This is just to say that I am way too excited about my acquisition of an electric toothbrush. And is it bad that I'm so looking forward to a term during which I, an unathletic English major, will be taking Math and Health & Exercise Science?
Happy New Year's Eve everyone!
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
p.s. Regarding the rest of London
Just to add a couple of notes about London that I never mentioned...
I got to see Wicked, starring Idina Menzel (popularly known by her role as Maureen in Rent). This would be the musical based on the book by Gregory Maguire, about how exactly the Wicked Witch of the West came to be regarded as wicked. Or, moreover, why it is that we only hear Dorothy and the Wizard's version of the story. The book and the musical are both fabulous, though very different. The show was amazing, my favorite of the 3 big-name musicals I saw in London.
I also had my 20th birthday during our London stay. To celebrate I went with some friends to TGIFridays in Leicester Square, where Casino Royale also happened to be holding its premiere that evening. It was fun, and I am eternally grateful that I have graduated from teenager to twenty-something.
I got to see Wicked, starring Idina Menzel (popularly known by her role as Maureen in Rent). This would be the musical based on the book by Gregory Maguire, about how exactly the Wicked Witch of the West came to be regarded as wicked. Or, moreover, why it is that we only hear Dorothy and the Wizard's version of the story. The book and the musical are both fabulous, though very different. The show was amazing, my favorite of the 3 big-name musicals I saw in London.
I also had my 20th birthday during our London stay. To celebrate I went with some friends to TGIFridays in Leicester Square, where Casino Royale also happened to be holding its premiere that evening. It was fun, and I am eternally grateful that I have graduated from teenager to twenty-something.
Free Travel Part 2: Dirty Rainy Romantic Paris
To continue yesterday's post...
So we were in Paris. At first I found our hotel there—the Hotel Milan, in Invalides—mildly sketchy, but excused that on the basis of how relatively cheap it was. I now know that continental European hotel standards are vastly different than American expectations. As in, Super 8 is an improvement over your average French hotel room. The bathroom in Paris Hotel was tiny with an oddly shaped tub that made it dangerous to shower, and a toilet that was so close to the wall you had to sit on it sideways because your knees wouldn’t fit in front of it. But hey, at least we had a bathroom! Oh yes, and our toilet had an endless array of problems, partially because Chandler couldn’t stop accidentally droppings things into it—soap, rolls of toilet paper, etc…
Our first night in Paris we had dinner a charming little Italian restaurant we found, where I finally got to practice practical French! With real French people! Who were much nicer than we commonly think!
The next day we hopped a train to Reims, which was a beautiful and clean city, in the Champagne region of France. There Chandler and I toured the Taittinger champagne caves, where we received an extensive education in the production of authentic champagne. I will now be setting up a bootleg pseudo-champagne business in my apartment. And an interesting factoid: any wine actually labeled “Champagne,” rather than sparkling wine or something similar, has been made in the Champagne region of France—they guard the name fiercely. Many a Californian sparkling wine manufacturer have “fallen” off castle walls for trying to pass off their inferior nectar-for-the-masses as champagne.
That was also the day we discovered that it is all-but-impossible to find dinner in France before 7:00 pm (or 19:00, in European time). But we finally came upon a little brasserie in Reims and managed to eat before taking a train back to Paris.
On Day 2 in France (Wednesday, Nov. 22) we took a train to Bayeux, where we intended to visit the D-Day Beaches, but unfortunately that did not work out due to the tour bus schedules. However, we did get to pay 8 euro for a bowl of soup and see the Bayeux tapestry (which was cheaper than the soup)! The tapestry has a very good exhibit with it explaining its historical significance. It wasn’t crowded that day, which was nice, because we could just take our time seeing it all. Though it was disappointing that we didn’t make it up to the Normandy coast, it was still a good day. We sought out dinner in another little Italian place close to our hotel. I think the French eat more Italian food than French food.
Thanksgiving day we stayed in Paris, seeing the sights soaked in rain, which prevented my getting a single decent photograph. Highlights of the day included the Centre Pompidou (modern art), the Musee d’Orsay (the amazing museum that accepted the Impressionist paintings that the Louvre rejected—Monet, Degas, Manet—it was Art Heaven for me, since Impressionism is my favorite movement in visual art), the original Sephora store on the Champs-Elysees (Art Heaven and Cosmetics Mecca in one day!), and getting to see the Eiffel Tower live and in person, even though I have no decent pictures of it, because God decided Paris needed rain on the one day Kristen needed photos of Paris.
That night Chandler and I celebrated Thanksgiving with a special meal at a charming little restaurant called L’Affriolé, which serves authentic French cuisine. However, because it was marked wrong on the map I was using, we had a difficult time finding the place. And because we were having a difficult time finding the place, I had out my large guidebook so we could figure out where we were, which I can only assume was how we were targeted by a Parisian pickpocketer/mugger/serial killer. Luckily I don’t know which of those amenable categories he fit in, because I successfully identified him as a criminal and spoiled his intentions. He had walked past us, and thankfully I was used to checking behind myself by that point, and when I did I saw him turning around to follow us. But when I looked him in the eye he turned back around and continued in his original direction. And that’s when I took a deep breath and put up the guidebook, because we looked enough like tourists anyway without that. In any event, dinner was splendid. My main course (plat) was a chicken dish with creamy sauce, while Chandler the Vegetarian Crime Magnet enjoyed a main course of vegetable side dishes, as Europe is not as vegetarian-friendly as the USA.
That was our last night in sorta-sketchy Paris hotel, where our toilet was finally working. The next day it was a 6 hour train ride to Nice. And as it is again late, I will end this now, and finish up later with Nice (warm and beautiful) and Glasgow (cold and nasty)
So we were in Paris. At first I found our hotel there—the Hotel Milan, in Invalides—mildly sketchy, but excused that on the basis of how relatively cheap it was. I now know that continental European hotel standards are vastly different than American expectations. As in, Super 8 is an improvement over your average French hotel room. The bathroom in Paris Hotel was tiny with an oddly shaped tub that made it dangerous to shower, and a toilet that was so close to the wall you had to sit on it sideways because your knees wouldn’t fit in front of it. But hey, at least we had a bathroom! Oh yes, and our toilet had an endless array of problems, partially because Chandler couldn’t stop accidentally droppings things into it—soap, rolls of toilet paper, etc…
Our first night in Paris we had dinner a charming little Italian restaurant we found, where I finally got to practice practical French! With real French people! Who were much nicer than we commonly think!
The next day we hopped a train to Reims, which was a beautiful and clean city, in the Champagne region of France. There Chandler and I toured the Taittinger champagne caves, where we received an extensive education in the production of authentic champagne. I will now be setting up a bootleg pseudo-champagne business in my apartment. And an interesting factoid: any wine actually labeled “Champagne,” rather than sparkling wine or something similar, has been made in the Champagne region of France—they guard the name fiercely. Many a Californian sparkling wine manufacturer have “fallen” off castle walls for trying to pass off their inferior nectar-for-the-masses as champagne.
That was also the day we discovered that it is all-but-impossible to find dinner in France before 7:00 pm (or 19:00, in European time). But we finally came upon a little brasserie in Reims and managed to eat before taking a train back to Paris.
On Day 2 in France (Wednesday, Nov. 22) we took a train to Bayeux, where we intended to visit the D-Day Beaches, but unfortunately that did not work out due to the tour bus schedules. However, we did get to pay 8 euro for a bowl of soup and see the Bayeux tapestry (which was cheaper than the soup)! The tapestry has a very good exhibit with it explaining its historical significance. It wasn’t crowded that day, which was nice, because we could just take our time seeing it all. Though it was disappointing that we didn’t make it up to the Normandy coast, it was still a good day. We sought out dinner in another little Italian place close to our hotel. I think the French eat more Italian food than French food.
Thanksgiving day we stayed in Paris, seeing the sights soaked in rain, which prevented my getting a single decent photograph. Highlights of the day included the Centre Pompidou (modern art), the Musee d’Orsay (the amazing museum that accepted the Impressionist paintings that the Louvre rejected—Monet, Degas, Manet—it was Art Heaven for me, since Impressionism is my favorite movement in visual art), the original Sephora store on the Champs-Elysees (Art Heaven and Cosmetics Mecca in one day!), and getting to see the Eiffel Tower live and in person, even though I have no decent pictures of it, because God decided Paris needed rain on the one day Kristen needed photos of Paris.
That night Chandler and I celebrated Thanksgiving with a special meal at a charming little restaurant called L’Affriolé, which serves authentic French cuisine. However, because it was marked wrong on the map I was using, we had a difficult time finding the place. And because we were having a difficult time finding the place, I had out my large guidebook so we could figure out where we were, which I can only assume was how we were targeted by a Parisian pickpocketer/mugger/serial killer. Luckily I don’t know which of those amenable categories he fit in, because I successfully identified him as a criminal and spoiled his intentions. He had walked past us, and thankfully I was used to checking behind myself by that point, and when I did I saw him turning around to follow us. But when I looked him in the eye he turned back around and continued in his original direction. And that’s when I took a deep breath and put up the guidebook, because we looked enough like tourists anyway without that. In any event, dinner was splendid. My main course (plat) was a chicken dish with creamy sauce, while Chandler the Vegetarian Crime Magnet enjoyed a main course of vegetable side dishes, as Europe is not as vegetarian-friendly as the USA.
That was our last night in sorta-sketchy Paris hotel, where our toilet was finally working. The next day it was a 6 hour train ride to Nice. And as it is again late, I will end this now, and finish up later with Nice (warm and beautiful) and Glasgow (cold and nasty)
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Free Travel, Part 1: The Monday I earned my adulthood
And now to work on the oft-promised update of what happened on Free Travel. Free travel period consisted of us students being able to go off alone or in groups or with our choice of traveling monkey to wherever the heck in Europe we cared to be. For the two professors traveling with their wives, Free Travel was the time when they had no obligations whatsoever and could enjoy the end of their 3 month vacation without those pesky students about and lectures to prepare. For the venerable Dr. Aarnes, Free Travel meant finally getting to see his family again, as he flew home the second us students were gone.
On Saturday, November 18, I checked out of the Royal Nasty, where I PAID MY PHONE BILL (more on this later), and hopped a train from London Marylebone to Stratford-upon-Avon with Chandler, Hayley, and Mordoch the Avenger (aka Murdock). That night I saw a very interesting production of Pericles by the RSC (oh how I’m missing professional theatre), and Sunday Murdock and I went to church and hung around Stratford while Chandler and Hayley went to Birmingham for the day. Mordoch and I also saw The Prestige, which is a magnificent film and definitely worth seeing in theatres. We stayed in the same B&B where we were before, and it was really nice to see Richard and Sue and the kids again. All-in-all, a good start to Free Travel.
Then there was Monday. This is what was supposed to happen: Chandler and I get on a train from Stratford to London, take the tube to another London station, then get on the Chunnel train to Paris. What actually happened was this: Chandler and I wake up late; we then find out that the B&B does not take credit cards, so Chandler has to go into town (a decent walk) to get to an ATM. We get a late start on our walk to the train station, and I stress about it, but we arrive with about 10 minutes to spare. Whew, crisis averted. Just when we were breathing easy again, we find out that our train to London has been cancelled. CANCELLED. Now take a moment to note that our Chunnel tickets are non-refundable and non-exchangeable, which means if we don’t make it on the appropriate train on time we are screwed and will be spending the rest of free travel in a London train station because we will not be able to afford new tickets or new accommodations. Ok, back to the cancelled train—the train company has hired a bus to take us to the next station where we will be able to take another train to London. But the bus is late. We end up taking a taxi to the next station with two other random Furman students we ran into at the station (that was bizarre), and by a genuine miracle of God the train there is late and we are able to make it on board. Again, I am stupid enough to think “Whew, crisis averted,” a phrase which I now believe to be a jinx on travelers. The train is set to arrive in plenty of time for us to make it to the Chunnel. But wait! Our train to London ends up behind a delinquent train that breaks down at every station it stops at, which results in massive delays to our train. There is no telling when we will make it to London. By now Chandler and I are laughing at this incredible sequence of bad circumstances that may very well prevent my ever seeing France. But it’s stress-laughing.
We finally arrive in London, and yes, we have enough time to get to the train! Alright, I’m thinking, we’ve made it here, everything’s going to be fine. Despite my reading the tube map wrong and making us change lines when we really didn’t have to, we got to Waterloo station, where the Chunnel leaves from, with about 15 minutes to spare before we have to check-in for the train. Just enough time to buy a couple of bagels for our lunch (it is 1:00 pm now) and get on board to eat them. Mission accomplished: we scan our tickets, bagels-in-hand, and proceed to security. Not that I had a single other problem with security on this trip, mind you, but apparently something in my suitcase created suspicion in the x-ray guard, who passed my bag off to the search table then promptly disappeared without telling anyone what she had seen in my bag, resulting in my carefully-packed suitcase having to be completely unpacked before the entire population of hurrying businesspeople and security guards populating the screening area. The very nice lady searching my suitcase can’t seem to stop mentioning how she doesn’t know whether we’ll make the train or not. My entire personal effects are spread out on a table. I am near tears. The suitcase is finally put back together in random order, and we have 7, count ‘em, seven minutes until the train leaves, and the platform is a considerable distance from the security point. We run—down hallways, down stairs, past curious dogs and moths, down the platform, hop onto the train—HOORAY! And then we realize, oops, we’re on the wrong car (we could tell by the extra-large comfy seats indicating first class)! So we hop back off the train, and run run run run run run down the platform. I am carrying a heavily loaded backpack, my messenger bag, and dragging my thank-goodness-it-rolls heavy suitcase behind me. I’m sure it made a great image. And despite what the movies may have led you to believe, running down a platform is neither attractive nor romantic. I was sweating, exhausted, breathing hard, and surrounded by a green haze of stress. You should take all possible precautions to avoid these circumstances.
But the good news is we made it to our seats just as the train left the platform, and 2 ½ hours later arrived in Paris, where a confused Asian immigrant cab driver barely got us to our hotel alive. And I imagine that if there is traffic in hell, it closely resembles French traffic.
Well, it is now 1:01 am, and I am tired of writing, and I’m sure that you are tired of reading, so I will post this now and update on the rest of free travel at some later point. Don’t worry, Monday is by far the longest part of the free travel postings.
On Saturday, November 18, I checked out of the Royal Nasty, where I PAID MY PHONE BILL (more on this later), and hopped a train from London Marylebone to Stratford-upon-Avon with Chandler, Hayley, and Mordoch the Avenger (aka Murdock). That night I saw a very interesting production of Pericles by the RSC (oh how I’m missing professional theatre), and Sunday Murdock and I went to church and hung around Stratford while Chandler and Hayley went to Birmingham for the day. Mordoch and I also saw The Prestige, which is a magnificent film and definitely worth seeing in theatres. We stayed in the same B&B where we were before, and it was really nice to see Richard and Sue and the kids again. All-in-all, a good start to Free Travel.
Then there was Monday. This is what was supposed to happen: Chandler and I get on a train from Stratford to London, take the tube to another London station, then get on the Chunnel train to Paris. What actually happened was this: Chandler and I wake up late; we then find out that the B&B does not take credit cards, so Chandler has to go into town (a decent walk) to get to an ATM. We get a late start on our walk to the train station, and I stress about it, but we arrive with about 10 minutes to spare. Whew, crisis averted. Just when we were breathing easy again, we find out that our train to London has been cancelled. CANCELLED. Now take a moment to note that our Chunnel tickets are non-refundable and non-exchangeable, which means if we don’t make it on the appropriate train on time we are screwed and will be spending the rest of free travel in a London train station because we will not be able to afford new tickets or new accommodations. Ok, back to the cancelled train—the train company has hired a bus to take us to the next station where we will be able to take another train to London. But the bus is late. We end up taking a taxi to the next station with two other random Furman students we ran into at the station (that was bizarre), and by a genuine miracle of God the train there is late and we are able to make it on board. Again, I am stupid enough to think “Whew, crisis averted,” a phrase which I now believe to be a jinx on travelers. The train is set to arrive in plenty of time for us to make it to the Chunnel. But wait! Our train to London ends up behind a delinquent train that breaks down at every station it stops at, which results in massive delays to our train. There is no telling when we will make it to London. By now Chandler and I are laughing at this incredible sequence of bad circumstances that may very well prevent my ever seeing France. But it’s stress-laughing.
We finally arrive in London, and yes, we have enough time to get to the train! Alright, I’m thinking, we’ve made it here, everything’s going to be fine. Despite my reading the tube map wrong and making us change lines when we really didn’t have to, we got to Waterloo station, where the Chunnel leaves from, with about 15 minutes to spare before we have to check-in for the train. Just enough time to buy a couple of bagels for our lunch (it is 1:00 pm now) and get on board to eat them. Mission accomplished: we scan our tickets, bagels-in-hand, and proceed to security. Not that I had a single other problem with security on this trip, mind you, but apparently something in my suitcase created suspicion in the x-ray guard, who passed my bag off to the search table then promptly disappeared without telling anyone what she had seen in my bag, resulting in my carefully-packed suitcase having to be completely unpacked before the entire population of hurrying businesspeople and security guards populating the screening area. The very nice lady searching my suitcase can’t seem to stop mentioning how she doesn’t know whether we’ll make the train or not. My entire personal effects are spread out on a table. I am near tears. The suitcase is finally put back together in random order, and we have 7, count ‘em, seven minutes until the train leaves, and the platform is a considerable distance from the security point. We run—down hallways, down stairs, past curious dogs and moths, down the platform, hop onto the train—HOORAY! And then we realize, oops, we’re on the wrong car (we could tell by the extra-large comfy seats indicating first class)! So we hop back off the train, and run run run run run run down the platform. I am carrying a heavily loaded backpack, my messenger bag, and dragging my thank-goodness-it-rolls heavy suitcase behind me. I’m sure it made a great image. And despite what the movies may have led you to believe, running down a platform is neither attractive nor romantic. I was sweating, exhausted, breathing hard, and surrounded by a green haze of stress. You should take all possible precautions to avoid these circumstances.
But the good news is we made it to our seats just as the train left the platform, and 2 ½ hours later arrived in Paris, where a confused Asian immigrant cab driver barely got us to our hotel alive. And I imagine that if there is traffic in hell, it closely resembles French traffic.
Well, it is now 1:01 am, and I am tired of writing, and I’m sure that you are tired of reading, so I will post this now and update on the rest of free travel at some later point. Don’t worry, Monday is by far the longest part of the free travel postings.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
I know I know
And don't remind me, I know I'm supposed to be updating you all on the end of the trip. It's coming, I promise, though it might be July before it gets here.
Occupational destiny, a sentimental post
People say I'm lucky that I know what to do with my life. That's probably true. But there are plenty of days when I wonder whether it's what I'm supposed to be doing and whether I will still be happy with this decision in 10 or 20 years.
And then there days like today when I am confident that this is where I'm meant to be and what I'm supposed to be doing, at least right now. Whenever I have a discussion or debate about education, like I did today, and I can hear the passion in my voice, I realize that I cannot imagine that tone coming from a debate about any other subject.
Tomorrow I get to meet the new SC Superintendent of Education, and I'm more excited than I would be about meeting, I don't know, Brad Pitt. Given that I don't like Brad Pitt very much, but you get what I'm saying. I'm not even griping about having to get up early to be there, and trust me, that's a big deal. It's those sorts of things that make me realize that there is nothing else I'd rather do at this time in my life.
I don't know whether I'll be in education until retirement, and I'm even less sure whether I'll be teaching that long, but it is wonderful to have days like today as confirmation that I have found the one road out of hundreds that will make the most interesting and enlightening journey for me.
And then there days like today when I am confident that this is where I'm meant to be and what I'm supposed to be doing, at least right now. Whenever I have a discussion or debate about education, like I did today, and I can hear the passion in my voice, I realize that I cannot imagine that tone coming from a debate about any other subject.
Tomorrow I get to meet the new SC Superintendent of Education, and I'm more excited than I would be about meeting, I don't know, Brad Pitt. Given that I don't like Brad Pitt very much, but you get what I'm saying. I'm not even griping about having to get up early to be there, and trust me, that's a big deal. It's those sorts of things that make me realize that there is nothing else I'd rather do at this time in my life.
I don't know whether I'll be in education until retirement, and I'm even less sure whether I'll be teaching that long, but it is wonderful to have days like today as confirmation that I have found the one road out of hundreds that will make the most interesting and enlightening journey for me.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Last post from Europe
Well, this is it folks. I'm getting all reminiscient now that we're down to less than a day to takeoff. I don't have much to say I guess. This will be my last night in Europe for a long long time I imagine. I will miss it, but probably not as much as I've missed home. Anyway, this post is short, both because I have little to say and because it is, after all, my last day in London, and I'm certainly not going to waste it online!
Cheers from the girl who is very ready to get off that plane and onto Southern soil once more!
Cheers from the girl who is very ready to get off that plane and onto Southern soil once more!
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