before Lindsay Lohan started doing drugs. Everyone had a feeling that it was gritty, you just never had hard evidence. This weekend, I went with Luke and Lisa, his girlfriend who is visiting with her family from Colorado, to go see Harlequins play Bath in rugby. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision for me to go and actually stemmed from me trying to be nice to Lisa and buying her a ticket so she could go with Luke. Luke got her a ticket somehow and I ended up tagging along as that awesome third wheel that I love to be sometimes. Yay!
It was terribly typical when we arrived at the stadium; wind was blowing in every conceivable direction and the rain swept across our faces and coats, wetting our hair and dampening the field for both teams to trod upon for three hours. Luke took his seat next to Lisa, both of them shivering physically, but sharing that nearly palpable dorky affection that is typical of each one, while I took mine next between a quaking kid from Ithaca and Abby, who was wrapped in every conceivable source of warmth she had brought along. Personally, I took my steaming hot chips, turned up my peacoat collar and sipped on a cup of hot chocolate with Bailey's and whipped cream. Neither method kept either of us warm for long, but it was worth it to be warm for a brief period of time.
For the record, rugby really isn't that confusing. But if no one bothers to explain it to you, it might as well be like trying to teach quantum physics to a kindergartener. The players from both sides huddle together in a giant...huddle, called a scrum, and someone hikes the ball, then they all try to get to it and tackle each other. From there, it appears to be complete chaos, with lots of kicking and falling and tossing of the rugby wall itself. Halfway through the second half, I realized that there was a method to their madness. When one player falls on the ball, his teammates run over and protect him (and the ball) from the opposition while others set up to run further down the field to score a 'try,' the equivalent of a touchdown. We cheered for the Harlequins and, fittingly, we won by a score of 22-9. I just seem to have that effect whenever I'm around people.
On the bus, both ways, Abby and I sat next to each other and talked for what seemed like two hours at the least. To be honest, from the second we started talking in the train station, we didn't stop talking. Some of your friends are just cool like that. But one topic of discussion that lent itself to my brain (after a game of 20 Questions that involved guessing "rugby ball" and "power drill") was a topic that Mallory had posed last weekend. It's very general and I might as well just come out with it and stop wasting typing space. If you think of what you were born with, in terms of your body, you didn't have much of a choice. You are what you are and you can't help it. However, the body is, in the end, a container for the soul. It houses the essence of what we are and who we are, from our morals to our consciences and possibly our memories. If you debate that love is nothing more than neurons and axons working together in a neurological state to produce certain glandular reactions and results, then you give this theory no credence. It's something to think about, an idea that boggles the mind and requires a good cup of tea/coffee, a notebook and a few hours to gather your thoughts on.
What it comes down to is the question of whether or not you can look into someone to see his or her soul or simply look at his or her physical appearance. It's a question of judgment and looking for the good within someone...or the bad, for that matter. It's such a can of worms and such a great topic to sit and talk without someone about for hours on end. When Norah and I have a few hours to ourselves or have a roadtrip we're taking somewhere, that's what we do. We have our "deep and meaningful conversations," as she calls them. If nothing else, you've shared your thoughts with someone else and given them a glimpse of who/what you really are. That's what counts for me. Although my mind may be cluttered and muddy from the rugby match within, it still has enough up there for a few hours of solid conversation with a friend.
It was terribly typical when we arrived at the stadium; wind was blowing in every conceivable direction and the rain swept across our faces and coats, wetting our hair and dampening the field for both teams to trod upon for three hours. Luke took his seat next to Lisa, both of them shivering physically, but sharing that nearly palpable dorky affection that is typical of each one, while I took mine next between a quaking kid from Ithaca and Abby, who was wrapped in every conceivable source of warmth she had brought along. Personally, I took my steaming hot chips, turned up my peacoat collar and sipped on a cup of hot chocolate with Bailey's and whipped cream. Neither method kept either of us warm for long, but it was worth it to be warm for a brief period of time.
For the record, rugby really isn't that confusing. But if no one bothers to explain it to you, it might as well be like trying to teach quantum physics to a kindergartener. The players from both sides huddle together in a giant...huddle, called a scrum, and someone hikes the ball, then they all try to get to it and tackle each other. From there, it appears to be complete chaos, with lots of kicking and falling and tossing of the rugby wall itself. Halfway through the second half, I realized that there was a method to their madness. When one player falls on the ball, his teammates run over and protect him (and the ball) from the opposition while others set up to run further down the field to score a 'try,' the equivalent of a touchdown. We cheered for the Harlequins and, fittingly, we won by a score of 22-9. I just seem to have that effect whenever I'm around people.
On the bus, both ways, Abby and I sat next to each other and talked for what seemed like two hours at the least. To be honest, from the second we started talking in the train station, we didn't stop talking. Some of your friends are just cool like that. But one topic of discussion that lent itself to my brain (after a game of 20 Questions that involved guessing "rugby ball" and "power drill") was a topic that Mallory had posed last weekend. It's very general and I might as well just come out with it and stop wasting typing space. If you think of what you were born with, in terms of your body, you didn't have much of a choice. You are what you are and you can't help it. However, the body is, in the end, a container for the soul. It houses the essence of what we are and who we are, from our morals to our consciences and possibly our memories. If you debate that love is nothing more than neurons and axons working together in a neurological state to produce certain glandular reactions and results, then you give this theory no credence. It's something to think about, an idea that boggles the mind and requires a good cup of tea/coffee, a notebook and a few hours to gather your thoughts on.
What it comes down to is the question of whether or not you can look into someone to see his or her soul or simply look at his or her physical appearance. It's a question of judgment and looking for the good within someone...or the bad, for that matter. It's such a can of worms and such a great topic to sit and talk without someone about for hours on end. When Norah and I have a few hours to ourselves or have a roadtrip we're taking somewhere, that's what we do. We have our "deep and meaningful conversations," as she calls them. If nothing else, you've shared your thoughts with someone else and given them a glimpse of who/what you really are. That's what counts for me. Although my mind may be cluttered and muddy from the rugby match within, it still has enough up there for a few hours of solid conversation with a friend.
Monday, March 10, 2008
ATMs, the Pope and el Pared del Amor
After returning from traversing a continent that I have been on for barely more than two months, there is quite a bit to cover. Granted, there is no possible way to tell every detail, both chronological and mental, of this 10-day excursion that covered Italy and France. Thus, the following piece of writing will be a strange mix of shorthand, a list or two and the occasional thoughtful outburst.
So. Let's begin.
First off, Easy Jet is a terrible airline to fly on. Their baggage restrictions are horrendous and resulted in us having to pay extra to check a bag or two. Stupidity at its finest. Once we got on our 6:45 a.m. flight (we got up at 2 a.m. to catch it), we flew into Venice and took the bus to the place we were crashing in: Hotel Centrale. From there, it was a 15-minute bus ride to the actual island/city of Venice. Our experience was nothing short of enriching, complete with bus drivers who jacked up prices and Middle Eastern men trying to sell you brightly coloured squishy toys for a euro. Cynicism aside, Venice was a great city. Although gondola rides cost the equivalent of $70 per person, it was still worth it to wander along the narrow cobblestone streets following the salty scent of the Adriatic Sea's waters to the open spaces along the Grand Canal. The Piazza del San Marco was a sight to see, especially covered in hungry pigeons, as was the Guggenheim Collection that featured modern art galore. Hardly any nightlife, but a good day of walking, shopping in the markets and a full Italian dinner with gelato on the Grand Canal more than made up for that.
A few quick facts I learned about Italy:
- Italians love their underwear. Ads and shops are everywhere; it is literally every other store.
- Speaking loudly is acceptable in this city. Guess we're just used to the French and the English.
- All stop signs say "Stop" in English, no matter what country you're in
- The Pope has a PopeMobile. Literally.
After that, it was off to the city of Florence, home to the Arno River, Michaelangelo's statue of David and many, many other large naked men carved out of rock. This had to be my favourite city out of the four I stayed in. It had the sights to see with Piazzale Michaelangelo and Ponte Vecchio (Michaelangelo Square and the Old Bridge), the marketplaces and old streets, as well as a ton of good food and tourist attractions. Since we were there from Sunday to Tuesday, I figured it might be nice to get up early and go run on Monday morning. So I got a chance to do a great 5.5 mile run along the river across 5 bridges and saw a lot of the city I wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. There were a lot of cathedrals (here known as basilicas) and museums, but we stuck to the cathedrals and outdoor statues for the most part. Forte Belvedere, which was on top of a large hill, had the Boboli Gardens behind it. And even though most things, including the Gardens, were closed on Monday, it was still sunny and warm enough at 70 degrees to let us walk around the city at will. This was also part of the reason that Florence was so great; we roamed around for an entire day and saw so much, from the "safari" trees, as Mary called them, to the sun setting over the fiery stones of the Duomo in the center of Florence itself. It was awesome...aside from losing part of Monday morning to my debit card getting eaten by an ATM because I had forgotten my PIN and apparently it didn't want to give back my card. As a result, I spent two hours inside of a bank waiting for some snobby middle-aged Italian accountant to take me to someone who would get it for me. Eventually I got it back, but I was unable to withdraw money from an ATM for the next two weeks. Oh well. Whatevs.
Next on the list was Rome! We booked 3 days in the city and it was definitely needed. From the crowded St. Peter's Basilica filled with crazed Catholics seeking a glimpse of P Benny himself to the Colosseum to the Pantheon, we were always walking somewhere. The weather was quite cooperative for the first day and the sun smiled upon us and kept the wind at bay. Our hostel was a bit small, but the people who ran it were more than accommodating and suggested places for us to eat, go out and have something to eat in between meals. The people who ran the place were a hodgepodge of nationalities: French, Italian and Australian. Before going out for the night, we all sat down and discussed the finer points of learning languages over a bottle of wine...and then we watched The Simpsons in English. Great way to end the evening.
My only caveat about Rome is that it was far too commercial. The Vatican had gift shops every 500 feet, not to mention the Umbrella Men who watched you with such vicious scrunity to see the slightest shiver. You had to man up for a walk in the rain because if you so much as twitched in their presence, their sales radar bleeped causing them to sprint over to you and shove a cheap umbrella in your face. I totally wanted to pull a Jesus and start flipping over tables and screaming to get out of my Father's house, but international law and some shiny objects deterred me. Highlights of Rome included: the Colosseum, Monumento del Vittorio Emmanuel III, the Trevi Fountain, The Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, the Gallery of Maps and the Pantheon. There was also some really wigged-out guy about my age who started singing and pointing at the Pantheon, then turned and walked four times around the fountain in front of it, still singing, then stopped and started pointing at the Pantheon again. He reminded me a lot of Bobby Smith. Oh yeah, and some girl totally checked me out in the marketplace. It was weird.
Although it rained for the next few days and it was a bit taxing, we managed to leave for our separate flights on Thursday night after making a fruit run in the marketplace. I snatched up some quality nuts and dried apricots for the flight and we made our way to the airport. At this point, I should probably mention that Mary and Luke's flights left Thursday night and mine left Friday morning. Since I am too cheap to pay for another night in a hostel, I chose to spend 15 hours, most of which were overnight, in the airport. My bed ended up being a fairly hard marble window sill. I slept pretty well until 3 a.m. when a security officer came up to me and asked me in Italian if the suspicious looking black duffel bag next to me was mine. I muttered a sleepy "Si" and he walked on; an hour later, I moved to a vacated bench with cushions and cuddled with my luggage.
Friday morning brought cloudy skies and a slight drizzle at Rome Fiumicino Airport, as well as a half-hour delay on the flight to Paris. However, when we touched down, there was nothing I wanted more than to set my bags down and begin exploring Paris. Josh's careful directions got me to the Luxembourg metro stop and it was there that Norah, Laura, Josh, Megan, Alli and I exchanged greetings and made our way over to the hotel for a brief rest before embarking upon the day's adventures. Josh has to be the best tour guide ever. He's fluent in French, so he talked to everyone for us, he knew an incredible amount of the city's history and what he didn't know, he wrote out on notecards to tell us! He also planned out every day so that we could see the best parts of Paris in the time we had there...and fed us insane amounts of food that left our stomachs feeling like a reawakening Mount Vesuvius. We started at the Eiffel Tower and moved on to Notre Dame, then ate dinner at the Hippopotamus before getting closer to Notre Dame and passing under le Arc de Triomphe to walk down Champs Elysses, all in the first day we were there!
Saturday, we got up and immediately popped over to the Louvre. Mixed feelings about the Louvre, actually. While it owns more than 380,000 works of art, including the Mona Lisa, and has great chocolate chip muffins, the staff are pretty stuck-up. Laura went to get a spoon and sugar for her already-paid-for coffee and the woman behind the counter yelled at her, telling her that she should have asked first. Wow. Way to make a good impression. After three hours, we had conquered the Louvre and were promptly rewarded with a visit from Callie!! Place de la Concorde, an artist's corner atop a hill next to the Basilique and the Basilique de Sacre Coeur itself were next for us. The view from the forecourt was incredible. Along the way to dinner, Josh took us to the Abbesses metro stop, which had a feature that made me smile. Next to the stop, there was a small park. Within the gates of the park, there was a large, blue-tiled wall with white writing all over it. The wall, which I call El Pared del Amor (The Wall of Love), has "I love you" written in every language from around the world. Small gestures like these are the ones that make you stop and smile and realize that there really is love in this world, true love, if you only put a little time into sharing it. And yes, I got a picture of it...and Norah and I also got a picture with it. :o)
Aaaand then it was dinnertime. Refuge de Fondus, the fondue restaurant we ate at, was tiny, crowded and probably one of the most fun places I've eaten at in a while. We were served wine inside of baby bottles with a huge pot of cheese fondue with bread to dip it in...and meat. The meat was supposed to be cooked in a pot of oil, but they didn't give us the oil for a while, so we thought we were supposed to just eat it raw in the fondue. We later found out this wasn't the case. Haha, we are dumb. From there it was off to the Moulin Rouge; an hour later, we were tired and on our way back to the hotel.
Sunday was a slightly less hectic day with not much planned. Part of the reason it was like this was because of the pouring rain. I didn't have an umbrella and Norah didn't feel like sharing hers. She likes me, I can tell. We ate brunch together before Alli and Megan left to go back to Florence and then sauntered over to Musee de Orsay, the impressionist museum, to see some Monet and Manet and Van Gogh, among others. Norah and Laura left shortly after that and I got back to London around 10:30 p.m.
All in all, it was a fantastic spring break and will probably be really hard to top, if not impossible! The single most prominent impression I was left with from this trip was the notion that, in every city we were in, I came in with certain expectations of the city, people, shops, etc. and left with completely different ones. It wasn't a matter of good expectations or bad expectations. It was seeing pictures of a postcard or in a travel guide of Venician canals or the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower and then actually living it. It takes just a moment to quiet all the noise within you and steal a piece of the city for your soul so that you can own that moment forever. I suppose that's what happened with me wherever I went.
After this, I don't know what else can be written about, but the next update will most likely be something really random that you'll skip over. Oh yeah, and if you're reading this, just leave a quick comment or something. It's cool to see who's reading this out there. Just thought I'd ask and be vain. Cheers! :o)
p.s: I have links for pictures below!
Spring Break: Italy
Spring Break: Italy (cont.)
Spring Break: Paris
Spring Break: Paris (cont.)
So. Let's begin.
First off, Easy Jet is a terrible airline to fly on. Their baggage restrictions are horrendous and resulted in us having to pay extra to check a bag or two. Stupidity at its finest. Once we got on our 6:45 a.m. flight (we got up at 2 a.m. to catch it), we flew into Venice and took the bus to the place we were crashing in: Hotel Centrale. From there, it was a 15-minute bus ride to the actual island/city of Venice. Our experience was nothing short of enriching, complete with bus drivers who jacked up prices and Middle Eastern men trying to sell you brightly coloured squishy toys for a euro. Cynicism aside, Venice was a great city. Although gondola rides cost the equivalent of $70 per person, it was still worth it to wander along the narrow cobblestone streets following the salty scent of the Adriatic Sea's waters to the open spaces along the Grand Canal. The Piazza del San Marco was a sight to see, especially covered in hungry pigeons, as was the Guggenheim Collection that featured modern art galore. Hardly any nightlife, but a good day of walking, shopping in the markets and a full Italian dinner with gelato on the Grand Canal more than made up for that.
A few quick facts I learned about Italy:
- Italians love their underwear. Ads and shops are everywhere; it is literally every other store.
- Speaking loudly is acceptable in this city. Guess we're just used to the French and the English.
- All stop signs say "Stop" in English, no matter what country you're in
- The Pope has a PopeMobile. Literally.
After that, it was off to the city of Florence, home to the Arno River, Michaelangelo's statue of David and many, many other large naked men carved out of rock. This had to be my favourite city out of the four I stayed in. It had the sights to see with Piazzale Michaelangelo and Ponte Vecchio (Michaelangelo Square and the Old Bridge), the marketplaces and old streets, as well as a ton of good food and tourist attractions. Since we were there from Sunday to Tuesday, I figured it might be nice to get up early and go run on Monday morning. So I got a chance to do a great 5.5 mile run along the river across 5 bridges and saw a lot of the city I wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. There were a lot of cathedrals (here known as basilicas) and museums, but we stuck to the cathedrals and outdoor statues for the most part. Forte Belvedere, which was on top of a large hill, had the Boboli Gardens behind it. And even though most things, including the Gardens, were closed on Monday, it was still sunny and warm enough at 70 degrees to let us walk around the city at will. This was also part of the reason that Florence was so great; we roamed around for an entire day and saw so much, from the "safari" trees, as Mary called them, to the sun setting over the fiery stones of the Duomo in the center of Florence itself. It was awesome...aside from losing part of Monday morning to my debit card getting eaten by an ATM because I had forgotten my PIN and apparently it didn't want to give back my card. As a result, I spent two hours inside of a bank waiting for some snobby middle-aged Italian accountant to take me to someone who would get it for me. Eventually I got it back, but I was unable to withdraw money from an ATM for the next two weeks. Oh well. Whatevs.
Next on the list was Rome! We booked 3 days in the city and it was definitely needed. From the crowded St. Peter's Basilica filled with crazed Catholics seeking a glimpse of P Benny himself to the Colosseum to the Pantheon, we were always walking somewhere. The weather was quite cooperative for the first day and the sun smiled upon us and kept the wind at bay. Our hostel was a bit small, but the people who ran it were more than accommodating and suggested places for us to eat, go out and have something to eat in between meals. The people who ran the place were a hodgepodge of nationalities: French, Italian and Australian. Before going out for the night, we all sat down and discussed the finer points of learning languages over a bottle of wine...and then we watched The Simpsons in English. Great way to end the evening.
My only caveat about Rome is that it was far too commercial. The Vatican had gift shops every 500 feet, not to mention the Umbrella Men who watched you with such vicious scrunity to see the slightest shiver. You had to man up for a walk in the rain because if you so much as twitched in their presence, their sales radar bleeped causing them to sprint over to you and shove a cheap umbrella in your face. I totally wanted to pull a Jesus and start flipping over tables and screaming to get out of my Father's house, but international law and some shiny objects deterred me. Highlights of Rome included: the Colosseum, Monumento del Vittorio Emmanuel III, the Trevi Fountain, The Vatican, the Sistine Chapel, the Gallery of Maps and the Pantheon. There was also some really wigged-out guy about my age who started singing and pointing at the Pantheon, then turned and walked four times around the fountain in front of it, still singing, then stopped and started pointing at the Pantheon again. He reminded me a lot of Bobby Smith. Oh yeah, and some girl totally checked me out in the marketplace. It was weird.
Although it rained for the next few days and it was a bit taxing, we managed to leave for our separate flights on Thursday night after making a fruit run in the marketplace. I snatched up some quality nuts and dried apricots for the flight and we made our way to the airport. At this point, I should probably mention that Mary and Luke's flights left Thursday night and mine left Friday morning. Since I am too cheap to pay for another night in a hostel, I chose to spend 15 hours, most of which were overnight, in the airport. My bed ended up being a fairly hard marble window sill. I slept pretty well until 3 a.m. when a security officer came up to me and asked me in Italian if the suspicious looking black duffel bag next to me was mine. I muttered a sleepy "Si" and he walked on; an hour later, I moved to a vacated bench with cushions and cuddled with my luggage.
Friday morning brought cloudy skies and a slight drizzle at Rome Fiumicino Airport, as well as a half-hour delay on the flight to Paris. However, when we touched down, there was nothing I wanted more than to set my bags down and begin exploring Paris. Josh's careful directions got me to the Luxembourg metro stop and it was there that Norah, Laura, Josh, Megan, Alli and I exchanged greetings and made our way over to the hotel for a brief rest before embarking upon the day's adventures. Josh has to be the best tour guide ever. He's fluent in French, so he talked to everyone for us, he knew an incredible amount of the city's history and what he didn't know, he wrote out on notecards to tell us! He also planned out every day so that we could see the best parts of Paris in the time we had there...and fed us insane amounts of food that left our stomachs feeling like a reawakening Mount Vesuvius. We started at the Eiffel Tower and moved on to Notre Dame, then ate dinner at the Hippopotamus before getting closer to Notre Dame and passing under le Arc de Triomphe to walk down Champs Elysses, all in the first day we were there!
Saturday, we got up and immediately popped over to the Louvre. Mixed feelings about the Louvre, actually. While it owns more than 380,000 works of art, including the Mona Lisa, and has great chocolate chip muffins, the staff are pretty stuck-up. Laura went to get a spoon and sugar for her already-paid-for coffee and the woman behind the counter yelled at her, telling her that she should have asked first. Wow. Way to make a good impression. After three hours, we had conquered the Louvre and were promptly rewarded with a visit from Callie!! Place de la Concorde, an artist's corner atop a hill next to the Basilique and the Basilique de Sacre Coeur itself were next for us. The view from the forecourt was incredible. Along the way to dinner, Josh took us to the Abbesses metro stop, which had a feature that made me smile. Next to the stop, there was a small park. Within the gates of the park, there was a large, blue-tiled wall with white writing all over it. The wall, which I call El Pared del Amor (The Wall of Love), has "I love you" written in every language from around the world. Small gestures like these are the ones that make you stop and smile and realize that there really is love in this world, true love, if you only put a little time into sharing it. And yes, I got a picture of it...and Norah and I also got a picture with it. :o)
Aaaand then it was dinnertime. Refuge de Fondus, the fondue restaurant we ate at, was tiny, crowded and probably one of the most fun places I've eaten at in a while. We were served wine inside of baby bottles with a huge pot of cheese fondue with bread to dip it in...and meat. The meat was supposed to be cooked in a pot of oil, but they didn't give us the oil for a while, so we thought we were supposed to just eat it raw in the fondue. We later found out this wasn't the case. Haha, we are dumb. From there it was off to the Moulin Rouge; an hour later, we were tired and on our way back to the hotel.
Sunday was a slightly less hectic day with not much planned. Part of the reason it was like this was because of the pouring rain. I didn't have an umbrella and Norah didn't feel like sharing hers. She likes me, I can tell. We ate brunch together before Alli and Megan left to go back to Florence and then sauntered over to Musee de Orsay, the impressionist museum, to see some Monet and Manet and Van Gogh, among others. Norah and Laura left shortly after that and I got back to London around 10:30 p.m.
All in all, it was a fantastic spring break and will probably be really hard to top, if not impossible! The single most prominent impression I was left with from this trip was the notion that, in every city we were in, I came in with certain expectations of the city, people, shops, etc. and left with completely different ones. It wasn't a matter of good expectations or bad expectations. It was seeing pictures of a postcard or in a travel guide of Venician canals or the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower and then actually living it. It takes just a moment to quiet all the noise within you and steal a piece of the city for your soul so that you can own that moment forever. I suppose that's what happened with me wherever I went.
After this, I don't know what else can be written about, but the next update will most likely be something really random that you'll skip over. Oh yeah, and if you're reading this, just leave a quick comment or something. It's cool to see who's reading this out there. Just thought I'd ask and be vain. Cheers! :o)
p.s: I have links for pictures below!
Spring Break: Italy
Spring Break: Italy (cont.)
Spring Break: Paris
Spring Break: Paris (cont.)
Thursday, February 28, 2008
My Hair and la Primavera
Just to let you know, I doubt I'll be able to update for the next week or so because there'll be a lot happening...because I'll be on spring break!!
It's times like these I wish they had smiley faces to insert.
But at any rate, I'll be heading out to Italy and France for about 10 days. Luke, Mary and I will be flying to Venice (our flight is at 6:40 a.m...gross), then taking a train to Florence and then taking a train to Rome. From there, our paths diverge. Luke is coming back to London to meet up with his family, Mary is going to Barcelona with some friends of hers and I will be flying into Paris to meet up with Laura, Norah, Josh and some of their friends because Callie is coming over!! After that, then it's back to London for a while before the next travel excursion.
That's about it; just thought you might like to know what I'm doing/why I'm not updating this thing that I tend to write in fairly frequently. And if you could be nice and send some good thoughts and prayers for safe flights for everyone on spring break, that'd be gee golly swell.
Oh yeah, and this blurb is for my mom. Mom, you know how you've cut my hair since the age of six? Well, today, 13 years of homestyle haircuts came to an end. I got my hair cut here!! It was weird and mildly awkward because I didn't know what to do when he was wetting my hair down in the sink. I'm not a huge fan of how it turned out because it makes me look like I'm going to lose my hair by the age of 30...not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's just not for me. So ANYwho, I got my haircut. And I'm going to Italy and Paris. Yeah. Awesome.
And now's the point where I should really start packing. Hastan luego!!
It's times like these I wish they had smiley faces to insert.
But at any rate, I'll be heading out to Italy and France for about 10 days. Luke, Mary and I will be flying to Venice (our flight is at 6:40 a.m...gross), then taking a train to Florence and then taking a train to Rome. From there, our paths diverge. Luke is coming back to London to meet up with his family, Mary is going to Barcelona with some friends of hers and I will be flying into Paris to meet up with Laura, Norah, Josh and some of their friends because Callie is coming over!! After that, then it's back to London for a while before the next travel excursion.
That's about it; just thought you might like to know what I'm doing/why I'm not updating this thing that I tend to write in fairly frequently. And if you could be nice and send some good thoughts and prayers for safe flights for everyone on spring break, that'd be gee golly swell.
Oh yeah, and this blurb is for my mom. Mom, you know how you've cut my hair since the age of six? Well, today, 13 years of homestyle haircuts came to an end. I got my hair cut here!! It was weird and mildly awkward because I didn't know what to do when he was wetting my hair down in the sink. I'm not a huge fan of how it turned out because it makes me look like I'm going to lose my hair by the age of 30...not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's just not for me. So ANYwho, I got my haircut. And I'm going to Italy and Paris. Yeah. Awesome.
And now's the point where I should really start packing. Hastan luego!!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Un Viaje to España!
*Two warnings before you read this: a lot happened this weekend, so many blocks of writing will be below. Also, this entry may dissolve into mushiness at some point. Read at your own risk.*
Since my last entry, life has been relatively...how shall I put it...amazing. Thursday found me at my usual place on Thursdays, which was my internship. Thanks to everyone being sick in the world, I managed to catch a small cold that manifested itself in the form of a cough, runny/stuffed nose and general tiredness. Therefore, while working while on some drugs (mostly DayQuil, God's greatest gift in an orange capsule) I managed to down an entire 2 litre bottle of water in 12 hours...twice, so I also peed a lot. Thanks to my mom's careful medical teachings, I knew that this would clear out my system. Nick also informed me that my writing is actually being published in multiple publications, including the NASN website, The American Hour and American in Britain, a magazine marketed toward the titled audience. It isn't glamorous, but it is completely worth it! After work, I took the tube back to the flat, where we booked our flights and trains to Venice, Florence, Rome and Paris for spring break. Yeah yeah.
However, it was Friday that got the adrenaline going. I left for Heathrow around 9:15 and flew out of the airport around 11:15 a.m. en route to Madrid and eventually to Sevilla, Spain!! After a four and a half hour layover in the crazy Madrid airport, it was off on another Iberia flight to Sevilla. I landed around 9:40 p.m. and made my way to the terminal, where Norah and Laura were waiting for me. When I walked through the entrada (entrance) to the gate, there was Laura, waving her arms and standing on her tiptoes to tell me where she was. And then there was Norah, who squeaked (allowing me to locate her) and immediately started jumping up and down in the midst of the crowd. It was the best airport greeting anyone could ask for. So after we had a classic movie slow-motion run toward each other and embraced in the midst of a Spanish mob of people, we took the airport bus to el centro (the center) of the city, where we walked along the Guadalquivir, the river that runs through the city, and wandered around for an hour and a half until we found the hostel I was staying at. After that, we went out for some tapas, which are small snack-sized meal portions, at a bar and then met up with Eric at a bar, where I tried tequila. Not as bad as some people make it out to be, actually. After that, Norah and I wandered around the city, talking and walking and doing some sightseeing until about 3 or so.
The next morning, I got up around 7 a.m. and made it (after two phone calls and getting lost near la biblioteca publica) to a street corner near the developing metro station, where I met Norah and a group of her friends and we took a bus to the Santa Justa train station to catch the train for Córdoba, a city about an hour and a half northeast of Sevilla. Once we got there, we stopped at a café for some café (which is so much better there than anywhere else) and then began to make our way around the city. At first it was raining, but then it stopped. Almost the entire day, we were scheduled to have rain, but it stopped within 15 minutes of us arriving anywhere. But yeha, we stopped at a house with a bunch of really nice gardens around it and then walked around for a bit until we came to La Sinogoga, Córdoba's oldest Jewish house of worshipfulness. We stopped briefly for lunch and then walked for another hour or so before going inside of la Mezquita Catedral, a 12th century cathedral that became a mosque and then a cathedral again. It's notable for two things: its famous red and white striped arches and its size, as it's the world's 3rd largest cathedral. Norah kept calling it the mosquito. Oh Norah, you're so typical, haha. Ella es muy gracioso.
After meandering our way around the beautiful edificio de Dios and having Janette inadvertantly make us laugh in the presence of an eerily realistic crucifix, we went into the Alcazar de los Reyes (Castle of the Kings), which has some of the most amazing gardens that I've ever seen. There were paths everywhere and fuentes (fountains) abundant in numbers, by which more than one cute picture was taken. One of the best parts was getting to walk up to the battlements on top of the Alcazar itself and look out over the city of Córdoba itself, as well as the jardines. The girls I was with said that the Alcazar in Sevilla was better, but it's hard for me to see that. Guess I'll have to find out at some point. And don't worry; I'll link in a photo album at the end of the entry.
It was starting to get dark at that point, so we started back toward the train station and walked along the Guadalquivir for a bit, which was practically non-existent in that city. Along the riverbank, we saw a couple sitting on a bench engaged in some openly public displays of their affection. Janette informed me that PDA is pretty prevalent in Spain. Ver nice. After taking the train back to Sevilla, we went out to an Indian restaurant for dinner and walked around for a bit longer before Norah and I split off to meet Eric and Melanie. Sadly at this point, our luck with the rain didn't hold up and we were stuck walking in the pouring rain until 2 a.m.
Bright and early at 7 the next morning, Norah met up with me to take a quick walk around the Parque de Maria Luisa and the Plaza de España before taking the bus to the airport. We were both exhausted and just ended up sitting on the steps to the plaza for a half hour in near silence, soaking up each others' company and talking about the currency of the European Union. Desafortunadamente, the Sevilla Marathon started almost immediately after my flight left, so I didn't get a chance to see the 3,000 runners straining and goading themselves toward the finish line. However, I did get to see Norah and Laura and Eric and meet some new people, as well as see my first Spanish city.
Spain really is a great country with an incredible amount of history, almost enough to rival London. But more importantly, you can exchange your pounds for Euros there and get MORE money, something I'm not used to. That and they serve cerveza in the McDonald's at the aeropuertos, which is a little odd, but it's Spain. That's why I went there, as well as why Norah and Laura are there: it's weird. And awesome. Like me. And both of them.
And as promised, here are the two albums of pictures from Sevilla, selected from the 260 pictures originally taken:
¡Vamos a Sevilla!
¡Vamos a Sevilla: Parte Dos!
Now it's time for Seth to go to bed because he deserves to sleep in after not sleeping very well for the past 4 days. Huzzah! Hastan luego, huevos!
Since my last entry, life has been relatively...how shall I put it...amazing. Thursday found me at my usual place on Thursdays, which was my internship. Thanks to everyone being sick in the world, I managed to catch a small cold that manifested itself in the form of a cough, runny/stuffed nose and general tiredness. Therefore, while working while on some drugs (mostly DayQuil, God's greatest gift in an orange capsule) I managed to down an entire 2 litre bottle of water in 12 hours...twice, so I also peed a lot. Thanks to my mom's careful medical teachings, I knew that this would clear out my system. Nick also informed me that my writing is actually being published in multiple publications, including the NASN website, The American Hour and American in Britain, a magazine marketed toward the titled audience. It isn't glamorous, but it is completely worth it! After work, I took the tube back to the flat, where we booked our flights and trains to Venice, Florence, Rome and Paris for spring break. Yeah yeah.
However, it was Friday that got the adrenaline going. I left for Heathrow around 9:15 and flew out of the airport around 11:15 a.m. en route to Madrid and eventually to Sevilla, Spain!! After a four and a half hour layover in the crazy Madrid airport, it was off on another Iberia flight to Sevilla. I landed around 9:40 p.m. and made my way to the terminal, where Norah and Laura were waiting for me. When I walked through the entrada (entrance) to the gate, there was Laura, waving her arms and standing on her tiptoes to tell me where she was. And then there was Norah, who squeaked (allowing me to locate her) and immediately started jumping up and down in the midst of the crowd. It was the best airport greeting anyone could ask for. So after we had a classic movie slow-motion run toward each other and embraced in the midst of a Spanish mob of people, we took the airport bus to el centro (the center) of the city, where we walked along the Guadalquivir, the river that runs through the city, and wandered around for an hour and a half until we found the hostel I was staying at. After that, we went out for some tapas, which are small snack-sized meal portions, at a bar and then met up with Eric at a bar, where I tried tequila. Not as bad as some people make it out to be, actually. After that, Norah and I wandered around the city, talking and walking and doing some sightseeing until about 3 or so.
The next morning, I got up around 7 a.m. and made it (after two phone calls and getting lost near la biblioteca publica) to a street corner near the developing metro station, where I met Norah and a group of her friends and we took a bus to the Santa Justa train station to catch the train for Córdoba, a city about an hour and a half northeast of Sevilla. Once we got there, we stopped at a café for some café (which is so much better there than anywhere else) and then began to make our way around the city. At first it was raining, but then it stopped. Almost the entire day, we were scheduled to have rain, but it stopped within 15 minutes of us arriving anywhere. But yeha, we stopped at a house with a bunch of really nice gardens around it and then walked around for a bit until we came to La Sinogoga, Córdoba's oldest Jewish house of worshipfulness. We stopped briefly for lunch and then walked for another hour or so before going inside of la Mezquita Catedral, a 12th century cathedral that became a mosque and then a cathedral again. It's notable for two things: its famous red and white striped arches and its size, as it's the world's 3rd largest cathedral. Norah kept calling it the mosquito. Oh Norah, you're so typical, haha. Ella es muy gracioso.
After meandering our way around the beautiful edificio de Dios and having Janette inadvertantly make us laugh in the presence of an eerily realistic crucifix, we went into the Alcazar de los Reyes (Castle of the Kings), which has some of the most amazing gardens that I've ever seen. There were paths everywhere and fuentes (fountains) abundant in numbers, by which more than one cute picture was taken. One of the best parts was getting to walk up to the battlements on top of the Alcazar itself and look out over the city of Córdoba itself, as well as the jardines. The girls I was with said that the Alcazar in Sevilla was better, but it's hard for me to see that. Guess I'll have to find out at some point. And don't worry; I'll link in a photo album at the end of the entry.
It was starting to get dark at that point, so we started back toward the train station and walked along the Guadalquivir for a bit, which was practically non-existent in that city. Along the riverbank, we saw a couple sitting on a bench engaged in some openly public displays of their affection. Janette informed me that PDA is pretty prevalent in Spain. Ver nice. After taking the train back to Sevilla, we went out to an Indian restaurant for dinner and walked around for a bit longer before Norah and I split off to meet Eric and Melanie. Sadly at this point, our luck with the rain didn't hold up and we were stuck walking in the pouring rain until 2 a.m.
Bright and early at 7 the next morning, Norah met up with me to take a quick walk around the Parque de Maria Luisa and the Plaza de España before taking the bus to the airport. We were both exhausted and just ended up sitting on the steps to the plaza for a half hour in near silence, soaking up each others' company and talking about the currency of the European Union. Desafortunadamente, the Sevilla Marathon started almost immediately after my flight left, so I didn't get a chance to see the 3,000 runners straining and goading themselves toward the finish line. However, I did get to see Norah and Laura and Eric and meet some new people, as well as see my first Spanish city.
Spain really is a great country with an incredible amount of history, almost enough to rival London. But more importantly, you can exchange your pounds for Euros there and get MORE money, something I'm not used to. That and they serve cerveza in the McDonald's at the aeropuertos, which is a little odd, but it's Spain. That's why I went there, as well as why Norah and Laura are there: it's weird. And awesome. Like me. And both of them.
And as promised, here are the two albums of pictures from Sevilla, selected from the 260 pictures originally taken:
¡Vamos a Sevilla!
¡Vamos a Sevilla: Parte Dos!
Now it's time for Seth to go to bed because he deserves to sleep in after not sleeping very well for the past 4 days. Huzzah! Hastan luego, huevos!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
A Real Entry
Since there hasn't exactly been an updated real entry other than the random and sporadic posts that I've put up the past couple of times I've been on, I thought it might be nice to write about things that are actually going on in London.
Right now, I'm sitting in the flat in my bed after finishing a nice cup of tea with my breakfast. Wednesdays are my lazier days, since I get to sleep in past 8:15. Class doesn't start until 2:00 for me today, so I've got a little while to sit down and catch my breath before starting another great day of running around the city (literally) and discussing another play. I'm only taking two classroom classes this semester. The first, European Mass Media, meets on Mondays at 10:30 for 2 hours and 45 minutes. Bevin Jones, the professor, is a classically ridiculous British man from the top of his balding white-haired head rimmed with round glasses down to the bottoms of his corduroy trousers. He laughs quite a bit at his own jokes, but is deceptively knowledgable about European history, especially Belgium. I have learned a lot about European history and European communincation systems there and will soon be writing a paper on how to create an effective communications system in a remote mountain region that has 17 dialects of a language. Yay. The second class is Drama and the London Theatre and is probably my favourite class of the two I'm taking. Dr. Jinnie Schiele teaches the class on Wednesdays at 2:00 for 2 1/2 hours and is AWESOME. My favourite part of class is when she does attendance in the morning. When she calls your name, it's like mixing a warm summer breeze with chocolate syrup. I swear I got chills the first time I heard her! We talk about various plays we go to see (the class goes to see one per week at different theatres around London) and discuss characters, aesthetics, lines, themes, etc.
On Monday, we went to see Speed The Plow, a dramedy starring Kevin Spacey and Jeff Goldblum. Although it was hard at first to get Jeff out of my mind as a character from Jurassic Park, he eventually convinced me of his role and ended up putting on (with Kevin's help) one of the best performances I've seen here to date. Afterward, we all sprinted to the stage door and managed to catch glimpses of both of them. Aaaaand...I got the autograph of KEVIN SPACEY. YEAH.
As for the internship, it's constantly in flux. I've grown to feel like more of an employee there now that my time there has exceeded a month, but there are still moments where I wish that I was a little more involved. Maybe that's just the Park Scholar in me speaking, but the work varies from typing up shipping orders to writing articles for the quarterly newsletter. I work with another intern, Dan, who is from UMass and loves everything Boston-related, as well as with several full-time employees. Since ESPN Classic works in tandem with our company, we have a lot of overlap with people from that company. Jamie, Danieli (a guy), Lisa, Cecile and Klara all work for Classic, but we talk a lot and eat lunch with each other. There's a great vibe there and a lack of overbearing intensity in the workplace that can only be explained as European, I guess.
We all just finished putting together the quarterly newsletter for NASN (North American Sports Network, recently bought by ESPN) and ESPN Classic, so there just might be something published online that you can take a look at, proving that we actually work here; we don't just go to clubs, pubs and run through parks all day. That's about it for now. I'm heading down to Sevilla this weekend to visit Norah (it takes a lot of self-control not to follow that up with a bunch of exclamation points), so there will be some updating about that once I get back. For now, I'm going to go and shower and shave because my face is really really scruffy. Nice.
Right now, I'm sitting in the flat in my bed after finishing a nice cup of tea with my breakfast. Wednesdays are my lazier days, since I get to sleep in past 8:15. Class doesn't start until 2:00 for me today, so I've got a little while to sit down and catch my breath before starting another great day of running around the city (literally) and discussing another play. I'm only taking two classroom classes this semester. The first, European Mass Media, meets on Mondays at 10:30 for 2 hours and 45 minutes. Bevin Jones, the professor, is a classically ridiculous British man from the top of his balding white-haired head rimmed with round glasses down to the bottoms of his corduroy trousers. He laughs quite a bit at his own jokes, but is deceptively knowledgable about European history, especially Belgium. I have learned a lot about European history and European communincation systems there and will soon be writing a paper on how to create an effective communications system in a remote mountain region that has 17 dialects of a language. Yay. The second class is Drama and the London Theatre and is probably my favourite class of the two I'm taking. Dr. Jinnie Schiele teaches the class on Wednesdays at 2:00 for 2 1/2 hours and is AWESOME. My favourite part of class is when she does attendance in the morning. When she calls your name, it's like mixing a warm summer breeze with chocolate syrup. I swear I got chills the first time I heard her! We talk about various plays we go to see (the class goes to see one per week at different theatres around London) and discuss characters, aesthetics, lines, themes, etc.
On Monday, we went to see Speed The Plow, a dramedy starring Kevin Spacey and Jeff Goldblum. Although it was hard at first to get Jeff out of my mind as a character from Jurassic Park, he eventually convinced me of his role and ended up putting on (with Kevin's help) one of the best performances I've seen here to date. Afterward, we all sprinted to the stage door and managed to catch glimpses of both of them. Aaaaand...I got the autograph of KEVIN SPACEY. YEAH.
As for the internship, it's constantly in flux. I've grown to feel like more of an employee there now that my time there has exceeded a month, but there are still moments where I wish that I was a little more involved. Maybe that's just the Park Scholar in me speaking, but the work varies from typing up shipping orders to writing articles for the quarterly newsletter. I work with another intern, Dan, who is from UMass and loves everything Boston-related, as well as with several full-time employees. Since ESPN Classic works in tandem with our company, we have a lot of overlap with people from that company. Jamie, Danieli (a guy), Lisa, Cecile and Klara all work for Classic, but we talk a lot and eat lunch with each other. There's a great vibe there and a lack of overbearing intensity in the workplace that can only be explained as European, I guess.
We all just finished putting together the quarterly newsletter for NASN (North American Sports Network, recently bought by ESPN) and ESPN Classic, so there just might be something published online that you can take a look at, proving that we actually work here; we don't just go to clubs, pubs and run through parks all day. That's about it for now. I'm heading down to Sevilla this weekend to visit Norah (it takes a lot of self-control not to follow that up with a bunch of exclamation points), so there will be some updating about that once I get back. For now, I'm going to go and shower and shave because my face is really really scruffy. Nice.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Why the World Hates the French
When you're in the United States, you are in your own little bubble. We don't really think that much about what's beyond our own borders. Occasionally you stop to think that there is something beyond your massive continent besides Canada, farmland and Hollywood. The realization begins to come (at least for me) toward the end of high school when you're sitting in health class and the subject of obesity comes up and the teacher makes you watch Supersize Me. 
During that class, we saw clips of people who were in various European countries claiming that McDonald's was created in their nation for their people. We all had heard that McDonald's was a global phenomenon, but no one really believed it until then.
This introduced to me the concept of global animosity. Like many sports teams (Red Sox and Yankees) and politicians (Hillary vs. the world), there are rivalries that exist between nations. Some do it purely to assert their superiority complexes and make those in power feel better about themselves, while others just want to make large nuclear bombs and nuke the crap out of other countries. As far as we know, that means Palestine and Israel are rivals, as are North Korea and South Korea, but only according to media reports. The last 2 sets of countries are all about the kaboom,
but the other ones who simply want to slander each other for the heck of it. Maybe it dates back to Ye Olde Prehistoric times, I don't know. Either way, these competitions exist.
And as time went on, I noticed that most countries didn't like the French. Freedom fries were served instead of French fries and the castle guards in Spamalot have ridiculously snobby accents, as if we could barely tolerate their existence. France was the Richie Rich who wasn't willing to share his theme park with anyone, in short, but this always mystified me. I hope someone is following the thought process here.
Fast forward to the second semester of my sophomore year of college, where I am studying abroad in London. My internship at ESPN is going very well and I'm meeting all sorts of people who work to represent different countries like Belgium, Norway and Italy. In addition, most of my co-workers are from other countries. My supervisor, Nick, is from Italy, as is Danieli, while Klara is from Germany. There is also another woman who sits diagonally across from me, whose name is Cecile. She's a nice woman in her late twenties who works in the marketing department for ESPN Classic. The first time we met was in the Café Disney (aka the cafeteria) at lunch, where we introduced ourselves. Cecile is a really nice name and usually only takes 2 tries, depending on how thick the accent is of the Cecile you're talking to. This one happened to be born in some place in the Caribbean where French is the major language, which means, her French-Caribbean accent made her as easy to understand as a spectacular pun that I am currently lacking.
So yesterday, I was sitting at my workstation, writing like mad to finish the quarterly newsletter that I had been assigned, when Cecile asked me something about the box of chocolates on my desk. The question was, "So...who is she?" Turns out the chocolates were from my mom, which made it a little awkward since she was obviously interested in finding out what kind of hot girl I'm dating. But she then asks me what my name is, since she had forgotten what I had said a week or so ago. I simply told her Seth. "Zeth," she replied, "Is that it?"
"No, it's Seth."
".......Zeth."
"No, Seth. Sssssseth." There was a long pause, a dramatic one even.
"Zeth?"
Her voice was garbled and throaty, as if she was trying to constantly advertise for a Listerine commerical. The 's' was just not going to work. In the end, she asked me my middle name (Thomas) and has decided to call me Tom or Thomas instead. It was either that, endure 3 more months of Zethiness or be referred to as Mr. Palmer. But she will not be calling me Tommy. That name has been ruined thanks to some jerk who dated one of my friends back in high school.
So if you're wondering why the world hates the French, just find one and ask them to pronounce your name. Chances are they won't be able to be able to do it and will call you by some other name.
During that class, we saw clips of people who were in various European countries claiming that McDonald's was created in their nation for their people. We all had heard that McDonald's was a global phenomenon, but no one really believed it until then.This introduced to me the concept of global animosity. Like many sports teams (Red Sox and Yankees) and politicians (Hillary vs. the world), there are rivalries that exist between nations. Some do it purely to assert their superiority complexes and make those in power feel better about themselves, while others just want to make large nuclear bombs and nuke the crap out of other countries. As far as we know, that means Palestine and Israel are rivals, as are North Korea and South Korea, but only according to media reports. The last 2 sets of countries are all about the kaboom,
but the other ones who simply want to slander each other for the heck of it. Maybe it dates back to Ye Olde Prehistoric times, I don't know. Either way, these competitions exist.And as time went on, I noticed that most countries didn't like the French. Freedom fries were served instead of French fries and the castle guards in Spamalot have ridiculously snobby accents, as if we could barely tolerate their existence. France was the Richie Rich who wasn't willing to share his theme park with anyone, in short, but this always mystified me. I hope someone is following the thought process here.
Fast forward to the second semester of my sophomore year of college, where I am studying abroad in London. My internship at ESPN is going very well and I'm meeting all sorts of people who work to represent different countries like Belgium, Norway and Italy. In addition, most of my co-workers are from other countries. My supervisor, Nick, is from Italy, as is Danieli, while Klara is from Germany. There is also another woman who sits diagonally across from me, whose name is Cecile. She's a nice woman in her late twenties who works in the marketing department for ESPN Classic. The first time we met was in the Café Disney (aka the cafeteria) at lunch, where we introduced ourselves. Cecile is a really nice name and usually only takes 2 tries, depending on how thick the accent is of the Cecile you're talking to. This one happened to be born in some place in the Caribbean where French is the major language, which means, her French-Caribbean accent made her as easy to understand as a spectacular pun that I am currently lacking.
So yesterday, I was sitting at my workstation, writing like mad to finish the quarterly newsletter that I had been assigned, when Cecile asked me something about the box of chocolates on my desk. The question was, "So...who is she?" Turns out the chocolates were from my mom, which made it a little awkward since she was obviously interested in finding out what kind of hot girl I'm dating. But she then asks me what my name is, since she had forgotten what I had said a week or so ago. I simply told her Seth. "Zeth," she replied, "Is that it?"
"No, it's Seth."
".......Zeth."
"No, Seth. Sssssseth." There was a long pause, a dramatic one even.
"Zeth?"
Her voice was garbled and throaty, as if she was trying to constantly advertise for a Listerine commerical. The 's' was just not going to work. In the end, she asked me my middle name (Thomas) and has decided to call me Tom or Thomas instead. It was either that, endure 3 more months of Zethiness or be referred to as Mr. Palmer. But she will not be calling me Tommy. That name has been ruined thanks to some jerk who dated one of my friends back in high school.
So if you're wondering why the world hates the French, just find one and ask them to pronounce your name. Chances are they won't be able to be able to do it and will call you by some other name.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)