I mentioned in the previous post that I wanted to share some quotes. These are they which I spoke of:
"Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, aat some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and make him the own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story or Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. it is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all" Chapter 1
"Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over an ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes.That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man. Nor can piety itself, at such a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings against the permitting stars. But this august dignity I treat of, is not the dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which has no robed investiture. Thou shall see it shining in the arm that wields a pick or drives a spike" Chapter 6
"I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where'er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track; let them; but first I pass." Chapter 37
"Swerve me? ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve yourselves! man has ye there. Swerve me? The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails, whereon my soul is grooved to run. Over unsounded gorges, through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrents' beds, unerringly I rush! Naught's an obsticale, naught's an angle to the iron way!" Chapter 37
There is a bit where the mate Stubb is urging forward his whale boat crew. This is excellent but lengthy. It's in Chapter 48. Also, Chapter 54: The Town-Ho's Story is amazing. But writing down an entire chapter would be silly.
"For I believe that much of a man's character will be found betokened in his backbone. I would rather feel your spine than your skull, whoever you are. A think joist of a spine never yet upheld a full and noble soul. I rejoice in my spine, as in the firm audacious staff of that flag which I fling half out to the world." Chapter 80
"There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea (the Pacific) whose gently awful stirrings seemt o speak of some hidden soul beneath; like those fabled undulations of the Ephesian sod over the buried Evangelist St. John. And meet it is, that over these sea-pastures, wide-rolling watery prairies and Potters' Fields of all four continents, the waves shoudl rise and fall, and ebb and flow unceasingly; for here millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming, still; tossing like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves but made so by their restlessness." Chapter 111
"Emblazonings, as of crowned Babylonian kings and queens, reigned over everything. The sea was as a crucible of molten gold, that bubblingly leaps with light and heat." Chapter 124
And when sees the sun in his wake he exclaims, "Ha, ha, my ship! thou mightest well be taken now for the sea-chariot of the sun. Ho, ho! all ye nations before my prow, I bring the sun to ye! Yoke on the further billows; hallo! a tandem, I drive the sea!" Chapter 124
"'tis a noble and heroic thing, the wind, who ever conquered it? In every fight it has the last and bitterest blow. Run tilting at it, and your but run through it. Ha! a coward wind that strikes stark naked men, but will not stand to receive a single blow." Chapter 135
Of course there are those classics like "Call me Ishmael," "Vengeance on a dumb brute, and "The sea is my Harvard and Yale" but most everyone has heard of those.
Anyhow, there are many more but those are a handful of my favourites!
Z
Monday, November 12, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
A Longing for the Sea and The Death of Captain Ahab
Finally it is finished, and while I'm sure I could have read Moby Dick in a more vivacious manner, I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Though... it did take a long long time!
I started reading Moby Dick late in the summer after finishing many other sea novels; The Old Man and The Sea, The Heart of the Sea, The Sea and the Bells (poetry), etc. I was immediately gripped by it, though found it extremely dense. This would not be a book for those with tastes similar to my mother, for she likes her literature straight forward and fiction, especially Moby Dick, is far from concise.
I was immediately surprised by the book when I read the Table of Contents; It boasted 135 chapters, an Epilogue, and other information pertaining to subjects whaling and sailing. 655 pages in all and I was eager to read every last one.
I believe that his book took me so very long to read because of it's aforementioned density. Often I would sit down and and read a meager two or three chapters before I had to put it down, so as to save my brain from an overload of visuals and to let his extraordinary narrative sink into my mind. And so it has been, taking little nibbles of this timeless classic, I've finally finished my meal!
I'm left with many fantastic quotes, some amazingly vivid scenes my imagination painted, that little sadness which always follows the end of a good book, and the strongest desire to see the Ocean again since my departure from the Adventuress. I was moping slightly as I shuffled back to my house today, but I realized it could be worse! I don't see water every day as I did in Seattle or on Whidbey, but I know it's near; I can feel it. This may sound absurd but I really do feel it's presence around me; it's close but out of sight, it's breath is on the wind, it's scent can sometimes be detected on those particularly blustery days. I know it surrounds me, I know I'm close, I only wish I was closer.
Sitting here with all of the nautical impressions of Moby Dick fresh in my mind, I find my thoughts drifting back to home, to Whidbey, where my own craft waits for me to repair it, to my will-be Home in Seattle with Devin, to my family and friend, to those gorgeous summer days cutting through the dark blue waters of Puget Sound. This piece of literature has aroused in me the desire to live with the ocean again and return to my sea-bound city. I miss my family and friends and my heart will be so filled with such joy when having those reunion embraces. But not yet... not yet, there is still much left here to do.
Before I entirely return to the present, I just want to say that I have a new dream. Well, it's not new, it's just reinvigorated. I want to learn blacksmithing. I think it would be amazing if when I build my own house I could create a gorgeous iron banister, or little things like candle holders, marlinespikes for my sailing brethren, a knife, or a spike to hold down a tent, a coat hanger, or some old fashioned door hinges. I think that iron is so beautiful when it's done well, and I hope to become perhaps not masterful, but at least... sufficient, to serve my whims.
That leads me to another dream. They have the coolest buildings here, all made of stone and brick. I would love to have these two distinct things I've observed here in Bristol incorporated in the the house I dream of building. The first is a cellar. The cellars I've seen are usually converted into bathrooms for clubs and pubs, one has also been converted into a film rental store. Pretty much all they are are brick arches forming spaces that resemble a large tube cut in half. There are usually a few of these tubes next to each other with passages cut in between them creating a very cool atmosphere. You can see in this picture of a building they're demolishing the brick cellar beneath. The second are these walls. They're not often walls for buildings, just to enclose the outside grounds. They're maybe 4 feet high with brick on top to form the sort of extended cap stone, but the wall it self is a conglomeration of different sized rocks and mortar. When done well, they look absolutely gorgeous. I think it would be a nice thing to really establish the area of your yard while creating something nice to drive through when you're coming home. Many times there is a space in the wall with an iron gate. Anyway, so cool, I'd love to build it.
Alas, I wanted to write down some of my favourite quotes from Moby Dick but that'll wait for another time, I'm going to see the film Stardust. I'm also half done with two other posts, that hopefully I'll be able to finish up later. But I'll post this one regardless of it's incompleteness. Cheers to everyone, I love you all,
Z
Though... it did take a long long time!
I started reading Moby Dick late in the summer after finishing many other sea novels; The Old Man and The Sea, The Heart of the Sea, The Sea and the Bells (poetry), etc. I was immediately gripped by it, though found it extremely dense. This would not be a book for those with tastes similar to my mother, for she likes her literature straight forward and fiction, especially Moby Dick, is far from concise.
I was immediately surprised by the book when I read the Table of Contents; It boasted 135 chapters, an Epilogue, and other information pertaining to subjects whaling and sailing. 655 pages in all and I was eager to read every last one.
I believe that his book took me so very long to read because of it's aforementioned density. Often I would sit down and and read a meager two or three chapters before I had to put it down, so as to save my brain from an overload of visuals and to let his extraordinary narrative sink into my mind. And so it has been, taking little nibbles of this timeless classic, I've finally finished my meal!
I'm left with many fantastic quotes, some amazingly vivid scenes my imagination painted, that little sadness which always follows the end of a good book, and the strongest desire to see the Ocean again since my departure from the Adventuress. I was moping slightly as I shuffled back to my house today, but I realized it could be worse! I don't see water every day as I did in Seattle or on Whidbey, but I know it's near; I can feel it. This may sound absurd but I really do feel it's presence around me; it's close but out of sight, it's breath is on the wind, it's scent can sometimes be detected on those particularly blustery days. I know it surrounds me, I know I'm close, I only wish I was closer.
Sitting here with all of the nautical impressions of Moby Dick fresh in my mind, I find my thoughts drifting back to home, to Whidbey, where my own craft waits for me to repair it, to my will-be Home in Seattle with Devin, to my family and friend, to those gorgeous summer days cutting through the dark blue waters of Puget Sound. This piece of literature has aroused in me the desire to live with the ocean again and return to my sea-bound city. I miss my family and friends and my heart will be so filled with such joy when having those reunion embraces. But not yet... not yet, there is still much left here to do.
Before I entirely return to the present, I just want to say that I have a new dream. Well, it's not new, it's just reinvigorated. I want to learn blacksmithing. I think it would be amazing if when I build my own house I could create a gorgeous iron banister, or little things like candle holders, marlinespikes for my sailing brethren, a knife, or a spike to hold down a tent, a coat hanger, or some old fashioned door hinges. I think that iron is so beautiful when it's done well, and I hope to become perhaps not masterful, but at least... sufficient, to serve my whims.
That leads me to another dream. They have the coolest buildings here, all made of stone and brick. I would love to have these two distinct things I've observed here in Bristol incorporated in the the house I dream of building. The first is a cellar. The cellars I've seen are usually converted into bathrooms for clubs and pubs, one has also been converted into a film rental store. Pretty much all they are are brick arches forming spaces that resemble a large tube cut in half. There are usually a few of these tubes next to each other with passages cut in between them creating a very cool atmosphere. You can see in this picture of a building they're demolishing the brick cellar beneath. The second are these walls. They're not often walls for buildings, just to enclose the outside grounds. They're maybe 4 feet high with brick on top to form the sort of extended cap stone, but the wall it self is a conglomeration of different sized rocks and mortar. When done well, they look absolutely gorgeous. I think it would be a nice thing to really establish the area of your yard while creating something nice to drive through when you're coming home. Many times there is a space in the wall with an iron gate. Anyway, so cool, I'd love to build it.Alas, I wanted to write down some of my favourite quotes from Moby Dick but that'll wait for another time, I'm going to see the film Stardust. I'm also half done with two other posts, that hopefully I'll be able to finish up later. But I'll post this one regardless of it's incompleteness. Cheers to everyone, I love you all,
Z
Sunday, November 4, 2007
When In Bath, Do As The Bathers Do!
That was a quote from my lovely Irish friend Nicola (Nicki for short). Nicki and I had a wonderful time yesterday exploring the historic city of Bath. The following is my account of our journey!
It seems to be becoming a common trend, me waking up at a ridiculous hour in the morning, bleary eyed and exhausted from the night prior. This particular early morning ushered the beginning to my Bath adventure.
It all started days previous when I was talking with some of my house mates about where in England I would like to visit. It was when I mentioned an interest in Bath that Nicki gave me a startling, though not unwelcome, proposition.
Nicki is part of a group here called RAG which stands for Raising and Giving. Every week, members of RAG are presented with an opportunity to collect money for charities i.e. standing on the street heckling passer bys for their pocket change. While I'm not terrible keen on heckling, or street corners for that matter, this particular charitable opportunity was to help the Poppy Appeal, a campaign to raise money for veterans which is put on by The Royal British Legion. While I believe this campaign was originally for veterans of the Second World War, it continues to support anyone who has served or is serving in the British Armed Forces.
Anyhow, RAG was offering to take us to Bath where we would, for a mere couple of hours, work our charm on the Bath tourists and shoppers. After sufficiently schmoozing the public we would have free reign for the remainder of the day to explore Baths hidden wonders! This seemed like an opportunity to good to be true and I found myself practically begging Nicki to take me. She sent out an email to the RAG coordinator that night and was fairly certain I'd get to come along! O wicked fate! How you play with the emotions of men.
Alas, RAG emailed back with the disheartening news that the excursion to Bath was cancelled!
A cold wind blew through the window as I read that email, and outside the sun was enveloped by the clouds. Deep within my inner workings I felt my hopes being beaten down by Destiny's cruel messenger. A sad day this had become.
But wait! Just then, two things struck me almost simultaneously: First, a ray of sunshine burst forth and fell so warmly on my back that it calmed my strife's, while at the same time Nicki's voice fell so gently on my ears, "Why don't we go anyway?" It was so simple and so beautiful! Hope had returned and this time brought Resolve. Our trip to Bath was practically set in stone.
Never you mind the ensuing details. We ordered the tickets right then and there; Saturday morning at 8:30 was our departing train. The only thing left to do was wait!
Waiting was no small task as our excitement grew by the hour. Finally Saturday morning was upon us and though exhausted from the night before, this previous Saturday had been notoriously worse than, in comparison, this lovely morning.
One small setback before we could start our day. My clothes, all of my clothes, I had put in the dryer the night before, were not dry when I went to collect them. Mmm, so I put them back into the dry and prayed that they'd be suitable before I left 45 minutes from then. In the mean time, I shot off some emails, showered, prepared my bag, and in due time, returned to check on my clothes. This time they were dry and Nicki and I scooted out the door one time, albeit I was practically still dressing as I hopped out the door.
The trip to Bath was startlingly short, we didn't even bother to sit on the train. I secretly took this as a pity as I love train rides. There was little time to dwell on that small misfortune for in what seemed like seconds we were off the train and wandering the streets of Bath!
While our house mates deemed us "idiots" for leaving so early, I was pleasantly surprised with early morning Bath. My trip to Cardiff had been somewhat similar in that, if you get there before the rush of tourists and shoppers, you're more able to appreciate the city. I should clarify that, you're more able to appreciate the architecture and design of the city, but I personally think that the people are the most important aspect to a city and I got to admire them later as well.
Well, we did get there a little early. The tourist information centre wasn't even open yet. So began a blind excursion which, for me, is nothing unusual but for Nicki it seemed a bit novel. Soon enough we had our mental maps oriented around Bath Abbey and the Roman Baths. Eventually we knew the main streets and directions of the museums, so we decided to take a break. We searched around some of the open shops, found some nice post cards, then trekked to the nearest coffee shop to write.
There, sipping on our warm drinks, we chatted about family, friends, and life with a little post card writing on the side! It was at this time that the streets of Bath began to fill...
Emerging back onto the street we pondered about what to do. Some local buskers were performing, painters were painting, shoppers were scampering from shop to shop. "Well, we are tourists" thought we, "might as well do the touristy things first!" So we strolled through the cobblestone streets of Bath until our shoes rested on the doorstep of Bath Abbey. It was quite a doorstep.
The entire building is massive and, following with traditional Gothic design, is decorated with ornate pieces of stone art and stained class. Not to mention the entire building was a giant cross. Inside was even more spectacular than it's shell; unknown amounts of art, stonework, carvings, flags, metal sculptures, and even quilts lined the walls. This was highly impressive, as was the grandeur of the soaring vaulted ceiling.
I'd say that the one thing that put me off was the music. They had a magnificent organ but it was playing the most drab music. I don't mind calm music, but this was literally something you'd hear at a funeral. It didn't instil the mood of holiness or that which was awe inspiring, no it pulled over your head a black shroud and weighted your shoulders with unnecessary depression.
Doing our best to ignore this minor irritation, Nicki and I silently explored the grounds. I immediately found my new favourite place in churches, the votive candles. I stood there for a moment saying a small prayer in my head and lit the candle. There is something deeply satisfying to me about lighting a votive candle, though I have to admit that this instance was not as internally moving to me as it was when I found myself in the Bristol Cathedral; I think I needed it more then.
Nicki stole away for a time. I quite literally lost her for a time but as I swept my gaze across the Abbey I saw her in the distance, tucked away in a corner pew, head bowed in prayer. I let her be and figured she'd find me when she was finished.
We left the Abbey and figured we'd continue on with our touristy journey. We walked about 20 feet and found ourselves in the queue for the Roman Baths. Considering our options we pressed on from the Baths and decided to continue our exploring. So it was that we found the Jane Austin Museum.
It was a pretty good walk from the Baths, maybe 20 minutes, or perhaps it was because of our leisurely pace, but no matter, it was well worth the walk.
To say it was well worth the walk may have you immediately assume that I'm referring to the museum itself. Let me silence that assumption immediately: Nicki and I never set foot inside. We were, however, greeted by quite an interesting man. He was dressed in a proper outfit; waistcoat, white stockings, top hat, cane, and bad teeth. We enquired how much it would be to see the museum to which he replied 5 pounds or there abouts, I do not honestly remember. But it was his gossip afterwards that made our visit particularly worth it. He begin to talk with us in the most amusing and stereotypical English accent about "Miss Austin," hinting that he knew information that the public may not normally hear. We stood there no doubt looking a bit confused as to his insinuations. He then raised his eyebrows, glanced from side to side, and leaned in slowly to whisper "Information pertaining to Miss Austin's gentleman friends."
I no doubt spouted the most outrageous grin and was immediately hooked! Thank God Nicki was there to pull me away for I would have, I fear, spent more money just to keep that man talking! There were, as Nicki reminded me, other things to see that were much more beautiful and completely free of charge. Ere we made our way to the Royal Crescent.
A more lovely stroll I've never had. I suppose I'll begin to describe it by starting with the sun. I mentioned that it was a sunny day but it almost felt like the sun was shining just for us that day. It was not too hot nor to cold and we felt it's gentle touch gently grazing our cheeks as we walked along the Crescent. The Royal Crescent was something I'd not heard of before, but Nicki was very excited to see them and I was, by induction, so filled with the same excitement.
The Crescent is, in form, exactly how it sounds but that doesn't really explain what it is. Whether it was just a historically preserved site or whether it was the display for some families wealth, I'm not sure. Let me attempt to explain what the Crescent is. Here in Bristol, as well as the greater lands of Britain, there is a style of homes. These homes are particularly abundant in the city limits where space is scarce. They are often three stories high but perhaps only one room thick, i.e. tall skinny buildings. Standing alone, these buildings might look quite odd. In fact, these homes are rarely seen singularly but rather put side by side with no space in between, as if a bunch of tall skinny people were jammed together in a queue. Well, imagine that there was a line of these tall skinny people minding their own business when something came and hit the queue perpendicularly so it formed a gigantic bulge or crescent shape. Perhaps now you have an idea of the Crescent, it is a bunch of individual buildings stuck so closely together that they seem to be one building (in fact they may be) and they form the most delightful crescent shape that looks onto a green field at it's centre. This field is where Nicki and I sat in leisure chatting and watching the passer bys.
Being the blossoming sociologist that I am, I wanted to get away from the touristy places so I took Nicki off the beaten path. It was a short excursion but we saw the Bath beyond the money. We passed a quaint pub and some Bathers chatting with phenomenal accents. It's amazing how much the City can change once you wander just one or two blocks away from the attractions. That difference within a City is endlessly fascinating to me.
Well, we'd properly avoided doing the biggest attraction of them all, the Baths, but how can you possibly go to Bath without seeing the Baths? And so we went, practically skipping from the pure excitement of the new world around us, to the Roman Baths. It was quite an experience, two hours of experience and information to be precise!
We got into the queue but didn't wait very long, and lucky us being the University students that we are, we got a discount! Upon payment we were let to a counter around the way and handed a slim charcoal coloured thing resembling a telephone. It had a number pad and speaker for your ear. We soon discovered the ingenuity of this device! With it we could travel through the Baths at our leisure for all along the path there were signs with numbers on them. All we had to do when we saw these signs was type in the number then listen to the wealth of information gently spoken into my ear by a female voice with the most proper English accent. Life is good.
What we found was that the Baths are astounding! Okay sure, everyone says they're amazing and therefore I probably had an expectation of them being great, but honestly they were incredible! There were rooms that the Romans had that would create steam to heat the floors; heat them so hot mind you, that apparently if you were to walk on them barefoot you would burn the bottoms of your feet. Underfloor heating 2000 years ago!? Absolutely amazing!
There is plenty more to say about the Baths themselves but instead of reinforcing your own preconceived notions of the Baths, I say to you, "Go and visit the Baths yourself." Life is short and you only get one of them!
It was at the Baths that I purchased, amidst Nicki's ridicule, some authentic Roman Bath water. Seeing as both our cameras had died on this trip, I wanted a memento. It was with this seemly innocuous event that gave rise to the banter. This teasing would continue, dished and taken by both sides, for the rest of the day and was immensely fun.
The rest of the story is good but, perhaps having written so much already, I'll begin to be more concise.
After the Baths we were ravenous so we found a nice little Deli on a back street. When I say little, I mean we had to share a table with two middle aged ladies because there were literally four tables. In retrospect, I would have liked to talk to those ladies for the guy behind the counter said they were regulars. I'm sure they could have given us some great inside information on Bath. Oh well! After finishing Nicki and I next went to an Art Gallery... for free!
We spent a good amount of time inside though it was a smaller art gallery with local artists. Some of those pictures and paintings I wish I could have taken with me. Some were bizzare, some were extremely bright, some were so striking you had to tear yourself away. I particularly like ones with people. There was a grizzled old man's face riddled with creases and lines. It was almost as if you could read the story of his life through the lines on his face; the crows feet from smiling so much, the corners of his mouth slightly drooping downward from a life of hardship, his brow wrinkles from delight and despare...
We didn't stay terribly long there because the darkness was coming on. We did have time to stroll around the river that cut around Bath's centre. There was a famous bridge that we crossed; famous to others but I'd never heard of it before. It was on that bridge that Nicki got the urge for a cookie and so we went in search of a, according to her, famous cookie. We trekked back all the way across Bath and I found myself in a department store. This was indeed the place of the famous cookie but the cookies, that fateful day, were all gone. So we went to Starbucks instead. heh. Good ol' Starbucks.
We got our coffee to go and hopped on the train back to Bristol. Lucky for us, a friend of ours has a car, and Nicki, being the savy gal she is, contacted Dominic to come pick us up. I'm so grateful she did because we were dead tired by the time we got into Temple Meads station. I would say that concluded our night but I would be horribly wrong.
It wasn't ten minutes after I'd arrived back home that I was throwing on my jumper and heading out for a 20 minute trek up to "The Downs." The downs is a large field north of the university were people go to run, play football, rugby, hold events, etc. Well, that Saturday was Guy Fawkes weekend and there was going to be a big bonfire and fireworks display. So we went!
It was five quid to get into the event! That is outrageous in retrospect but it was Guy Fawkes weekend and I was in England, I couldn't very well refuse. The crowd was absolutely massive and the bonfire was epic. We were all huddled together a considerable distance from the fire when my friend Natalie grabbed my arm and said, "Zach, you know if you get lost you don't have a phone and there'll be no way to find you again." I said I'd stay close and not to worry. About five minutes later I was separated from the group! Haha. Well, no big deal, but I never did find them again. After I watched an absolutely pitiful fireworks display I started making my way back home. I bumped into some familiar faces and eventually we all gathered again back at Queens Road. That is when my Saturday ended and with it brought the conclusions of my Bath and Guy Fawkes adventures.
It seems to be becoming a common trend, me waking up at a ridiculous hour in the morning, bleary eyed and exhausted from the night prior. This particular early morning ushered the beginning to my Bath adventure.
It all started days previous when I was talking with some of my house mates about where in England I would like to visit. It was when I mentioned an interest in Bath that Nicki gave me a startling, though not unwelcome, proposition.
Nicki is part of a group here called RAG which stands for Raising and Giving. Every week, members of RAG are presented with an opportunity to collect money for charities i.e. standing on the street heckling passer bys for their pocket change. While I'm not terrible keen on heckling, or street corners for that matter, this particular charitable opportunity was to help the Poppy Appeal, a campaign to raise money for veterans which is put on by The Royal British Legion. While I believe this campaign was originally for veterans of the Second World War, it continues to support anyone who has served or is serving in the British Armed Forces.
Anyhow, RAG was offering to take us to Bath where we would, for a mere couple of hours, work our charm on the Bath tourists and shoppers. After sufficiently schmoozing the public we would have free reign for the remainder of the day to explore Baths hidden wonders! This seemed like an opportunity to good to be true and I found myself practically begging Nicki to take me. She sent out an email to the RAG coordinator that night and was fairly certain I'd get to come along! O wicked fate! How you play with the emotions of men.
Alas, RAG emailed back with the disheartening news that the excursion to Bath was cancelled!
A cold wind blew through the window as I read that email, and outside the sun was enveloped by the clouds. Deep within my inner workings I felt my hopes being beaten down by Destiny's cruel messenger. A sad day this had become.
But wait! Just then, two things struck me almost simultaneously: First, a ray of sunshine burst forth and fell so warmly on my back that it calmed my strife's, while at the same time Nicki's voice fell so gently on my ears, "Why don't we go anyway?" It was so simple and so beautiful! Hope had returned and this time brought Resolve. Our trip to Bath was practically set in stone.
Never you mind the ensuing details. We ordered the tickets right then and there; Saturday morning at 8:30 was our departing train. The only thing left to do was wait!
Waiting was no small task as our excitement grew by the hour. Finally Saturday morning was upon us and though exhausted from the night before, this previous Saturday had been notoriously worse than, in comparison, this lovely morning.
One small setback before we could start our day. My clothes, all of my clothes, I had put in the dryer the night before, were not dry when I went to collect them. Mmm, so I put them back into the dry and prayed that they'd be suitable before I left 45 minutes from then. In the mean time, I shot off some emails, showered, prepared my bag, and in due time, returned to check on my clothes. This time they were dry and Nicki and I scooted out the door one time, albeit I was practically still dressing as I hopped out the door.
The trip to Bath was startlingly short, we didn't even bother to sit on the train. I secretly took this as a pity as I love train rides. There was little time to dwell on that small misfortune for in what seemed like seconds we were off the train and wandering the streets of Bath!
While our house mates deemed us "idiots" for leaving so early, I was pleasantly surprised with early morning Bath. My trip to Cardiff had been somewhat similar in that, if you get there before the rush of tourists and shoppers, you're more able to appreciate the city. I should clarify that, you're more able to appreciate the architecture and design of the city, but I personally think that the people are the most important aspect to a city and I got to admire them later as well.
Well, we did get there a little early. The tourist information centre wasn't even open yet. So began a blind excursion which, for me, is nothing unusual but for Nicki it seemed a bit novel. Soon enough we had our mental maps oriented around Bath Abbey and the Roman Baths. Eventually we knew the main streets and directions of the museums, so we decided to take a break. We searched around some of the open shops, found some nice post cards, then trekked to the nearest coffee shop to write.
There, sipping on our warm drinks, we chatted about family, friends, and life with a little post card writing on the side! It was at this time that the streets of Bath began to fill...
Emerging back onto the street we pondered about what to do. Some local buskers were performing, painters were painting, shoppers were scampering from shop to shop. "Well, we are tourists" thought we, "might as well do the touristy things first!" So we strolled through the cobblestone streets of Bath until our shoes rested on the doorstep of Bath Abbey. It was quite a doorstep.
The entire building is massive and, following with traditional Gothic design, is decorated with ornate pieces of stone art and stained class. Not to mention the entire building was a giant cross. Inside was even more spectacular than it's shell; unknown amounts of art, stonework, carvings, flags, metal sculptures, and even quilts lined the walls. This was highly impressive, as was the grandeur of the soaring vaulted ceiling.
I'd say that the one thing that put me off was the music. They had a magnificent organ but it was playing the most drab music. I don't mind calm music, but this was literally something you'd hear at a funeral. It didn't instil the mood of holiness or that which was awe inspiring, no it pulled over your head a black shroud and weighted your shoulders with unnecessary depression.
Doing our best to ignore this minor irritation, Nicki and I silently explored the grounds. I immediately found my new favourite place in churches, the votive candles. I stood there for a moment saying a small prayer in my head and lit the candle. There is something deeply satisfying to me about lighting a votive candle, though I have to admit that this instance was not as internally moving to me as it was when I found myself in the Bristol Cathedral; I think I needed it more then.
Nicki stole away for a time. I quite literally lost her for a time but as I swept my gaze across the Abbey I saw her in the distance, tucked away in a corner pew, head bowed in prayer. I let her be and figured she'd find me when she was finished.
We left the Abbey and figured we'd continue on with our touristy journey. We walked about 20 feet and found ourselves in the queue for the Roman Baths. Considering our options we pressed on from the Baths and decided to continue our exploring. So it was that we found the Jane Austin Museum.
It was a pretty good walk from the Baths, maybe 20 minutes, or perhaps it was because of our leisurely pace, but no matter, it was well worth the walk.
To say it was well worth the walk may have you immediately assume that I'm referring to the museum itself. Let me silence that assumption immediately: Nicki and I never set foot inside. We were, however, greeted by quite an interesting man. He was dressed in a proper outfit; waistcoat, white stockings, top hat, cane, and bad teeth. We enquired how much it would be to see the museum to which he replied 5 pounds or there abouts, I do not honestly remember. But it was his gossip afterwards that made our visit particularly worth it. He begin to talk with us in the most amusing and stereotypical English accent about "Miss Austin," hinting that he knew information that the public may not normally hear. We stood there no doubt looking a bit confused as to his insinuations. He then raised his eyebrows, glanced from side to side, and leaned in slowly to whisper "Information pertaining to Miss Austin's gentleman friends."
I no doubt spouted the most outrageous grin and was immediately hooked! Thank God Nicki was there to pull me away for I would have, I fear, spent more money just to keep that man talking! There were, as Nicki reminded me, other things to see that were much more beautiful and completely free of charge. Ere we made our way to the Royal Crescent.
A more lovely stroll I've never had. I suppose I'll begin to describe it by starting with the sun. I mentioned that it was a sunny day but it almost felt like the sun was shining just for us that day. It was not too hot nor to cold and we felt it's gentle touch gently grazing our cheeks as we walked along the Crescent. The Royal Crescent was something I'd not heard of before, but Nicki was very excited to see them and I was, by induction, so filled with the same excitement.
The Crescent is, in form, exactly how it sounds but that doesn't really explain what it is. Whether it was just a historically preserved site or whether it was the display for some families wealth, I'm not sure. Let me attempt to explain what the Crescent is. Here in Bristol, as well as the greater lands of Britain, there is a style of homes. These homes are particularly abundant in the city limits where space is scarce. They are often three stories high but perhaps only one room thick, i.e. tall skinny buildings. Standing alone, these buildings might look quite odd. In fact, these homes are rarely seen singularly but rather put side by side with no space in between, as if a bunch of tall skinny people were jammed together in a queue. Well, imagine that there was a line of these tall skinny people minding their own business when something came and hit the queue perpendicularly so it formed a gigantic bulge or crescent shape. Perhaps now you have an idea of the Crescent, it is a bunch of individual buildings stuck so closely together that they seem to be one building (in fact they may be) and they form the most delightful crescent shape that looks onto a green field at it's centre. This field is where Nicki and I sat in leisure chatting and watching the passer bys.
Being the blossoming sociologist that I am, I wanted to get away from the touristy places so I took Nicki off the beaten path. It was a short excursion but we saw the Bath beyond the money. We passed a quaint pub and some Bathers chatting with phenomenal accents. It's amazing how much the City can change once you wander just one or two blocks away from the attractions. That difference within a City is endlessly fascinating to me.
Well, we'd properly avoided doing the biggest attraction of them all, the Baths, but how can you possibly go to Bath without seeing the Baths? And so we went, practically skipping from the pure excitement of the new world around us, to the Roman Baths. It was quite an experience, two hours of experience and information to be precise!
We got into the queue but didn't wait very long, and lucky us being the University students that we are, we got a discount! Upon payment we were let to a counter around the way and handed a slim charcoal coloured thing resembling a telephone. It had a number pad and speaker for your ear. We soon discovered the ingenuity of this device! With it we could travel through the Baths at our leisure for all along the path there were signs with numbers on them. All we had to do when we saw these signs was type in the number then listen to the wealth of information gently spoken into my ear by a female voice with the most proper English accent. Life is good.
What we found was that the Baths are astounding! Okay sure, everyone says they're amazing and therefore I probably had an expectation of them being great, but honestly they were incredible! There were rooms that the Romans had that would create steam to heat the floors; heat them so hot mind you, that apparently if you were to walk on them barefoot you would burn the bottoms of your feet. Underfloor heating 2000 years ago!? Absolutely amazing!
There is plenty more to say about the Baths themselves but instead of reinforcing your own preconceived notions of the Baths, I say to you, "Go and visit the Baths yourself." Life is short and you only get one of them!
It was at the Baths that I purchased, amidst Nicki's ridicule, some authentic Roman Bath water. Seeing as both our cameras had died on this trip, I wanted a memento. It was with this seemly innocuous event that gave rise to the banter. This teasing would continue, dished and taken by both sides, for the rest of the day and was immensely fun.
The rest of the story is good but, perhaps having written so much already, I'll begin to be more concise.
After the Baths we were ravenous so we found a nice little Deli on a back street. When I say little, I mean we had to share a table with two middle aged ladies because there were literally four tables. In retrospect, I would have liked to talk to those ladies for the guy behind the counter said they were regulars. I'm sure they could have given us some great inside information on Bath. Oh well! After finishing Nicki and I next went to an Art Gallery... for free!
We spent a good amount of time inside though it was a smaller art gallery with local artists. Some of those pictures and paintings I wish I could have taken with me. Some were bizzare, some were extremely bright, some were so striking you had to tear yourself away. I particularly like ones with people. There was a grizzled old man's face riddled with creases and lines. It was almost as if you could read the story of his life through the lines on his face; the crows feet from smiling so much, the corners of his mouth slightly drooping downward from a life of hardship, his brow wrinkles from delight and despare...
We didn't stay terribly long there because the darkness was coming on. We did have time to stroll around the river that cut around Bath's centre. There was a famous bridge that we crossed; famous to others but I'd never heard of it before. It was on that bridge that Nicki got the urge for a cookie and so we went in search of a, according to her, famous cookie. We trekked back all the way across Bath and I found myself in a department store. This was indeed the place of the famous cookie but the cookies, that fateful day, were all gone. So we went to Starbucks instead. heh. Good ol' Starbucks.
We got our coffee to go and hopped on the train back to Bristol. Lucky for us, a friend of ours has a car, and Nicki, being the savy gal she is, contacted Dominic to come pick us up. I'm so grateful she did because we were dead tired by the time we got into Temple Meads station. I would say that concluded our night but I would be horribly wrong.
It wasn't ten minutes after I'd arrived back home that I was throwing on my jumper and heading out for a 20 minute trek up to "The Downs." The downs is a large field north of the university were people go to run, play football, rugby, hold events, etc. Well, that Saturday was Guy Fawkes weekend and there was going to be a big bonfire and fireworks display. So we went!
It was five quid to get into the event! That is outrageous in retrospect but it was Guy Fawkes weekend and I was in England, I couldn't very well refuse. The crowd was absolutely massive and the bonfire was epic. We were all huddled together a considerable distance from the fire when my friend Natalie grabbed my arm and said, "Zach, you know if you get lost you don't have a phone and there'll be no way to find you again." I said I'd stay close and not to worry. About five minutes later I was separated from the group! Haha. Well, no big deal, but I never did find them again. After I watched an absolutely pitiful fireworks display I started making my way back home. I bumped into some familiar faces and eventually we all gathered again back at Queens Road. That is when my Saturday ended and with it brought the conclusions of my Bath and Guy Fawkes adventures.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Ask For What You Want...
I wanted to go somewhere so I did. Cardiff in Wales was my destination of choice this time.
The day started off with a bizarre dream. I would like summarize this yarn quickly, I am, however, in a story telling mood. This particular dream began with the fact that my house here in Bristol, 115 Queens Road, and all it's inhabitants, were all suddenly living at 709 Perkins St. on Whidbey Island in Washington. We had stayed up all night having a chill party when I got the idea to watch the sunrise.
We stomped down to Cpt. Coupe's Park, laughing and chatting as we went, and upon our arrival, sat on the beach overlooking Penn Cove. There we chatted and waited for the sun to emerge from beneath it's heavy earthen duvet. Suddenly, I exclaimed that it was going to rain and so, as if upon my will, it began to sprinkle. Everyone was in awe of my ability to predict the weather; I was not as sure. Then I felt something culminating inside me; defining what that something is would surely be impossible. This culminating feeling inside me reached an apex and out poured the prophecy that it was going to thunder... and so it thundered. Whether or not I was conjuring these phenomena is still unclear to me but it was during the aforementioned ponderings that there came the most absurd occurrence.
Soaring through the pre-dawn ashen sky there came a boat; an Issaquah 130 class ferry boat to be precise. But fear not! for though, to you the reader and I the narrator, this may seem a rather appalling and perhaps even horrific event, in this whimsical dream world it was just another proverbial walk in the park.
My dream-self understood this and watched undaunted, though having to calm the others who were gasping in awe upon witnessing, for the first time, a flying ferry boat. I explained to them that there was indeed a giant crane in Seattle that would hoist the ferrys from the water and then fling them to their desired destination, always mind you, landing safely keel first.
We watched as the crew of this Issaquah 130 class ferry unbuckled from their safety harnesses, for though sailing through the Puget Sound skies is a generally innocuous occurrence, it is better to err on the side of safety.
Well my dear reader, I wish there was more to this particular dream but alas my 7 o'clock alarm sounded and I had to steal my conciousness away from that fascinating adventure. But it was the toll of my alarm which hastened the beginning of another adventure!
Bristol is a city of the night. Rarely have I set my head upon my pillow before the clock strikes midnight and, as people like to get as much sleep as possible, we can surely assert that late nights inevitably lead to later mornings. So you can imagine how bizarre it might be to come upon the streets that you are accustomed to be teeming with people, now silent and empty. There are a manner of people that are up this early: pre-work runners and the hungover, partially naked, post-partier. I did pass many such people in my shuffling to the bus stop, maybe not all half-naked but in their pyjamas at least.
Anna is a friend of mine from Boston. She organized our wonderful trip to Cardiff in Wales. It was she that I met at the bus stop at 8:00 Saturday morning.
It was my first time on a bus in England, nothing fancy but something worth noting. I still need to go on one of the red london double-deckers. We arrived at the train station and I have to say that I love train stations. I love trains. They're so relaxing. We got on train at platform 9 and 45 minutes later we arrived in Cardiff. My first impressions were mediocre at best. It may have been the overcast skies, the drizzle of rain, or the fact that Cardiff doesn't look much different than anywhere else in the western world; concrete buildings, paved streets, all the commodities of home. There are some fundamental differences in Cardiff.
Cymraeg (Welsh)
You know you're in Wales because almost every piece of print is written in English and in Welsh; Cross walks, street signs, store windows, etc! Not only that, welsh is frequently spoken by the locals. I sat outside at a coffee shop called Harleys indulging in one of my favourite past times, people-watching, but also marvelling as strangers strolled by casually exchanging words quite unknown to me. "Really Zach, Welsh people speaking welsh, what a novelty" you might sarcastically say! but to be truthful, the thought of this other language had not even occurred to me until I was immersed in it. I have to say, it was electrifying. I always get excited by the littlest things!
As we moseyed the streets marvelling at the little things we came upon a not so little wall. Following it's supremely laid masonry as it tapered off in the distance, our eyes settled on a large gate, and through it we perceived upon a mound, a castle Keep. Hurriedly we scampered across the street to investigate and came to a screeching halt at the end of a queue. The price was steep to get a tour of Cardiff Castle, so we resolved to come back after we explored a little more.
There was a novelty shop directly across the street and loving all manner of trinkets I stole inside to examine the goods. It was there I bought some post cards and a welsh flag. I was going to get a shotglass, but alas! they were far too expensive.
We found a directory and were excited to see the Museum of Wales was literally around the corner! So we walked briskly in that general direction marvelling at the Castle walls as we passed. On our way to the museum we stopped at a park, whose main attraction was a rather dashing bearded man frozen forever in a pose of nobility. John III Marquess of Bute, also the Earl of Windsor, was staring thoughtfully into the distance as Anna and I stared mystified by his large cast-iron presence. It was also in this park that I found a book. It sat lonely, on a lonely bench, in a lonely park, being tormented by the rain. Well you can't just leave it there, it looked so helpless! I had to take it home with me. That is how I am the new owner of The Shadow of the Wind. I've not been terribly impressed by the beginning but a house-mate of mine tells me that the start is slow but the rest is well worth it... we'll see.
We continued forth to the museum, but in doing so we passed yet another grand place: the Town Hall. Compared to the little white building in Coupeville, this building is Epic. We didn't, however, go inside; we couldn't be bothered. We were on a mission, a mission to visit the National Museum Cardiff and bask in the glory of it's literal freeness.
"Yes" the voice inside my head stated, "This was a good choice." Walking into the museum itself was enough to knock you off your feet. A massive dome rose up as if it wanted to float away, and everywhere massive columns supported the enormous building. There were two parts to the Museum, first a natural history section and second an art section. We made a B-Line for the natural history portion and let me tell you that it was a good place to start.
Inside I got to touch some of the oldest rocks on Earth, from the British Isles, and finally from Wales itself. Now, for most touching rocks might not be the biggest thrill but come on! Oldest rocks in the world... a literal blast from the past. I happened to love my Geology class and the entire field itself, so this was rather like my version of the proverbial kid-in-the-candy-store experience. I also got to touch an iron meteorite that was about the size of a basketball. It's hard to describe what it looked like, but my first response was a giddy smile followed quickly by the thought "funky."
We made our way through the rest of the natural history part quite quickly, I was actually more interested in the history of Wales from a human aspect, but this exhibit pretty much ended with prehistoric man in Britain. Hmm...
Anna and I took a moment to sit and rehydrate and then we were on to the Art section. Anna is not a huge fan of Art in general. She said she had been to the Louvre in Paris and spent a grand total of 15 minutes in it; secretly I was sobbing on the inside. Regardless, I dragged her along.
I really enjoyed some of the busts we had to pass to enter the exhibit, not anyone of major note, they were mostly just busts of British people. One guy had the most amazing mutton chops. Seriously, cast forever in marble with those things framing your face is pretty incredible. I didn't get to take much time inside the art Museum as our day was limited, but I did take some time to admire Mr. Monet's paintings. Yeah. The Nation Museum Cardiff has original Monet paintings. I was awed. You always see copies of them around, or cards, posters on uni students' walls, etc. But I was in Wales, in Britain, looking at original Monet paintings. God I love my life. Thanks everyone who helped me get here.
After that high, Cardiff would present us with some lows before it would reveal more of it's treasures...
Anna and I arrived in Cardiff early that Saturday morning, little did we know that we were not the only ones with this grand Cardiffian adventure in mind. We marched back the way we came and found, to our dismay, that the train station was "conveniently" close to the Cardiff shopping centre. At 9 in the morning the streets are pleasantly manageable but at 1:00 on Saturday, a hoard of consumers descends into Cardiff. Anna and I, going from the serenity of a quite museum were immediately overwhelmed and made for the quickest route to some calmer place; to regain our composure and confidence. Sooner or later we'd have to go back in, the map says there's a cathedral on the other side of the mob, the directly other side.
The second time through wasn't as bad and Anna even bought a scarf. It was a nice scarf. Also, having recomposed ourselves, we were now able to move through with relative ease, but it took all our senses, strength, and experience, to manage our way through that unforgiving beehive.
We reached the chapel but to our dismay it was not open, nor was there a graveyard. Anna has a thing for gravestones and I can definitely relate. There is a graveyard literally a block away from my abode that is now a park. Some of the stones have been lost to time, some have fallen over, and some are just fine. Walking around, admiring the stones, thinking about the people, it's calming and I hope not at all morbid. People were here before me, this is their mark on the world. Some were even younger than me, buried with their mothers, fathers, or siblings. Why is a graveyard so calming?
By this time Anna and I were feeling quite hungry. So, this time taking side streets, we finagled our way back towards the train station; earlier during our wanderings we spotted a wonderful pub called The Prince of Wales and that was our destination of choice.
It was well worth it and the pub was HUGE. I guess it served as a pub and a club at night. Two stories, massive open areas in the middle, TV's everywhere with a football game showing, wood floors, sports pictures on the walls, it was quite a place. I dare say it took up about a city block. Lunch was simple but good, Anna had a cider with her meal... because we can and no other reason.
It was in the Prince of Wales that we came across a small dilemma. What do we do from here? We could make an epic walk down to the waterfront. It was a risk because there were no indications of attractions other than places to "eat, drink, and shop." But it's a waterfront, surely there may have been an old wooden boat? A Lighthouse perhaps? It was a gamble because it was about 4 times as far to get there as it was to go back to Cardiff Castle.
We went to Cardiff Castle. It was a good choice.
All of the tours of the inside were full until almost 5, we didn't know if we were going to be around at that time, I had a birthday celebration to get back to at Queens Road. So we decided to pay a lesser fee and amble around the castle grounds for a while. What they were hesitant to tell us, but that we fantastically discovered anyway, was that we could go into the Castle Keep and the Museum as well with just the purchase the grounds ticket! Yay for frugality.
The Museum was great, it was more about the human history of Wales. Well, no, it was more about the military history of Wales. How there men were present in pretty much every British conflict, their bravery, their outfit changes, the different weapons they carried. There was a sword commissioned by some Welsh general for his regiment, it was similar to a short sword and one was given to each man. So cool, in a violent sort of way...
The castle keep was also very impressive. Surrounded by that token moat with a bridge. I can't really describe the pleasure I got out of it. Being there was just an overall good feeling.
After the climb to the top to gaze out over Cardiff, Anna and I agreed that it was time to go. All this adventure had worn us down. We made out way back to the trainstation and, having an open ended ticket, we hopped on the first train back to Bristol. I wasn't on the train fore 5 minutes before my head slumped to my chest and I was asleep. There is something be said for vibration. Be it cars, trains, a warm dryer, it always makes me sleepy. Next thing I knew we were in Bristol and about a half hour after that I was in my room safe and sound.
Besides this entry, my only physical reminders of Wales are my flag and my post cards. But memories are all I need, it was a grand experience. The only thing I'd do differently next time is go to a less touristy place. Everyone wants a genuine experience so they go to the token places, but I have an Ace up my sleeve: I have friends who live here and can tell me where I should go to avoid said mobs. Next time I go to Wales, I believe my Welsh informant Idriz spoke of the sea coast and the small town on which it lies...
The day started off with a bizarre dream. I would like summarize this yarn quickly, I am, however, in a story telling mood. This particular dream began with the fact that my house here in Bristol, 115 Queens Road, and all it's inhabitants, were all suddenly living at 709 Perkins St. on Whidbey Island in Washington. We had stayed up all night having a chill party when I got the idea to watch the sunrise.
We stomped down to Cpt. Coupe's Park, laughing and chatting as we went, and upon our arrival, sat on the beach overlooking Penn Cove. There we chatted and waited for the sun to emerge from beneath it's heavy earthen duvet. Suddenly, I exclaimed that it was going to rain and so, as if upon my will, it began to sprinkle. Everyone was in awe of my ability to predict the weather; I was not as sure. Then I felt something culminating inside me; defining what that something is would surely be impossible. This culminating feeling inside me reached an apex and out poured the prophecy that it was going to thunder... and so it thundered. Whether or not I was conjuring these phenomena is still unclear to me but it was during the aforementioned ponderings that there came the most absurd occurrence.
Soaring through the pre-dawn ashen sky there came a boat; an Issaquah 130 class ferry boat to be precise. But fear not! for though, to you the reader and I the narrator, this may seem a rather appalling and perhaps even horrific event, in this whimsical dream world it was just another proverbial walk in the park.
My dream-self understood this and watched undaunted, though having to calm the others who were gasping in awe upon witnessing, for the first time, a flying ferry boat. I explained to them that there was indeed a giant crane in Seattle that would hoist the ferrys from the water and then fling them to their desired destination, always mind you, landing safely keel first.
We watched as the crew of this Issaquah 130 class ferry unbuckled from their safety harnesses, for though sailing through the Puget Sound skies is a generally innocuous occurrence, it is better to err on the side of safety.
Well my dear reader, I wish there was more to this particular dream but alas my 7 o'clock alarm sounded and I had to steal my conciousness away from that fascinating adventure. But it was the toll of my alarm which hastened the beginning of another adventure!
Bristol is a city of the night. Rarely have I set my head upon my pillow before the clock strikes midnight and, as people like to get as much sleep as possible, we can surely assert that late nights inevitably lead to later mornings. So you can imagine how bizarre it might be to come upon the streets that you are accustomed to be teeming with people, now silent and empty. There are a manner of people that are up this early: pre-work runners and the hungover, partially naked, post-partier. I did pass many such people in my shuffling to the bus stop, maybe not all half-naked but in their pyjamas at least.
Anna is a friend of mine from Boston. She organized our wonderful trip to Cardiff in Wales. It was she that I met at the bus stop at 8:00 Saturday morning.
It was my first time on a bus in England, nothing fancy but something worth noting. I still need to go on one of the red london double-deckers. We arrived at the train station and I have to say that I love train stations. I love trains. They're so relaxing. We got on train at platform 9 and 45 minutes later we arrived in Cardiff. My first impressions were mediocre at best. It may have been the overcast skies, the drizzle of rain, or the fact that Cardiff doesn't look much different than anywhere else in the western world; concrete buildings, paved streets, all the commodities of home. There are some fundamental differences in Cardiff.
Cymraeg (Welsh)
You know you're in Wales because almost every piece of print is written in English and in Welsh; Cross walks, street signs, store windows, etc! Not only that, welsh is frequently spoken by the locals. I sat outside at a coffee shop called Harleys indulging in one of my favourite past times, people-watching, but also marvelling as strangers strolled by casually exchanging words quite unknown to me. "Really Zach, Welsh people speaking welsh, what a novelty" you might sarcastically say! but to be truthful, the thought of this other language had not even occurred to me until I was immersed in it. I have to say, it was electrifying. I always get excited by the littlest things!
As we moseyed the streets marvelling at the little things we came upon a not so little wall. Following it's supremely laid masonry as it tapered off in the distance, our eyes settled on a large gate, and through it we perceived upon a mound, a castle Keep. Hurriedly we scampered across the street to investigate and came to a screeching halt at the end of a queue. The price was steep to get a tour of Cardiff Castle, so we resolved to come back after we explored a little more.
There was a novelty shop directly across the street and loving all manner of trinkets I stole inside to examine the goods. It was there I bought some post cards and a welsh flag. I was going to get a shotglass, but alas! they were far too expensive.
We found a directory and were excited to see the Museum of Wales was literally around the corner! So we walked briskly in that general direction marvelling at the Castle walls as we passed. On our way to the museum we stopped at a park, whose main attraction was a rather dashing bearded man frozen forever in a pose of nobility. John III Marquess of Bute, also the Earl of Windsor, was staring thoughtfully into the distance as Anna and I stared mystified by his large cast-iron presence. It was also in this park that I found a book. It sat lonely, on a lonely bench, in a lonely park, being tormented by the rain. Well you can't just leave it there, it looked so helpless! I had to take it home with me. That is how I am the new owner of The Shadow of the Wind. I've not been terribly impressed by the beginning but a house-mate of mine tells me that the start is slow but the rest is well worth it... we'll see.
We continued forth to the museum, but in doing so we passed yet another grand place: the Town Hall. Compared to the little white building in Coupeville, this building is Epic. We didn't, however, go inside; we couldn't be bothered. We were on a mission, a mission to visit the National Museum Cardiff and bask in the glory of it's literal freeness.
"Yes" the voice inside my head stated, "This was a good choice." Walking into the museum itself was enough to knock you off your feet. A massive dome rose up as if it wanted to float away, and everywhere massive columns supported the enormous building. There were two parts to the Museum, first a natural history section and second an art section. We made a B-Line for the natural history portion and let me tell you that it was a good place to start.
Inside I got to touch some of the oldest rocks on Earth, from the British Isles, and finally from Wales itself. Now, for most touching rocks might not be the biggest thrill but come on! Oldest rocks in the world... a literal blast from the past. I happened to love my Geology class and the entire field itself, so this was rather like my version of the proverbial kid-in-the-candy-store experience. I also got to touch an iron meteorite that was about the size of a basketball. It's hard to describe what it looked like, but my first response was a giddy smile followed quickly by the thought "funky."
We made our way through the rest of the natural history part quite quickly, I was actually more interested in the history of Wales from a human aspect, but this exhibit pretty much ended with prehistoric man in Britain. Hmm...
Anna and I took a moment to sit and rehydrate and then we were on to the Art section. Anna is not a huge fan of Art in general. She said she had been to the Louvre in Paris and spent a grand total of 15 minutes in it; secretly I was sobbing on the inside. Regardless, I dragged her along.
I really enjoyed some of the busts we had to pass to enter the exhibit, not anyone of major note, they were mostly just busts of British people. One guy had the most amazing mutton chops. Seriously, cast forever in marble with those things framing your face is pretty incredible. I didn't get to take much time inside the art Museum as our day was limited, but I did take some time to admire Mr. Monet's paintings. Yeah. The Nation Museum Cardiff has original Monet paintings. I was awed. You always see copies of them around, or cards, posters on uni students' walls, etc. But I was in Wales, in Britain, looking at original Monet paintings. God I love my life. Thanks everyone who helped me get here.
After that high, Cardiff would present us with some lows before it would reveal more of it's treasures...
Anna and I arrived in Cardiff early that Saturday morning, little did we know that we were not the only ones with this grand Cardiffian adventure in mind. We marched back the way we came and found, to our dismay, that the train station was "conveniently" close to the Cardiff shopping centre. At 9 in the morning the streets are pleasantly manageable but at 1:00 on Saturday, a hoard of consumers descends into Cardiff. Anna and I, going from the serenity of a quite museum were immediately overwhelmed and made for the quickest route to some calmer place; to regain our composure and confidence. Sooner or later we'd have to go back in, the map says there's a cathedral on the other side of the mob, the directly other side.
The second time through wasn't as bad and Anna even bought a scarf. It was a nice scarf. Also, having recomposed ourselves, we were now able to move through with relative ease, but it took all our senses, strength, and experience, to manage our way through that unforgiving beehive.
We reached the chapel but to our dismay it was not open, nor was there a graveyard. Anna has a thing for gravestones and I can definitely relate. There is a graveyard literally a block away from my abode that is now a park. Some of the stones have been lost to time, some have fallen over, and some are just fine. Walking around, admiring the stones, thinking about the people, it's calming and I hope not at all morbid. People were here before me, this is their mark on the world. Some were even younger than me, buried with their mothers, fathers, or siblings. Why is a graveyard so calming?
By this time Anna and I were feeling quite hungry. So, this time taking side streets, we finagled our way back towards the train station; earlier during our wanderings we spotted a wonderful pub called The Prince of Wales and that was our destination of choice.
It was well worth it and the pub was HUGE. I guess it served as a pub and a club at night. Two stories, massive open areas in the middle, TV's everywhere with a football game showing, wood floors, sports pictures on the walls, it was quite a place. I dare say it took up about a city block. Lunch was simple but good, Anna had a cider with her meal... because we can and no other reason.
It was in the Prince of Wales that we came across a small dilemma. What do we do from here? We could make an epic walk down to the waterfront. It was a risk because there were no indications of attractions other than places to "eat, drink, and shop." But it's a waterfront, surely there may have been an old wooden boat? A Lighthouse perhaps? It was a gamble because it was about 4 times as far to get there as it was to go back to Cardiff Castle.
We went to Cardiff Castle. It was a good choice.
All of the tours of the inside were full until almost 5, we didn't know if we were going to be around at that time, I had a birthday celebration to get back to at Queens Road. So we decided to pay a lesser fee and amble around the castle grounds for a while. What they were hesitant to tell us, but that we fantastically discovered anyway, was that we could go into the Castle Keep and the Museum as well with just the purchase the grounds ticket! Yay for frugality.
The Museum was great, it was more about the human history of Wales. Well, no, it was more about the military history of Wales. How there men were present in pretty much every British conflict, their bravery, their outfit changes, the different weapons they carried. There was a sword commissioned by some Welsh general for his regiment, it was similar to a short sword and one was given to each man. So cool, in a violent sort of way...
The castle keep was also very impressive. Surrounded by that token moat with a bridge. I can't really describe the pleasure I got out of it. Being there was just an overall good feeling.
After the climb to the top to gaze out over Cardiff, Anna and I agreed that it was time to go. All this adventure had worn us down. We made out way back to the trainstation and, having an open ended ticket, we hopped on the first train back to Bristol. I wasn't on the train fore 5 minutes before my head slumped to my chest and I was asleep. There is something be said for vibration. Be it cars, trains, a warm dryer, it always makes me sleepy. Next thing I knew we were in Bristol and about a half hour after that I was in my room safe and sound.
Besides this entry, my only physical reminders of Wales are my flag and my post cards. But memories are all I need, it was a grand experience. The only thing I'd do differently next time is go to a less touristy place. Everyone wants a genuine experience so they go to the token places, but I have an Ace up my sleeve: I have friends who live here and can tell me where I should go to avoid said mobs. Next time I go to Wales, I believe my Welsh informant Idriz spoke of the sea coast and the small town on which it lies...
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Ramblings
I haven't written in quite some time. I feel that it is necessary and I'm probably going to spend the rest of the night writing in this and in my Journal. I can say that I am tired, and I can say that I miss home, and I can say that I need to go for a jog sometime tonight to break up this writing bonanza.
My mum asked me to make a list of word comparisons. That's not a bad place to start. British to American:
Knackered = Tired
Knick = Steal
Muesli = Granola
Queueing = Lining Up
Bell-end Idiot = (rather harsh insult)
Piss head = Drunk
Duvet = Comforter
Chav = Particular type of man; much like white trash
Loo = Bathroom (they may also say Toilet)
Fit = Sexy, Hot
Buff = Sexy, Hot
Half 5 = 5 thirty
Lift = Elevator
Tap = Faucet
Rubbish = Trash
Biscuit = Cookie
Crisps = Chips
Chips = Fries
Anorak = Water proof jacket (like my North Face)
Faculty = Department (eg. Arts Faculty v Art Department)
Jumper = Sweater
Pants = Underwear
Trousers = Pants
Track suit bottoms = Sweats
Waistcoat = Vest
Vest = Tank-top/wife beater
Bumbag = Fannypack
That's all I can think of right now.
I guess I'm feeling a little bit overwhelmed right now. There is so much reading to do, but there are other things I want to do too! Like go out with friends, party a bit, see the city, see the Country! I was having a good discussion with a gal named Georgina today. We were talking about the differences between the Faculties. The chemistry or medicine students get about 14 hours per week of what they call "contact time" that's time with professors and grad students helping you grasp the material. Contrast that with philosophy and sociology, or any of the Arts in general. They may have as low as 6 hours of contact time per week! I have 7. I'm paying how much to be here and i'm only getting 7 hours of teaching time? How bogus is that? They give me an hour, one measily little hour of discussion with my peers and a grad student per two hours of lecture and about 7 hours of reading per week. That is not enough time for mine and 19 other students questions to be answered, or at least spoken and contemplated! No wonder UW is 16th in the world according to the Academic Ranking of World Universities (http://www.arwu.org/), and Bristol is 62. Because at least the contact time is available if I want to take advantage of it!
The other thing that is irking me today is a welsh guy named Idriz. Idriz is awkward, he's tall, he's got hair past his chest, he says suggestively sexual comments far out of context, he walks around aimlessly drinking squash juice, and he openly reminisced about his threesome in his back country welsh town.
Well, I didn't end up writing as much as I would have liked, but it's more than nothing! More to come,
Z
My mum asked me to make a list of word comparisons. That's not a bad place to start. British to American:
Knackered = Tired
Knick = Steal
Muesli = Granola
Queueing = Lining Up
Bell-end Idiot = (rather harsh insult)
Piss head = Drunk
Duvet = Comforter
Chav = Particular type of man; much like white trash
Loo = Bathroom (they may also say Toilet)
Fit = Sexy, Hot
Buff = Sexy, Hot
Half 5 = 5 thirty
Lift = Elevator
Tap = Faucet
Rubbish = Trash
Biscuit = Cookie
Crisps = Chips
Chips = Fries
Anorak = Water proof jacket (like my North Face)
Faculty = Department (eg. Arts Faculty v Art Department)
Jumper = Sweater
Pants = Underwear
Trousers = Pants
Track suit bottoms = Sweats
Waistcoat = Vest
Vest = Tank-top/wife beater
Bumbag = Fannypack
That's all I can think of right now.
I guess I'm feeling a little bit overwhelmed right now. There is so much reading to do, but there are other things I want to do too! Like go out with friends, party a bit, see the city, see the Country! I was having a good discussion with a gal named Georgina today. We were talking about the differences between the Faculties. The chemistry or medicine students get about 14 hours per week of what they call "contact time" that's time with professors and grad students helping you grasp the material. Contrast that with philosophy and sociology, or any of the Arts in general. They may have as low as 6 hours of contact time per week! I have 7. I'm paying how much to be here and i'm only getting 7 hours of teaching time? How bogus is that? They give me an hour, one measily little hour of discussion with my peers and a grad student per two hours of lecture and about 7 hours of reading per week. That is not enough time for mine and 19 other students questions to be answered, or at least spoken and contemplated! No wonder UW is 16th in the world according to the Academic Ranking of World Universities (http://www.arwu.org/), and Bristol is 62. Because at least the contact time is available if I want to take advantage of it!
The other thing that is irking me today is a welsh guy named Idriz. Idriz is awkward, he's tall, he's got hair past his chest, he says suggestively sexual comments far out of context, he walks around aimlessly drinking squash juice, and he openly reminisced about his threesome in his back country welsh town.
Well, I didn't end up writing as much as I would have liked, but it's more than nothing! More to come,
Z
Monday, October 15, 2007
All that is Solid Melts Into Air
Brights of Nettlebed
That's just a cool name from a furniture store near my house.
In today's news, Zach was horribly embarrassed when he went to take his swim test for the Sailing Society. As he had no proper swim wear, he had to wear his purple husky short shorts. Following that initial minute embarrassment, he was mortified to find that all the Sailing society reps there to test him were women; fit women. Unclothing in front of them only added insult to his already battered self image.
In other news, most of today was spent pondering society. Given the Introduction to Marshall Berman's All That Is Solid Melts Into Air: The Experience of Modernity, I was immediately engrossed in his writings. If I were to describe to you what Modernity is, and how it relates to Sociology, well... I'd do it quite poorly. However, if I give you a few of my favourite quotes from Berman that may just do the trick.
Modernity:
"There is a mode of vital experience--experience of space and time, of the self and others, of life's possibilities and perils--that is shared by men and women all over the world today. I will call this body of experience "modernity." To be modern is to find outselves in an environment that promises us adventure, power, joy, growth, transformation of ourselves and the world--an, at the same time, that threatens to destroy everything we have, everything we know, everything we are."
On The Modern Environment:
"All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify, all that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profanes, an men at last are forced to face... the real conditions of their lives and their relations with their fellow men." - Marx
"a tradition of overthrowing tradition" - Harold Rosenberg
"everything is pregnant with its contrary" - Marx
metropolitan life is "a clash of groups and cabals, a continual flux and reflux of prejudices and conflicting opinions" - Rousseau
Basically, our society is ever changing, our traditions, morals, and cultures are obsolete before they can become solid, and everything is contradictory. It is in the world we now live, everyone experiences modernity as the norm, but everyone feels they are experiencing modernity for the first time because in a sense they are; no ones experiences may be the same in a world that is in a constant state of flux.
With this flux there comes a double edged sword as mentioned in the first quote. You may be in a maelstrom of craziness, and that maelstrom might have you forget who you are, but it's going to offer up an immense amount of experiential possibilities, or as Berman says it so simply, "this atmosphere--of agitation and turbulence, psychic dizziness and drunkenness, expansion of experiential possibilities and destruction of moral boundaries and person bonds, self-enlargement and self-derangement, phantoms in the street and in the soul--is the atmosphere in which modern sensibility is born."
So Modernity is an experience, The Modern Environment a maelstrom that offers "experiential possibilities" but the "destruction of moral boundaries", so what is Modernism?
Modernism:
"These world changing processes have nourished an amazing variety of visions and ideas that aim to make men and women the subjects as well as the objects of modernization, to give them the power to change the world that is changing them, to make their way through the maelstrom and make it their own."
Berman is by far the most hopeful of those men I've quoted today. Most of these have an extraordinary struggle with modernity. They rue the constant flux for it's lack of stability, yet enjoy its possibilities. Nietzsche said that, "Modern mankind found itself in the midst of a great absence and emptiness of values and yet, at the same time, a remarkable abundance of possibilities." That leads to his advent of Nihilism and the death of God.
Of course, like the world around it, modernism can, and does, change. It's been happening over the centuries but it was in the 60's when there came a great amount of change. I'm not going to talk about that much, but what I will say is that though modernism was changing, the essence of modernism remained the same; that is in italics below:
"All these visions and revisions of modernity (referencing a changing views on modernism in the 60's) were active orientations toward history, attempts to connect the turbulent present with a past and a future, to help men and women all over the contemporary world to make themselves at home in this world. These initiatives all failed, but they sprang from a largeness of vision and imagination, and from an ardent desire to seize the day."
There are different types of Modernism as well. This could go on and on and I have to get ready for class. But I'd like to think of myself as the so called "Post-Modernist"
Post Modernist:
"Their ideal was to open oneself to the immense variety and richness of things, materials and ideas that the modern world inexhaustibly brought forth."
Maybe I'll be a Sociologist with emphasis on Post-Modernism. Who knows!
Love you all,
Z
That's just a cool name from a furniture store near my house.
In today's news, Zach was horribly embarrassed when he went to take his swim test for the Sailing Society. As he had no proper swim wear, he had to wear his purple husky short shorts. Following that initial minute embarrassment, he was mortified to find that all the Sailing society reps there to test him were women; fit women. Unclothing in front of them only added insult to his already battered self image.
In other news, most of today was spent pondering society. Given the Introduction to Marshall Berman's All That Is Solid Melts Into Air: The Experience of Modernity, I was immediately engrossed in his writings. If I were to describe to you what Modernity is, and how it relates to Sociology, well... I'd do it quite poorly. However, if I give you a few of my favourite quotes from Berman that may just do the trick.
Modernity:
"There is a mode of vital experience--experience of space and time, of the self and others, of life's possibilities and perils--that is shared by men and women all over the world today. I will call this body of experience "modernity." To be modern is to find outselves in an environment that promises us adventure, power, joy, growth, transformation of ourselves and the world--an, at the same time, that threatens to destroy everything we have, everything we know, everything we are."
On The Modern Environment:
"All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify, all that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profanes, an men at last are forced to face... the real conditions of their lives and their relations with their fellow men." - Marx
"a tradition of overthrowing tradition" - Harold Rosenberg
"everything is pregnant with its contrary" - Marx
metropolitan life is "a clash of groups and cabals, a continual flux and reflux of prejudices and conflicting opinions" - Rousseau
Basically, our society is ever changing, our traditions, morals, and cultures are obsolete before they can become solid, and everything is contradictory. It is in the world we now live, everyone experiences modernity as the norm, but everyone feels they are experiencing modernity for the first time because in a sense they are; no ones experiences may be the same in a world that is in a constant state of flux.
With this flux there comes a double edged sword as mentioned in the first quote. You may be in a maelstrom of craziness, and that maelstrom might have you forget who you are, but it's going to offer up an immense amount of experiential possibilities, or as Berman says it so simply, "this atmosphere--of agitation and turbulence, psychic dizziness and drunkenness, expansion of experiential possibilities and destruction of moral boundaries and person bonds, self-enlargement and self-derangement, phantoms in the street and in the soul--is the atmosphere in which modern sensibility is born."
So Modernity is an experience, The Modern Environment a maelstrom that offers "experiential possibilities" but the "destruction of moral boundaries", so what is Modernism?
Modernism:
"These world changing processes have nourished an amazing variety of visions and ideas that aim to make men and women the subjects as well as the objects of modernization, to give them the power to change the world that is changing them, to make their way through the maelstrom and make it their own."
Berman is by far the most hopeful of those men I've quoted today. Most of these have an extraordinary struggle with modernity. They rue the constant flux for it's lack of stability, yet enjoy its possibilities. Nietzsche said that, "Modern mankind found itself in the midst of a great absence and emptiness of values and yet, at the same time, a remarkable abundance of possibilities." That leads to his advent of Nihilism and the death of God.
Of course, like the world around it, modernism can, and does, change. It's been happening over the centuries but it was in the 60's when there came a great amount of change. I'm not going to talk about that much, but what I will say is that though modernism was changing, the essence of modernism remained the same; that is in italics below:
"All these visions and revisions of modernity (referencing a changing views on modernism in the 60's) were active orientations toward history, attempts to connect the turbulent present with a past and a future, to help men and women all over the contemporary world to make themselves at home in this world. These initiatives all failed, but they sprang from a largeness of vision and imagination, and from an ardent desire to seize the day."
There are different types of Modernism as well. This could go on and on and I have to get ready for class. But I'd like to think of myself as the so called "Post-Modernist"
Post Modernist:
"Their ideal was to open oneself to the immense variety and richness of things, materials and ideas that the modern world inexhaustibly brought forth."
Maybe I'll be a Sociologist with emphasis on Post-Modernism. Who knows!
Love you all,
Z
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
The Adjustment
The past few weeks have been a flurry of different places, faces, and emotions. I think that going day by day would be silly at this point, so i'll try to describe how i've progressed in a different way. Which way that is had yet to be seen!
There was so much that happened this last week, getting to know people, setting up my room, meandering the city, carousing the pubs.
115 Queens Road has been an experience. Being on the ground floor is rather manky. My room has silverfish, we have to keep our windows closed all times when we're not in the room which creates quite a funk, it's dark and dank, our kitchen in the smallest in the building, my room is right across from the loo, and i'm right next to the senior resident. The first night or so she came around to tell me to play guitar in my room (which I was doing, I just didn't have my door shut). But besides all that, my flat is amazing!
The guys on my floor are a good bunch, all nice chaps. There is Dom, short for Dominic, who's kind of a baby faced guy but very friendly and very well rounded. Then there is Ben. Ben never ceases to amaze me. He's a skinnier fellow, does rock climbing and is a certified "Life Saver" (it's like lifeguard except certifies for open ocean rescue and he can train life guards), he's a really good chef and he wants to be a Veterinarian. Idrez, now he's an odd fellow. Very tall but with extremely long hair. He's a lot like Teddy except with a British accent. He loves garlic and when he cooks it our place smells for days! He also does like Tai-Kwon-Do and wants to be an aeronautical engineer I think. Last there's Mark. He's a good guy too, geology major. Play guitar quite nicely. I also live on the same floor as our Chief Resident and Senior Resident. Jenny is our Senior Resident, she's pretty much a Nazi. Ed is our Chief Resident and he's AWESOME.
The Rest of the flat are very good people. There are 5 floors, ground and 1 are the guys floors and 2-4 are the girls floors. I have to say that there are many good looking ladies in our flat, but surprisingly the majority of our house is shacked up! Whereas I'm used to students severing ties before they go to Uni, the Brits seem more inclined to try to make it work. Anyway, it's a little disappointing but there are still some prospectives...
The first week, like I said, was crazy. There was signing up for classes, getting registered with the health services, turning in all appropriate paperwork to join the university, orientations, getting my student card, paying fees, setting up my room, connecting to their internet, setting up accounts, and on top of that it was Freshers week. Something that I was not expecting.
Freshers week may be brilliant in it's inebriated design. Basically, every night there is some sort of event for the freshers to meet each other. Most of them revolve around drinking. There were numerous pub crawls, dancing, tours, a trivia game (that i won!), talking, drinking, exploring, etc! I say Freshers week may be brilliant based on this observation:
In the States, freshers are, for the first time, on their own. They make their own choices, stay up as long as they want, and generally it is very easy to get their hands on alcohol. Many of those students do their biggest experimentation with alcohol in their first few months, if not first few weeks of college. Often they push their bodies to the limit of alcohol consumption and put themselves in not-so-safe situations as a result. Basically, they go crazy. I did a little experimentation myself and I witnessed plenty of it as an RA.
Contrast that with the British system. They can drink at 18. They've been to pubs before, they've experienced drunkenness with some of their closest friends, or even families, back home. When they get to Uni, they are in no way mystified by it's effects nor do they have the strong desire to get so pissed they cant see straight (well, most of them) What they do know is that alcohol, in amounts specific to their limits, can be a very fun, socially prompting device. So, under the supervision of Orbital Reps*, they are shown the city in a way very much different from the American way; through pubs, clubs, and buzzed group outings. [Orbital is an social committee that plans events for freshers, the Reps are the people that showed us the town and watched over us, often participating in the tom-foolery but to a lesser extent]
I just think that accepting alcohol into the culture is a better way to control it then trying to ban it. To me, it's a lot like what the forbidden fruit was to Adam and Eve, they were told they couldn't have it so they wanted it that more. It's accepted and then monitored by older students, friends, and family. They generally never go anywhere where they don't know anyone. Opposed to the American system where girls may go to parties in twos! That's asking for trouble.
Which leads me to another observation. The British people are conservative if you don't know them well. But once you get to know them they are a most agreeable people. I LOVE going out with them. They always want to incorporate everyone, they have a very casual system of drinking in rounds where one person buys a round, then another buys a round, so on and so forth! I'm going to try and get that going with my friends back home. But not just in drinking, whenever they go anywhere it's usually at least with one other person. Coffee shops are rarely filled with one person tables, sidewalks are tromped on in troupes.
I've been cooking for myself here as well. That's been fun, I get pretty healthy food. I make salad, yogart and muesli (that's granola in this language), pasta, PB&J haha. Sometime just peanut butter straight. I've been running too but that's because I'm having troubles with the Gym. Hopefully those problems will be worked out by next monday.
So I've been trying to eat more healthy and exercise however I can. That means running. I've started running again much to my knees dismay. However, with proper stretching I think i'll manage. I was also able to get some of my flatmates to come jogging with me, they really slowed me down but it was nice to have the company. I'm going on another jog tonight. After I meet up with the swim society.
By the way I joined a Sailing society. Basically they're clubs. In retrospect, it was not the best choice seeing as I have no means to get to the water, no sailing experience, and no wet suit. I'm going to a social tonight at a pub called the White Harte. Hopefully I'll meet some nice chaps there who would lend me a wetsuit and give me a ride to the boats. It would be a useful skill to have, then I could join the Yacht Club back home... except that Commodore Andrew Cheng really bothers me.
The other, and far more practical, society I joined was the Coffee Society. That should be good seeing as I've been to almost all the coffee shops in the area. Though, i'm going to have to tone down the coffee intake, not that I drink a lot, but due to the cost. I've tried to get my flatmates to get a coffepot but... they're not into the idea much.
Philosophy. I'm really excited about it, but I feel like I'm much more eager to participate then my fresher classmates. Not to mention that the lecture today was drab and a repeat of almost everything I'd concluded on my own. Our professor even said that everything he said today could be found in a book so, "Don't worry about copying down every word I say." Tool.
I thought at least our study sessions would be better but I was really the only one who read the text and contributed most of the answers. I was hoping, keeping myself from immediately giving up answers, so as to give my classmates time to answer. That was a silly notion!
What else is there to say? I mean, I could ramble and rant but I've written a lot already. School, friends, living, the city, running... There is one thing.
I miss you all, Family and friends, and I love you dearly.
Z
There was so much that happened this last week, getting to know people, setting up my room, meandering the city, carousing the pubs.
115 Queens Road has been an experience. Being on the ground floor is rather manky. My room has silverfish, we have to keep our windows closed all times when we're not in the room which creates quite a funk, it's dark and dank, our kitchen in the smallest in the building, my room is right across from the loo, and i'm right next to the senior resident. The first night or so she came around to tell me to play guitar in my room (which I was doing, I just didn't have my door shut). But besides all that, my flat is amazing!
The guys on my floor are a good bunch, all nice chaps. There is Dom, short for Dominic, who's kind of a baby faced guy but very friendly and very well rounded. Then there is Ben. Ben never ceases to amaze me. He's a skinnier fellow, does rock climbing and is a certified "Life Saver" (it's like lifeguard except certifies for open ocean rescue and he can train life guards), he's a really good chef and he wants to be a Veterinarian. Idrez, now he's an odd fellow. Very tall but with extremely long hair. He's a lot like Teddy except with a British accent. He loves garlic and when he cooks it our place smells for days! He also does like Tai-Kwon-Do and wants to be an aeronautical engineer I think. Last there's Mark. He's a good guy too, geology major. Play guitar quite nicely. I also live on the same floor as our Chief Resident and Senior Resident. Jenny is our Senior Resident, she's pretty much a Nazi. Ed is our Chief Resident and he's AWESOME.
The Rest of the flat are very good people. There are 5 floors, ground and 1 are the guys floors and 2-4 are the girls floors. I have to say that there are many good looking ladies in our flat, but surprisingly the majority of our house is shacked up! Whereas I'm used to students severing ties before they go to Uni, the Brits seem more inclined to try to make it work. Anyway, it's a little disappointing but there are still some prospectives...
The first week, like I said, was crazy. There was signing up for classes, getting registered with the health services, turning in all appropriate paperwork to join the university, orientations, getting my student card, paying fees, setting up my room, connecting to their internet, setting up accounts, and on top of that it was Freshers week. Something that I was not expecting.
Freshers week may be brilliant in it's inebriated design. Basically, every night there is some sort of event for the freshers to meet each other. Most of them revolve around drinking. There were numerous pub crawls, dancing, tours, a trivia game (that i won!), talking, drinking, exploring, etc! I say Freshers week may be brilliant based on this observation:
In the States, freshers are, for the first time, on their own. They make their own choices, stay up as long as they want, and generally it is very easy to get their hands on alcohol. Many of those students do their biggest experimentation with alcohol in their first few months, if not first few weeks of college. Often they push their bodies to the limit of alcohol consumption and put themselves in not-so-safe situations as a result. Basically, they go crazy. I did a little experimentation myself and I witnessed plenty of it as an RA.
Contrast that with the British system. They can drink at 18. They've been to pubs before, they've experienced drunkenness with some of their closest friends, or even families, back home. When they get to Uni, they are in no way mystified by it's effects nor do they have the strong desire to get so pissed they cant see straight (well, most of them) What they do know is that alcohol, in amounts specific to their limits, can be a very fun, socially prompting device. So, under the supervision of Orbital Reps*, they are shown the city in a way very much different from the American way; through pubs, clubs, and buzzed group outings. [Orbital is an social committee that plans events for freshers, the Reps are the people that showed us the town and watched over us, often participating in the tom-foolery but to a lesser extent]
I just think that accepting alcohol into the culture is a better way to control it then trying to ban it. To me, it's a lot like what the forbidden fruit was to Adam and Eve, they were told they couldn't have it so they wanted it that more. It's accepted and then monitored by older students, friends, and family. They generally never go anywhere where they don't know anyone. Opposed to the American system where girls may go to parties in twos! That's asking for trouble.
Which leads me to another observation. The British people are conservative if you don't know them well. But once you get to know them they are a most agreeable people. I LOVE going out with them. They always want to incorporate everyone, they have a very casual system of drinking in rounds where one person buys a round, then another buys a round, so on and so forth! I'm going to try and get that going with my friends back home. But not just in drinking, whenever they go anywhere it's usually at least with one other person. Coffee shops are rarely filled with one person tables, sidewalks are tromped on in troupes.
I've been cooking for myself here as well. That's been fun, I get pretty healthy food. I make salad, yogart and muesli (that's granola in this language), pasta, PB&J haha. Sometime just peanut butter straight. I've been running too but that's because I'm having troubles with the Gym. Hopefully those problems will be worked out by next monday.
So I've been trying to eat more healthy and exercise however I can. That means running. I've started running again much to my knees dismay. However, with proper stretching I think i'll manage. I was also able to get some of my flatmates to come jogging with me, they really slowed me down but it was nice to have the company. I'm going on another jog tonight. After I meet up with the swim society.
By the way I joined a Sailing society. Basically they're clubs. In retrospect, it was not the best choice seeing as I have no means to get to the water, no sailing experience, and no wet suit. I'm going to a social tonight at a pub called the White Harte. Hopefully I'll meet some nice chaps there who would lend me a wetsuit and give me a ride to the boats. It would be a useful skill to have, then I could join the Yacht Club back home... except that Commodore Andrew Cheng really bothers me.
The other, and far more practical, society I joined was the Coffee Society. That should be good seeing as I've been to almost all the coffee shops in the area. Though, i'm going to have to tone down the coffee intake, not that I drink a lot, but due to the cost. I've tried to get my flatmates to get a coffepot but... they're not into the idea much.
Philosophy. I'm really excited about it, but I feel like I'm much more eager to participate then my fresher classmates. Not to mention that the lecture today was drab and a repeat of almost everything I'd concluded on my own. Our professor even said that everything he said today could be found in a book so, "Don't worry about copying down every word I say." Tool.
I thought at least our study sessions would be better but I was really the only one who read the text and contributed most of the answers. I was hoping, keeping myself from immediately giving up answers, so as to give my classmates time to answer. That was a silly notion!
What else is there to say? I mean, I could ramble and rant but I've written a lot already. School, friends, living, the city, running... There is one thing.
I miss you all, Family and friends, and I love you dearly.
Z
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