This is a paper I wrote for my class, as part of a longer ´radio presentation´we were to give to the class.
Here in Salamanca, January makes for a frosty and urgent clean air of the morning. After a brief snack many jet out into the biting cold air off to work while others meet up warmly with their friends in a ´tasca´ or tapas bar for a cup of café con leche with maybe a potato tortilla or other pincho. Pinchos or tapas are somewhat of a way of life here in Salamanca. It is very normal as the day warms up into the afternoon to meet up with friends or simply to go out to meet new ones at a tapas bar for a beer and several tapas, perhaps out in a lawn chair overseeing the mystically beautiful Plaza Mayor in its loud mid-day hustle and bustle which ironically means that it´s siesta time. There are young Spaniards with strange combinations of mullets, boots, leggings and shorts as well as old men with Irish caps and old ladies with their girlfriends in big furry coats, all having in common that they must eat. All are familiar with the flavourful, tender and at least ubiquitous famous Jamón Ibérico. There are in fact lots of shops specializing in Salamancan hams, easily recognizable by the large dried legs of Iberian ham in the windows and the overwhelming musty smell of preserved meat as you enter the door. Wide varieties of sausages are available as well, from the ordinary dried and cured salchichas to the strong and lasting lomo ibérico to the spicy chorizo tinted red from the paprika mixed in to it. Most of the good ham stores have a wooden interior and somewhat of a solemn serious feeling to them,, as if these meats held the last historical ties to the old Spain that is fondly remembered. One may welcome the small as indicative of quality meats of a newcomer may be overwhelmed by the strong tons of fatty dry pork. It is a thing not necessarily sweet to all palates.
One thing that anyone will definitely love is a pastry from one of the hundred of pastry shops dotting the city that serve heavenly delights to the bending communal will of the collective Salamancan sweet tooth. Very distinctive from almost any non-culinary store, the workers at Pastry shops are always friendly and generally of pleasant humour. This may be because they understand their position of upholding the childish fantasy of everyone who passes by. No matter what age you might be, you are irrevocably a kid in a candy store in a Salamancan pasteleria. Smelling of hitherto unknown delights, always clean and with every pastry looking more irresistible than the last, the pastelerias show the limitless sweet nature of Salamanca people.
In stark contrast, the diet is curiously limited and standardized, as a matter of the terrain and customs, everyone buys their bread from a bakery and buys meat from one of the many butchers, as well as their fish from one of the less-common fish mongers. If one goes into a grocery story, it is curiously absent of all the breakfast foods, flours, seasonings and variety one might be used to in an American market. Everything is very locally specialized and aimed towards a certain traditional food that a household might make, such as the vast amounts of rice, yellow colouring and seafood aimed towards the national dish of Paella.
Perhaps because of my background in baking or maybe in spite of it, it seems incredibly interesting to me how ubiquitous the delicious crusty Spanish bread is, and how difficult it is to find flour to bake with. Hardly anyone does baking at home, leaving it to the professionals, and yet it is always present at every meal. In the US we have all kinds of home baking, but how often do we actually have quality crusty bread to eat with dinner? Only maybe if we are eating out at a restaurant. Rest assured where there is a Spaniard eating, there also is bread.
It is also a curious thing to look particularly at the spices available. An American might only recognize four or five of them, and note that there are few beyond that even available. Chives for your baked potato? Sorry. Old Bay seasoning for your shellfish? No can do. But to taste the homemade food of Salamanca makes on easily forget the lack of familiar things. A Spanish mother can somehow coax maximum flavour from the minimalist list of ingredients such as an impossibly delicious veal and potato stew that will fall apart in your mouth or perhaps a chicken and shellfish paella, soft and browned on the bottom to mouthful after mouthful of perfection. Between the pinchos and home cooking, you may just send that mothers day spice rack back and reach for that loaf of Spanish bread.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Perdido En Traducción
This is an e-mail home to my parents... I thought it described well my feelings at the moment.
Hey there!
Studying abroad is expensive. I really miss being able to have a kitchen to run back to and time to cook myself. I also miss technology, it seems impossible to find a computer with enough power to upload a video or a mass of pictures for that matter. This computer won´t even open up the blogger site. I really miss Bethany and my friends, the people here are definitely not who I would regularly hang out with. There are a couple of really authentically nice people and many interesting people, but I have found mostly otherwise people. I need to stop spending money (because that´s easy) and lighten up. It´s beginning to be a little depressing to be here, but hopefully something interesting will come up. Real classes, for example, will be starting next week so maybe that will go well. It´s just so expensive to rustle up food on excursions and while on your own. I guess I´m used to a consistent income from ORL, but I need to think about that more. And I know what you´re going to say, yes it´s hard and you shouldn´t be using it so much for snacks and you paid for meals at your house so eat then and don´t do things if you know you can´t afford them. I know all that, but meals come only twice a day wide apart and other than that I´m away from home and I in hindsight poorly decided to take the €150 trip to Lisbon which was very expensive and difficult because of people, poor planning (or simply a lack thereof) and me just not knowing anything about the place (honestly I did see lots of really cool things and had sweet experiences, there was just too much otherwise to ruin it). I also had to pay the €100 ransom for my cell phone which will be returned to me once I give it back at the end of the semester. Then of course there´s the food and hostel payments for London and Paris (so worth it, I want to go back to Paris) and little souveneirs along the way. I have been sparing with my souvenirs, leaving it to postcards, little bottles of local sorts, specialty snacks and I got this sweet old map of the world with ornate drawings and stuff on it at the Marine museum of Lisbon. That was a good day when I got that. But I´m just tired of the clicky nature of this group and how all people do is work to be popular and party, and how few seem to care about the culture and really learning and using what we´re taught. I do appreciate how lovely and motherly my madre is, she always cooks delicious things and listens and is helpful about anything she can be... when I can understand her. I don´t know... it´s a unique, interesting and priveleged experience of a lifetime to be able to study abroad and visit so many international places. But I feel broke, alone and lost in translation.
Hope all is well at home.
Love,
Kip
Hey there!
Studying abroad is expensive. I really miss being able to have a kitchen to run back to and time to cook myself. I also miss technology, it seems impossible to find a computer with enough power to upload a video or a mass of pictures for that matter. This computer won´t even open up the blogger site. I really miss Bethany and my friends, the people here are definitely not who I would regularly hang out with. There are a couple of really authentically nice people and many interesting people, but I have found mostly otherwise people. I need to stop spending money (because that´s easy) and lighten up. It´s beginning to be a little depressing to be here, but hopefully something interesting will come up. Real classes, for example, will be starting next week so maybe that will go well. It´s just so expensive to rustle up food on excursions and while on your own. I guess I´m used to a consistent income from ORL, but I need to think about that more. And I know what you´re going to say, yes it´s hard and you shouldn´t be using it so much for snacks and you paid for meals at your house so eat then and don´t do things if you know you can´t afford them. I know all that, but meals come only twice a day wide apart and other than that I´m away from home and I in hindsight poorly decided to take the €150 trip to Lisbon which was very expensive and difficult because of people, poor planning (or simply a lack thereof) and me just not knowing anything about the place (honestly I did see lots of really cool things and had sweet experiences, there was just too much otherwise to ruin it). I also had to pay the €100 ransom for my cell phone which will be returned to me once I give it back at the end of the semester. Then of course there´s the food and hostel payments for London and Paris (so worth it, I want to go back to Paris) and little souveneirs along the way. I have been sparing with my souvenirs, leaving it to postcards, little bottles of local sorts, specialty snacks and I got this sweet old map of the world with ornate drawings and stuff on it at the Marine museum of Lisbon. That was a good day when I got that. But I´m just tired of the clicky nature of this group and how all people do is work to be popular and party, and how few seem to care about the culture and really learning and using what we´re taught. I do appreciate how lovely and motherly my madre is, she always cooks delicious things and listens and is helpful about anything she can be... when I can understand her. I don´t know... it´s a unique, interesting and priveleged experience of a lifetime to be able to study abroad and visit so many international places. But I feel broke, alone and lost in translation.
Hope all is well at home.
Love,
Kip
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
La Donut Naranja
I suppose it´s about time to begin describing the rest of the town of Salamanca, so I will begin here with the most central of places, La Plaza Mayor (lit. The Biggest Plaza). The first night that we arrived, we were given the assignment of meeting the next morning in the Plaza Mayor for a short tour around here and there, so the guys in my house asked Pepe to show us how to get down there.
The first thing that is important for anyone to understand about the city of Salamanca is that the drivers are insane. Not just a little crazy and incorrigable, insane. They will speed up for the five meters they have until there is clearly a person crossing the street, they are unafraid of driving in walkways in the mornings, they will pass without a second thought or light, even if someone´s coming in the opposite direction. Insane.
So the first time walking down the Plaza Mayor reminded me very much of NYC but it seemed odd to me that all of the Spaniards waited on the sidewalk, even if noone was coming, for the little sign that says walk... as if they knew something I didn´t. A little scary, but no matter. All along the way, there were tons of ham/meat stores and lots of very random stores (clothing, electric things, kitchen supply, phone places...) and the streets are very small and narrow. On the way to the plaza mayor, I always come across this one church which is made of very old sandy stone and is completely round. It appears very much like a huge sandy round of cheese, with a cross and doors on it. This is the beginning of the centro peaton (lit. pedestrian center) which is supposedly all for pedestrians, but the stray truck or something to supply the stores therein passes by. All of this centro peaton is of stone, underfoot, many of the buildings, and also many old elaborate incredible buildings, but those will have to wait for another blog. So passing down through the centro peaton is very much like an outdoor mall. Stores of every type imaginable and useful are out there, as well as a million bars and cafes. There are delicious cafeterias con tapas, pastelerias (CON MUCHOS GALLETAS DELICIOUS that Katie drools over, of course), and so of course Katie makes me stop all the time and go in here and go in there and lo que sea. Good stuff. True enough I´d be completely bored walking around without someone to tell me to stop here and stop there... wait a minute. No. She doesn´t decide anything. I have decided to call her Sra. No Puedo Decidir Nada. Everytime I ask her ´Would you like to do this or this?¨I can´t manage to get a response other than ´I Don´t Care´or if I´m really lucky ´Me da igual´. Except with chocolate. Her one complete indulgence. And how can we blame her? Chocolate has been clinically tested to benefit the health of women, and so she´s only doing the best for her body. It all makes sense now, doesn´t it?
ANYways, finally we will arrive through a little arch into this very large illuminated (depending on the time) plaza with arches in every direction covereing beautiful stores and cafes and large facades reaching into the sky with a rustic light sandy brown color and beautiful detail and man-made stalagmites if you will. Then if you look all the way around, there is a giant bank-like front where there are several terraces on the way up, several Spanish flags and a giant clock. It´s impossible to see from right underneath, you have to go almost to the middle of the plaza to see the clock. But above the clock is a beautiful bell-tower that chimes every 15 minutes, with different sounds for the different parts of the hour.
When the sun is down in the mornings and at night, Salamanca becomes arctic and freezing with a chill to depress the heartiest Russian. But when the sun peeks over the top of the facades of the Plaza Mayor, springtime returns with a blinding strength and warmth for the body and the heart. It is an interesting cycle every day where one´s spirits it seems rise and fall with the sun itself. In the light in the late afternoon there are many people passing across the centro peaton with slow and steady old grandfathers with Irish caps and adorable old women all with their fur coats and decidedly patient meander. It is an interesting city with a peculiar cycle of life and light and also various shades of color within the city itself having to do with the lighting. In the dark all of the stone facades are dark and intimidating, as are the sketchy corners and shadows cast by various artificial lights. In the night very few people are about the streets, and so the emptyness adds extra glare to the streets and walls around the town. It becomes clear then the strange prevalence of graffiti all around, as if the young people here had nothing to do. When the sun comes up, however, it becomes a bountiful big place with lots of interesting people and light refracting off of every surface and beautiful sandy wall. With the various shades of brown it may seem at first a bit lacking flair or character, but to the contrary - it appears in more minute detail. On any facade is stone deatiling like you have never seen, with tiny characters and ornate decorations. There are various shades of buildings and writings on them in a beautiful fascinatingly new script.
Inside the beautiful Plaza Mayor, there is one particular sweets shop that I have visited several times before. But this is no ordinary sweets shop, it has hand-made pastries and chocolates and beautiful fried empanadas, all kinds of delicious foods. It has become somewhat of a mission to try as much of it as possible, at least to Katie and I. Today before a meeting to hunt down wine, I think perhaps we will visit it again to try something new. I had my eye on some gorgeous looking orange covered donuts or some such thing.
As I´m sitting here in the JMU office, Katie turns to me to say, ´I feel like going shopping, I found a bag I liked.´ Finally! She has a clear decision. My triumph of the day, next to that orange donut.
The first thing that is important for anyone to understand about the city of Salamanca is that the drivers are insane. Not just a little crazy and incorrigable, insane. They will speed up for the five meters they have until there is clearly a person crossing the street, they are unafraid of driving in walkways in the mornings, they will pass without a second thought or light, even if someone´s coming in the opposite direction. Insane.
So the first time walking down the Plaza Mayor reminded me very much of NYC but it seemed odd to me that all of the Spaniards waited on the sidewalk, even if noone was coming, for the little sign that says walk... as if they knew something I didn´t. A little scary, but no matter. All along the way, there were tons of ham/meat stores and lots of very random stores (clothing, electric things, kitchen supply, phone places...) and the streets are very small and narrow. On the way to the plaza mayor, I always come across this one church which is made of very old sandy stone and is completely round. It appears very much like a huge sandy round of cheese, with a cross and doors on it. This is the beginning of the centro peaton (lit. pedestrian center) which is supposedly all for pedestrians, but the stray truck or something to supply the stores therein passes by. All of this centro peaton is of stone, underfoot, many of the buildings, and also many old elaborate incredible buildings, but those will have to wait for another blog. So passing down through the centro peaton is very much like an outdoor mall. Stores of every type imaginable and useful are out there, as well as a million bars and cafes. There are delicious cafeterias con tapas, pastelerias (CON MUCHOS GALLETAS DELICIOUS that Katie drools over, of course), and so of course Katie makes me stop all the time and go in here and go in there and lo que sea. Good stuff. True enough I´d be completely bored walking around without someone to tell me to stop here and stop there... wait a minute. No. She doesn´t decide anything. I have decided to call her Sra. No Puedo Decidir Nada. Everytime I ask her ´Would you like to do this or this?¨I can´t manage to get a response other than ´I Don´t Care´or if I´m really lucky ´Me da igual´. Except with chocolate. Her one complete indulgence. And how can we blame her? Chocolate has been clinically tested to benefit the health of women, and so she´s only doing the best for her body. It all makes sense now, doesn´t it?
ANYways, finally we will arrive through a little arch into this very large illuminated (depending on the time) plaza with arches in every direction covereing beautiful stores and cafes and large facades reaching into the sky with a rustic light sandy brown color and beautiful detail and man-made stalagmites if you will. Then if you look all the way around, there is a giant bank-like front where there are several terraces on the way up, several Spanish flags and a giant clock. It´s impossible to see from right underneath, you have to go almost to the middle of the plaza to see the clock. But above the clock is a beautiful bell-tower that chimes every 15 minutes, with different sounds for the different parts of the hour.
When the sun is down in the mornings and at night, Salamanca becomes arctic and freezing with a chill to depress the heartiest Russian. But when the sun peeks over the top of the facades of the Plaza Mayor, springtime returns with a blinding strength and warmth for the body and the heart. It is an interesting cycle every day where one´s spirits it seems rise and fall with the sun itself. In the light in the late afternoon there are many people passing across the centro peaton with slow and steady old grandfathers with Irish caps and adorable old women all with their fur coats and decidedly patient meander. It is an interesting city with a peculiar cycle of life and light and also various shades of color within the city itself having to do with the lighting. In the dark all of the stone facades are dark and intimidating, as are the sketchy corners and shadows cast by various artificial lights. In the night very few people are about the streets, and so the emptyness adds extra glare to the streets and walls around the town. It becomes clear then the strange prevalence of graffiti all around, as if the young people here had nothing to do. When the sun comes up, however, it becomes a bountiful big place with lots of interesting people and light refracting off of every surface and beautiful sandy wall. With the various shades of brown it may seem at first a bit lacking flair or character, but to the contrary - it appears in more minute detail. On any facade is stone deatiling like you have never seen, with tiny characters and ornate decorations. There are various shades of buildings and writings on them in a beautiful fascinatingly new script.
Inside the beautiful Plaza Mayor, there is one particular sweets shop that I have visited several times before. But this is no ordinary sweets shop, it has hand-made pastries and chocolates and beautiful fried empanadas, all kinds of delicious foods. It has become somewhat of a mission to try as much of it as possible, at least to Katie and I. Today before a meeting to hunt down wine, I think perhaps we will visit it again to try something new. I had my eye on some gorgeous looking orange covered donuts or some such thing.
As I´m sitting here in the JMU office, Katie turns to me to say, ´I feel like going shopping, I found a bag I liked.´ Finally! She has a clear decision. My triumph of the day, next to that orange donut.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Noche Larga
Tonight I´m lying here feeling absolutely lost and out of element. I can´t cook, I can´t play music, I can´t hang out with my friends, I can´t call anyone, I can hardly e-mail anyone, I can´t easily find or get in contact with the people here - I can´t watch TV, I can´t hang out in any particular place to meet people... All therre is is to see people in the morning in class, walk around the city alone, talk to mama, go to bars and suffocate and be bored or get drunk with the others at night, or buy stuff. Not a very enticing list, methinks.
There is nothing right now that I want more thatn to just be in the arms of my girl and tell her everything and make some food and then either watch Iron Chef or hang out with some friends watching a movie or playing a game or whatever.
Some of these girls are so them-central and superficial, and it´s just uncomfortable for me. More than that, they seem just uninterested in cultural involvement or adaptation. There are two guys who are really good Spanish speakers, but the rest don´t seem to really care about anything but going out as many nights as possible.
I noted in a store today with Katie that Bethany would like some of the arrings they had. She seemed surprised and enquired if I was sure and how would I know that? Intrigued, I asker her to continue, wherein she told me that she wouldn´t expect a guy to know these things. My response was that absolutely it´s my job to take care of, furnish and protect a girl if and/or when I can, which seemed to srprise her that I would think that. I did add, though, that a girl has responsibilities as well: they are to keep a guy happy enough that he would like to provide these things for her. ´Most guys expect that without giving anything,´ responded Katie. While I´m sad that those would be her expectations, it does seem to make things easier for those of us who like to think of relationships as reciprocal actions. Anyways, spending that time thinking about what Bethany would like only made me miss her all the more and so I was perhaps a bit quiet and distant the rest of the day after I parted ways with Katie and her house-mate Erin, so that I could go to my doctors appointment.
Yeah... so I never mentioned what became of my extremely painful leg. By the end of my stay in Paris, my foot hurt so bad that I could barely lift it, and had to resot to a king of flat-footed flop with my right foot. The pain, of course, only got worse as I continued to walk on it until I got to Spain (and even while here). Still the tendon connecting the top of my foot to my ankle region continued to hurt and so I asked our director, Jesus to see our doctor. Luckily the visit was free and with a progrnosis of tendonitis and a presciption for anti'inflammatory drugs, off I went to spend the rest of my evening, what else, walking around by myself.
While I was walking around, I thought something that could cheer me up would be a visit to a computer where hopefully I´ll h ave a nice e-mail from Bethany and hopefully a comment or two on the blog and perhaps something I just might want to look up in Google or Wikipedia.
So the first place I thought of that I could use for a computer was the Salamanca JMU office. We were all first brought there the second day as part of our ´important sights tour,´and it began as with everything, with a stroll through a confusing maze of corners and calles (Spanish for streets). In an inconspicuous nice apartment complex, we were led up for an unassuming enclosure which turned out to house 5 computers, a bit TV, a conference room, a picture of Wilson Hall from JMU, Jesús´office, and a kitchen that we were told would hold snacks for our usage. We were also told it would be OPEN from Monday to Friday, 4-9pm.
SO with these times in mind at about 7pm I was searching Salamanca for the Calle Dimas Madariaga. I was growing impatient. And... I couldn´t remember which number the place was. Alone and frustrated, it came to me to text message Katie to ask the number. For whatever reason, I was actually kind of angry that she didn´t know even know of course we don´t carry these bits of info with us everywhere. Upset that I couldn´t figure it out, I went all the way back to my home (appr. 15-20 min walk from JMU office) and got the info myself. Ok, got the address, so I went all the way back and was graciously let in the complex by a lady after noone answered my buzzings... then I found the room... Fermé. Cerrado. Closed. Why? I could not understand and could least of all be satisfied. Grumpily I sallied forth an found an internet cafe. Declaring to myself that no matter the cost I would use it, I went in and got a pepsi and sat down. €1/hour? Not bad at all. This might not be so terrible. After a very pleasant conversation with the Spaniard next to me whose wife is coincidentally from VA, a Carribbean man walked in and started talking in one of the international phone booths. No. He wasn´t talking. He was indiscriminately and angrily shouting in some pidgin French dialect for some 10 minutes ' with the entire room staring at him with surprise. He didn´t close the door to his booth because he was standing up and gesturing angrily. We´ll just imagine that he was fighting for the transportation of food to a remote village to feed hungry people. After he left I soon ran out of time and ran home to some delicious roast chicken, potatoes, fried fish and salsa picante. I must have been quiet and surly at dinner because afterwards Austin very nicely pointed out that if I needed to talk about anything that he´d be more than happy to do so. But he and Ian went out for the night, which didn´t interest me with all the smoking and beer. So I hand'wrote a letter to B ethany anf still had trouble getting to sleep, and so here I am, laying and writing in the middle of the night feeling triste y aislado and just wishing to be sleeping somwhere familiar.
Today I bought notebooks (the class books are free) and a new mochila (book-bag) in the one-shoulder mail-carrier style, except light enough to be comfortable and reasonably inexpensive. I think to fit in better here with the locals I will soon buy new shoes and a big scarf. Maybe also a Salamanca University sweatshirt for warmth. The reason all this purchasing seems reasonable to me is that right now Salamanca stores are undergoing something of a holiday in itself -Rebajas (literally sales or rebates) where everything has ridiculously low prices with 50% or 70% - the post Christmas rush if you will.
I also had old building adventures, but these will wait for another day.
There is nothing right now that I want more thatn to just be in the arms of my girl and tell her everything and make some food and then either watch Iron Chef or hang out with some friends watching a movie or playing a game or whatever.
Some of these girls are so them-central and superficial, and it´s just uncomfortable for me. More than that, they seem just uninterested in cultural involvement or adaptation. There are two guys who are really good Spanish speakers, but the rest don´t seem to really care about anything but going out as many nights as possible.
I noted in a store today with Katie that Bethany would like some of the arrings they had. She seemed surprised and enquired if I was sure and how would I know that? Intrigued, I asker her to continue, wherein she told me that she wouldn´t expect a guy to know these things. My response was that absolutely it´s my job to take care of, furnish and protect a girl if and/or when I can, which seemed to srprise her that I would think that. I did add, though, that a girl has responsibilities as well: they are to keep a guy happy enough that he would like to provide these things for her. ´Most guys expect that without giving anything,´ responded Katie. While I´m sad that those would be her expectations, it does seem to make things easier for those of us who like to think of relationships as reciprocal actions. Anyways, spending that time thinking about what Bethany would like only made me miss her all the more and so I was perhaps a bit quiet and distant the rest of the day after I parted ways with Katie and her house-mate Erin, so that I could go to my doctors appointment.
Yeah... so I never mentioned what became of my extremely painful leg. By the end of my stay in Paris, my foot hurt so bad that I could barely lift it, and had to resot to a king of flat-footed flop with my right foot. The pain, of course, only got worse as I continued to walk on it until I got to Spain (and even while here). Still the tendon connecting the top of my foot to my ankle region continued to hurt and so I asked our director, Jesus to see our doctor. Luckily the visit was free and with a progrnosis of tendonitis and a presciption for anti'inflammatory drugs, off I went to spend the rest of my evening, what else, walking around by myself.
While I was walking around, I thought something that could cheer me up would be a visit to a computer where hopefully I´ll h ave a nice e-mail from Bethany and hopefully a comment or two on the blog and perhaps something I just might want to look up in Google or Wikipedia.
So the first place I thought of that I could use for a computer was the Salamanca JMU office. We were all first brought there the second day as part of our ´important sights tour,´and it began as with everything, with a stroll through a confusing maze of corners and calles (Spanish for streets). In an inconspicuous nice apartment complex, we were led up for an unassuming enclosure which turned out to house 5 computers, a bit TV, a conference room, a picture of Wilson Hall from JMU, Jesús´office, and a kitchen that we were told would hold snacks for our usage. We were also told it would be OPEN from Monday to Friday, 4-9pm.
SO with these times in mind at about 7pm I was searching Salamanca for the Calle Dimas Madariaga. I was growing impatient. And... I couldn´t remember which number the place was. Alone and frustrated, it came to me to text message Katie to ask the number. For whatever reason, I was actually kind of angry that she didn´t know even know of course we don´t carry these bits of info with us everywhere. Upset that I couldn´t figure it out, I went all the way back to my home (appr. 15-20 min walk from JMU office) and got the info myself. Ok, got the address, so I went all the way back and was graciously let in the complex by a lady after noone answered my buzzings... then I found the room... Fermé. Cerrado. Closed. Why? I could not understand and could least of all be satisfied. Grumpily I sallied forth an found an internet cafe. Declaring to myself that no matter the cost I would use it, I went in and got a pepsi and sat down. €1/hour? Not bad at all. This might not be so terrible. After a very pleasant conversation with the Spaniard next to me whose wife is coincidentally from VA, a Carribbean man walked in and started talking in one of the international phone booths. No. He wasn´t talking. He was indiscriminately and angrily shouting in some pidgin French dialect for some 10 minutes ' with the entire room staring at him with surprise. He didn´t close the door to his booth because he was standing up and gesturing angrily. We´ll just imagine that he was fighting for the transportation of food to a remote village to feed hungry people. After he left I soon ran out of time and ran home to some delicious roast chicken, potatoes, fried fish and salsa picante. I must have been quiet and surly at dinner because afterwards Austin very nicely pointed out that if I needed to talk about anything that he´d be more than happy to do so. But he and Ian went out for the night, which didn´t interest me with all the smoking and beer. So I hand'wrote a letter to B ethany anf still had trouble getting to sleep, and so here I am, laying and writing in the middle of the night feeling triste y aislado and just wishing to be sleeping somwhere familiar.
Today I bought notebooks (the class books are free) and a new mochila (book-bag) in the one-shoulder mail-carrier style, except light enough to be comfortable and reasonably inexpensive. I think to fit in better here with the locals I will soon buy new shoes and a big scarf. Maybe also a Salamanca University sweatshirt for warmth. The reason all this purchasing seems reasonable to me is that right now Salamanca stores are undergoing something of a holiday in itself -Rebajas (literally sales or rebates) where everything has ridiculously low prices with 50% or 70% - the post Christmas rush if you will.
I also had old building adventures, but these will wait for another day.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
No te creo.
Right now and since I have arrived, I have had so many feelings in my head that I don´t know where to start. I´m definitely not having as hard of a time adjusting as Caroline, but only because I´m here with other Americans and I speak the language well already. I send my love and as soon as possible myself out to Caroline. (I think I may be able to visit as soon as next weekend!) She has all sorts of restrictions and whatever, yes, but I can go into town and say hi if I want.
One supposes that the best place to start is the beginning. There could not have been a better person for me to see first that Katie because I think that during the semester she will be the person I relate to the best. She is responsible, familiar with the language, independent, doesn´t put up with much, loves to travel, is generally quiet, and is very hard-headed. We are good friends and hopefully we will have lots of fun adventures together.
As we were standing, waiting in the Airport, I began to see the people that I was going to be spending the semester with. There are tons of girls and few boys, and 60% stereotypical JMU college students - look and act nice, then party party - par-tay! Oh boy. Well luckily they do indeed act nice, so it´s not really that big of a deal as long as I´m not being a stereotypeical American as well. Anyways, as previously noted, we took a bus ride to Salamanca. When the bus pulled up to the place we were stopping in Salamanca, I was sitting across the aisle from Katie and we heard all the girls in the back started talking about¨Look! Are those our moms? They´re huddled around Jesus (hay-zoose) our instructor... I guess they are! Look they´re so cute, I hope I get the nice one, I bet they´re wondering the same thing - I hope I get the nice kid! Haha oh look they´re so cute!¨And things like that. Oh wow, here it is, the moment I meet my mama for 4 months. Somewhat nervously I walked off the buss in a huge mass of confused students, coats and luggage flying everywhere, a million people talking around me all at once, Jesús calling out names, mamas calling out names, kids pointing at each other and calling out names... and then there she was, calling out my roommate -Ian... and ´Krris-toh-fare?´Si! I called out. Standing there was your quintessential strong old grandmother. About 5 feet high, big glasses, but brown coat, speaking very loudly and demandingly to Jesus - ¨Son mis hijos? Diles salir conmigo, eh! Hijos! Ian y Kristohfare? Kaeepay? Keep? Si? Bueno, vamos ahora! Mi hija sale con el coche, pero no sabe cuando porque de la trafica!¨(Are those my sons? Tell them to come with me, eh! Sons! ... Yes? Good, let´s go now! My son is coming with the car, but who knows when because of the traffic.) So up pulls her son, Pepe in a nice sedan... there I am standing stupidly with my tons of luggage apologizing for how much I have, but they are trying to assure me that it´s no problem and it´ll fit. Of course they are right and off we go.
It wasn´t that far before we pulled up to a little plaza, where they led us out and around the corner to a rather nice looking entrance to an apartment complex. There wasn´t enough room for all our luggage and more than one person, so I got in the elevator alone with the stuff and soon was being pulled out on the first floor by Pepe and Ian, around the corner and there we were at our new house! Around the corner, there was a red curtain providing the entrance to the hallway. The first thing that we noticed was that it was a smaller place, but very well kept and with ornate incredibly carvings all along the hallways. Later we learned that the late husband of our mama carved all of them by hand himself! These carvings describe various sights of the city of Salamanca, various historical characters of Spain and some inconspicuous scantily clad women... It took us a little while to realize they were there. The first thing that we had to do was to choose our rooms - there were two somewhat large rooms and a smaller one. Pepe and Mama insisted that we choose by lottery, and so the smaller room was picked by our missing house-mate. As we began to unpack, the first thing our mama presented to us, happily was food! In the livingroom on the table she had set before us a plate of fried-looking things and a a rich-looking soup. Come to find out that they were more or less thick meat gravy croquettes and a very delicious lentil soup. This is going to be a great semester for food!
In his loud southern-accented Spanish, Ian excitedly told them that there was nothing like that from America and ate himself silly. I could not help but follow suit. Sometimes I like to remind Ian to continue speaking Spanish when he gives up and begins describing things excitedly in English. Anyways his first day here, he decided to buy a guitar which turned out later to be a very nice choice, if not a top-quality guitar.
Considering how much time I have to describe, and how much there is to describe, I will only continue talking about our living space and who I am living with. Later on, the second day, our third house-mate arrived: Austin. Austin is a JMU frat boy... and hasn´t had/taken? much opportunity to practice Spanish, it sounds like. But it seems to me many times that he´s trying more than Ian, in that even if he´s unsure of what the word is, he´ll try and eventually get his point across- he is trying in every sentence to use what Spanish he´s had in his few classes and is constantly learning: he has definitely gained my respect for his amount of effort put into his Spanish practice. The only problem so far is that while at home we don´t tend to be on time a lot because really many times it´s just not important... but the program directors here have been sufficiently clear that it´s important to be on time... but noone is. I try as hard as I can to be on time if not early, and we´re always waiting for the same 10 people to arrive, including my two house-mates. It just annoys me that people won´t pay attention to the people taking care of us here.
Apart from my house-mates, we´ve had lots of experiences already with the family of our Mama and Pepe, the day after we showed up, on Saturday all of a sudden Mama was setting a huge table and making lots of food - including Paella!!!. Extremely curious, the three of us stood around as family member after family member came in - and uncle, an aunt, another aunt, and 4 grandchildren! Honestly I can´t remember all of their names but if you remember, Ian bought a guitar and one of the uncles, Juan, said `Ay, permítame tocarlo`, literally `Hey, permit me to play that`. As soon as he grabbed the neck of the guitar, he began nail-picking a fast Spanish melody with very fast chord changes and a really beautiful sound. I don´t think it was a really good guitar, but he made it sing! We also talked a great deal, at least I tried to and Ian did his best. After a while I think that jet lag caught up with Austin and he just went to bed right after the meal. But with 12 people or so sitting around enjoying coffee and oranges, there were at least 4 conversations at once sinning around our heads. As was explained later to us, this family had its origins in Cadiz, Spain, which is renowned for particularly fast and blurred speech. Awesome. So we understood as much as we could and many times had to ask for clarification, but they were absolutely nothing but gracious and nice and accommodating to our lack of Spanish mastery. It turns out a great deal of the family are musicians! Of course the guitar-playing uncle (he claims it´s all just noodling around by ear... but he´s a little too good for that I think. I played Maria Schneider for him on my iPod and he said he had already heard it before which I found very unexpected) and there was a cousin who played clarinet and another who played drums and all kinds of things. Mama made a joke that we can all just play and the women will sing and dance. I was up for it.
I kept telling the family how awesome it was to have a regular weekend family meal, since I don´t have anything like that back at home. I´m more likely to have regular meals with all my friends than I am with my aunts, uncles, cousins and so forth. It was a very neat experience for everyone to be so intertwined in their lives and close enough to want to visit and hang out weekly. Being there with the family, while dizzying, was a delicious and very fun experience. Perhaps someday my own family may be so close, I´ll just have to keep up with wherever Aunt Becca might be living.
At any rate we continued talking and one of the uncles was talking about differences between the US and Spain and he mentioned that Spain´s madoals were different from the US. What? we asked. Madoals... They kept trying to repeat the word. Madonals... MacDonalds! It´s very interesting the way Spaniards use American words, they sound completely different and I keep tring to expect that it´s a Spanish word, but no, they try to mix and match. I suppose it´s like an American saying tor-til-luh.
When I worked briefly at Lori´s, I think I spent more time practicing my Spanish than being productive, and it has benefitted me I think. But the cooks used to say this one thing to me and continue to say it to me whenever I go in and talk to them again `No te creo`. So I asked the family if this meant anything, and we must have spent half an hour discussing what does it mean, yes I know what it literally means `I don`t believe you`, but is it an idiom, a saying, un dicho? No, they told me and kept trying to explain that it only means something literally, there`s no non-literal translation for it. After a while I just told them, `¿No tiene otro sentido? No se creo.` - `It doesn`t have another meaning? No te creo.` From then on it just became the joke of the evening to explain away just about any confusion. Good times. I guess you had to be there. You weren`t there? No te creo.
One supposes that the best place to start is the beginning. There could not have been a better person for me to see first that Katie because I think that during the semester she will be the person I relate to the best. She is responsible, familiar with the language, independent, doesn´t put up with much, loves to travel, is generally quiet, and is very hard-headed. We are good friends and hopefully we will have lots of fun adventures together.
As we were standing, waiting in the Airport, I began to see the people that I was going to be spending the semester with. There are tons of girls and few boys, and 60% stereotypical JMU college students - look and act nice, then party party - par-tay! Oh boy. Well luckily they do indeed act nice, so it´s not really that big of a deal as long as I´m not being a stereotypeical American as well. Anyways, as previously noted, we took a bus ride to Salamanca. When the bus pulled up to the place we were stopping in Salamanca, I was sitting across the aisle from Katie and we heard all the girls in the back started talking about¨Look! Are those our moms? They´re huddled around Jesus (hay-zoose) our instructor... I guess they are! Look they´re so cute, I hope I get the nice one, I bet they´re wondering the same thing - I hope I get the nice kid! Haha oh look they´re so cute!¨And things like that. Oh wow, here it is, the moment I meet my mama for 4 months. Somewhat nervously I walked off the buss in a huge mass of confused students, coats and luggage flying everywhere, a million people talking around me all at once, Jesús calling out names, mamas calling out names, kids pointing at each other and calling out names... and then there she was, calling out my roommate -Ian... and ´Krris-toh-fare?´Si! I called out. Standing there was your quintessential strong old grandmother. About 5 feet high, big glasses, but brown coat, speaking very loudly and demandingly to Jesus - ¨Son mis hijos? Diles salir conmigo, eh! Hijos! Ian y Kristohfare? Kaeepay? Keep? Si? Bueno, vamos ahora! Mi hija sale con el coche, pero no sabe cuando porque de la trafica!¨(Are those my sons? Tell them to come with me, eh! Sons! ... Yes? Good, let´s go now! My son is coming with the car, but who knows when because of the traffic.) So up pulls her son, Pepe in a nice sedan... there I am standing stupidly with my tons of luggage apologizing for how much I have, but they are trying to assure me that it´s no problem and it´ll fit. Of course they are right and off we go.
It wasn´t that far before we pulled up to a little plaza, where they led us out and around the corner to a rather nice looking entrance to an apartment complex. There wasn´t enough room for all our luggage and more than one person, so I got in the elevator alone with the stuff and soon was being pulled out on the first floor by Pepe and Ian, around the corner and there we were at our new house! Around the corner, there was a red curtain providing the entrance to the hallway. The first thing that we noticed was that it was a smaller place, but very well kept and with ornate incredibly carvings all along the hallways. Later we learned that the late husband of our mama carved all of them by hand himself! These carvings describe various sights of the city of Salamanca, various historical characters of Spain and some inconspicuous scantily clad women... It took us a little while to realize they were there. The first thing that we had to do was to choose our rooms - there were two somewhat large rooms and a smaller one. Pepe and Mama insisted that we choose by lottery, and so the smaller room was picked by our missing house-mate. As we began to unpack, the first thing our mama presented to us, happily was food! In the livingroom on the table she had set before us a plate of fried-looking things and a a rich-looking soup. Come to find out that they were more or less thick meat gravy croquettes and a very delicious lentil soup. This is going to be a great semester for food!
In his loud southern-accented Spanish, Ian excitedly told them that there was nothing like that from America and ate himself silly. I could not help but follow suit. Sometimes I like to remind Ian to continue speaking Spanish when he gives up and begins describing things excitedly in English. Anyways his first day here, he decided to buy a guitar which turned out later to be a very nice choice, if not a top-quality guitar.
Considering how much time I have to describe, and how much there is to describe, I will only continue talking about our living space and who I am living with. Later on, the second day, our third house-mate arrived: Austin. Austin is a JMU frat boy... and hasn´t had/taken? much opportunity to practice Spanish, it sounds like. But it seems to me many times that he´s trying more than Ian, in that even if he´s unsure of what the word is, he´ll try and eventually get his point across- he is trying in every sentence to use what Spanish he´s had in his few classes and is constantly learning: he has definitely gained my respect for his amount of effort put into his Spanish practice. The only problem so far is that while at home we don´t tend to be on time a lot because really many times it´s just not important... but the program directors here have been sufficiently clear that it´s important to be on time... but noone is. I try as hard as I can to be on time if not early, and we´re always waiting for the same 10 people to arrive, including my two house-mates. It just annoys me that people won´t pay attention to the people taking care of us here.
Apart from my house-mates, we´ve had lots of experiences already with the family of our Mama and Pepe, the day after we showed up, on Saturday all of a sudden Mama was setting a huge table and making lots of food - including Paella!!!. Extremely curious, the three of us stood around as family member after family member came in - and uncle, an aunt, another aunt, and 4 grandchildren! Honestly I can´t remember all of their names but if you remember, Ian bought a guitar and one of the uncles, Juan, said `Ay, permítame tocarlo`, literally `Hey, permit me to play that`. As soon as he grabbed the neck of the guitar, he began nail-picking a fast Spanish melody with very fast chord changes and a really beautiful sound. I don´t think it was a really good guitar, but he made it sing! We also talked a great deal, at least I tried to and Ian did his best. After a while I think that jet lag caught up with Austin and he just went to bed right after the meal. But with 12 people or so sitting around enjoying coffee and oranges, there were at least 4 conversations at once sinning around our heads. As was explained later to us, this family had its origins in Cadiz, Spain, which is renowned for particularly fast and blurred speech. Awesome. So we understood as much as we could and many times had to ask for clarification, but they were absolutely nothing but gracious and nice and accommodating to our lack of Spanish mastery. It turns out a great deal of the family are musicians! Of course the guitar-playing uncle (he claims it´s all just noodling around by ear... but he´s a little too good for that I think. I played Maria Schneider for him on my iPod and he said he had already heard it before which I found very unexpected) and there was a cousin who played clarinet and another who played drums and all kinds of things. Mama made a joke that we can all just play and the women will sing and dance. I was up for it.
I kept telling the family how awesome it was to have a regular weekend family meal, since I don´t have anything like that back at home. I´m more likely to have regular meals with all my friends than I am with my aunts, uncles, cousins and so forth. It was a very neat experience for everyone to be so intertwined in their lives and close enough to want to visit and hang out weekly. Being there with the family, while dizzying, was a delicious and very fun experience. Perhaps someday my own family may be so close, I´ll just have to keep up with wherever Aunt Becca might be living.
At any rate we continued talking and one of the uncles was talking about differences between the US and Spain and he mentioned that Spain´s madoals were different from the US. What? we asked. Madoals... They kept trying to repeat the word. Madonals... MacDonalds! It´s very interesting the way Spaniards use American words, they sound completely different and I keep tring to expect that it´s a Spanish word, but no, they try to mix and match. I suppose it´s like an American saying tor-til-luh.
When I worked briefly at Lori´s, I think I spent more time practicing my Spanish than being productive, and it has benefitted me I think. But the cooks used to say this one thing to me and continue to say it to me whenever I go in and talk to them again `No te creo`. So I asked the family if this meant anything, and we must have spent half an hour discussing what does it mean, yes I know what it literally means `I don`t believe you`, but is it an idiom, a saying, un dicho? No, they told me and kept trying to explain that it only means something literally, there`s no non-literal translation for it. After a while I just told them, `¿No tiene otro sentido? No se creo.` - `It doesn`t have another meaning? No te creo.` From then on it just became the joke of the evening to explain away just about any confusion. Good times. I guess you had to be there. You weren`t there? No te creo.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Aqui en Salamanca! Finalmente!
The train ride to Madrid was long and surprisingly very hot. When I got to my room there were two Brazilian guys about my age in there, and no space. I have certainly overpacked for this trip, my main mistake being the HUGE carry-bag. It wasn´t my first choice, but someone convinced me to take the bigger briefcase. Bad idea. Anyways, I managed to fit my stuff in the room and the trip went rather quietly apart from waking up randomly for someone´s snoring and hearing a voice say ¨Chamartin, Madrid¨(our destination) and frantically making sure I wasn´t in trouble when the train strarted moving again.
The worst part of arriving alone in any city is figuring out alone how to get around. Those maps that Becca gave me have been my life-lines to getting places quickly. After getting impossibly fast responses to all my questions from Spanish personnell, eventually I figured out how to get to the airport from the trainstation. Once at the airport... I had no idea where we were supposed to meet, I just knew 1pm. That gave me two hours to scour the airport for anyone I might recognixe. I tried to use my last change in my pocket to call the JMU office in Salamanca from a Pay'phone, but no luck, I couldn´t figure it out and got a wrong number in stead. It really sucked lugging around all that luggage and I was starting to sweatÑ in preparation for meeting my host mom, I was wearing my brown dress shoes and pants, red button down shirt, and my lovely green v-neck sweater. I also had on my long coat, cap and scarf. As I said... sweating. I figured that with the firm 1pm deadline that they gave us, some people might be early and I would find them. So searching searching...
It was with great surprise, relief, and joy that very suddenly I was walking towards the one person in the program that I know: Katie Reed in a JMU sweatshirt! We quickly swapped stories and concerns about not being able to find anyone else and more people showed up. At this point came the most pleasant feeling thing in a week or so - I would walk away from my stuff and get a drink without worrying a bit. It´s an interesting point of personal security. for once in a while, I felt a part of a community, without worrying about myself or anything for that matter. I have learned in my travels that I enjoy the independence to may my own decisions about whatever I´m interested in, but I thrive on the interactions of my decisions with others. Unless it´s important to my personal health or well being, I love to share stuff - feelings, moments, places, food (as you all know)... I am very glad to be with people again because now I can share again.
Some people didn´t make it in time, and there are still in fact some in random places across Europe - so much for 1pm. Katie and I have noted that maybe we´ll take a weekend trip to Basque country to see the Bilbao and the restaurant El Bulli in Roses, El Bulli is the number one rated restaurant in the world. It has both a restaurant, a kitchen, a workshop and many patents on their culinary creations - machines and food alike. The fixed price for their menu is €170. I would still go, and maybe I will someday.
Once everyone we thought would arrive in reasonable time was there, we left for Salamanca from the Madrid airport. The drive to Salamanca was an interesting introduction to Spain. Everywhere is sun-parched land and farming fields, and little buelos that we quickly drive through. We even passed a funeral. It´s beautiful land, in the same way as perhaps Arizona. In each pueblo, the one thing that sticks out is always a large ancient-looking Cathedral/Iglesia. The Spanish Catholic traditions live on, for better or for worse. There are also tons and tons of cranes, whatever they might be for.
I have actually arrived in Salamanca and am right now writing this in the room of my host mother´s son´s room. I don´t have time right now to describe everything I´ve seen here already, so that will wait for another post.
Miss you all!
Kip
The worst part of arriving alone in any city is figuring out alone how to get around. Those maps that Becca gave me have been my life-lines to getting places quickly. After getting impossibly fast responses to all my questions from Spanish personnell, eventually I figured out how to get to the airport from the trainstation. Once at the airport... I had no idea where we were supposed to meet, I just knew 1pm. That gave me two hours to scour the airport for anyone I might recognixe. I tried to use my last change in my pocket to call the JMU office in Salamanca from a Pay'phone, but no luck, I couldn´t figure it out and got a wrong number in stead. It really sucked lugging around all that luggage and I was starting to sweatÑ in preparation for meeting my host mom, I was wearing my brown dress shoes and pants, red button down shirt, and my lovely green v-neck sweater. I also had on my long coat, cap and scarf. As I said... sweating. I figured that with the firm 1pm deadline that they gave us, some people might be early and I would find them. So searching searching...
It was with great surprise, relief, and joy that very suddenly I was walking towards the one person in the program that I know: Katie Reed in a JMU sweatshirt! We quickly swapped stories and concerns about not being able to find anyone else and more people showed up. At this point came the most pleasant feeling thing in a week or so - I would walk away from my stuff and get a drink without worrying a bit. It´s an interesting point of personal security. for once in a while, I felt a part of a community, without worrying about myself or anything for that matter. I have learned in my travels that I enjoy the independence to may my own decisions about whatever I´m interested in, but I thrive on the interactions of my decisions with others. Unless it´s important to my personal health or well being, I love to share stuff - feelings, moments, places, food (as you all know)... I am very glad to be with people again because now I can share again.
Some people didn´t make it in time, and there are still in fact some in random places across Europe - so much for 1pm. Katie and I have noted that maybe we´ll take a weekend trip to Basque country to see the Bilbao and the restaurant El Bulli in Roses, El Bulli is the number one rated restaurant in the world. It has both a restaurant, a kitchen, a workshop and many patents on their culinary creations - machines and food alike. The fixed price for their menu is €170. I would still go, and maybe I will someday.
Once everyone we thought would arrive in reasonable time was there, we left for Salamanca from the Madrid airport. The drive to Salamanca was an interesting introduction to Spain. Everywhere is sun-parched land and farming fields, and little buelos that we quickly drive through. We even passed a funeral. It´s beautiful land, in the same way as perhaps Arizona. In each pueblo, the one thing that sticks out is always a large ancient-looking Cathedral/Iglesia. The Spanish Catholic traditions live on, for better or for worse. There are also tons and tons of cranes, whatever they might be for.
I have actually arrived in Salamanca and am right now writing this in the room of my host mother´s son´s room. I don´t have time right now to describe everything I´ve seen here already, so that will wait for another post.
Miss you all!
Kip
Thursday, January 17, 2008
La Día Final de Paris
Ah, my last day in Paris. After last night's glorious meal I even managed to get up early at about 9 this morning. Nolw checked out of the hostel, I mst find things to do before I return to get my stuff and leave at about 6. I might go back to Wadja if I can at 4:30 or 5, for now I am visiting the French National Middle Ages Museum and I'd like to revisit the Pompidou, maybe even get a chance to go in this time, St. Sulpice and see the Museé Guimet.
(later) After the very beautiful and interesting middle ages mseum, I found a place nearby claiming Tapas - French tapas. Out of curiosity I went in for a little snack. It turns out that the place was a very snooty French place wanting to be ultra modern, but all it was was a fashion statement with not very nice waiters, no culinary love at all. So I ate what I could of my two not very good dishes and hit the road.
I saw today the only two lingerie stores yet in Paris, this was surprising to me as there are at least a million clothing stores and given the reputation of France in the love department, I would have expected more. But I did get to see St. Sulpice. Of course the only reason I wanted to go there is because it was mentioned in the Da Vinci Code, but it really was a very very beautiful place. Right now part of the North West tower is being worked on, but that didn't mean anything because that whole bit is separate from the main space - a lot of it was, it makes me wonder what all there is that the average visitor can't see up on the higher floors and in he towers. It was very beautiful with an extraordinarily elaborate speaker's podium and an intimidating looking organ high above the entrance.
(later) So I got to see the Pompidou! Inside! and I discovered soemthing about my artistic tastes - they mostly lie in function. For example one of my favorite things I saw there was this one piece that demonstrated a 'some-construction-needed' chair which included just a bunch of wooden pieces that looked basically like boomerangs with holes in them, and it came with pipes to put through the holes as you like. It seemed to me such an interesting way to produce a chair - with easily replaceable parts, changeable, and pretty cool looking. I also really enjoyed loking at the architectural models that maximized efficiency and ecological positivity. In the gift shop there were several culinary pieces that cuaght my eye - mostly art springing out of normal utensils - pretty cool. Also while in the Pompidou, I sketched a girl's boot because I liked it so much - it reminded me of an Italian equestrian boot: very rustic brown leather with a strong heel and attractive upper calf straps, attractively seamed outside and zipper on the inside. You know, I've seen two people in the past couple of days on the metro who looked like they just hopped off a horse - very curious... where would you find a horse in Paris other than the Police at the Versailles Gardens (I could spend forever there)? Also in the metro I have seen lots of musicians - violin players, saxophones, guitar players - but today has been an especially good day for Metro Music. On my way around I heard a VERY good duet of trumpet and saxophone playing In a Sentimental Mood by Ellington (or Strayhorn?) and at 4pm today at the Le Châtelet stop I came across a 7-piece String Ensemble playing sonatas and classical music! A bass, two cellos, one viola and three violins. I couldn't believe it! I had time to stop and sketch them a little and they sounded fabulous! Better than groups at JMU... through perhaps that doesn't say too much.
So I will go get myself a Grand Marniére and Nutella (they love nutella here, it's everywhere! And dead tasty - hazelnut + chocolate = yum) crépe and then it's off to Spain for me! Au revoir, Paris! Je t'aime!
(later) After the very beautiful and interesting middle ages mseum, I found a place nearby claiming Tapas - French tapas. Out of curiosity I went in for a little snack. It turns out that the place was a very snooty French place wanting to be ultra modern, but all it was was a fashion statement with not very nice waiters, no culinary love at all. So I ate what I could of my two not very good dishes and hit the road.
I saw today the only two lingerie stores yet in Paris, this was surprising to me as there are at least a million clothing stores and given the reputation of France in the love department, I would have expected more. But I did get to see St. Sulpice. Of course the only reason I wanted to go there is because it was mentioned in the Da Vinci Code, but it really was a very very beautiful place. Right now part of the North West tower is being worked on, but that didn't mean anything because that whole bit is separate from the main space - a lot of it was, it makes me wonder what all there is that the average visitor can't see up on the higher floors and in he towers. It was very beautiful with an extraordinarily elaborate speaker's podium and an intimidating looking organ high above the entrance.
(later) So I got to see the Pompidou! Inside! and I discovered soemthing about my artistic tastes - they mostly lie in function. For example one of my favorite things I saw there was this one piece that demonstrated a 'some-construction-needed' chair which included just a bunch of wooden pieces that looked basically like boomerangs with holes in them, and it came with pipes to put through the holes as you like. It seemed to me such an interesting way to produce a chair - with easily replaceable parts, changeable, and pretty cool looking. I also really enjoyed loking at the architectural models that maximized efficiency and ecological positivity. In the gift shop there were several culinary pieces that cuaght my eye - mostly art springing out of normal utensils - pretty cool. Also while in the Pompidou, I sketched a girl's boot because I liked it so much - it reminded me of an Italian equestrian boot: very rustic brown leather with a strong heel and attractive upper calf straps, attractively seamed outside and zipper on the inside. You know, I've seen two people in the past couple of days on the metro who looked like they just hopped off a horse - very curious... where would you find a horse in Paris other than the Police at the Versailles Gardens (I could spend forever there)? Also in the metro I have seen lots of musicians - violin players, saxophones, guitar players - but today has been an especially good day for Metro Music. On my way around I heard a VERY good duet of trumpet and saxophone playing In a Sentimental Mood by Ellington (or Strayhorn?) and at 4pm today at the Le Châtelet stop I came across a 7-piece String Ensemble playing sonatas and classical music! A bass, two cellos, one viola and three violins. I couldn't believe it! I had time to stop and sketch them a little and they sounded fabulous! Better than groups at JMU... through perhaps that doesn't say too much.
So I will go get myself a Grand Marniére and Nutella (they love nutella here, it's everywhere! And dead tasty - hazelnut + chocolate = yum) crépe and then it's off to Spain for me! Au revoir, Paris! Je t'aime!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Finalmente, un dia bueno.
Last night I went to bed at about midnight, but someone noisily left the room about 2 am... then some people noisily cam in the room about 6am and somone was snoring SOO loud that it took about 7 or 8 to get back to sleep... so I just decided I would sleep in and hope for the best. Sleep in I did! Getting up very refreshed and thirsty (I have decidedly not gotten enough water on this trip) I needed a place with food - cheap.
So, I went out and first got lunch, a beautiful panini with mozzarella, ham and tomato just around the corner, with hard cider. I managed to do all of that entirely in French! I was very proud. Then I walked to Gare D'Austerlitz and had a difficult time figuring out how to find my train, when to expect it and so on... but eventually I made it onto the 'VICK' train to Versailles. When I was getting lunch at that inexpensive local cafe, I understood most all of the menu, except one thing: Thon. I was liavel to think it may live in Valhalla and carry a hammer, but no, the amused cafe owner told me it actually means tuna. How silly of me. While sitting on the train waiting to depart from Austerlitz, two very heavily armed and very dangerous-looking French army-men meandered by. I don't know where they were going, but I don't suspect it's anywhere to surrender....
It took 10 minutes for the trains to depart, very curious, maybe having something to do with those two heavily armed army men. While on the train and really most of the time, I have noticed that the fashion in Europe these days is somewhat old school... very old school - the equestrian woman: riding-type boots (usually leather, up to the top of the calf - BOOTS, not stilettos, haven't seen any of those), very tight minimally-seamed pants, everywhere P-coats, and in Paris, a beret. For the men, most of them seem like fashionable New Yorkers, jeans are extremely normal if not the only non-formal choice, and apparantly the best shoe choices are exactly not what I have. I'm not sure how quite to describe what is common in shoeware. I really like the fashion though, very casual or very attractive. When people say that Europe is more formal, perhaps they mean that noone ever walks on the street with disgusting Ugg boots and floppy sweat pants or anything of the sort, everyone is very well kept and chic.
Another thing that I like about Paris is that all written prices seem to include taxes - you pay exactly what is written and don't have to guess about taxes. Also, they write their number 'one's differently: as if the little clef on the top of the formal American 1 has grown the size of the rest of the number, and minues the funny little platform.
Culinarily, I LOVE the specializatio of Paris, it's very easy to find specificall a bread store or a cheese stor or a meat store or a chocolate store, or an olive oil store, like I found. It's perfectly lovely! I wouldn't mind living here for a while: great stuff, relatively cheap (though I guess everything is, compared with London), interesting and beautiful language - although the land is difficult on my legs. And it's so multicultural! I can speak any of several languages and be understood most anywhere. It impressed me how many people here speak Spanish, I didn't expect that.
Another thing is that contrary to what I could imagine about the French hating stupid Americans, I have had nothing but extremely friendly people to talk to here - all genuinely nice people!
(written later, on the returning train from Versailles) It seems that today turned out very well indeed, mornings can be deceptive, or at least big expectations are easily let down. Today I had very low expectations because I woke up late and got woken up so much last night, but I was blown out of the waters! After my fabulous lunch, I made my way out to the train stop to Versailles where I was expecting a fee of about €12 for the whole trip, but it was just €5, round trip! Not bad, wot? The trip took less than an hour and there I was, in Versailles! So then I went in to get a ticket, which I was expecting to cost €14, but the nice gentleman at the info desk told me that if I were to wait another hour walking through the gardens, it would cost just €11. So I went around expecting a nice garden of reasonable size. NO. Not at all. This was... beyond words, the very scope of it is beyond my belief and I could spend days describing the details. From the back of the palace there is a large staircase after a generously huge courtyard. Then there is a grand lawn which must go on for half a mile at least. Surrounding that lanw is a ridiculous criss-crossing of shrubberies and trees, studded by outrageously beautiful and decorative statues. Those statues also lined the entire exent of the lawn. Simply outrageously extravagant. Beyond the lawn is a mile-long poow, lin the shape of a cross, only the top is as long as the bottom. To every direction surrounding this pool are trimmed and perfectly aligned groves of loely trees. The trees are trimmed to look more or less like champagne flutes. Every single one. There must be thousands. It's insane. Beyond belief. And beyond this marvelous and ridiculous poor area is a plain lawn inclined up, about 1/2 mile. It took the two hours to walk to the end of this pool and return to the Chateau. Absolutely outrageous. All along the way I saw rowers in the pool, bicycles all around and very fit-looking joggers. Security was on bicycles and horses! I briefly talked to the horse-police who told me that the gardens took 2 centuries to build, along I suppose with the palace. I believe it. Louis XIV outdid himself and now I see that his title of extravagance wasn't just French, he was plain old absurdly and incredibly outrageously extravagant. I thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of the palace and could still not beleive the extrent of the extravagance on the inside of the Chateau as well. Beautiful frescoes, paintings, silver-work and gold fabric-work EVERYWHERE. It is beyond my grasp of the English language to describe the place throughly enough. Fabulous visit.
Oh yes, an during the 2 hour (non-stop) walk around the large gardens, I entertained myself of course by admiring the outrageous shrubbery work and I also carved a want of sorts out of a piece of wood I found and then left it perhaps for some child to find and be curious about.
Having done all that, I still have time to see the Louvre tonight! Marveilleax! Apparantly the Louvre is specially open late on Wednesday nights, perhaps to make up for Tuesdays. I think I will go there and then have dinner at Wadja again, yes, that will be delicious.
(written later at dinner) The Louvre is beautiful! Walking around any corner is a piece of art that one could spend hourse looking at and admiring. Unfortunately I did not have hours to admire every piece, although I might like that sometime. I managed to get pictures of all the Spanish works in the Louvre and a couple others that interested me, before the battery died in my camera. I did get everything I was interested in and will post as soon as I can in Spain all the Photos I have accumulated here in Paris! I love this place.
Speaking of love, among other things or people (Hi Bethany!) I love food. A lot. It's kind of wierd but no matter what I'm doing or what might be happening, I can think of the amazing power of food and I'm happy. Wadja makes me happy. Very happy.
I have never really liked olives. Every time I tried them, they tasted like salt mixed with snot that has grown a skin. But as I sat down again in Wadja, the very nice owner who now knows my name put before me a little bowl full of olives that appeared to be marinated in front of me. With full trust in this place and very nice man that have given me fabulous food, I took a bite. It was incredible. I didn't know that olives could taste like that! It had a very silky feel and tasted more or less like olive oil, except maybe a little stronger. The marinade had in it rosemary, but I'm not sure what else. Then a lady sat down beside me and I went about drawing the plate of olives in my book (remember my camera's battery had died) and I heard her mumble something in clear American English, so I began to talk to her. Looking rather professional, about 35 I'd guess, her name is Nicole! Having lived in LA and Las Vegas, she now lives with her husband in London and is in Paris for work. I told her who I was and where I had been and she was incredibly nice and shared her wine with me! You all must know that I have had a recent obsession with wine tasting and getting out there to try wines. This may be my favorite wine that I've had yet. It was a Côtes du Rhône from Granache, 2007. It was actually just the house wine - it was very smooth, fruity - not too sweet but lovely feel and great strong but refreshing taste. It had the color of a mature rose I'd say. Very beautiful red wine. Nicole and I continued talking about dealing with the language without actually speaking it (she is much better than I, having taken it in college) and about how to get lost in London (no bloomin street signs!) and she recommended to me a book store just south of Notre Dame called 'Shakespeare and Co.' so I will definitely need to visit that. For my meal, I ordered the Pigeon with Potted Leeks while she ordered the cuisine du jour - sole with potatoes. My pigeon was just perfectly cooked - very much like duck except perhaps more tender, it had a nicely browned skin an the leeks... oh man... so sweet and soft, they just fell apart - I wish my leeks would do that! Nicole's beautiful sole was very much not overcooked, on the contrary just perfect, very moist and flavorful. It is a beautifully done very French restaurant. After we both finished and VERY much enjoyed our meals, she was further beyond nice, friendly and polite, and shared about half her dessert with me - a kind of sponge cake with candied orange peel, an orange creme in the middle and swimming in a very strong rum sauce. Before saying goodnight, we swapped blogs and promised to visit the suggestions of the other in Paris and then she was gone. It was finally a very pleasant walk back to the hostel - extremely full and warm despite the cold weather and my student condition of broke-ness. My right ankle still hurts a lot - it has been hurting for several days now without relent, and I have no choice but to keep walking on it - I have found that tying my laces on that show very tight around it help my tendons to not have to work too hard, like a rubber band of sorts. My calfs are growing pretty big, and are still pretty painful, like my shoulders. All that carrying around of my very heavy backpack (I never carry it during the day anymore, although I tried that for a day in London... terrible idea). I still hurt, but now I'm happy and full and feel good about the world.
Bonjour a vous de Paris,
Kip
So, I went out and first got lunch, a beautiful panini with mozzarella, ham and tomato just around the corner, with hard cider. I managed to do all of that entirely in French! I was very proud. Then I walked to Gare D'Austerlitz and had a difficult time figuring out how to find my train, when to expect it and so on... but eventually I made it onto the 'VICK' train to Versailles. When I was getting lunch at that inexpensive local cafe, I understood most all of the menu, except one thing: Thon. I was liavel to think it may live in Valhalla and carry a hammer, but no, the amused cafe owner told me it actually means tuna. How silly of me. While sitting on the train waiting to depart from Austerlitz, two very heavily armed and very dangerous-looking French army-men meandered by. I don't know where they were going, but I don't suspect it's anywhere to surrender....
It took 10 minutes for the trains to depart, very curious, maybe having something to do with those two heavily armed army men. While on the train and really most of the time, I have noticed that the fashion in Europe these days is somewhat old school... very old school - the equestrian woman: riding-type boots (usually leather, up to the top of the calf - BOOTS, not stilettos, haven't seen any of those), very tight minimally-seamed pants, everywhere P-coats, and in Paris, a beret. For the men, most of them seem like fashionable New Yorkers, jeans are extremely normal if not the only non-formal choice, and apparantly the best shoe choices are exactly not what I have. I'm not sure how quite to describe what is common in shoeware. I really like the fashion though, very casual or very attractive. When people say that Europe is more formal, perhaps they mean that noone ever walks on the street with disgusting Ugg boots and floppy sweat pants or anything of the sort, everyone is very well kept and chic.
Another thing that I like about Paris is that all written prices seem to include taxes - you pay exactly what is written and don't have to guess about taxes. Also, they write their number 'one's differently: as if the little clef on the top of the formal American 1 has grown the size of the rest of the number, and minues the funny little platform.
Culinarily, I LOVE the specializatio of Paris, it's very easy to find specificall a bread store or a cheese stor or a meat store or a chocolate store, or an olive oil store, like I found. It's perfectly lovely! I wouldn't mind living here for a while: great stuff, relatively cheap (though I guess everything is, compared with London), interesting and beautiful language - although the land is difficult on my legs. And it's so multicultural! I can speak any of several languages and be understood most anywhere. It impressed me how many people here speak Spanish, I didn't expect that.
Another thing is that contrary to what I could imagine about the French hating stupid Americans, I have had nothing but extremely friendly people to talk to here - all genuinely nice people!
(written later, on the returning train from Versailles) It seems that today turned out very well indeed, mornings can be deceptive, or at least big expectations are easily let down. Today I had very low expectations because I woke up late and got woken up so much last night, but I was blown out of the waters! After my fabulous lunch, I made my way out to the train stop to Versailles where I was expecting a fee of about €12 for the whole trip, but it was just €5, round trip! Not bad, wot? The trip took less than an hour and there I was, in Versailles! So then I went in to get a ticket, which I was expecting to cost €14, but the nice gentleman at the info desk told me that if I were to wait another hour walking through the gardens, it would cost just €11. So I went around expecting a nice garden of reasonable size. NO. Not at all. This was... beyond words, the very scope of it is beyond my belief and I could spend days describing the details. From the back of the palace there is a large staircase after a generously huge courtyard. Then there is a grand lawn which must go on for half a mile at least. Surrounding that lanw is a ridiculous criss-crossing of shrubberies and trees, studded by outrageously beautiful and decorative statues. Those statues also lined the entire exent of the lawn. Simply outrageously extravagant. Beyond the lawn is a mile-long poow, lin the shape of a cross, only the top is as long as the bottom. To every direction surrounding this pool are trimmed and perfectly aligned groves of loely trees. The trees are trimmed to look more or less like champagne flutes. Every single one. There must be thousands. It's insane. Beyond belief. And beyond this marvelous and ridiculous poor area is a plain lawn inclined up, about 1/2 mile. It took the two hours to walk to the end of this pool and return to the Chateau. Absolutely outrageous. All along the way I saw rowers in the pool, bicycles all around and very fit-looking joggers. Security was on bicycles and horses! I briefly talked to the horse-police who told me that the gardens took 2 centuries to build, along I suppose with the palace. I believe it. Louis XIV outdid himself and now I see that his title of extravagance wasn't just French, he was plain old absurdly and incredibly outrageously extravagant. I thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of the palace and could still not beleive the extrent of the extravagance on the inside of the Chateau as well. Beautiful frescoes, paintings, silver-work and gold fabric-work EVERYWHERE. It is beyond my grasp of the English language to describe the place throughly enough. Fabulous visit.
Oh yes, an during the 2 hour (non-stop) walk around the large gardens, I entertained myself of course by admiring the outrageous shrubbery work and I also carved a want of sorts out of a piece of wood I found and then left it perhaps for some child to find and be curious about.
Having done all that, I still have time to see the Louvre tonight! Marveilleax! Apparantly the Louvre is specially open late on Wednesday nights, perhaps to make up for Tuesdays. I think I will go there and then have dinner at Wadja again, yes, that will be delicious.
(written later at dinner) The Louvre is beautiful! Walking around any corner is a piece of art that one could spend hourse looking at and admiring. Unfortunately I did not have hours to admire every piece, although I might like that sometime. I managed to get pictures of all the Spanish works in the Louvre and a couple others that interested me, before the battery died in my camera. I did get everything I was interested in and will post as soon as I can in Spain all the Photos I have accumulated here in Paris! I love this place.
Speaking of love, among other things or people (Hi Bethany!) I love food. A lot. It's kind of wierd but no matter what I'm doing or what might be happening, I can think of the amazing power of food and I'm happy. Wadja makes me happy. Very happy.
I have never really liked olives. Every time I tried them, they tasted like salt mixed with snot that has grown a skin. But as I sat down again in Wadja, the very nice owner who now knows my name put before me a little bowl full of olives that appeared to be marinated in front of me. With full trust in this place and very nice man that have given me fabulous food, I took a bite. It was incredible. I didn't know that olives could taste like that! It had a very silky feel and tasted more or less like olive oil, except maybe a little stronger. The marinade had in it rosemary, but I'm not sure what else. Then a lady sat down beside me and I went about drawing the plate of olives in my book (remember my camera's battery had died) and I heard her mumble something in clear American English, so I began to talk to her. Looking rather professional, about 35 I'd guess, her name is Nicole! Having lived in LA and Las Vegas, she now lives with her husband in London and is in Paris for work. I told her who I was and where I had been and she was incredibly nice and shared her wine with me! You all must know that I have had a recent obsession with wine tasting and getting out there to try wines. This may be my favorite wine that I've had yet. It was a Côtes du Rhône from Granache, 2007. It was actually just the house wine - it was very smooth, fruity - not too sweet but lovely feel and great strong but refreshing taste. It had the color of a mature rose I'd say. Very beautiful red wine. Nicole and I continued talking about dealing with the language without actually speaking it (she is much better than I, having taken it in college) and about how to get lost in London (no bloomin street signs!) and she recommended to me a book store just south of Notre Dame called 'Shakespeare and Co.' so I will definitely need to visit that. For my meal, I ordered the Pigeon with Potted Leeks while she ordered the cuisine du jour - sole with potatoes. My pigeon was just perfectly cooked - very much like duck except perhaps more tender, it had a nicely browned skin an the leeks... oh man... so sweet and soft, they just fell apart - I wish my leeks would do that! Nicole's beautiful sole was very much not overcooked, on the contrary just perfect, very moist and flavorful. It is a beautifully done very French restaurant. After we both finished and VERY much enjoyed our meals, she was further beyond nice, friendly and polite, and shared about half her dessert with me - a kind of sponge cake with candied orange peel, an orange creme in the middle and swimming in a very strong rum sauce. Before saying goodnight, we swapped blogs and promised to visit the suggestions of the other in Paris and then she was gone. It was finally a very pleasant walk back to the hostel - extremely full and warm despite the cold weather and my student condition of broke-ness. My right ankle still hurts a lot - it has been hurting for several days now without relent, and I have no choice but to keep walking on it - I have found that tying my laces on that show very tight around it help my tendons to not have to work too hard, like a rubber band of sorts. My calfs are growing pretty big, and are still pretty painful, like my shoulders. All that carrying around of my very heavy backpack (I never carry it during the day anymore, although I tried that for a day in London... terrible idea). I still hurt, but now I'm happy and full and feel good about the world.
Bonjour a vous de Paris,
Kip
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Un Día Decepcionante
Day after day of disappointments. I woke up at about 9 and after a nice shower went t find breakfast. Several streets down I bought a baguette for €1.90. Delicious! :-) I then returned to my room which has an outside balcony - the previous night I hung the remains of my foie gras terrine (thoroughly wrapped up) by some sort of hook thing outside, thinking that it would keep fine in the cold Parisian night. And it did! So I continued eating it with my baguette. Also in my room happened to be staying a nice Asian man from Clifornia, I told him about Wadja and he described several places for me to visit, then I was off to visit Notre Dame first!
It was beautiful and cozy with, one supposed, recorded medieval coral music playing. Once I had my time there, I went to find the Pompidou! With this, I learned a new French word: Fermé. Closed. No luck. So then I went to find a subway stop to go to Place Des Vosges, but of course... my Metro week pass was gone! Stolen or lost, who knows which. :-( So I decided I was close enough to visit the Louvre for a while to warm up and be dry for a while... oh yes, did I mention? Today it has been very cold. And very windy. And raining constantly. Absolutely miserable weather to walk about all day in. But I did, it sucked but now it's done and I had interesting adventures.
For example, what of the Louvre? On Tuesdays of course when I go there, Fermé. JUST Tuesdays. I suppose I should have looked ahead of time, but who would guess such a thing? It would make sense that Tuesday at 11am that any normal museum would be open. Alas, perhaps the most renowned museum in the world, the Louvre, is not open.
So, wet to the bone, freezing and in pain (my legs have transcended sore, they are now extremely painful and at times not very mobile... I look like I just went for a 5 day horse-ride) I cfound a cheap nutella crepe and took a short nap in a cold but not windy or wet or noisy cathedral - St. James I believe. It was pleasantly dark and quiet, but after a while I realized that I was to wet to reall warm myself up sufficiently to feel fully refreshed from a nap. So (at the time this was written in my notebook) I'm here in a pleasant little café drinking a lovely cup of café au lait and contemplating what I can do with so many places closed, no metro pass, and feeling quite terrible. Apparantly I'm quite close to the Plase Des Vosges, so I should at least try to see if that's open. After that may look at Place de la Bastille and... according to Mr. Niceguy from the train, I should see Vieille du Temple for all the vendors and according to my Californian roommate, I should see Rue des Rosiers. So in interest of maximum warmth or rather minimized aggregate cldness, I will go to the Bastille, then to Place de Vosges (and perhaps the Jewish temple that my map says is nearby). Then I will see Rue des Rosiers, then Vieille du Temple. Afterwards, perhaps the Musee Picasso. L'house est 15:20. By the way, I have amazed myself how reasonable well I can get by with what French I know and my pronunciation skills. It's a lot of fun using a new word or phrase and being understood :-).
(Written later) My French keeps improving, but I also sem to have luck finding peopel who speak either English or Spanish. Also, I feel much better after th coffee and a bathroom break - even warmed up! I got pictures of the Bastille and found the Place de Vosges, but it was just a plaza with nice shops. All the Jewish temples around there apparantly are instead schools, but at least they are Jewish schools. The two streets I was instructed to visit did not seem anything special to me, and of course everything is fermé.
I entertained myself by walking around and looking at all the shops - very amazing food shops - and there was this one place that sold glasses, in the corner of the store, visible oiutside through the glass window, but hidden and not really visible at all inside, was ana amzing colection of Middle-Eastern style guitar-like things. I was very curious and fascinated and took a picture of them from outside. The owner of the place seemed very displeased at me taking a picture, but I have no idea why and noone was in the shop and I couldn't understand anything he was saying... so oh well. Anyways, I found a shop that I was interested in and walked inside - an olive shop with all kinds of oils, including truffle oil! Well, I told myself, I must try this. The nice man working there even gave me samples of everything - a very nice man who speaks French, Spanish and English, so I decided to talk to him in Spanish since I could use the review. I tried a truffle cream on toast which was very nice and black and white truffle oil. As the truffle flavor stayed in my mouth it just kept growing and growing and was so musky and interesting! Then the power in the store went out. Their solution was several olive oil lamps :-). No problem, I told them, everything I want to see is closed, so I've got plenty of time for them to sort it out. The man was nothing but friendly and polite and generous even. He gave me extra handous about good uses for truffle oil and wines to pair with them - I bought a small big of black truffle olive oil. I'm very keen to use it, but I suppose it will have to wait until I have a proper kitchen to use it in. Alas, now (at the time I wrote this) I am seated in a little open-door lobby to a perfme store. There are large Gucci signs everywhere and some grumpy bouncers I suppose I am on my way to the Arc D'triumph and take nice pictures of the obelisk and large avenue towards the Louvre. Then I suppose I'll go back to the hostel and get a good night's rest before I try to visit Le Palais de Versailles tomorrow. Then I can try to revisit the places I couldn't make today on Thursday before my train to Madrid. I will not go to the Eiffel Tower, that will have to wait for Bethany.
(now back at the hostel) While wet (trenchfoot, anyone?), tired (more pain than sleepiness) and alone, the Obelisk was interesting but the area itself was empty, nasty and boring - just tons of traffic and large stone structures. The walk 'home' was about 2 miles. Half uphill. My legs hate me a lot. Now that I'm back... I give up. I went next door ro the italian place and got a pizza to go. The bartender was Portuguese and speaks Spanish and English! He seemed very happy to speak to a person not in French and told me about the nightlife of Porto being pretty awesome, so we'll see how that goes when I visit Caroline :-). So we chatted for a while until the pizza was ready (I got an onion, bacon (or at least their version of it) and an EGG in the middle! I guess you were right dad... but it was... good! It served as kind of a sauce for the crust, very tasty!) and now I'm discussing the trip to the Palace of Versailles in Spanish with some Argentinian and Columbian people staying at the hostel. I have found many people to be extremely friendly around here, friendly and polite - French and abroad alike. They usually like it when you at least attempt to speak their language as well :-).
I'm tired and worn out and about ready to relax for a while - not to mention I miss everyone dearly. I've had a difficult time finding ways to charge up my electrical appliances, like my iPod and my camera... so sometimes I don't have the iPod with me during the day. Today was one of those days. I spent a lot of the day imagining what my friends would like of what I've seen, and I really wish that someone were here to share it with me. Particularly Bethany, of course :-) We'll get to see Paris together soon enough my dear!
Hasta Luego.
It was beautiful and cozy with, one supposed, recorded medieval coral music playing. Once I had my time there, I went to find the Pompidou! With this, I learned a new French word: Fermé. Closed. No luck. So then I went to find a subway stop to go to Place Des Vosges, but of course... my Metro week pass was gone! Stolen or lost, who knows which. :-( So I decided I was close enough to visit the Louvre for a while to warm up and be dry for a while... oh yes, did I mention? Today it has been very cold. And very windy. And raining constantly. Absolutely miserable weather to walk about all day in. But I did, it sucked but now it's done and I had interesting adventures.
For example, what of the Louvre? On Tuesdays of course when I go there, Fermé. JUST Tuesdays. I suppose I should have looked ahead of time, but who would guess such a thing? It would make sense that Tuesday at 11am that any normal museum would be open. Alas, perhaps the most renowned museum in the world, the Louvre, is not open.
So, wet to the bone, freezing and in pain (my legs have transcended sore, they are now extremely painful and at times not very mobile... I look like I just went for a 5 day horse-ride) I cfound a cheap nutella crepe and took a short nap in a cold but not windy or wet or noisy cathedral - St. James I believe. It was pleasantly dark and quiet, but after a while I realized that I was to wet to reall warm myself up sufficiently to feel fully refreshed from a nap. So (at the time this was written in my notebook) I'm here in a pleasant little café drinking a lovely cup of café au lait and contemplating what I can do with so many places closed, no metro pass, and feeling quite terrible. Apparantly I'm quite close to the Plase Des Vosges, so I should at least try to see if that's open. After that may look at Place de la Bastille and... according to Mr. Niceguy from the train, I should see Vieille du Temple for all the vendors and according to my Californian roommate, I should see Rue des Rosiers. So in interest of maximum warmth or rather minimized aggregate cldness, I will go to the Bastille, then to Place de Vosges (and perhaps the Jewish temple that my map says is nearby). Then I will see Rue des Rosiers, then Vieille du Temple. Afterwards, perhaps the Musee Picasso. L'house est 15:20. By the way, I have amazed myself how reasonable well I can get by with what French I know and my pronunciation skills. It's a lot of fun using a new word or phrase and being understood :-).
(Written later) My French keeps improving, but I also sem to have luck finding peopel who speak either English or Spanish. Also, I feel much better after th coffee and a bathroom break - even warmed up! I got pictures of the Bastille and found the Place de Vosges, but it was just a plaza with nice shops. All the Jewish temples around there apparantly are instead schools, but at least they are Jewish schools. The two streets I was instructed to visit did not seem anything special to me, and of course everything is fermé.
I entertained myself by walking around and looking at all the shops - very amazing food shops - and there was this one place that sold glasses, in the corner of the store, visible oiutside through the glass window, but hidden and not really visible at all inside, was ana amzing colection of Middle-Eastern style guitar-like things. I was very curious and fascinated and took a picture of them from outside. The owner of the place seemed very displeased at me taking a picture, but I have no idea why and noone was in the shop and I couldn't understand anything he was saying... so oh well. Anyways, I found a shop that I was interested in and walked inside - an olive shop with all kinds of oils, including truffle oil! Well, I told myself, I must try this. The nice man working there even gave me samples of everything - a very nice man who speaks French, Spanish and English, so I decided to talk to him in Spanish since I could use the review. I tried a truffle cream on toast which was very nice and black and white truffle oil. As the truffle flavor stayed in my mouth it just kept growing and growing and was so musky and interesting! Then the power in the store went out. Their solution was several olive oil lamps :-). No problem, I told them, everything I want to see is closed, so I've got plenty of time for them to sort it out. The man was nothing but friendly and polite and generous even. He gave me extra handous about good uses for truffle oil and wines to pair with them - I bought a small big of black truffle olive oil. I'm very keen to use it, but I suppose it will have to wait until I have a proper kitchen to use it in. Alas, now (at the time I wrote this) I am seated in a little open-door lobby to a perfme store. There are large Gucci signs everywhere and some grumpy bouncers I suppose I am on my way to the Arc D'triumph and take nice pictures of the obelisk and large avenue towards the Louvre. Then I suppose I'll go back to the hostel and get a good night's rest before I try to visit Le Palais de Versailles tomorrow. Then I can try to revisit the places I couldn't make today on Thursday before my train to Madrid. I will not go to the Eiffel Tower, that will have to wait for Bethany.
(now back at the hostel) While wet (trenchfoot, anyone?), tired (more pain than sleepiness) and alone, the Obelisk was interesting but the area itself was empty, nasty and boring - just tons of traffic and large stone structures. The walk 'home' was about 2 miles. Half uphill. My legs hate me a lot. Now that I'm back... I give up. I went next door ro the italian place and got a pizza to go. The bartender was Portuguese and speaks Spanish and English! He seemed very happy to speak to a person not in French and told me about the nightlife of Porto being pretty awesome, so we'll see how that goes when I visit Caroline :-). So we chatted for a while until the pizza was ready (I got an onion, bacon (or at least their version of it) and an EGG in the middle! I guess you were right dad... but it was... good! It served as kind of a sauce for the crust, very tasty!) and now I'm discussing the trip to the Palace of Versailles in Spanish with some Argentinian and Columbian people staying at the hostel. I have found many people to be extremely friendly around here, friendly and polite - French and abroad alike. They usually like it when you at least attempt to speak their language as well :-).
I'm tired and worn out and about ready to relax for a while - not to mention I miss everyone dearly. I've had a difficult time finding ways to charge up my electrical appliances, like my iPod and my camera... so sometimes I don't have the iPod with me during the day. Today was one of those days. I spent a lot of the day imagining what my friends would like of what I've seen, and I really wish that someone were here to share it with me. Particularly Bethany, of course :-) We'll get to see Paris together soon enough my dear!
Hasta Luego.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Hola Francia
Today has been largely disappointing. I woke up late so I didn't geto visit St. Paul's Cathedra, which was a point that my former St. Louis roommate suggested, and I was too late to see the changing of the horse guard, which was suggested by the Frommer's book that my former St. Louis roommate gave me. I did, however, get to see the normal changing of the guard, which was nice. There was a marching band and 18th century uniforms and swords and horses, and real British cops on horses. It's very interesting to see such disciplined and historic soldiers.
I did make my way out to Harrods to buy myself some Turkish Delight and see what other amazing culinary treasures they have there. A lot, as it turns out foie gras, huge black French truffles, fatty toro tuna, Spanish iberico ham and so much more! It was ridiculous... if you know what those things are...
After I visited Harrods, I realized that I was starving and quite thirsty as well. Alas, I did not want to spend money... at all. And what to m big hungry eyes did appear bt the golden arches with big macs and root beer. The root beer did it. With what reluctance I could manage in my starved state, I did chow down and enjoyed it for what it was worth, which is definitely not much. I still felt hungry, but even with delays on the tube tracks, I managed to just barely make it to the Europstar train to Paris on time.
I want to return to London with three things:
1. friends
2. a LOT more time
3. A LOT MORE money - I took out about £100 ($200) and used £60 ($120). That included all travel and entrance tickets and all food etc. I guess the damage could be worse.
Paris day 1
30-60 minutes into the train ride (we made several boarding stops) a mother and small child boarded and sat right behind me and the gentleman in the window seat next to me. The kid was LOUD. I forgot that kids have that much energy and can produce annoying noise for prolonged periods of time. The man beside me had an interesting arrangement of facial hair, was reading a book in French and seemed rather annoyed at the child behind us. I wanted to talk to him, but his demeanor and general sighing sent unhappy Frenchman warning signs.
They shouldn't have! I finally asked him if he spoke English and asked him about Paris, he was just the nicest person I could ask for and not only did he know Paris, he lives here. I did not get his name, so we'll call him Mr. Niceguy. Mr. Niceguy had a wide assortment of suggestions of places to go and things to see and even had some suggestions of somewhat inexpensive places to eat! Now he's talking my language. He suggested first this place called Wadja, said it was somewhat new and foreigner friendly. Not one to ignore culinary teachings of any Frenchman, I checked into my hostel and went looking for this Wadja.
My first French dinner experience could have possibly been more pleasurable, but considering the circumstances of me being alone and foreign, I don't think by much. The manager and waiters were nothings but absolutely helpful and friendly and patient and kind. I was given a menu in english and ordered a French sausage as an appetizer with bread and for the main course a foie gras terrine.
The sausage was crisp and intensely flavorful, the bread was an esquisitely perfect specimen of French bread and the foie gras was... interesting. It took a little time to understand that it should go on the toast that was also put on the table. The manager (I guess he was) was extremely helpful and friendly about it. I took the remainder back to the hostel (I couldn't eat it all) and saved it for the morning to buy a fresh baguette.
At the hostel there are just three computers and you must wait in line for your very specifically half-hour allotted time on the computer. There is a whole sign-in process to it and it simply cuts you off if you run over. Last night I ran over while writing this, so that's why I didn't post last night, my apologies if anyone got worried I didn't make it to Paris.
I did make my way out to Harrods to buy myself some Turkish Delight and see what other amazing culinary treasures they have there. A lot, as it turns out foie gras, huge black French truffles, fatty toro tuna, Spanish iberico ham and so much more! It was ridiculous... if you know what those things are...
After I visited Harrods, I realized that I was starving and quite thirsty as well. Alas, I did not want to spend money... at all. And what to m big hungry eyes did appear bt the golden arches with big macs and root beer. The root beer did it. With what reluctance I could manage in my starved state, I did chow down and enjoyed it for what it was worth, which is definitely not much. I still felt hungry, but even with delays on the tube tracks, I managed to just barely make it to the Europstar train to Paris on time.
I want to return to London with three things:
1. friends
2. a LOT more time
3. A LOT MORE money - I took out about £100 ($200) and used £60 ($120). That included all travel and entrance tickets and all food etc. I guess the damage could be worse.
Paris day 1
30-60 minutes into the train ride (we made several boarding stops) a mother and small child boarded and sat right behind me and the gentleman in the window seat next to me. The kid was LOUD. I forgot that kids have that much energy and can produce annoying noise for prolonged periods of time. The man beside me had an interesting arrangement of facial hair, was reading a book in French and seemed rather annoyed at the child behind us. I wanted to talk to him, but his demeanor and general sighing sent unhappy Frenchman warning signs.
They shouldn't have! I finally asked him if he spoke English and asked him about Paris, he was just the nicest person I could ask for and not only did he know Paris, he lives here. I did not get his name, so we'll call him Mr. Niceguy. Mr. Niceguy had a wide assortment of suggestions of places to go and things to see and even had some suggestions of somewhat inexpensive places to eat! Now he's talking my language. He suggested first this place called Wadja, said it was somewhat new and foreigner friendly. Not one to ignore culinary teachings of any Frenchman, I checked into my hostel and went looking for this Wadja.
My first French dinner experience could have possibly been more pleasurable, but considering the circumstances of me being alone and foreign, I don't think by much. The manager and waiters were nothings but absolutely helpful and friendly and patient and kind. I was given a menu in english and ordered a French sausage as an appetizer with bread and for the main course a foie gras terrine.
The sausage was crisp and intensely flavorful, the bread was an esquisitely perfect specimen of French bread and the foie gras was... interesting. It took a little time to understand that it should go on the toast that was also put on the table. The manager (I guess he was) was extremely helpful and friendly about it. I took the remainder back to the hostel (I couldn't eat it all) and saved it for the morning to buy a fresh baguette.
At the hostel there are just three computers and you must wait in line for your very specifically half-hour allotted time on the computer. There is a whole sign-in process to it and it simply cuts you off if you run over. Last night I ran over while writing this, so that's why I didn't post last night, my apologies if anyone got worried I didn't make it to Paris.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
La Día de Dalí
This morning I was awoken at about 6am by my St. Louis room mates leaving for their early flight. Not one to lose time that could be used for sleep, I re-awoke at about 8 and set about preparing for my day, which involved packing my sister's hiking pack with everything I might need for the day i.e. more than I could ever need for a touristy day about London. So, with a hump on my back making me taller and wider than I usually am and prancing about in my oh-so-American-all-of-London-turns-its-head-at-them sneakers, jeans and a sweater - I first went downstairs to the free breakfast here at the hostel. Enjoying orange juice, coffee, cereal and croissants with jam (raspberry and black-currants!), I soon set out for my first destination: Westminster Abbey! As I arrived, however, I realized that I had indeed forgotten what day it is and what that might mean for my trip particularly to the Abbey. As I walked up, a kind gentleman in a red cape and black gloves asked me to stand in line for the Sunday Choir Sung service.
Walking into the abbey gates, I remembered my first trips to Westminster, but only vaguely. As we walked, the gigantic abbey organ began playing and it was both haunting and genius, what anyone might expect from the most politically and economically powerful site in all of Medieval England besides perhaps the king himself, sometimes not even. I attempted to subtly take a video as I walked in, for the sound of the organ and some of the gold-covered sights. It rather impressed me how friendly and welcoming all the ushers were as they were all dressed in their very finest with blue velvet jackets and beautiful golden brooches on golden chains about their necks - I dressed very much as a travelling poor student. The service began with the procession inward with another intricate fugue by the organ and the walking in of the 'President' of the abbey with the vicar, alter-men and the choir. And then the choir sang. It was like nothing I have ever experienced in a church of any kind. Singing without any electrical amplification to music written in the 16th century, the choir sounded so strong and very simply outstanding. Their voices reverberated heavily off the walls and ceiling of the abbey in a beautiful and elegant Latin canon. The service included lots of singing, which was printed in the program notes as neums! I couldn't believe it! There were no note staves, no key signature, just the notes in an order prompted by whoever happened to lead that particular song or anthem or antiphon. There were two things that happened in the service that I did not expect. First, in the message from the very personable vicar, she (yes, a rather young lady) focused on an 'Aha moment' between the old testament and the new testament where we might have noticed the word of God saying before of Isaiah (British: eye-z-eye (not ay)-uh) that he was counted among the lord's favourite etc. and a similar thing was said of Jesus in the new testament, showing us who to listen to. The reason this was unexpected is I have only ever heard the mention of an 'Aha moment' in my high school AP english class! I didn't ever expect to really hear it again, much less at an impromptu service in London at Westminster Abbey. The other thing that I did not expect is that in the service was the Eucharist, and they served wine! And it was really tasty! There was a strong hardness, but a lovely sweet aftertaste. I asked one of the altar-men afterwards what kind of wine it is and he told me that it's a specially made fortified wine for the Abbey. It has to be fortified because full bottles are not always used and it needs to be able to stay good for a long time unlike normal wines which go down once they're opened. As I was leaving, I very nearly bought a CD for dad of the choir, but as my luck runs he might already have one - not to mention London is REALLY expensive and I don't have money to spend on gifts just yet.
After the perfectly lovely and aurally stimulating service, I decided to make my next stop a place mentioned by my former St. Louis roommate - The Dalí Experience. Located close to the London Eye, it's hard to miss and walking up a lady stopped me in the middle of a track by Epica to tell me that not only could I get a student discount but an extra discount by using a handout from her. No tricks or anything, just more money off! Good start to the day, folks. It would have been £12 ($24), but for me it cost £8 (16). Outside, I took pictures of the monuments posted nearby and as I walked into the exhibit, there was a very long hallway of pictures of Salvador Dalí and many quotes from him. I took as many photos as I could but then I arrived to the actual gallery of his works and there was a no photography sign. I knew that Bethany would have loved to have seen that place, as well as perhaps my sister, and so I decided to do what many other poor art visitors have done - draw little copies to remember them by! I drew a statue of a melting clock with two human figures on a tree, and interesting interpretation of Sir Isaac Newton, the Telephone Homard (Lobster-Phone), Space Elephant, le Pain Coupé, Femme Giraffe, and Christ Cubique. I will later take pictures of my drawings to post on Facebook, I'll set a link if I can.
After all this I became quite hungry and had a difficult time getting to Piccadilly circus because a tube station and an entire tube line were down today! Something about repairs... I had a craving for good Indian, and I know there MUST be good Indian in London. Unfortunately all those delicious Indian places in London are quite expensive. So I settled for some pretty good Indian food at this place called the Spice Bazaar. When I went in, it was completely empty, but it was also 3pm so I didn't feel that bad. At that point I had given up searching for the best choice and really just wanted something to eat. And so I sat down, got some tandoori chicken and naan, and enjoyed my meal. It cost me around £9 and was really quite tasty. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else since the service was terrible and still costly, but that has to do mainly with the exchange rate and my hunger was satisfied so fine.
My next stop, since I was so close, was to re-visit the British Museum. Fabulous place, I took more pictures and got to see the European history part. Very interesting with all those Viking and Roman invasions. I was particularly fascinated by the old mortars and pestles, stewing pots and the culinary like, but maybe that's just me. It was getting dark and I had places to go so I left sooner than the previous visit.
It was indeed getting dark... and it was also Sunday. So every place I wanted to visit, whether I took the time to make my way out there or not, was closed. Including the Palace and Harrods! So, disappointed and very tired I returned back here to the hostel, where I have been happily watching films. Right now the interestingly bewitching new(er) film Planet of the Apes is on.
I'll have more to report tomorrow once I arrive in Paris!
Cheers,
Kip
Walking into the abbey gates, I remembered my first trips to Westminster, but only vaguely. As we walked, the gigantic abbey organ began playing and it was both haunting and genius, what anyone might expect from the most politically and economically powerful site in all of Medieval England besides perhaps the king himself, sometimes not even. I attempted to subtly take a video as I walked in, for the sound of the organ and some of the gold-covered sights. It rather impressed me how friendly and welcoming all the ushers were as they were all dressed in their very finest with blue velvet jackets and beautiful golden brooches on golden chains about their necks - I dressed very much as a travelling poor student. The service began with the procession inward with another intricate fugue by the organ and the walking in of the 'President' of the abbey with the vicar, alter-men and the choir. And then the choir sang. It was like nothing I have ever experienced in a church of any kind. Singing without any electrical amplification to music written in the 16th century, the choir sounded so strong and very simply outstanding. Their voices reverberated heavily off the walls and ceiling of the abbey in a beautiful and elegant Latin canon. The service included lots of singing, which was printed in the program notes as neums! I couldn't believe it! There were no note staves, no key signature, just the notes in an order prompted by whoever happened to lead that particular song or anthem or antiphon. There were two things that happened in the service that I did not expect. First, in the message from the very personable vicar, she (yes, a rather young lady) focused on an 'Aha moment' between the old testament and the new testament where we might have noticed the word of God saying before of Isaiah (British: eye-z-eye (not ay)-uh) that he was counted among the lord's favourite etc. and a similar thing was said of Jesus in the new testament, showing us who to listen to. The reason this was unexpected is I have only ever heard the mention of an 'Aha moment' in my high school AP english class! I didn't ever expect to really hear it again, much less at an impromptu service in London at Westminster Abbey. The other thing that I did not expect is that in the service was the Eucharist, and they served wine! And it was really tasty! There was a strong hardness, but a lovely sweet aftertaste. I asked one of the altar-men afterwards what kind of wine it is and he told me that it's a specially made fortified wine for the Abbey. It has to be fortified because full bottles are not always used and it needs to be able to stay good for a long time unlike normal wines which go down once they're opened. As I was leaving, I very nearly bought a CD for dad of the choir, but as my luck runs he might already have one - not to mention London is REALLY expensive and I don't have money to spend on gifts just yet.
After the perfectly lovely and aurally stimulating service, I decided to make my next stop a place mentioned by my former St. Louis roommate - The Dalí Experience. Located close to the London Eye, it's hard to miss and walking up a lady stopped me in the middle of a track by Epica to tell me that not only could I get a student discount but an extra discount by using a handout from her. No tricks or anything, just more money off! Good start to the day, folks. It would have been £12 ($24), but for me it cost £8 (16). Outside, I took pictures of the monuments posted nearby and as I walked into the exhibit, there was a very long hallway of pictures of Salvador Dalí and many quotes from him. I took as many photos as I could but then I arrived to the actual gallery of his works and there was a no photography sign. I knew that Bethany would have loved to have seen that place, as well as perhaps my sister, and so I decided to do what many other poor art visitors have done - draw little copies to remember them by! I drew a statue of a melting clock with two human figures on a tree, and interesting interpretation of Sir Isaac Newton, the Telephone Homard (Lobster-Phone), Space Elephant, le Pain Coupé, Femme Giraffe, and Christ Cubique. I will later take pictures of my drawings to post on Facebook, I'll set a link if I can.
After all this I became quite hungry and had a difficult time getting to Piccadilly circus because a tube station and an entire tube line were down today! Something about repairs... I had a craving for good Indian, and I know there MUST be good Indian in London. Unfortunately all those delicious Indian places in London are quite expensive. So I settled for some pretty good Indian food at this place called the Spice Bazaar. When I went in, it was completely empty, but it was also 3pm so I didn't feel that bad. At that point I had given up searching for the best choice and really just wanted something to eat. And so I sat down, got some tandoori chicken and naan, and enjoyed my meal. It cost me around £9 and was really quite tasty. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else since the service was terrible and still costly, but that has to do mainly with the exchange rate and my hunger was satisfied so fine.
My next stop, since I was so close, was to re-visit the British Museum. Fabulous place, I took more pictures and got to see the European history part. Very interesting with all those Viking and Roman invasions. I was particularly fascinated by the old mortars and pestles, stewing pots and the culinary like, but maybe that's just me. It was getting dark and I had places to go so I left sooner than the previous visit.
It was indeed getting dark... and it was also Sunday. So every place I wanted to visit, whether I took the time to make my way out there or not, was closed. Including the Palace and Harrods! So, disappointed and very tired I returned back here to the hostel, where I have been happily watching films. Right now the interestingly bewitching new(er) film Planet of the Apes is on.
I'll have more to report tomorrow once I arrive in Paris!
Cheers,
Kip
Inglaterra!
And I'm finally here - in my hostel in London. Yesterday was a very very very long day, we'll say it rather started two days ago - having said goodbye to Bethany and my parents, I got into the airport at about 8 or 9 pm. From there I took some time to sit and sip a ginger ale and Jameson while reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, all this to wait for the plane that wouldn't take off until about 11pm D.C. time. So I got on the plane and had a seat and promptly set about finding something interesting to watch, they had an entire film database to watch - including new films and TV shows. I did not feel very hungry for all my nerves about this solo trip, so I didn't eat very much (though I did keep hydrated) and watched 'No Reservations' with Catherine Zeta Jones and 'Cooking at Home with Jamie Oliver'. Good stuff. I also took some time to talk to one of the flight attendants. He had an accent that reminded me of Jamie Oliver so I asked where he was from, he couldn't have been friendlier and told me that he was actually Canadian, but was sent off to school in Somerset, England. I haven't the foggiest where that is, but he says it's beautiful and that soon he'll be going to get his master's degree in Philosophy. I suppose that's why he's working as a flight attendant, but he told me it's a very interesting line of work and that he travels everywhere in the world except for Europe - Brazil, Latin America, the US, Australia, China, Japan, India etc. Apparently depending on the port he could get up for 4 or 5 days in any given place. Usually, though, he said it's more like 2.
Halfway through the flight, I had the strangest uncomfortable feeling that I was all alone and homesick and so forth, but I promptly took a 2.5 hour nap and felt a great deal better. Soon thereafter, I arrived at 10:45am London time to Heathrow Airport. According to the directions I found on the London tube website, I took an express train from Heathrow to the middle of London and underground trains from there to near my hostel. This took a great deal of time and considering all my luggage was rather uncomfortable. But I will only have to do that on the trips in between sleeping places, so it's not too bad. It was just a bother that my carry-on bag is so big and bulky and obtrusive, I would have rather have taken a small bag or a school backpack or something.... speaking of which I don't have a day-time carrying vessel, like a school backpack or something. I shall have to find one, until then I'll just carry around this hiking backpack and hope for the best.
It was a harrowing journey and rather tiring, but finally I arrived at my hostel yesterday at around 1pm (London time). Still feeling nervous about this whole journey, I did not go and find lunch and instead decided to try to find the London Zoo. As I was leaving the tube station away from my hostel, I passed by this market place of sorts - there will be pictures describing it - but it had an unbelievable assortment of cheeses, breads, meats and all sorts of French culinary treasures! Truffles! Foie Gras! Pain au Levain! I couldn't believe it, I'm in Europe now. Anyways, it was all rather expensive (EVERYTHING is expensive here - 1£ = 2$!) so I set about walking towards this park which holds the London Zoo.
Unfortunately, things are not so clearly labelled in London. I got lost several times and had to turn around a million times. I did eventually find the zoo, but it was just too expensive - about 30US$. I did get to see a Giraffe through everything, even got a picture or two! But from there I decided to set off to find the British Museum, which I expected to be expensive like everything else.
The British Museum is incredible. As I approached it was large and beautiful on the outside and I was even a little intimidated, as I went in, it was absolutely free! I couldn't believe it! There were exhibits of things from all over the world, I may have to return, but it was just beautiful and very interesting. I took lots of pictures that will be posted in a little while. I quite enjoyed it and took my time walking about inside. Unfortunately as I found it my time to leave, I had lost my tube card that I got that morning. Fortunately it was just a day-pass so I didn't lose a whole lot with it, just more walking time yesterday - 4 or 5 miles worth. On my way back, I did get very very hungry and found dinner - a Cornish steak Pastie with Fanta. It was just delicious and filling as could be. I was extremely surprised how very not soggy it was, very crispy but still with a juicy interior. Extraordinary. I'm sure the deliciousness had something to do with no food for some 18 hours previous. Anywho I took my time walking back to the hostel from Picadilly Circus (as if I had a choice, it was a LONG, VERY LONG WALK) and noticed that it was in fact a circus. New York isn't that ridiculous. People everywhere, sketchy dark alleyways with adult stores and on foot solicitors, sketchy phone booths, mobs of people (not crowds, twice as thick and loud - mobs) and every kind of shop you can imagine! I saw all kinds of Scottish cloth stores - they call them here by the quality of cloth that they sell - cashmere this and that. But there were tons of tartans, kilts all over the place, but more than that all kinds of clothing stores. It was a ridiculous volume of clothing stores - the city cannot possibly need that many kinds of clothing stores. It was kind of like the fashion equivalent of Starbucks - the same thing on every corner. I took time to wander into several book stores and whiskey stores (this town has TONS of whiskey, I can't even imagine once I get to Scotland).
Finally, after a stop for some delicious Turkish Delight, I made it back to the hostel at about 9pm... and my legs HURT. It wasn't just sore or tired, I mean pain. They were starting not to work by the time I got back here, it was kind of a stumble into the threshold of this place. But I made it into my room and got the stuff I needed for today and arranged stuff, then talked to some of my room-mates. First I heard two guys talking, I vaguely understood some of the words but heard interesting nasal sounds and lots of shh noises - Portuguese! So I spoke what Portuguese I knew and reverted to Spanish as we discussed our reasons for being here, what our plans are and how we're getting along. They introduced me to a new word - Erasmus. Apparently that is the European name for anyone studying abroad, I was unaware of this term, very interesting. Neither of them planned to be an Erasmus, but commended me on my international dedication for doing so.
After they left for a night of beer drinking, several Americans joined me - two brothers from St. Louis and the person sleeping above me from Minnesota. One of the guys from St. Louis is working as an actor now and after nice discussions about that actually gave me his Frommers London guidebook and his umbrella! He told me he was leaving bright and early in the morning for home and would not need either thing, it was extremely nice of him... He also recommended several places to me - a Dali museum and an English war museum, both down in Westminster. I was very appreciative and talked with him for some time, but eventually crashed at about 11pm.
This morning, after checking that all my stuff was safe and sound, I woke up and got dressed to find a very nice complementary breakfast of juice, coffee, croissants with jam and cereal. I enjoyed all plenty and now I am writing this.
Hopefully I will have a good day - it's Sunday so I hope that htings are open, it looks to be rather cold and unforgiving outside so god willing I will be able to find a warm museum or cathedral or two. Best wishes from London!
Kip
Halfway through the flight, I had the strangest uncomfortable feeling that I was all alone and homesick and so forth, but I promptly took a 2.5 hour nap and felt a great deal better. Soon thereafter, I arrived at 10:45am London time to Heathrow Airport. According to the directions I found on the London tube website, I took an express train from Heathrow to the middle of London and underground trains from there to near my hostel. This took a great deal of time and considering all my luggage was rather uncomfortable. But I will only have to do that on the trips in between sleeping places, so it's not too bad. It was just a bother that my carry-on bag is so big and bulky and obtrusive, I would have rather have taken a small bag or a school backpack or something.... speaking of which I don't have a day-time carrying vessel, like a school backpack or something. I shall have to find one, until then I'll just carry around this hiking backpack and hope for the best.
It was a harrowing journey and rather tiring, but finally I arrived at my hostel yesterday at around 1pm (London time). Still feeling nervous about this whole journey, I did not go and find lunch and instead decided to try to find the London Zoo. As I was leaving the tube station away from my hostel, I passed by this market place of sorts - there will be pictures describing it - but it had an unbelievable assortment of cheeses, breads, meats and all sorts of French culinary treasures! Truffles! Foie Gras! Pain au Levain! I couldn't believe it, I'm in Europe now. Anyways, it was all rather expensive (EVERYTHING is expensive here - 1£ = 2$!) so I set about walking towards this park which holds the London Zoo.
Unfortunately, things are not so clearly labelled in London. I got lost several times and had to turn around a million times. I did eventually find the zoo, but it was just too expensive - about 30US$. I did get to see a Giraffe through everything, even got a picture or two! But from there I decided to set off to find the British Museum, which I expected to be expensive like everything else.
The British Museum is incredible. As I approached it was large and beautiful on the outside and I was even a little intimidated, as I went in, it was absolutely free! I couldn't believe it! There were exhibits of things from all over the world, I may have to return, but it was just beautiful and very interesting. I took lots of pictures that will be posted in a little while. I quite enjoyed it and took my time walking about inside. Unfortunately as I found it my time to leave, I had lost my tube card that I got that morning. Fortunately it was just a day-pass so I didn't lose a whole lot with it, just more walking time yesterday - 4 or 5 miles worth. On my way back, I did get very very hungry and found dinner - a Cornish steak Pastie with Fanta. It was just delicious and filling as could be. I was extremely surprised how very not soggy it was, very crispy but still with a juicy interior. Extraordinary. I'm sure the deliciousness had something to do with no food for some 18 hours previous. Anywho I took my time walking back to the hostel from Picadilly Circus (as if I had a choice, it was a LONG, VERY LONG WALK) and noticed that it was in fact a circus. New York isn't that ridiculous. People everywhere, sketchy dark alleyways with adult stores and on foot solicitors, sketchy phone booths, mobs of people (not crowds, twice as thick and loud - mobs) and every kind of shop you can imagine! I saw all kinds of Scottish cloth stores - they call them here by the quality of cloth that they sell - cashmere this and that. But there were tons of tartans, kilts all over the place, but more than that all kinds of clothing stores. It was a ridiculous volume of clothing stores - the city cannot possibly need that many kinds of clothing stores. It was kind of like the fashion equivalent of Starbucks - the same thing on every corner. I took time to wander into several book stores and whiskey stores (this town has TONS of whiskey, I can't even imagine once I get to Scotland).
Finally, after a stop for some delicious Turkish Delight, I made it back to the hostel at about 9pm... and my legs HURT. It wasn't just sore or tired, I mean pain. They were starting not to work by the time I got back here, it was kind of a stumble into the threshold of this place. But I made it into my room and got the stuff I needed for today and arranged stuff, then talked to some of my room-mates. First I heard two guys talking, I vaguely understood some of the words but heard interesting nasal sounds and lots of shh noises - Portuguese! So I spoke what Portuguese I knew and reverted to Spanish as we discussed our reasons for being here, what our plans are and how we're getting along. They introduced me to a new word - Erasmus. Apparently that is the European name for anyone studying abroad, I was unaware of this term, very interesting. Neither of them planned to be an Erasmus, but commended me on my international dedication for doing so.
After they left for a night of beer drinking, several Americans joined me - two brothers from St. Louis and the person sleeping above me from Minnesota. One of the guys from St. Louis is working as an actor now and after nice discussions about that actually gave me his Frommers London guidebook and his umbrella! He told me he was leaving bright and early in the morning for home and would not need either thing, it was extremely nice of him... He also recommended several places to me - a Dali museum and an English war museum, both down in Westminster. I was very appreciative and talked with him for some time, but eventually crashed at about 11pm.
This morning, after checking that all my stuff was safe and sound, I woke up and got dressed to find a very nice complementary breakfast of juice, coffee, croissants with jam and cereal. I enjoyed all plenty and now I am writing this.
Hopefully I will have a good day - it's Sunday so I hope that htings are open, it looks to be rather cold and unforgiving outside so god willing I will be able to find a warm museum or cathedral or two. Best wishes from London!
Kip
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Primera Día Fuera de Hogar
And thus began the European adventure... one step at a time, folks - I'm in Harrisonburg staying with Bethany until I get on the plane Friday night. It was strange leaving home today by myself, knowing that I would not return there for many months to come. Having packed everything last night and this morning (my visa finally arrived yesterday! huzzah!) I felt no buzz about it, no excitement - just nervousness. Last night I took some consideration to what I'm supposed to do when I arrive at 10am in Heathrow, the website for the British tube system gave me very nice clear directions on how to find my way to my hostel - Palmer's Lodge. It looks to be a nice place right next to a tube station so London here I come!
Monday I had lunch at Sonic (lovely last US hamburger for a while) with Pastor Ken Waclo who charged me with an interesting quest - research on the christian traditions of Spain. Every Sunday (or as many as I can wake up in time for) I am to visit a different cathedral or church to see how they do it, listen to their music, feel the ages old stone and wood of these ancient European churches and report back with some sort of comparison and analysis. Being a student this is nothing different than say a research project, except for the fact that this whole method of research is entirely new to my education. Never before have I actually gone out into the 'field' to gather research, but then again I suppose that's all this trip is - live research on what another part of the world is like. So why shouldn't I include a spiritual lesson? I certainly shall. Why isn't hands on research normal for education, one would think that's the best way to learn. Cost-cutting here and there of course, but honestly we only learn (and by learn I mean really remember) things that interest us, so why not focus on the interesting parts? Otherwise it's all just a forgettable lecture in a dusty room.
Last night for dinner I was given the choice of my last home-cooked American meal, so with the help of my mother I made beer-can chicken, fresh crusty bread, potato hash-browns, peas, lima beans, and apple pie. I would have asked for my mother's incredible baked beans but it slipped my mind. Happily, my grandfather - Charles Alan McCharen - was able to join us for dinner. Shuffling about in his standard khaki pants, nice brown belt and shoes and button-down plaid pattern shirt, he is weary with age but yet unsurrenduring to it. Whenever he is visited (at the retirement home, the Guggenheimer - sp?) by his son/daughter/daughter-in-law/grandchildren his eyes shine back into awareness accented often times by a prompted sentence or two. He incredibly seems to find humor in his life, entertained usually by his son, Phil. My favorite attribute of my grandfather (we call him D-daddy.... dad's dad) is that he lives on his stomach. He will eat whatever tastes good and eat as much of it as he can. One supposes there isn't a great deal to do in a retirement home but everyone must eat and so he does. I particularly enjoy that whenever I bring him food he loves it and makes sure to say so. I did promise D-daddy that I would bring him pictures and tell him stories of Spain and so I will. I will also be wondering what it must look like to him, who was alive during WWII and served as a Marine drill sergeant for many years but now lives in a room the size of the average dorm room with a medical bed, laz-e-boy chair, dresser, drawers, bathroom and a somewhat unintelligible roommate named Mr. Scott. I won't be able to visit him for quite some time but hopefully when I can I'll actually have something to say besides 'what have you been up to?'
Tomorrow afternoon I will be searching for an apartment to live in next year with my music fraternity brother, David Christopher Johnson-Hutton (a.k.a. Stack). I have no idea what I'm looking for except that I can't plan to spend more than $666/mo. on rent and food together - which would be equal to what on-campus living has been. Since I tend to spare no expense on culinary conquests, maybe I'll be able to find rent of around $400/mo.? To anyone who's reading, by the way, you'll always be welcome to join me in my kitchen which should always be stocked with delicious food. Who knows what's left or if it will be right, but we'll try to find it, Stack and I.
Monday I had lunch at Sonic (lovely last US hamburger for a while) with Pastor Ken Waclo who charged me with an interesting quest - research on the christian traditions of Spain. Every Sunday (or as many as I can wake up in time for) I am to visit a different cathedral or church to see how they do it, listen to their music, feel the ages old stone and wood of these ancient European churches and report back with some sort of comparison and analysis. Being a student this is nothing different than say a research project, except for the fact that this whole method of research is entirely new to my education. Never before have I actually gone out into the 'field' to gather research, but then again I suppose that's all this trip is - live research on what another part of the world is like. So why shouldn't I include a spiritual lesson? I certainly shall. Why isn't hands on research normal for education, one would think that's the best way to learn. Cost-cutting here and there of course, but honestly we only learn (and by learn I mean really remember) things that interest us, so why not focus on the interesting parts? Otherwise it's all just a forgettable lecture in a dusty room.
Last night for dinner I was given the choice of my last home-cooked American meal, so with the help of my mother I made beer-can chicken, fresh crusty bread, potato hash-browns, peas, lima beans, and apple pie. I would have asked for my mother's incredible baked beans but it slipped my mind. Happily, my grandfather - Charles Alan McCharen - was able to join us for dinner. Shuffling about in his standard khaki pants, nice brown belt and shoes and button-down plaid pattern shirt, he is weary with age but yet unsurrenduring to it. Whenever he is visited (at the retirement home, the Guggenheimer - sp?) by his son/daughter/daughter-in-law/grandchildren his eyes shine back into awareness accented often times by a prompted sentence or two. He incredibly seems to find humor in his life, entertained usually by his son, Phil. My favorite attribute of my grandfather (we call him D-daddy.... dad's dad) is that he lives on his stomach. He will eat whatever tastes good and eat as much of it as he can. One supposes there isn't a great deal to do in a retirement home but everyone must eat and so he does. I particularly enjoy that whenever I bring him food he loves it and makes sure to say so. I did promise D-daddy that I would bring him pictures and tell him stories of Spain and so I will. I will also be wondering what it must look like to him, who was alive during WWII and served as a Marine drill sergeant for many years but now lives in a room the size of the average dorm room with a medical bed, laz-e-boy chair, dresser, drawers, bathroom and a somewhat unintelligible roommate named Mr. Scott. I won't be able to visit him for quite some time but hopefully when I can I'll actually have something to say besides 'what have you been up to?'
Tomorrow afternoon I will be searching for an apartment to live in next year with my music fraternity brother, David Christopher Johnson-Hutton (a.k.a. Stack). I have no idea what I'm looking for except that I can't plan to spend more than $666/mo. on rent and food together - which would be equal to what on-campus living has been. Since I tend to spare no expense on culinary conquests, maybe I'll be able to find rent of around $400/mo.? To anyone who's reading, by the way, you'll always be welcome to join me in my kitchen which should always be stocked with delicious food. Who knows what's left or if it will be right, but we'll try to find it, Stack and I.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Pronto Salgo
It's almost time to go. On Wednesday afternoon I will drive to JMU to spend my two last days with Bethany and visiting my school friends. Also I will be looking for a place to live next year - as mentioned in the last blog I did not get the job as hall director next year (pero el otro RA 'Sr. ave, nunca aquí, siempre fuera fiesteándose' en mi piso gano la posición, que joda, que broma - él no puede hacerlo en los sueños
I am not packed yet. Not even close, not at all actually. My passport is still coming to me in the mail (the embassy said it was in the mail last Friday), but I have tickets to everything - plane to London, hostel in London (3 days - see some major points like Buckingham Palace, Tower of London, Harrods, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, pub or two), train to Paris (4 days, see as much as I can - Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Palace of Versailles, Montmartre, Louvre), hostel in Paris, overnight train to Madrid (where I meet up with the rest of my group), train pass for afterward to meet Bethany and travel Italy... It will be an amazing trip - I'll see so much! Luckily my parents kindly got me a digital camera for my birthday to record it all, and an iPod for Christmas to keep me happy and not too homesick.
Perhaps I will pack enough to be wearing completely different clothes every night for one week (excepting shoes, belts and jackets), that way I can mix and match for a great variety of outfits (and pray that I can do enough laundry). What I must remember, though, is that I plan to be hiking my way across the Camino de Santiago (ancient pilgrimage trail across northern Spain to the Cathedral of Saint James in Galicia, where said Saint's remains are said to be buried) - so I must be prepared for that journey which may require my own sleeping bag and some supplies, not to mention comfortable traveling attire. And while they tell us Europeans dress more formally than Americans, it will be a great deal of traveling, jet-setting if you will, so one must prepare to be comfortable.
The most important part of this entire trip, to me, is making it memorable and furthermore being able to remember it! As all of you know, I have a wretched memory and a lazy bum - bad combination. I will take pictures and write notes like a madman throughout the trip, hopefully often sending letters and postcards to whosoever I have addresses to (if you're not sure just send me your address, it can never hurt to have all of them) and I would like to get as many momentos as I can. Furthermore, I would be a fool not to take advantage of my situational opportunity - I want to see European bands!!! I will be seeing Epica in Madrid in February (hopefully con mi cariño Carolina!) and I wish to see some other bands - Iona, Kamelot?, and maybe I'll just hunt for any band playing in Germany because I want an excuse to visit there.
It is not yet sinking in that I will be leaving all of this very soon - all my friends that I can vineyard hop with and sing with and cook with and hangout with, my family that I can eat with an cook for and live with, my normal duties that I know how to perform. Which reminds me, will the bathrooms be different in Europe? Hopefully new food will not make it a different place to visit. A previously relieving experience may become el demonio del baño. Only once I actually step by myself into the airport and hand my ticket to the friendly British Airlines attendant will it be real - only when with a sweet English lilt I am told 'sir, pleased if you'd take your seat and not throw your clothes about...' will I actually be on my own to see Europe.
I am not packed yet. Not even close, not at all actually. My passport is still coming to me in the mail (the embassy said it was in the mail last Friday), but I have tickets to everything - plane to London, hostel in London (3 days - see some major points like Buckingham Palace, Tower of London, Harrods, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, pub or two), train to Paris (4 days, see as much as I can - Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Palace of Versailles, Montmartre, Louvre), hostel in Paris, overnight train to Madrid (where I meet up with the rest of my group), train pass for afterward to meet Bethany and travel Italy... It will be an amazing trip - I'll see so much! Luckily my parents kindly got me a digital camera for my birthday to record it all, and an iPod for Christmas to keep me happy and not too homesick.
Perhaps I will pack enough to be wearing completely different clothes every night for one week (excepting shoes, belts and jackets), that way I can mix and match for a great variety of outfits (and pray that I can do enough laundry). What I must remember, though, is that I plan to be hiking my way across the Camino de Santiago (ancient pilgrimage trail across northern Spain to the Cathedral of Saint James in Galicia, where said Saint's remains are said to be buried) - so I must be prepared for that journey which may require my own sleeping bag and some supplies, not to mention comfortable traveling attire. And while they tell us Europeans dress more formally than Americans, it will be a great deal of traveling, jet-setting if you will, so one must prepare to be comfortable.
The most important part of this entire trip, to me, is making it memorable and furthermore being able to remember it! As all of you know, I have a wretched memory and a lazy bum - bad combination. I will take pictures and write notes like a madman throughout the trip, hopefully often sending letters and postcards to whosoever I have addresses to (if you're not sure just send me your address, it can never hurt to have all of them) and I would like to get as many momentos as I can. Furthermore, I would be a fool not to take advantage of my situational opportunity - I want to see European bands!!! I will be seeing Epica in Madrid in February (hopefully con mi cariño Carolina!) and I wish to see some other bands - Iona, Kamelot?, and maybe I'll just hunt for any band playing in Germany because I want an excuse to visit there.
It is not yet sinking in that I will be leaving all of this very soon - all my friends that I can vineyard hop with and sing with and cook with and hangout with, my family that I can eat with an cook for and live with, my normal duties that I know how to perform. Which reminds me, will the bathrooms be different in Europe? Hopefully new food will not make it a different place to visit. A previously relieving experience may become el demonio del baño. Only once I actually step by myself into the airport and hand my ticket to the friendly British Airlines attendant will it be real - only when with a sweet English lilt I am told 'sir, pleased if you'd take your seat and not throw your clothes about...' will I actually be on my own to see Europe.
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