I am in a hostel in the middle of the Scottish Highlands right now. Our group is staying in a quiet town called Fort Augustus on the banks of the Loch Ness! I'm halfway through the last USC-funded trip, a tour of Scotland. It has been pretty amazing so far. I better rewind and talk about yesterday, because that was a pretty swell day.
I arrived at the Edinburgh train station yesterday at midday and immediately spotted several men in kilts and I heard the faint screech of a bagpipe in the distance. Very cliche Scotland. I wandered up to a castle on a hill with some friends and generally had a pretty grand time learning about events that happened 1000 years ago. Edinburgh is a beautiful city.
After another of those heavenly USC-sponsored meals, we headed out on the town with some SC students who were studying in Edinburgh, and had the lay of the land. The first place we went was called the Royal Oak. It was a pub with live folk music. We sat on the floor for about half hour and listened to some of the most famous Scottish tunes. I especially liked the one about Caledonia. We left afterward to partake in one of Scotland's finest desserts, a deep-fried Mars bar. I'm not sure why it was Scottish, but it sure was delicious. And deadly. Mostly deadly. We headed afterwards to a jazz bar, where we listened to some awesome jazz for a couple more hours. It was an open-mic night, so one of the USC kids serenaded us with some sweet saxophone loving for awhile.
I had some trouble sleeping. I was a little too big for the bed. My feet touched the metal foot of the bed, so it was not a comfortable situation. I haven't slept much, but that's cool, you shouldn't waste your time sleeping when you're in Scotland.
Today was great. Most of it was spent in a bus listening to a Jemaine-from-Flight-of-the-Conchords-esque tour guide wearing Elton John glasses tell us about Scotland and make jokes in a funny accent. I learned some Scottish history, and saw some important sights. This evening we attended a show on Scottish Highland heritage and learned about their way of life. They showed us a six-foot sword which the Highlanders would swing around their heads when they went into battle, inflicting damage equally on their own side and the enemy's. After dinner, I went with some friends to explore this small town, and we found a rope right by a river to swing on for awhile. I was a little worried the rope was going to break and we were all going to fly to our deaths, but that didn't happen. I've taken some great pictures, but unfortunately I have no way to share them at the moment because I can't upload to this hostel computer. But rest assured, they are great.
The landscape of the Scottish Highlands is actually very similar to Klamath Falls. For the first time since coming to Europe, I'm surrounded by actual hills, covered in beautiful forests. Klamath Lake and Loch Ness are pretty comparable too, surprisingly. Loch Ness is 37 km long, and Klamath Lake is pretty long too. The only problem is that Loch Ness has a monster and is 900 feet deep at places, compared to Klamath Lake's average depth of about eight feet. Haha, we stopped at a skiing-type village on the way here today, and their mountains were about as big and as snow-covered as a typical hill. The town was at 4000 feet! But I expect to be thoroughly amazed at Scotland's nature tomorrow when we tour the Isles of Skye. I don't know what they are, but the name suggests blinding beauty and eternal happiness.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Hookel Bird Party
Today was another carefree day of touristy stuff with my family. Hooray! We started out the day with breakfast, and after some flight confirmations for tomorrow, we headed to the Tower of London, the large, thousand-year-old castle in downtown London. If you haven’t seen it, it’s quite a sight. There are wall foundations which date back to the Romans. We accidentally joined a tour group, led by a Beefeater, as soon as we entered, so we ended up following a group around for awhile and listening to all the gruesome stories of the Tower. I remember lots of beheadings, and hangings. I think it was a pretty grim place in its heyday. We ended the tour at the tomb of Ann Boleyn and some other executed members of the royal family, and we headed to the crown jewels. Apparently the Tower of London is the keeper of the largest diamond in the world, which sits at the top of a scepter wielded by some king or another. We saw it, and it was so big it looked fake. It was 530 carats or something like that, cut from a rough stone of over 3000 carats! I know nothing about diamonds, and even less about carats, but even I was impressed by this mammoth. The crown jewels were pretty amazing. As the name suggests, the collection also included several crowns throughout the ages, dating back to the 1600s, I believe. There were some spectacular crowns, all decked out in gold and diamonds and gems of all sorts.
After the jewels section, we went another ancient building housing specimens of armor worn by royal knights, which was fun to see. We left this section eventually and walked along the pediments for awhile, looking through the archers’ holes and such. We found out that the Tower was only attacked once, by peasants outraged at a new tax in the 1370s. They looted the Tower, and executed the archbishop, who apparently wasn’t a very nice guy.
Overall, it was a pretty overwhelming place to visit. I certainly had fun, but I’m amazed at how thoroughly museums can damper the interest you may have for some objects. For example, if you were to see an old cannon out on the street, you would be amazed, and you would walk around it and be really impressed, but when you see twenty of them, all lined up in a museum, you wander off and look for somewhere to sit down. The crown jewels were astounding, but any one of them could have been the pinnacle of the visit. When you walk through and try to experience all of them at once, you just get bored with it. Instead of attaining a genuine appreciation for any individual work of craftsmanship and beauty, you perceive their collective identity as “British crowns,” and you just walk through the exhibit with mild interest. It’s as if, instead of reacting with, “Look at this huge crown over here! It’s amazing, because there’s only one of it!” you react with, “Oh, look at these forty jewel-encrusted crowns. Hmm, I guess they do exist….My feet are tired, we should go sit down somewhere.” I think it’s a damn shame. A DAMN SHAME.
Tonight, as the last night of my partial family’s visit to London, we decided to have a good old-fashioned hookel bird party. (For those of you who don’t know, a hookel bird party is a long-standing Maloney tradition which involves one family, one television set, and ample amounts of junk food.) We bought a couple of pizzas and some chocolate from the grocery store and headed off to make a night of it. We were a happy family tonight, sitting on my parents’ bed and watching a John Wayne western (who, by the way, was a USC quarterback before becoming a movie star).
After the jewels section, we went another ancient building housing specimens of armor worn by royal knights, which was fun to see. We left this section eventually and walked along the pediments for awhile, looking through the archers’ holes and such. We found out that the Tower was only attacked once, by peasants outraged at a new tax in the 1370s. They looted the Tower, and executed the archbishop, who apparently wasn’t a very nice guy.
Overall, it was a pretty overwhelming place to visit. I certainly had fun, but I’m amazed at how thoroughly museums can damper the interest you may have for some objects. For example, if you were to see an old cannon out on the street, you would be amazed, and you would walk around it and be really impressed, but when you see twenty of them, all lined up in a museum, you wander off and look for somewhere to sit down. The crown jewels were astounding, but any one of them could have been the pinnacle of the visit. When you walk through and try to experience all of them at once, you just get bored with it. Instead of attaining a genuine appreciation for any individual work of craftsmanship and beauty, you perceive their collective identity as “British crowns,” and you just walk through the exhibit with mild interest. It’s as if, instead of reacting with, “Look at this huge crown over here! It’s amazing, because there’s only one of it!” you react with, “Oh, look at these forty jewel-encrusted crowns. Hmm, I guess they do exist….My feet are tired, we should go sit down somewhere.” I think it’s a damn shame. A DAMN SHAME.
Tonight, as the last night of my partial family’s visit to London, we decided to have a good old-fashioned hookel bird party. (For those of you who don’t know, a hookel bird party is a long-standing Maloney tradition which involves one family, one television set, and ample amounts of junk food.) We bought a couple of pizzas and some chocolate from the grocery store and headed off to make a night of it. We were a happy family tonight, sitting on my parents’ bed and watching a John Wayne western (who, by the way, was a USC quarterback before becoming a movie star).
Friday, March 27, 2009
British Museum
I finished all my work last night, so today I was free to go sightseeing with my family all day long. Woohoo! First, we went to Tottenham Court Road and saw the British Museum, reputed
as the BEST MUSEUM EVER. But really, it is supposed to be the best museum in the world. We saw the mummy of Cleopatra, and we saw the Rosetta Stone, and we saw oodles of Greek and Roman statues, and tons of other cool things. Like most museums, the sheer volume of cool things to look at made it overwhelming and tiring. We left after two hours, but we saw all the cool things there were to see, so I think we were all pretty satisfied.
After leaving the museum, we went west a little ways to Buckingham Palace. We walked up to it and saw it, and turned around to come back. There’s not really much to see there; it’s surrounded by some nice parks, but the palace itself is a little boring to see, unless you get to see the Changing of the Guard or something. We got something to eat, and then Dad decided he wanted to buy me a nice backpack for my trip coming up, and I graciously obliged. We shopped around a little bit, but didn’t buy anything today. He wants to make sure I’m ready for my cool trip coming up.
Let’s see, were there any cool stories today? Well, we waited at one tube stop for about twenty minutes for a Circle Line train and watched eight District Line trains come and go. It was a curious emotional dynamic, watching all those trains, useless to us, go by. From about three to five, it was frustrating and angrifying (the verb here is angrify, meaning to make angry or upset), but after five, it was actually a little bit funny. It’s always a little amusing when the world conspires against you. Ya, it’s upsetting, but you just have to admire the amazing circumstances which all fall into place to ruin your day. Here’s the kicker: we were on our way to look at one more backpack place when we were accosted by all the District Line trains. We
arrived at the store at seven o’clock, having finally caught the train we needed, and we were just in time to watch the shopkeeper lock the door as we walked towards it, five feet away. That type of coincidence is too perfect to make you angry. You just have to shake your head in admiration and walk away with a smile on your face.
I took a bunch of pictures today. I try not to take many pictures when I travel, or when I do something cool, because they lose their significance if there are too many. I try to plan out one or two special, cool pictures of something and leave it at that, but alas, that system fell apart today. There were just too many cool things. There’s one picture here taken through a hole in a modern art piece in the center of the museum, focused on the imitation Greek building behind it, so that the picture is ringed with silvery m
etal. I think this is a cool picture because the modern part, the sculpture, is an amorphous, natural shape, while the ancient part has form and structure. You would expect it to be the other way around. There’s also a picture of Cleopatra’s mummy, just because she’s so famous, and of the Rosetta Stone. Oh, and a bonus picture of this shell-chalice foot thingy. My mom has pictures of the family on her camera, so I’m afraid I can’t share them here. And I wouldn't anyway, because I don't want the CIA to be able to prove my association with these people. It's for their own safety.
as the BEST MUSEUM EVER. But really, it is supposed to be the best museum in the world. We saw the mummy of Cleopatra, and we saw the Rosetta Stone, and we saw oodles of Greek and Roman statues, and tons of other cool things. Like most museums, the sheer volume of cool things to look at made it overwhelming and tiring. We left after two hours, but we saw all the cool things there were to see, so I think we were all pretty satisfied.After leaving the museum, we went west a little ways to Buckingham Palace. We walked up to it and saw it, and turned around to come back. There’s not really much to see there; it’s surrounded by some nice parks, but the palace itself is a little boring to see, unless you get to see the Changing of the Guard or something. We got something to eat, and then Dad decided he wanted to buy me a nice backpack for my trip coming up, and I graciously obliged. We shopped around a little bit, but didn’t buy anything today. He wants to make sure I’m ready for my cool trip coming up.
Let’s see, were there any cool stories today? Well, we waited at one tube stop for about twenty minutes for a Circle Line train and watched eight District Line trains come and go. It was a curious emotional dynamic, watching all those trains, useless to us, go by. From about three to five, it was frustrating and angrifying (the verb here is angrify, meaning to make angry or upset), but after five, it was actually a little bit funny. It’s always a little amusing when the world conspires against you. Ya, it’s upsetting, but you just have to admire the amazing circumstances which all fall into place to ruin your day. Here’s the kicker: we were on our way to look at one more backpack place when we were accosted by all the District Line trains. We
arrived at the store at seven o’clock, having finally caught the train we needed, and we were just in time to watch the shopkeeper lock the door as we walked towards it, five feet away. That type of coincidence is too perfect to make you angry. You just have to shake your head in admiration and walk away with a smile on your face.I took a bunch of pictures today. I try not to take many pictures when I travel, or when I do something cool, because they lose their significance if there are too many. I try to plan out one or two special, cool pictures of something and leave it at that, but alas, that system fell apart today. There were just too many cool things. There’s one picture here taken through a hole in a modern art piece in the center of the museum, focused on the imitation Greek building behind it, so that the picture is ringed with silvery m
etal. I think this is a cool picture because the modern part, the sculpture, is an amorphous, natural shape, while the ancient part has form and structure. You would expect it to be the other way around. There’s also a picture of Cleopatra’s mummy, just because she’s so famous, and of the Rosetta Stone. Oh, and a bonus picture of this shell-chalice foot thingy. My mom has pictures of the family on her camera, so I’m afraid I can’t share them here. And I wouldn't anyway, because I don't want the CIA to be able to prove my association with these people. It's for their own safety.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Look at the picture of my dad in front of Big Ben
I’m going to try to make this short, because I want to go to bed.
Today was a great
day. I spent it with my family in the westerly section of London. We met up at Queen Mary and took the tube to Westminster, where we disembarked, crossed the river, and boarded the London Eye. It took us high into the air and we could see very far in all directions. Essentially the Eye is a very slow Ferris wheel. It is continuously moving, so you get on at the bottom, and in forty minutes you’ve gone all the way around once and you’ve seen London and taken your pictures, and you get off. It’s a pretty neat attraction, and it was nice to get to go on it while I had some sort of financial backing.
After the Eye, we walked back across the bridge against a terrible wind back to the side with Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. Lucky for us, there were some crazies in the town square shouting about some political stance or another, and they offered free entertainment while we were in the neighborhood, yelling in their megaphones and making a general ruckus
.
Eventually we made it back onto the tube and alighted at the Tower of London, a huge Norman castle which has foundations dating back to Roman times. My family was very impressed by it, and we took lots of pictures and got back on the tube because it was very windy and a little bit cold. We got off again a couple stops later and walked to Brick Lane, the narrow street with all the cool shops on either side of it. I was determined to have dinner here because every time I walk down the street, all the restaurants’ recruiters come talk to me and tell me about all the special meals they have “just for you!” and I didn’t want to let them down. We didn’t last long under all that pressure and I think we ate in the restaurant of the third guy who accosted us. We got two free rounds of drinks and 30% off our meal, so I think we did all right though. And the food was very good. It was Indian food again, like we had a couple nights ago, but it was very delicious. Afterward we walked down to the dessert shop at the end of the road and bought some cheesecake and cookies and other treats to f
inish off our night. Then we took the bus, and Jeff and I got off at Mile End, and my mom and dad are hopefully in their hotel right now. We all had a pretty good day.
And that’s what happened. I think this was my most intelligible blog post yet. I think it’s because I don’t have the energy to make up any crazy stories to keep everyone interested. My actual, daily events will have to suffice today. I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m as disappointed as you are. Maybe tomorrow I’ll work a dragon in there somewhere. Ya, I could do that.
Today was a great
day. I spent it with my family in the westerly section of London. We met up at Queen Mary and took the tube to Westminster, where we disembarked, crossed the river, and boarded the London Eye. It took us high into the air and we could see very far in all directions. Essentially the Eye is a very slow Ferris wheel. It is continuously moving, so you get on at the bottom, and in forty minutes you’ve gone all the way around once and you’ve seen London and taken your pictures, and you get off. It’s a pretty neat attraction, and it was nice to get to go on it while I had some sort of financial backing.After the Eye, we walked back across the bridge against a terrible wind back to the side with Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. Lucky for us, there were some crazies in the town square shouting about some political stance or another, and they offered free entertainment while we were in the neighborhood, yelling in their megaphones and making a general ruckus
.Eventually we made it back onto the tube and alighted at the Tower of London, a huge Norman castle which has foundations dating back to Roman times. My family was very impressed by it, and we took lots of pictures and got back on the tube because it was very windy and a little bit cold. We got off again a couple stops later and walked to Brick Lane, the narrow street with all the cool shops on either side of it. I was determined to have dinner here because every time I walk down the street, all the restaurants’ recruiters come talk to me and tell me about all the special meals they have “just for you!” and I didn’t want to let them down. We didn’t last long under all that pressure and I think we ate in the restaurant of the third guy who accosted us. We got two free rounds of drinks and 30% off our meal, so I think we did all right though. And the food was very good. It was Indian food again, like we had a couple nights ago, but it was very delicious. Afterward we walked down to the dessert shop at the end of the road and bought some cheesecake and cookies and other treats to f
inish off our night. Then we took the bus, and Jeff and I got off at Mile End, and my mom and dad are hopefully in their hotel right now. We all had a pretty good day.And that’s what happened. I think this was my most intelligible blog post yet. I think it’s because I don’t have the energy to make up any crazy stories to keep everyone interested. My actual, daily events will have to suffice today. I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m as disappointed as you are. Maybe tomorrow I’ll work a dragon in there somewhere. Ya, I could do that.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Family Business
For today’s blog post, I would like to assume the collective perspective of my father, my mother and my brother, who arrived today at Heathrow Airport to visit me.
After nearly thirty hours of travel, we finally landed at Heathrow Airport. We made it. All of us were eager to see Kevin’s devilishly handsome face and musculature, so we hurried to get our bags from the baggage claim and rushed out to the terminal lobby, where, he had promised us only days before, he would be waiting expectantly, holding three pints of London Pride and fervently cooking up some bangers’n’mash on the airport radiator. Emerging from the baggage claim into the main terminal, we each sniffed the air for bangers, but our noses detected none. We gazed across the terminal and our eyes did not alight upon the object of our affection, that mountain of a man, that pristine specimen of unfettered testosterone, that reincarnation of Adonis, Achilles and Hercules all rolled into one, with a pinch of Zeus and a few thunderbolts thrown in for good measure. The symbol of all that is good and right in this fair world, Kevin, was not there.
Two hours later, we three had almost given up hope. We were drawing straws to see which of us would sacrifice their arm to satisfy the crippling hunger of the other two members of our familial party when we spotted Kevin walking in the door, looking…well-rested.
For the sake of clarity, and because my family’s story just gets weirder, I will resume my own (Orphic) voice at this point of the story. Yes, I screwed up. Badly. I had promised to meet my family at the airport promptly at 7 AM this morning. This meant I would be getting out of bed at 5 AM in order to allow enough time for showering, eating and traveling. Long-story-short, I completely slept through my alarm. I didn’t hear a peep of it. This could have something to do with the fact that I was wearing earplugs, and they were happily fulfilling their primary purpose (specifically, to keep me from hearing anything which might wake me up), but we won’t talk about that because that would make this long-story-short into a long-story-slightly-shorter-than-it-would-have-been-had-the-whole,-purportedly-‘long’-story-been-told-in-the-first-place. And nobody likes those. Suffice it to say I failed my family in their time of need.
ANYWAY, I did eventually pick them up at the airport and we traveled back into London on the tube. It was a loooong tube ride. I took them to their hotel in Stratford, which is conveniently located just down the road from my university in Mile End, and they went to sleep. They’re so much more peaceful when they’re asleep.
Tonight I took my parents and brother to this Indian restaurant called New Tayyabs. I had heard this restaurant was one of the top ten restaurants in London, and that the other nine would cost about 150 pounds for a decent meal, while this one cost only about 10 pounds. I was eager to try it, so I led my family on a wild goose chase which eventually led us directly to the restaurant. It was a loud place, but other than that it was very good. And fast! We must have eaten and left in forty-five minutes. We had our food within twenty minutes of sitting down. My family (minus Matthew, because he's not in London right now) enjoyed their food too, I think. Overall, it was a great place to eat.
Ahhhhhhh….I only wrote this because I’m procrastinating about my essay….Need more material….Need more entertaining experiences….Or made-up stories….Either will do….
After nearly thirty hours of travel, we finally landed at Heathrow Airport. We made it. All of us were eager to see Kevin’s devilishly handsome face and musculature, so we hurried to get our bags from the baggage claim and rushed out to the terminal lobby, where, he had promised us only days before, he would be waiting expectantly, holding three pints of London Pride and fervently cooking up some bangers’n’mash on the airport radiator. Emerging from the baggage claim into the main terminal, we each sniffed the air for bangers, but our noses detected none. We gazed across the terminal and our eyes did not alight upon the object of our affection, that mountain of a man, that pristine specimen of unfettered testosterone, that reincarnation of Adonis, Achilles and Hercules all rolled into one, with a pinch of Zeus and a few thunderbolts thrown in for good measure. The symbol of all that is good and right in this fair world, Kevin, was not there.
Two hours later, we three had almost given up hope. We were drawing straws to see which of us would sacrifice their arm to satisfy the crippling hunger of the other two members of our familial party when we spotted Kevin walking in the door, looking…well-rested.
For the sake of clarity, and because my family’s story just gets weirder, I will resume my own (Orphic) voice at this point of the story. Yes, I screwed up. Badly. I had promised to meet my family at the airport promptly at 7 AM this morning. This meant I would be getting out of bed at 5 AM in order to allow enough time for showering, eating and traveling. Long-story-short, I completely slept through my alarm. I didn’t hear a peep of it. This could have something to do with the fact that I was wearing earplugs, and they were happily fulfilling their primary purpose (specifically, to keep me from hearing anything which might wake me up), but we won’t talk about that because that would make this long-story-short into a long-story-slightly-shorter-than-it-would-have-been-had-the-whole,-purportedly-‘long’-story-been-told-in-the-first-place. And nobody likes those. Suffice it to say I failed my family in their time of need.
ANYWAY, I did eventually pick them up at the airport and we traveled back into London on the tube. It was a loooong tube ride. I took them to their hotel in Stratford, which is conveniently located just down the road from my university in Mile End, and they went to sleep. They’re so much more peaceful when they’re asleep.
Tonight I took my parents and brother to this Indian restaurant called New Tayyabs. I had heard this restaurant was one of the top ten restaurants in London, and that the other nine would cost about 150 pounds for a decent meal, while this one cost only about 10 pounds. I was eager to try it, so I led my family on a wild goose chase which eventually led us directly to the restaurant. It was a loud place, but other than that it was very good. And fast! We must have eaten and left in forty-five minutes. We had our food within twenty minutes of sitting down. My family (minus Matthew, because he's not in London right now) enjoyed their food too, I think. Overall, it was a great place to eat.
Ahhhhhhh….I only wrote this because I’m procrastinating about my essay….Need more material….Need more entertaining experiences….Or made-up stories….Either will do….
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Monumental
Antoine and I went on another monumental run today. I’ve included a picture to illustrate how monumental it was. (Get it?! With all the monuments?!) Neither of us will be walking for the next three days or so. I hadn’t planned on walking for those days anyway, so it works out for me.
At one point, we were running along the banks of the Thames, on a filthy, grimy, trashy beach and we came to a dead end. Our progress was halted by twenty-foot-tall brick walls. We were jokingly talking about climbing over t
hem and continuing on when a person called out to us from their balcony above and asked if we needed help. I told them we were a little lost (we weren’t really), and the guy told us to stay where we were. He went to get another guy, who came out and assessed our situation. By this point I was trying to tell them we could just go back the way we came, but they weren’t really listening. One of the guys proposed getting a rope to lower to us which we could then use to climb the twenty feet to the lowest platform, and now I wish I had realized at the time how cool that would have been, because instead of accept this man’s suggestion that I become Indiana Jones for a few minutes, I insisted we could get out if we just went back a little in the direction we had come from. And indeed we did get out pretty easily; we climbed a ladder and we were back on the street. Never have I been so disappointed in myself for being right.
This afternoon I went to an exhibition gallery called the Barbican Center to peruse an exhibit focused on Le Corbusier, a French architect who spearheaded the modernist mo
vement after the end of the Second World War. It was very interesting, worth the six-pound admission fee. One of his most famous works is known as the Villa Savoye, a modernist building outside of Paris. It showed the world how a functional approach to design can create a beautiful building. His ideas were very radical for his time, but now he is seen as a visionary.
I had wanted to take pictures of the things I saw at the exhibition, but I knew that photography was prohibited. I was contemplating breaking the rule to take a picture of a scale model of a particularly intriguing summer home when I saw a smartly-dressed man examining a uniquely-shaped desk in front of me. He looked at it for a few seconds, then looked around furtively for any exhibition staff, and swiftly gave one of the drawers a tug. It was locked, and I started laughing. I quickly snapped a picture of the model and went on my way.
At one point, we were running along the banks of the Thames, on a filthy, grimy, trashy beach and we came to a dead end. Our progress was halted by twenty-foot-tall brick walls. We were jokingly talking about climbing over t
hem and continuing on when a person called out to us from their balcony above and asked if we needed help. I told them we were a little lost (we weren’t really), and the guy told us to stay where we were. He went to get another guy, who came out and assessed our situation. By this point I was trying to tell them we could just go back the way we came, but they weren’t really listening. One of the guys proposed getting a rope to lower to us which we could then use to climb the twenty feet to the lowest platform, and now I wish I had realized at the time how cool that would have been, because instead of accept this man’s suggestion that I become Indiana Jones for a few minutes, I insisted we could get out if we just went back a little in the direction we had come from. And indeed we did get out pretty easily; we climbed a ladder and we were back on the street. Never have I been so disappointed in myself for being right.This afternoon I went to an exhibition gallery called the Barbican Center to peruse an exhibit focused on Le Corbusier, a French architect who spearheaded the modernist mo
vement after the end of the Second World War. It was very interesting, worth the six-pound admission fee. One of his most famous works is known as the Villa Savoye, a modernist building outside of Paris. It showed the world how a functional approach to design can create a beautiful building. His ideas were very radical for his time, but now he is seen as a visionary.I had wanted to take pictures of the things I saw at the exhibition, but I knew that photography was prohibited. I was contemplating breaking the rule to take a picture of a scale model of a particularly intriguing summer home when I saw a smartly-dressed man examining a uniquely-shaped desk in front of me. He looked at it for a few seconds, then looked around furtively for any exhibition staff, and swiftly gave one of the drawers a tug. It was locked, and I started laughing. I quickly snapped a picture of the model and went on my way.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Pizza Makes the Pain Go Away
I forgot to tell you about the best part of last night’s adventure! Brick Lane is lined with tons of East Asian/Indian restaurants, and as we walked by, nearly every store opened up and a worker hurried out to yell to us his best deal. They’re so friendly! They say things like, “For you, my friend…” and “I will make you a deal!” And they’re telling the truth: apparently if you go down there with any kind of large group, they will give you great deals on food because they want to get all of your business. I’ve heard of people who have been served four-course meals with drinks for eight pounds, or roughly twelve dollars.
I had my presentation for my design class today, worth 80 percent of the total grade. We did about as well as we expected, I think. I dressed up for the presentation with slacks, a nice shirt and a tie. Five minutes after the end of the four-hour process, I was walking back from my favorite pizza place, wearing sweatpants, my flannel shirt, and a pair of moccasins, clutching a giant Chefs Special in my happy hands. I reached a state of Zen in my room for the next forty minutes or so, eating pizza, watching a movie and generally appreciating my place on earth, when Dave and Lewis asked me to come running with them. We ran around Victoria Park in about forty minutes. It was nice to stretch my legs, and it is fun to have a running buddy. And then, I did my laundry…and went to the library…and finished my movie….I’m sorry, I guess the last interesting thing I did was go running. I should have stopped there. Whoops.
I had my presentation for my design class today, worth 80 percent of the total grade. We did about as well as we expected, I think. I dressed up for the presentation with slacks, a nice shirt and a tie. Five minutes after the end of the four-hour process, I was walking back from my favorite pizza place, wearing sweatpants, my flannel shirt, and a pair of moccasins, clutching a giant Chefs Special in my happy hands. I reached a state of Zen in my room for the next forty minutes or so, eating pizza, watching a movie and generally appreciating my place on earth, when Dave and Lewis asked me to come running with them. We ran around Victoria Park in about forty minutes. It was nice to stretch my legs, and it is fun to have a running buddy. And then, I did my laundry…and went to the library…and finished my movie….I’m sorry, I guess the last interesting thing I did was go running. I should have stopped there. Whoops.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Dueling Beigels
Tonight was exciting. I convinced three of my friends to go down to Brick Lane with me to explore a couple of much-hyped “beigel” shops. And we were not disappointed. Located side by side near the end of Brick Lane were two twenty-four hour pastry shops. We assessed what each had to offer us, and eventually decided to buy from the one which stocked croissants as big as a man’s head. Well, all right, a small man’s head. There was strawberry cheesecake, and giant cookies, and bagels covered in meat, and scones, and pasties. Any bread-based pleasantry you can think of, one of these shops had it. And it was cheap! You could buy a plain bagel for twenty pence, and most of the menu items were less than one pound. It was a great find, and I daresay I’ll be returning there in the near future.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Grim Outlook
I have good news for those of you in Southern California cursing me for having ample amounts of fun and generally all-around good times in Europe while you’re slaving away in Los Angeles. I have a rocky road ahead of me, and it doesn’t appear, from this angle, to be as painfully delicious as the ice cream of the same cliché.
It’s about that time of year again, that glorious time when each of us students talks to our college advisor to set up classes for next semester. I took an interest today in my academic situation at USC, and the outlook is grim, for multiple reasons. First of all, I started out as an architecture student, meaning I took a couple-three extremely painful classes during my first four months at USC which are now useless to me, except as catalysts for severe long-term psychological damage. Secondly, last semester I freaked out and dropped a course I probably could have and should have handled, considering my plans of studying broads in London this semester. And lastly, this semester has been less than productive, as far as transferring school credits goes. At the end of this semester (assuming I pass all my classes, of course), I will have completed a measly 21 meaningful credits during my entire sophomore year.
In order to make up the credits, I will need to take at least one course in the summer and take a full load of 18 high-level engineering courses during each remaining semester at USC. Ugh.
I have brainstormed some solutions though. I believe I’ll spend summer 2010 in Los Angeles taking a full load, possibly picking up a minor in Physics, Astronomy, Biology, Creative Writing, Politics, or Musical Performance. You know, something along that vein; said vein being “whatever strikes my fancy,” or, just as validly, “close your eyes and choose a subject out of a hat.” This summer semester would fix my overload problem, but it would limit my opportunities during that summer, which is the summer I’m most likely to land a cool internship. But who knows, maybe I could get something during the school year, part-time. Psh, ya, I could probably handle, like, two or three part-time internships.
Those are parts one and two of the grand plan, henceforth to be referred to as “The New Bailout Plan: Third time’s the charm.” I need to do a summer semester and pick up a minor. Part three consists of my earning a cool master’s degree (everybody’s doing it) in USC’s progressive degree program. I can complete that bad boy in one blazing, action-packed year. I should also be a residential advisor, or an RA, during this year, because I’m pretty sure my parents will be living in a box down by Fred Meyer by this time. RA’s get free room and board, and they get to hang out with freshmen in a dorm! Sounds like a win-win! Don’t worry Mom and Dad, the PhD will only take a few more years after the Master’s, and then, after I travel the world for a few more years after that, I’ll be financially independent.
It’s about that time of year again, that glorious time when each of us students talks to our college advisor to set up classes for next semester. I took an interest today in my academic situation at USC, and the outlook is grim, for multiple reasons. First of all, I started out as an architecture student, meaning I took a couple-three extremely painful classes during my first four months at USC which are now useless to me, except as catalysts for severe long-term psychological damage. Secondly, last semester I freaked out and dropped a course I probably could have and should have handled, considering my plans of studying broads in London this semester. And lastly, this semester has been less than productive, as far as transferring school credits goes. At the end of this semester (assuming I pass all my classes, of course), I will have completed a measly 21 meaningful credits during my entire sophomore year.
In order to make up the credits, I will need to take at least one course in the summer and take a full load of 18 high-level engineering courses during each remaining semester at USC. Ugh.
I have brainstormed some solutions though. I believe I’ll spend summer 2010 in Los Angeles taking a full load, possibly picking up a minor in Physics, Astronomy, Biology, Creative Writing, Politics, or Musical Performance. You know, something along that vein; said vein being “whatever strikes my fancy,” or, just as validly, “close your eyes and choose a subject out of a hat.” This summer semester would fix my overload problem, but it would limit my opportunities during that summer, which is the summer I’m most likely to land a cool internship. But who knows, maybe I could get something during the school year, part-time. Psh, ya, I could probably handle, like, two or three part-time internships.
Those are parts one and two of the grand plan, henceforth to be referred to as “The New Bailout Plan: Third time’s the charm.” I need to do a summer semester and pick up a minor. Part three consists of my earning a cool master’s degree (everybody’s doing it) in USC’s progressive degree program. I can complete that bad boy in one blazing, action-packed year. I should also be a residential advisor, or an RA, during this year, because I’m pretty sure my parents will be living in a box down by Fred Meyer by this time. RA’s get free room and board, and they get to hang out with freshmen in a dorm! Sounds like a win-win! Don’t worry Mom and Dad, the PhD will only take a few more years after the Master’s, and then, after I travel the world for a few more years after that, I’ll be financially independent.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Stratford-upon-Avon
Stratford-upon-Avon was quite a place. The whole town essentially revolves around Billy Shakespeare, who is apparently this guy who lived there, like, seven thousand years ago. There are five museums in the town established at houses which were important to Shakespeare’s life. The only one I had time to go inside was Shakespeare’s birthplace, a charming cottage on Henley Street, and I was only able to visit it for a few minutes. I think I saw all the houses though, and was able to appreciate that they existed and would provide me with nauseatingly accurate information on Shakespeare’s cooking utensils and favorite type of powdered wig if I did so choose to enter, so that was comforting.
So, you might be wondering, what was I doing the whole time, if I wasn’t expanding my cultural horizons by goin
g to these wonderful museums? And I would be hard-pressed to give you an answer. But luckily this blogging thing is a one-way dealy, so I don’t have to answer that question. But I will anyway. (Why do I write these pointless tangents? Because they’re fun, that’s why, and they keep me entertained, like a dog chasing its tail.)
And watch me segue; wait for it….Speaking of dogs, the bed-and-breakfast we stayed in had a very friendly dog. It came to greet me when I arrived at the Linhill Guest House (but what’s in a name? That which we call a guest house by any other name would provide accommodations as satisfactory.) on Friday evening. The owner, a very friendly woman who cooked me two hearty English breakfasts over the weekend, welcomed me and walked with me down the street to a separate apartment known as The Cottage. It was a small guest house, but it had a television, a fancy shower, and free snacks in the kitchen, so I fell in love with it instantly. I was the first of its four inhabitants to arrive, so I was free to choose my room. Two beds shared one room, so those were out of the question. I was left to choose between an upstairs bedroom near the bathroom, or a double-size bed downstairs. It was a tough decision. I walked between the two several times trying to make up my mind, but, because I had to basically crawl under a low ceiling to access the downstairs room, I chose the smaller, upstairs bed.
This is a riveting story so far, if I do say so myself. Are you hanging on the edge of your seat, waiting to see how my bed decision plays out? Well, I’ll tell you. It was a good thing I chose the upstairs, because the downstairs bed was swallowed into a thousand-foot crevasse that night. It’s true; it was never heard from again.
We ate dinner at a place called Marlowe’s that night. There is little I enjoy more than a free meal. We were encouraged to choose anything on the menu, USC’s treat, so I had a three-course meal of chicken, duck and chocolate cake. I ate them all at once, stacking them vertically and using the chocolate cake as an adhesive between the two meats. (This story is going to be real
ly hard to follow if I don’t stop making up ridiculous lies. But which would you prefer, an exciting lie or a banal truth? Ooh, that’s deep. Just in case you are an advocate of the latter, here’s the short version: I had dinner.) Most of us went to a pub after dinner and talked for awhile. It was nice to get to know more of my fellow Trojans, and I’m happy to say I met some very cool people. I returned home after a spell to sleep, perchance to dream.
After breakfast the next morning, some friends and I walked around town a bit before the official tour of Stratford-upon-Avon was due to begin. Unfortunately, we had to leave our tour of Shakespeare’s birthplace prematurely to get to the official USC tour. Ay, that was the morning of our discontent. But Stratford is a cool place, and I’m glad we had someone knowledgeable to tell us about it. We walked past each of the three theaters in town (two of which are being repaired at the moment), and along the river Avon, and through town past Shakespeare’s primary school, and we visited his grave. His relatives are buried alongside him inside a cathedral. His tomb does not have a standing marker; it is just a flat slab of rock on the ground, inscribed with nothing more than a warning to anyone who would move his bones. There was a memorial to him on one wall, built just a few years after his death in 1616.
After yet another deliciously expensive meal (if food be the music of life, cook on), we reached the highpoint of the trip: attendance at a masterful performance of The Tempest that evening. I have never read the play, so I was unable to appreciate it in its full glory, but its partial glory proved impressive enough for me. It was performed with an African slant, so themes of apartheid and colonialism were evident in the performance.
After the play, along w
ith several other students, I went to the Dirty Duck pub, the typical after-play (not foreplay, ahaha) social scene. Apparently, the pub is actually called the Black Swan, but American soldiers in WWI nicknamed it and the name stuck, so one side of their sign reads Black Swan and the other reads Dirty Duck. Because it was their last performance of The Tempest in Stratford, many of the actors arrived at the pub to celebrate. It was fun to see them in their natural habitat.
I awoke this morning and thought I caught a glimpse of such stuff as dreams are made on, but it turns out it was just a lampshade. And now I’m back in London. The End
So, you might be wondering, what was I doing the whole time, if I wasn’t expanding my cultural horizons by goin
g to these wonderful museums? And I would be hard-pressed to give you an answer. But luckily this blogging thing is a one-way dealy, so I don’t have to answer that question. But I will anyway. (Why do I write these pointless tangents? Because they’re fun, that’s why, and they keep me entertained, like a dog chasing its tail.)And watch me segue; wait for it….Speaking of dogs, the bed-and-breakfast we stayed in had a very friendly dog. It came to greet me when I arrived at the Linhill Guest House (but what’s in a name? That which we call a guest house by any other name would provide accommodations as satisfactory.) on Friday evening. The owner, a very friendly woman who cooked me two hearty English breakfasts over the weekend, welcomed me and walked with me down the street to a separate apartment known as The Cottage. It was a small guest house, but it had a television, a fancy shower, and free snacks in the kitchen, so I fell in love with it instantly. I was the first of its four inhabitants to arrive, so I was free to choose my room. Two beds shared one room, so those were out of the question. I was left to choose between an upstairs bedroom near the bathroom, or a double-size bed downstairs. It was a tough decision. I walked between the two several times trying to make up my mind, but, because I had to basically crawl under a low ceiling to access the downstairs room, I chose the smaller, upstairs bed.
This is a riveting story so far, if I do say so myself. Are you hanging on the edge of your seat, waiting to see how my bed decision plays out? Well, I’ll tell you. It was a good thing I chose the upstairs, because the downstairs bed was swallowed into a thousand-foot crevasse that night. It’s true; it was never heard from again.
We ate dinner at a place called Marlowe’s that night. There is little I enjoy more than a free meal. We were encouraged to choose anything on the menu, USC’s treat, so I had a three-course meal of chicken, duck and chocolate cake. I ate them all at once, stacking them vertically and using the chocolate cake as an adhesive between the two meats. (This story is going to be real
ly hard to follow if I don’t stop making up ridiculous lies. But which would you prefer, an exciting lie or a banal truth? Ooh, that’s deep. Just in case you are an advocate of the latter, here’s the short version: I had dinner.) Most of us went to a pub after dinner and talked for awhile. It was nice to get to know more of my fellow Trojans, and I’m happy to say I met some very cool people. I returned home after a spell to sleep, perchance to dream.After breakfast the next morning, some friends and I walked around town a bit before the official tour of Stratford-upon-Avon was due to begin. Unfortunately, we had to leave our tour of Shakespeare’s birthplace prematurely to get to the official USC tour. Ay, that was the morning of our discontent. But Stratford is a cool place, and I’m glad we had someone knowledgeable to tell us about it. We walked past each of the three theaters in town (two of which are being repaired at the moment), and along the river Avon, and through town past Shakespeare’s primary school, and we visited his grave. His relatives are buried alongside him inside a cathedral. His tomb does not have a standing marker; it is just a flat slab of rock on the ground, inscribed with nothing more than a warning to anyone who would move his bones. There was a memorial to him on one wall, built just a few years after his death in 1616.
After yet another deliciously expensive meal (if food be the music of life, cook on), we reached the highpoint of the trip: attendance at a masterful performance of The Tempest that evening. I have never read the play, so I was unable to appreciate it in its full glory, but its partial glory proved impressive enough for me. It was performed with an African slant, so themes of apartheid and colonialism were evident in the performance.
After the play, along w
ith several other students, I went to the Dirty Duck pub, the typical after-play (not foreplay, ahaha) social scene. Apparently, the pub is actually called the Black Swan, but American soldiers in WWI nicknamed it and the name stuck, so one side of their sign reads Black Swan and the other reads Dirty Duck. Because it was their last performance of The Tempest in Stratford, many of the actors arrived at the pub to celebrate. It was fun to see them in their natural habitat.I awoke this morning and thought I caught a glimpse of such stuff as dreams are made on, but it turns out it was just a lampshade. And now I’m back in London. The End
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Couch Potato
Hooray! We finished our project!....Um, I don’t really have anything else to say about that.
This weekend I’m going with USC to Shakespeare’s birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon, so don’t be disappointed if I don’t blog this weekend, I’m not sure if I’m going to bring my computer. One of the best things about this semester abroad is that is has helped me become acclimated to the world around me. I don’t feel so estranged being in London, and I don’t feel very apprehensive about traveling, this weekend, to a remote English town with a group of USC kids I hardly know. I’m very happy about this sense of ease with my foreign situation, and I hope I can bring it with me when I travel in Italy next month.
Tonight I was looking at hostels online in various cities in Italy (my itinerary is very vague, possibly nonexistent, at this point) and found none cheaper than 20 US dollars a night. I’m pretty disappointed by that, but I’ve been mulling over another option. There is a website called Couchsurfers.com which serves as a database for travelers and people willing to take them in for a night or two. I’m pretty apprehensive about the whole process right now, but I feel like this would be the way to travel. I would make lots of friends and save money. So right now I’m mulling it over, but I think in a week or two I may start emailing people in Italy and setting up some sweet couch contacts for my trip.
This weekend I’m going with USC to Shakespeare’s birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon, so don’t be disappointed if I don’t blog this weekend, I’m not sure if I’m going to bring my computer. One of the best things about this semester abroad is that is has helped me become acclimated to the world around me. I don’t feel so estranged being in London, and I don’t feel very apprehensive about traveling, this weekend, to a remote English town with a group of USC kids I hardly know. I’m very happy about this sense of ease with my foreign situation, and I hope I can bring it with me when I travel in Italy next month.
Tonight I was looking at hostels online in various cities in Italy (my itinerary is very vague, possibly nonexistent, at this point) and found none cheaper than 20 US dollars a night. I’m pretty disappointed by that, but I’ve been mulling over another option. There is a website called Couchsurfers.com which serves as a database for travelers and people willing to take them in for a night or two. I’m pretty apprehensive about the whole process right now, but I feel like this would be the way to travel. I would make lots of friends and save money. So right now I’m mulling it over, but I think in a week or two I may start emailing people in Italy and setting up some sweet couch contacts for my trip.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
DEN 202
Today marked a significant amount of improvement on a class project. My group began to manufacture our structure for my DEN 202 Product Design course today. We have spent the last week feverishly improving the technical drawings of the project, and were all very happy to begin building it at last. In two hours today, we finished roughly two thirds of the project; which means we are on track to finish the project on time. We have two more two-hour sessions in which to complete our t-shaped aluminum structure. It stands about two meters tall, and uses a Warren truss for vertical stability. It is meant to carry more weight than an existing Queen Mary structure, which we have studied, and to weigh less. I think we have succeeded on both of these objectives, but it all depends on what the industry professionals think when we present our design on March 19. But I’m getting ahead of myself: right now, we need to just focus on finishing the structure tomorrow in our last two-hour manufacture sessions.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Greetings
I’m never sure how to respond when British people greet me with the standard, “Are you all right, mate?” It actually sounds more like, “Yawrayght, mite?” The first time I was asked, I replied, “Good, thanks,” but clearly that wasn’t going to work. I’ve also made the mistake of interpreting the question as a heartfelt inquiry of my emotional state, while it’s actually just a greeting for people to whom you have nothing important to say. These days, I’ve refined my answer to a straightforward, well-articulated, “Yes, I am all right. Are you all right?” It seems to get me by, but I’m going to have to figure out something a little more streamlined if I want to hide my clear befuddlement with the question.
I've been learning Italian online at the BBC website. I think with a little practice I can have a functional knowledge of Italian before I travel through the country in April. It takes a lot of practice, a lot of revision, to become familiar with the words, and the feel of the words in your mouth, but I think it will be worth a bit of difficulty if I can develop enough language to get me by.
Because I have nothing more pertinent to share, here's a picture of a baby I saw in the Natural History Museum a couple weeks ago. It just stared at me, I couldn't help but take a picture.
I've been learning Italian online at the BBC website. I think with a little practice I can have a functional knowledge of Italian before I travel through the country in April. It takes a lot of practice, a lot of revision, to become familiar with the words, and the feel of the words in your mouth, but I think it will be worth a bit of difficulty if I can develop enough language to get me by.
Because I have nothing more pertinent to share, here's a picture of a baby I saw in the Natural History Museum a couple weeks ago. It just stared at me, I couldn't help but take a picture.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
St. Paul's
Today was a pleasant day. This weekend has brought a brief lull in my busy schedule of the past couple weeks. I woke up this morning (well, technically it was afternoon) with an empty day ahead of me. I was free to choose my activities. So, I decided to go see some s
ights.
First, I went to the Tate Modern, a free museum of modern art south of the Thames in downtown London. I saw some curious things. The main entrance to the museum is fashioned to look like a warehouse. As you walk down a huge, gently-declined ramp, your eyes move to the text printed on a bridge in front of you. It says:
“It has been raining for years now, not a day, not an hour without rain. This continuous watering has had a strange effect on urban sculptures. They have started to grow like giant tropical plants, and become even more monumental. To stop this growth it has been decided to store them inside, among the hundreds of bunk beds which, night and day, receive refugees from the rain.... Turbine Hall / 2058 / London”
At the bottom of the ramp you walk through heavy multicolored plastic strips hung from the bridge above into a space populated by yellow and blue bunk bed frames. Each bed has a book fastened to it. I was only familiar with a couple of the books. One was Fahrenheit 451, the popular Ray Bradbury book about a frightening future where original thought is outlawed. The other familiar book was Hiroshima, Mon Amour, a story about a couple in Hiroshima a few years after the bomb. It emphasizes the r
ift between the man and the woman as a result of their traumatic wartime experiences. Last year, I wrote two or three papers about this story for one of my classes, so it was fun to see it today. It seemed all the books were unified by the idea of a radically-different future caused by human intervention. There were also two gigantic sculptures in this space: one of a spider-looking thing, and another large red thing. And there was a sculpture of a gigantic cat skeleton.
Needless to say, it was a very strange place, which is what you would expect from a museum of modern art. A lot of modern art is hit-or-miss, I think. I was able to appreciate a lot of the exhibits though, because I love to see unique perspectives or different takes on reality. I caught myself once looking at the artists’ names before considering the art itself, which I quickly tried to avoid. I wanted to develop my own sense of appreciation for some of the art, not just look at the paintings by famous people. Anyway, it was worth the trip. And it took them about twenty minutes to tell me cameras weren’t allowed, so I got some nice pictures before I knew it was against the rules.
The rest of my afternoon was spent in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Once again, cameras were not allowed, and unfortunately they posted their sign in plain view at the entrance, so I didn’t get any pictures. I’m glad I don’t have pictures though, because a photo could have never done justice to the breathtaking beauty inside that church. It was designed by Christopher Wren after the Great Fire of 1666 destroyed the previous cathedral, which stood on the same spot, and it took 35 years, from 1675 to 1710, to complete. The tip of its spire stands 110 meters above the floor of the cath
edral, and the space between these two extremes is filled with huge stone pillars, magnificent mosaics, and an indescribably beautiful dome. After wandering around for a few minutes with my neck craned upward, I found out there was a mass starting at five, so I decided to stay for mass. It was quite an experience. I was there a bit early, so I was ushered past the area where patrons usually sit into a thin row of seats along a path leading to the altar (which was at least fifty feet tall). It’s a little hard to explain, but I had a very good seat. The service was begun by an all-male choir composed of young children and grown men (no castrati, I assume). They sang magnificently in strong, clear tones, and the cathedral rang with every final chord, sustaining the note for half a minute after the choir had stopped singing. I couldn’t believe how beautifully the children sang. The choir was supported by an organist on an instrument as old as the cathedral itself. Between songs, the priest read passages from the Bible, but this didn’t happen very often. We mostly just listened to the choir, which was okay with me.
I wore a pair of shorts and a t-shirt today in the optimistic view that it would be a good day. It was sunny for awhile, but it turned a bit cold in the evening. I was a little underdressed; but from the way the Londoners reacted to my shorts, you would have thought I was running around nude. I would estimate I caught at least 30 people staring at my bare legs. I was flattered, of course, but also a bit unnerved. I must have seen at least two thousand people today, just walking around, and out of everyone I saw, I was the only man wearing a pair of shorts. Cultural difference, I suppose.
I watched Die Hard tonight with Dave and at one point a guy was watching a football game between Notre Dame and USC. I was very excited. Leaving the United States has really shown me how much I love it. I’m very glad to be in Europe right now and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it, but I do miss a lot of people and things in the US.
ights.First, I went to the Tate Modern, a free museum of modern art south of the Thames in downtown London. I saw some curious things. The main entrance to the museum is fashioned to look like a warehouse. As you walk down a huge, gently-declined ramp, your eyes move to the text printed on a bridge in front of you. It says:
“It has been raining for years now, not a day, not an hour without rain. This continuous watering has had a strange effect on urban sculptures. They have started to grow like giant tropical plants, and become even more monumental. To stop this growth it has been decided to store them inside, among the hundreds of bunk beds which, night and day, receive refugees from the rain.... Turbine Hall / 2058 / London”
At the bottom of the ramp you walk through heavy multicolored plastic strips hung from the bridge above into a space populated by yellow and blue bunk bed frames. Each bed has a book fastened to it. I was only familiar with a couple of the books. One was Fahrenheit 451, the popular Ray Bradbury book about a frightening future where original thought is outlawed. The other familiar book was Hiroshima, Mon Amour, a story about a couple in Hiroshima a few years after the bomb. It emphasizes the r
ift between the man and the woman as a result of their traumatic wartime experiences. Last year, I wrote two or three papers about this story for one of my classes, so it was fun to see it today. It seemed all the books were unified by the idea of a radically-different future caused by human intervention. There were also two gigantic sculptures in this space: one of a spider-looking thing, and another large red thing. And there was a sculpture of a gigantic cat skeleton.Needless to say, it was a very strange place, which is what you would expect from a museum of modern art. A lot of modern art is hit-or-miss, I think. I was able to appreciate a lot of the exhibits though, because I love to see unique perspectives or different takes on reality. I caught myself once looking at the artists’ names before considering the art itself, which I quickly tried to avoid. I wanted to develop my own sense of appreciation for some of the art, not just look at the paintings by famous people. Anyway, it was worth the trip. And it took them about twenty minutes to tell me cameras weren’t allowed, so I got some nice pictures before I knew it was against the rules.
The rest of my afternoon was spent in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Once again, cameras were not allowed, and unfortunately they posted their sign in plain view at the entrance, so I didn’t get any pictures. I’m glad I don’t have pictures though, because a photo could have never done justice to the breathtaking beauty inside that church. It was designed by Christopher Wren after the Great Fire of 1666 destroyed the previous cathedral, which stood on the same spot, and it took 35 years, from 1675 to 1710, to complete. The tip of its spire stands 110 meters above the floor of the cath
edral, and the space between these two extremes is filled with huge stone pillars, magnificent mosaics, and an indescribably beautiful dome. After wandering around for a few minutes with my neck craned upward, I found out there was a mass starting at five, so I decided to stay for mass. It was quite an experience. I was there a bit early, so I was ushered past the area where patrons usually sit into a thin row of seats along a path leading to the altar (which was at least fifty feet tall). It’s a little hard to explain, but I had a very good seat. The service was begun by an all-male choir composed of young children and grown men (no castrati, I assume). They sang magnificently in strong, clear tones, and the cathedral rang with every final chord, sustaining the note for half a minute after the choir had stopped singing. I couldn’t believe how beautifully the children sang. The choir was supported by an organist on an instrument as old as the cathedral itself. Between songs, the priest read passages from the Bible, but this didn’t happen very often. We mostly just listened to the choir, which was okay with me.I wore a pair of shorts and a t-shirt today in the optimistic view that it would be a good day. It was sunny for awhile, but it turned a bit cold in the evening. I was a little underdressed; but from the way the Londoners reacted to my shorts, you would have thought I was running around nude. I would estimate I caught at least 30 people staring at my bare legs. I was flattered, of course, but also a bit unnerved. I must have seen at least two thousand people today, just walking around, and out of everyone I saw, I was the only man wearing a pair of shorts. Cultural difference, I suppose.
I watched Die Hard tonight with Dave and at one point a guy was watching a football game between Notre Dame and USC. I was very excited. Leaving the United States has really shown me how much I love it. I’m very glad to be in Europe right now and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it, but I do miss a lot of people and things in the US.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Going the Distance
I made some mistakes today. My first mistake was to tell my flatmate Antoine that I wanted to go running. He is a thin man training for a marathon in the summer. We went running last week, and we traversed a meager three miles and came back. It was nice, it was short, it was the type of run I am used to. Today, we got to the place we turned around last week and I suggested we should keep going. That was my second mistake. My third mistake was to ever think, in the first place, that I am a runner. Antoine is fast and agile. I am not.
All told, Antoine and I trekked 8.6 miles (mapped out on Google Earth, which stipulated that our run was also equivalent to 13.85 kilometers, 45,432 feet, 15,144 yards, or 8,137 smoots) through hectic downtown London, over three miles further than I’ve ever run before. We did stop occasionally to see some sights, but we probably only walked about a half mile on the whole journey. I’m very glad I did it, I actually feel very good, very proud I made it. And I’m very thankful I ran with Antoine, because without him I never would have run that far, or ever imagined I was capable of traveling that far without significant mechanical assistance. I just never want to do it again. I have blisters!
All told, Antoine and I trekked 8.6 miles (mapped out on Google Earth, which stipulated that our run was also equivalent to 13.85 kilometers, 45,432 feet, 15,144 yards, or 8,137 smoots) through hectic downtown London, over three miles further than I’ve ever run before. We did stop occasionally to see some sights, but we probably only walked about a half mile on the whole journey. I’m very glad I did it, I actually feel very good, very proud I made it. And I’m very thankful I ran with Antoine, because without him I never would have run that far, or ever imagined I was capable of traveling that far without significant mechanical assistance. I just never want to do it again. I have blisters!
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Young Folks
I went to a concert tonight. I can’t decide if I enjoyed myself. The band was Peter, Bjorn and John. They played well, and they were fun to watch. I’m not crazy about them, but they had a stage presence, so they were entertaining. The trouble was there were too many people, and, as happens quite often when I’m left alone for too long, I became very introverted and lost in my head. I’ll break it down for you play by play.
So, I had secured for myself one of the last open railing spots in the venue, ensuring myself some good lean support for the two hour concert. Shortly after I had established base camp on the railing, a couple of people came to stand in front of me; not a problem. The trouble was they kept scooting inexorably closer to me. They bumped me from time to time, and put me in awkward situations where I was forced to move. More than once I found myself spooning the girl in front of me, causing me to jump back in horror and lose valuable railing real estate. Furthermore, the couple had a few other friends who came to stand with them after awhile, and one of the girls with them, for reasons unknown, thought it would be a good idea to stand on the opposite side of the barrier from me and lean on that side, literally pushing me away from my spot and reducing my material possessions to naught but hand space. Their whole process, mind you, was done without once looking at me or acknowledging that I existed, even though I was more physically intimate with several of them than with my first girlfriend. I’m not an easy person to miss! But they seemed to manage it. Eventually, I was standing, I kid you not, an arm’s length away from the railing, gripping it firmly with my right hand while the boyfriend slowly inched his way in for the kill. After a couple of songs, he was leaning into my arm, resting his elbow on my hand. It looked to any bystanders as if I were wrapping my arm lovingly around the persistent man in front of me. I strengthened my resolve, telling myself that if I left this railing, I was leaving the concert because it was just too absurd. After three more songs and several of the boyfriend’s pointed looks at my hand, I withdrew it with a flourish. I was beaten.
This is a completely true story. They never once looked at me, and I was too far into my own little world to speak out indignantly, which would have been the appropriate rea
ction. It was a very strange encounter, but after that couple and their friends had moved me into what they deemed a suitable position, I started to enjoy the concert, even going so far as to bob my head a little bit and sing the words under my breath. What a night.
Here's a picture of the map I made so I could find my way to the concert. It's drawn on the back of a grocery receipt.
So, I had secured for myself one of the last open railing spots in the venue, ensuring myself some good lean support for the two hour concert. Shortly after I had established base camp on the railing, a couple of people came to stand in front of me; not a problem. The trouble was they kept scooting inexorably closer to me. They bumped me from time to time, and put me in awkward situations where I was forced to move. More than once I found myself spooning the girl in front of me, causing me to jump back in horror and lose valuable railing real estate. Furthermore, the couple had a few other friends who came to stand with them after awhile, and one of the girls with them, for reasons unknown, thought it would be a good idea to stand on the opposite side of the barrier from me and lean on that side, literally pushing me away from my spot and reducing my material possessions to naught but hand space. Their whole process, mind you, was done without once looking at me or acknowledging that I existed, even though I was more physically intimate with several of them than with my first girlfriend. I’m not an easy person to miss! But they seemed to manage it. Eventually, I was standing, I kid you not, an arm’s length away from the railing, gripping it firmly with my right hand while the boyfriend slowly inched his way in for the kill. After a couple of songs, he was leaning into my arm, resting his elbow on my hand. It looked to any bystanders as if I were wrapping my arm lovingly around the persistent man in front of me. I strengthened my resolve, telling myself that if I left this railing, I was leaving the concert because it was just too absurd. After three more songs and several of the boyfriend’s pointed looks at my hand, I withdrew it with a flourish. I was beaten.
This is a completely true story. They never once looked at me, and I was too far into my own little world to speak out indignantly, which would have been the appropriate rea
ction. It was a very strange encounter, but after that couple and their friends had moved me into what they deemed a suitable position, I started to enjoy the concert, even going so far as to bob my head a little bit and sing the words under my breath. What a night.Here's a picture of the map I made so I could find my way to the concert. It's drawn on the back of a grocery receipt.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Ice Skating
Wow, March 4, 2009 already? Time is flying by.
Today was a good day. After my class at noon, I set off with some friends for an ice-skating rink in south London. It was pretty far away, and for awhile we thought we had gotten lost when we jumped on a bus with no clear idea where it was headed, but it all worked out in the end and we arrived at the ice rink. Dave and I were having lessons from one of the ice rink employees with a strong Irish accent when I was struck, as happens from time to time, by the novelty of my situation. I was in the suburbs of south London, 5000 miles from my home, ice skating with a British friend, a French friend, and two Italian friends. Unfortunately, this vague reverie was short-lived, and I was brought back down to Earth (the other side of it than usual, hehe) by my abysmal ice skating skills. I tried to go forward, I fell over. I tried to stop, I spun around in circles and fell over. I tried to go backward, realized that was a terrible idea, but fell over nonetheless. By the end of the session, I was firmly rooted to the walls of the rink, hugging my knees with one arm while I pulled myself along the wall with the other, sobbing and, from time to time, falling over.
Ok, I admit that is a slight exaggeration. Very slight.
On the way back to Queen Mary, we stopped at Oxford Circus in the interest of getting lost once again, and we very nearly succeeded. We were looking for a music shop called Chappell which stocked cheap ukuleles. After half an hour and a well-placed internet café, we arrived, cheering, at the music shop. Unfortunately, their ukulele variety was lacking today; they only had a pink one, and two Spongebob Squarepants instruments. Antoine bought the pink one, and a harmonica. I think I’m going to wait until next week when they restock the ukuleles to see if I can find one to my liking.
It appears we have four budding ukulele players in the vicinity these days. Well, one friend is pretty proficient, but Dave, Antoine and I have all decided to take up the ukulele. We have high hopes for a shrill, islandy-sounding ukulele band coming together in the near future. I’ll keep you updated.
Today was a good day. After my class at noon, I set off with some friends for an ice-skating rink in south London. It was pretty far away, and for awhile we thought we had gotten lost when we jumped on a bus with no clear idea where it was headed, but it all worked out in the end and we arrived at the ice rink. Dave and I were having lessons from one of the ice rink employees with a strong Irish accent when I was struck, as happens from time to time, by the novelty of my situation. I was in the suburbs of south London, 5000 miles from my home, ice skating with a British friend, a French friend, and two Italian friends. Unfortunately, this vague reverie was short-lived, and I was brought back down to Earth (the other side of it than usual, hehe) by my abysmal ice skating skills. I tried to go forward, I fell over. I tried to stop, I spun around in circles and fell over. I tried to go backward, realized that was a terrible idea, but fell over nonetheless. By the end of the session, I was firmly rooted to the walls of the rink, hugging my knees with one arm while I pulled myself along the wall with the other, sobbing and, from time to time, falling over.
Ok, I admit that is a slight exaggeration. Very slight.
On the way back to Queen Mary, we stopped at Oxford Circus in the interest of getting lost once again, and we very nearly succeeded. We were looking for a music shop called Chappell which stocked cheap ukuleles. After half an hour and a well-placed internet café, we arrived, cheering, at the music shop. Unfortunately, their ukulele variety was lacking today; they only had a pink one, and two Spongebob Squarepants instruments. Antoine bought the pink one, and a harmonica. I think I’m going to wait until next week when they restock the ukuleles to see if I can find one to my liking.
It appears we have four budding ukulele players in the vicinity these days. Well, one friend is pretty proficient, but Dave, Antoine and I have all decided to take up the ukulele. We have high hopes for a shrill, islandy-sounding ukulele band coming together in the near future. I’ll keep you updated.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Shire
Tonight I returned from my weekend trip to the English countryside. I spent the last two days with my flatmate Dave in his small town of Hamptworth, located a couple hours’ drive west of London near Southampton and Salisbury and Stonehenge. So, Dad, that book about Sarum that you’re reading is about the country right around Dave’s house!
We arrived in Southampton at around seven on Friday. Dave’s mum (that’s the British equivalent of what we Americans would call a mom) picked us up and took us back to their house. Scattered along the road for miles on the way to Dave’s house are thousands of snowdrop flowers, apparently each planted by a local man named Jones, or just Yo. Dave says he’s
only ever had one picture taken of him, and he has dedicated himself to planting these flowers along the road. I saw him at the pub we visited that night. Dave knew everyone. We played some darts while he talked to everyone. He beat me in darts, two out of two.The next morning, we went with Dave’s very kind and accommodating mother to the New Forest up the road from Dave’s house. Dave told me the land used to be the King’s hunting ground, so there are all sorts of animals running around. There were pheasants all over the place (apparently Hamptworth is a major pheasant breeding area), and we saw a few wild ponies. One allowed Dave and I to pet it on the snout. It was interesting to be in a forest which hadn’t seen logging or intense management in at least five hundred years. Maybe it has never been logged, I don’t kno
w. It was an open forest, the floor covered with dead leaves in all directions, and Dave and I meandered through it at an easy jog-walk, stopping to look for wild pigs and navigate around mud puddles from time to time. On the way back to Dave’s house, we saw a hen in the road, so naturally I tried to take a picture of it. It scurried under a gate into its owner’s yard. There were several enticing birds in the yard, so I started taking pictures of them, leaning on the gate. This lasted for about ten seconds before I heard a knock on the window of the house and a man came out wondering what the hell I was doing taking pictures of his house. So Dad, now I know how it feels.When we returned, Dave’s mom was hard at work cooking a lamb roast for us to eat. It was brilliant to have a few home-cooked meals while I was there, she was very kind and fed us very well. We watched part of the England-Ireland rugby game (Ireland won 14-13) before heading into Salisbury for the night.
Dave had warned me beforehand that people in Salisbury loved to fight, and would punch you if you looked at them the wrong way. Furthermore, Dave told me a large family of ‘Pikeys’ was in town for a funeral, and they liked to cause trouble. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, a Pikey is what Brad Pitt played in the movie Snatch, essentially an English-Irish country person (I think). I’m not sure if the term Pikey is derogatory. If so, I hope I haven’t offended any Pikeys who read my blog. I guess the only person I know who lives in the English countryside is Dave, so, sorry Dave. Anyways, I was a bit apprehensive, but the night passed without violence. We did a sort of pub crawl, and at the end of the night ended up getting a ride back to Hamptsworth instead of spending the night at Dave’s friend’s house, so that was nice because I got to sleep in a nice big bed.
Today, we came back to London! On an uncomfortable bus. So here I am again, I hope you haven’t missed me.
Here are some pictures. Dave is petting a pony, and I’m holding a sign, and a dog is investigating us, and the infamous hen, and yet another funny British sign, found on a box of matches.
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