May 17, 2009
Lydia, Lori, and I have left Oxford. We’re on the bus to London. The sky is nice and grey. It rained for us before we departed. Oxford is so perfect in the rain. I think it was quite appropriate that it was raining as we left because if my life were a movie, it would have rained to signify sorrow, but revitalization. Really Good goodbyes always happen in the rain.
Seb A said, “See you at the wedding!” as his farewell. That’s probably the next time I’ll see him. October 2010. Same with James K and Seb B. I am all too aware that I will not have a chance to visit Oxford again for a very long time. I’ll have to come back to visit Brent Lederle when he’s spending a Hilary term at HMC :)
The hospitality of the Sebastians was overwhelming. Seb A fully surrendered his room and none of us had to sleep on the floor because they’d arranged mattresses for all of us.
Lydia painted a watercolor for me of Harris Manchester. She spent Saturday afternoon working on it while I got my haircut and started writing a song. It’s a pretty simple song considering I know about 5 chords and have never really put my own words to music. The watercolor. Let me try and do it justice with words.
There’s a view of Harris Manchester that has always jolted my insides, making them a little too big for my outsides. I first noticed it when returning from a dance rather late one night. You walk up the street and the library is the first section of the building you see. The windows are stained glass and they positively glow.
This is the same view that I, when with Seb B, exclaimed the beauty of Harris Manchester’s library. It still gets me, though. So Lydia sat on the sidewalk, next to a random pair of 20 p pieces, and painted the most beautiful angle of that building. She gave it to me that night and, I didn’t think I would, but I wept.
I knew it would be priceless to me. There is so much represented in that painting that I cannot fully explain. It’s my favorite view of Harris Manchester. It was something that until then, I had experienced alone. Someone whom I love traveled across an ocean and saw it too. Took the time to internalize it, interpret it, and then share their view of it with me.
There are no people in the painting but people are implicit because Lydia painting from life means she me and interacted with the ones I love from Harris Manchester. My two lives come together in that painting.
Lori played soccer with the boys on Friday night. She was the only girl and I’m pretty sure the only American too. I think she went over well :)
Lydia played the guitar with James. We had a series of sing alongs and midnight jam sessions. Poor Seb B. We completely invaded his room on Friday night. He didn’t want to go dancing. He didn’t want to be out late. He wanted to sleep and our demanding rowdy attitude would not consent. So me, Lydia, Lori, and James went with him back to his room. Seb crawled into bed. We all poured a glass of Monkey Shoulder whiskey and played the guitar and sang until about 3 a.m. We wanted his company and by God we were going to get it whether he was asleep or not!
There are many little wonderful things that happened while we were at Oxford. We ate dinner in the bathroom. We started writing a few songs. By the end of this trip there will be an album, a blog novel, a photo documentary, a book of poetry, and a gallery’s worth of paintings to show for it.
Dreams that we’ve had since childhood will be fulfilled. Lori got to see Big Ben. A dream of hers now with a great big check mark next to it. Playing soccer at Oxford. She didn’t know it was a dream till it was happening.
I remember the very first day I got to Oxford and saw all the bicycles. I thought, “if only Lydia Joy could see this bicycle heaven!” And she did.
Having them around leaves a little less time for blogging and some aspects of personal reflection. But there is so much more to be developed between us.
By the way, within a few hours of getting to Oxford with Lyd and Lor, I finished Brother’s Karamazov. The three of us went to the park and sat for a few hours. Lori read. Lydia painted. And I finished Brother’s Karamazov. I couldn’t have finished at a better place than the University Parks. I bought a Ray Bradbury book called The Martian Chronicles. I’ve decided that I will only read books that Sheena holds in high esteem while on this trip. Even if that means I have to reread Le Petit Prince while in France this summer. It’s my way of keeping her very close while I’m painfully aware that she’s quite far away.
Seb B made an excellent comment today at our last meal together. He said that he loves the feeling of leaving a place because while it’s sad to say goodbye and go, there’s a new and unknown place yet to be discovered. And you’re once again reminded that, “I’m traveling!”
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I'm Innocent
May 12, 2009
It’s been a good day. I started today traveling by myself and I’ve finished today traveling with two friends. People I’ve known for longer than four months. There is something so different yet still so very much the same about traveling with friends compared to traveling alone. I have been waiting to share my time with Lydia and Lori out here in the great big world for about two months. And today was glorious.
I did face trials and tribulations, though. Let me remind you that when I got to England in January I had a bit of a run in with the immigration officials. They didn’t much like that I was studying in England and didn’t have a student visa and that I was allegedly going to study in France but had no paperwork to prove it as of then. He intimidatingly stamped my passport and wrote in SIX MONTHS. This, I found out today, was a bit unusual and a signal to all of England that I needed to be watched.
I flew to Ireland for a day and they gave me no fuss when trying to reenter. I left for Holland and England might have thought they saw the last of me, but England was wrong. I needed to pick up Lydia and Lori and show them Oxford and hang out in London! For less than a week.
So last night I got on a ferry from Hoek van Holland to Harwich, they didn’t get me with any crafty schemes this time and I even saved 10 euros on my ticket because of my Eurail pass. This morning I arrived at the UK boarder in Harwich and the gentleman looked through my passport. Asked me about my reasons for coming to England. How long I’d be. What’d I’d been doing there before. Studying? Why didn’t I have a student Visa? I explained about my studying at Oxford and then traveling till then studying in France. I’d be in the UK for less than six months. I had the paperwork and acceptance letters; did he want to see them?
They detained me. A severe woman came over to me and started asking me more questions. Where would I be staying in England? With friends at Harris Manchester. Two friends are flying into Heathrow from the States today; I’ll meet up with them, come back to the Netherlands and travel around before studying in France.
“You’re a student,” she asked. I confirmed. I had acceptance letters from Both Oxford and Aix on me. She required them.
When did I plan on returning to the States? July 28, after my summer term in France, I’ve got my flight booked from Heathrow home and everything.
“If you’re a student and not working, how are you living?” What the hell? She wanted to know how I was sitting there breathing and processing information and feeling humiliated and doing it all simultaneously while consciously making an effort to control the volume and tone of my voice (something my father’s suggested to me many times) while she sits there living too?
“How are you paying for this?”
And the indignation took a severe hold of my throat. And brow. And lips. And of course the solution protecting my eyes.
My husband is in the Army. He’s stationed in Iraq until September.
The solution submerged my eyeballs and my eyelashes directed the dangerous excess liquid down the crease of my nose.
Ugh, I’m positively volatile.
At this point there was no use in pretending I wasn’t upset and shaken. I spilled detail after unrequested detail about my scholarship to England. Paid for. About not being able to get Aix paper work until recently and how hard it was to obtain it. I think she did ask for my plans with Lydia and Lori and I said they’d just graduated college and we were going to travel some for fun: London to Oxford where we would stay with my friends who are still studying at Harris Manchester College, get a ferry to Amsterdam, 2-3 days in Germany, stay with the mother of an Austrian friend (whom I met at HMC) in Innsbruck, be in Rome for the game, get a ferry to Greece to spend about a week traveling around, maybe meeting up with a friend I studied with in high school who’s from Serbia but studying in (Thessaloniki) then planning, though the flight’s not been booked yet, of flying from Greece to Paris where we’ll spend about a week before then go back to England to fly back to the States and I go to Aix-en-Provence, which was paid for with a student loan.
Leslie was called away for something and I sat there trying not to look too lame. Leslie came back and said, in an intentionally non-comforting tone that if she’d been trying to get into the States the way I was trying to get into England, she wouldn’t have even made it as far as I had.
Who knows how many underlying meanings she was hinting at with a statement like that.
I showed her my flight itinerary. Those were covered in the scholarship, I over informed her with a needle or two in my voice.
She left again and spoke loudly to the man across the room from me, even though he was face to face with her. She sounded down right cold and mean. Mean and cold. Heart made of stone. Ice covered stone.
They called me over. They gave me six more months because I had my flight booked for the States already. They advised me to keep my paper work readily accessible for when I come back to fly home in July.
I asked them if I’d done something wrong. Partly because I Knew I’d done nothing wrong and wanted them to say it to me. They kind of did. They said it wasn’t about having done anything right or wrong, but putting together what I say with what I show them. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t just trying to keep reentering the country every six months.
But basically that I’d done nothing wrong.
And partly because I didn’t understand how it all worked. I didn’t realize the six months started over when you left. I thought I had six from the time it was first stamped until it expired. Then I’d have to get a new one just to fly home.
Negatron.
I wished them a pleasant day and even Thanked them. I thanked them first and then wished them a good day. I almost wish I’d left them with a “Right, later.” or something equally as non polite and slightly undermining. But as it were, I thanked them for questioning me and delaying my journey. I think they caught the vibe the “Thank you” was on, though, cuz it clearly wasn’t a grateful one.
I understand it’s not their job to be nice, quite the opposite in fact. But I still can’t be a little begrudging towards them after detaining me twice in four months. It makes me wonder how many ne're do wells they actually do catch. There honestly can’t be that many out there compared to the number of people who just wanna live and not be asked “How are you living?”
I’m living! Are You living, Leslie? Are you catching people who Aren’t living? People who Aren’t living the way You’ve been told they need to live or not live? I’m living and I love living and I hope you do try to go to the States and I hope the States let you live without too much fuss.
Despite those two border incidences, I love England a lot. And my first day with Lydia and Lori was magical.
It’s been a good day. I started today traveling by myself and I’ve finished today traveling with two friends. People I’ve known for longer than four months. There is something so different yet still so very much the same about traveling with friends compared to traveling alone. I have been waiting to share my time with Lydia and Lori out here in the great big world for about two months. And today was glorious.
I did face trials and tribulations, though. Let me remind you that when I got to England in January I had a bit of a run in with the immigration officials. They didn’t much like that I was studying in England and didn’t have a student visa and that I was allegedly going to study in France but had no paperwork to prove it as of then. He intimidatingly stamped my passport and wrote in SIX MONTHS. This, I found out today, was a bit unusual and a signal to all of England that I needed to be watched.
I flew to Ireland for a day and they gave me no fuss when trying to reenter. I left for Holland and England might have thought they saw the last of me, but England was wrong. I needed to pick up Lydia and Lori and show them Oxford and hang out in London! For less than a week.
So last night I got on a ferry from Hoek van Holland to Harwich, they didn’t get me with any crafty schemes this time and I even saved 10 euros on my ticket because of my Eurail pass. This morning I arrived at the UK boarder in Harwich and the gentleman looked through my passport. Asked me about my reasons for coming to England. How long I’d be. What’d I’d been doing there before. Studying? Why didn’t I have a student Visa? I explained about my studying at Oxford and then traveling till then studying in France. I’d be in the UK for less than six months. I had the paperwork and acceptance letters; did he want to see them?
They detained me. A severe woman came over to me and started asking me more questions. Where would I be staying in England? With friends at Harris Manchester. Two friends are flying into Heathrow from the States today; I’ll meet up with them, come back to the Netherlands and travel around before studying in France.
“You’re a student,” she asked. I confirmed. I had acceptance letters from Both Oxford and Aix on me. She required them.
When did I plan on returning to the States? July 28, after my summer term in France, I’ve got my flight booked from Heathrow home and everything.
“If you’re a student and not working, how are you living?” What the hell? She wanted to know how I was sitting there breathing and processing information and feeling humiliated and doing it all simultaneously while consciously making an effort to control the volume and tone of my voice (something my father’s suggested to me many times) while she sits there living too?
“How are you paying for this?”
And the indignation took a severe hold of my throat. And brow. And lips. And of course the solution protecting my eyes.
My husband is in the Army. He’s stationed in Iraq until September.
The solution submerged my eyeballs and my eyelashes directed the dangerous excess liquid down the crease of my nose.
Ugh, I’m positively volatile.
At this point there was no use in pretending I wasn’t upset and shaken. I spilled detail after unrequested detail about my scholarship to England. Paid for. About not being able to get Aix paper work until recently and how hard it was to obtain it. I think she did ask for my plans with Lydia and Lori and I said they’d just graduated college and we were going to travel some for fun: London to Oxford where we would stay with my friends who are still studying at Harris Manchester College, get a ferry to Amsterdam, 2-3 days in Germany, stay with the mother of an Austrian friend (whom I met at HMC) in Innsbruck, be in Rome for the game, get a ferry to Greece to spend about a week traveling around, maybe meeting up with a friend I studied with in high school who’s from Serbia but studying in (Thessaloniki) then planning, though the flight’s not been booked yet, of flying from Greece to Paris where we’ll spend about a week before then go back to England to fly back to the States and I go to Aix-en-Provence, which was paid for with a student loan.
Leslie was called away for something and I sat there trying not to look too lame. Leslie came back and said, in an intentionally non-comforting tone that if she’d been trying to get into the States the way I was trying to get into England, she wouldn’t have even made it as far as I had.
Who knows how many underlying meanings she was hinting at with a statement like that.
I showed her my flight itinerary. Those were covered in the scholarship, I over informed her with a needle or two in my voice.
She left again and spoke loudly to the man across the room from me, even though he was face to face with her. She sounded down right cold and mean. Mean and cold. Heart made of stone. Ice covered stone.
They called me over. They gave me six more months because I had my flight booked for the States already. They advised me to keep my paper work readily accessible for when I come back to fly home in July.
I asked them if I’d done something wrong. Partly because I Knew I’d done nothing wrong and wanted them to say it to me. They kind of did. They said it wasn’t about having done anything right or wrong, but putting together what I say with what I show them. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t just trying to keep reentering the country every six months.
But basically that I’d done nothing wrong.
And partly because I didn’t understand how it all worked. I didn’t realize the six months started over when you left. I thought I had six from the time it was first stamped until it expired. Then I’d have to get a new one just to fly home.
Negatron.
I wished them a pleasant day and even Thanked them. I thanked them first and then wished them a good day. I almost wish I’d left them with a “Right, later.” or something equally as non polite and slightly undermining. But as it were, I thanked them for questioning me and delaying my journey. I think they caught the vibe the “Thank you” was on, though, cuz it clearly wasn’t a grateful one.
I understand it’s not their job to be nice, quite the opposite in fact. But I still can’t be a little begrudging towards them after detaining me twice in four months. It makes me wonder how many ne're do wells they actually do catch. There honestly can’t be that many out there compared to the number of people who just wanna live and not be asked “How are you living?”
I’m living! Are You living, Leslie? Are you catching people who Aren’t living? People who Aren’t living the way You’ve been told they need to live or not live? I’m living and I love living and I hope you do try to go to the States and I hope the States let you live without too much fuss.
Despite those two border incidences, I love England a lot. And my first day with Lydia and Lori was magical.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Photos from the Past Adventures
Lago di Garda
Campsite at Lago di Garda
View of Innsbruck at night from Niklas' mom's house
Somewhere between Zurich and Innsbruck
The sea at night in Holland
Tulip Festival in Holland
Fish and Chips by the sea at Brighton Pier
View from the windmill at the Tulip fest
Sailor Sarah
Flying at the Osbourne house on the Isle of Wight
Dandy-lion field on my southern England country ramble
Guess where...
Even in England my Country's spirit in the form of a bald eagle is still sheltering me beneath it's loving wing.
Tate Liverpool museum. 
Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh
How Do You Say, "Where For God's Sake Am I?" In German?
It seems that this phrase, or some variation of it, has been haunting me since I got to Europe. I wish I’d been keeping a tally of how many times I’ve muttered it out loud to myself. I also wish I got a Euro for every time I said it.
I’ve asked this question out of awe, both reverently and disappointedly.
I’m asking myself this question about Antwerp. Well, not so much Antwerp but my Hostel in Antwerp.
It's always kind of funny when I find myself saying "What is this place? How did I get Here?" It can be really disconcerting. I didn't get to Antwerpen until about 11 p.m. That's ok except I realized at about 8:30 that I hadn't written down the name of my hostel OR directions to it from the train station. How could I be so base? My cellphone was dead too. Ugh. Luckily I remembered seeing a plug on the wall three train cars back. So I went and charged my phone for a matter minutes, just long enough to call Seb A to see if he was close to a computer. Fortunately he was! He got into my Gmail account and google mapped the directions for me. I love Seb A.
So I walked through the dark and eerie streets of the ghetto side of Antwerpen to my ghetto hostel. I had to walk through a very strange bathroom type area that looked like 70 years ago it would have been an open air section of the building. Is this making sense? The building is on a corner and I have a feeling there was a court yard in the middle of the building that was then filled in when this place became a hostel. There are bits of outer wall on the inside of the area. The whole place is confusing in an unnatural sense.
And they forgot to give me a pillowcase. And the pillow felt like a bag of cotton balls. I used my scarf to cover the pillow and fell asleep thinking "Where for God's sake am I?" And the bed tilted to the right. Noticeably.
I was actually rather cranky this morning. Someone's alarm was going off really loudly and they weren't shutting it off. After the second round of the William Tell Overature in cellphone beeps I realized freaking great, it's MY annoying alarm and I'M the idiot not turning it off. The seven other people in this room must Hate me. Luckly they all checked out this morning.
There was a free breakfast that was pretty decent. Toast, chocolate cereal, Unlimited coffee (of which I had 3 cups) fresh oranges, ham, cheese, and rolls. I ate a lot. And took some for later.
I finally got to Brussels and am having an alright time. It's a really beautiful day. I found a very cool place to order food in French and suck up the free wifi. I'm going to see a silent film this afternoon with a live piano player. For 3 Euros. I'm catching up on photos.
It's also Mother's Day and I'm missing moms.
I'll see Lydia and Lori in 1 day 17 hours!
So. Where for God's sake am I? I'm in Brussels! I'm in Belgium! I'm in Europe! I'm in the midst of European Adventure 09! I'm three weeks from my birthday! I'm 79 days from flying home and living in my house! I'm in awe! I'm in Love! I'm involved. I'm in safe hands, as well as my own.
I’ve asked this question out of awe, both reverently and disappointedly.
I’m asking myself this question about Antwerp. Well, not so much Antwerp but my Hostel in Antwerp.
It's always kind of funny when I find myself saying "What is this place? How did I get Here?" It can be really disconcerting. I didn't get to Antwerpen until about 11 p.m. That's ok except I realized at about 8:30 that I hadn't written down the name of my hostel OR directions to it from the train station. How could I be so base? My cellphone was dead too. Ugh. Luckily I remembered seeing a plug on the wall three train cars back. So I went and charged my phone for a matter minutes, just long enough to call Seb A to see if he was close to a computer. Fortunately he was! He got into my Gmail account and google mapped the directions for me. I love Seb A.
So I walked through the dark and eerie streets of the ghetto side of Antwerpen to my ghetto hostel. I had to walk through a very strange bathroom type area that looked like 70 years ago it would have been an open air section of the building. Is this making sense? The building is on a corner and I have a feeling there was a court yard in the middle of the building that was then filled in when this place became a hostel. There are bits of outer wall on the inside of the area. The whole place is confusing in an unnatural sense.
And they forgot to give me a pillowcase. And the pillow felt like a bag of cotton balls. I used my scarf to cover the pillow and fell asleep thinking "Where for God's sake am I?" And the bed tilted to the right. Noticeably.
I was actually rather cranky this morning. Someone's alarm was going off really loudly and they weren't shutting it off. After the second round of the William Tell Overature in cellphone beeps I realized freaking great, it's MY annoying alarm and I'M the idiot not turning it off. The seven other people in this room must Hate me. Luckly they all checked out this morning.
There was a free breakfast that was pretty decent. Toast, chocolate cereal, Unlimited coffee (of which I had 3 cups) fresh oranges, ham, cheese, and rolls. I ate a lot. And took some for later.
I finally got to Brussels and am having an alright time. It's a really beautiful day. I found a very cool place to order food in French and suck up the free wifi. I'm going to see a silent film this afternoon with a live piano player. For 3 Euros. I'm catching up on photos.
It's also Mother's Day and I'm missing moms.
I'll see Lydia and Lori in 1 day 17 hours!
So. Where for God's sake am I? I'm in Brussels! I'm in Belgium! I'm in Europe! I'm in the midst of European Adventure 09! I'm three weeks from my birthday! I'm 79 days from flying home and living in my house! I'm in awe! I'm in Love! I'm involved. I'm in safe hands, as well as my own.
I Could Use an Upright Bass
Post Saturday the 9th of May
It’s half past noon and I’m on a train. Again. I’m sitting at a table surrounded by a horde of twelve-year-old girls. I think they’re on this train for the long haul, like me.
I don’t miss being twelve. I don’t miss 6th grade. I think I was made for college.
Anyway. I spent the day in Vienna yesterday. Only one day. I could have spent another quite happily there, I think. The hostel had free instruments people could use. These instruments consisted of a piano, one classical guitar with strings, one classical guitar without strings, one ukulele with 3 strings, and a drum. It wasn’t completely disappointing because some people could play the guitar and would strum a bit and people would request this song or that song and if he knew it we’d stumble along. It was pretty delightful.
The night I got there I chatted with several Aussies, a couple Canadians and an Alex from Manchester, England. Alex knew bluegrass. We stayed up long after the Aussies and Canadians went to bed strumming through song after song. I got my laptop and we listened to a bunch of Carter Family and I showed him my favorite version of Gentle on my Mind by John Hartford. He was going to take a train to Budapest for a day trip but the Hungarian train workers went on strike so he couldn’t get to Budapest. Instead he and I went to the Leopold Museum where the largest collection of Egon Schiele’s artwork is housed.
We had a delightful walk there. We had delightful discussions. We ate delightful sandwiches and delightful chocolate cake, even though we were really after pie. We found our way to the Danube and sat by the water watching ducks, swans, and barges. I mean, the Danube is just a river. And that’s exactly what it looks like. We put our toes in the water for a bit. The water was quite cold.
We walked to some big building with a concert being set up and we climbed a tree in the park. We sat there for an hour or two chatting in a tree. People watched us but didn’t tell us to get down. We talked about traveling alone and how it lends itself to a lot of reflection, a lot of being quite, and a lot of people watching. We both confessed that we’d hoped to have epiphanies while traveling alone and so far, neither of us has had one. I don’t think they really happen, he commented. I don’t know, he’s still got a week left to travel so there’s still time.
After climbing down from our boughs, we went in the direction of the hostel to find a grocery store. We’d decided to eat peanuts and bananas for dinner. Apparently when you’re in a hurry this is the magical health combo. It’s a combination of all the right proteins and fats and what ever else. We got mango and guava juice, expensive vacuum-packed peanuts, bananas, and a loaf of brown bread. This amounted to about 8 euros and we could barely eat a quarter of what we bought together. Bread, peanuts, and bananas will fill you up, let me tell you. When we sat down to eat our meal we were like “what kind of food did we get?” Monkey food. This is what monkeys eat. Other people were eating pasta with sauce. Salads. Sandwiches. We were eating chunks of bread, handfuls of peanuts and bananas. What a silly life.
I accidentally left my guava juice in the fridge when I left this morning. :( I hadn’t realized it till I was half way to the train station and by then I wasn’t going to walk back to get it. I wish I had now.
After dinner we jammed with a few more people and we left for a showing of The Third Man. Alex had gone on a Sewer Tour that showed you all of the places where the movie was filmed there in Vienna. I’d never seen the movie so I was psyched to go see it and in Vienna, too! We took the train there and caught the 10:55 showing. I unfortunately drifted off for about 20 minutes there in the middle of the movie, which frustrated me, but I can rent the movie anytime. It was still cool to go and see it. It didn’t get done till about 1 a.m. and by then the subway had closed. We had a half hour walk back to the hostel. It felt like it was 9 p.m. because it was really bright and there were tons of people walking around.
So now I’m on my way to Antwerp, Belgium. I won’t get there till 11 p.m. or so. That’s alright with me. I’m looking forward to seeing the country my mom studied in when she was a little younger than I am now.
Hanging out with Manchester Alex made me miss England.
The train I’m currently on stopped at the Passau Hbf Station and there’s an old man with a blue driving cap, a blue button up tee shirt, blue jean shorts that are just a tad too short, dark blue socks up to mid calf and brown sandals. He’s standing at the top of the stairs waiting for someone to come. He paces a little to the left, turns, paces a little to the right. Looks down the stairs. He watches the people come up and greet the others around him. He paces to the left again, looks at his watch. I wanted to see his loved one meet him but we pulled out of the station before it happened.
It’s half past noon and I’m on a train. Again. I’m sitting at a table surrounded by a horde of twelve-year-old girls. I think they’re on this train for the long haul, like me.
I don’t miss being twelve. I don’t miss 6th grade. I think I was made for college.
Anyway. I spent the day in Vienna yesterday. Only one day. I could have spent another quite happily there, I think. The hostel had free instruments people could use. These instruments consisted of a piano, one classical guitar with strings, one classical guitar without strings, one ukulele with 3 strings, and a drum. It wasn’t completely disappointing because some people could play the guitar and would strum a bit and people would request this song or that song and if he knew it we’d stumble along. It was pretty delightful.
The night I got there I chatted with several Aussies, a couple Canadians and an Alex from Manchester, England. Alex knew bluegrass. We stayed up long after the Aussies and Canadians went to bed strumming through song after song. I got my laptop and we listened to a bunch of Carter Family and I showed him my favorite version of Gentle on my Mind by John Hartford. He was going to take a train to Budapest for a day trip but the Hungarian train workers went on strike so he couldn’t get to Budapest. Instead he and I went to the Leopold Museum where the largest collection of Egon Schiele’s artwork is housed.
We had a delightful walk there. We had delightful discussions. We ate delightful sandwiches and delightful chocolate cake, even though we were really after pie. We found our way to the Danube and sat by the water watching ducks, swans, and barges. I mean, the Danube is just a river. And that’s exactly what it looks like. We put our toes in the water for a bit. The water was quite cold.
We walked to some big building with a concert being set up and we climbed a tree in the park. We sat there for an hour or two chatting in a tree. People watched us but didn’t tell us to get down. We talked about traveling alone and how it lends itself to a lot of reflection, a lot of being quite, and a lot of people watching. We both confessed that we’d hoped to have epiphanies while traveling alone and so far, neither of us has had one. I don’t think they really happen, he commented. I don’t know, he’s still got a week left to travel so there’s still time.
After climbing down from our boughs, we went in the direction of the hostel to find a grocery store. We’d decided to eat peanuts and bananas for dinner. Apparently when you’re in a hurry this is the magical health combo. It’s a combination of all the right proteins and fats and what ever else. We got mango and guava juice, expensive vacuum-packed peanuts, bananas, and a loaf of brown bread. This amounted to about 8 euros and we could barely eat a quarter of what we bought together. Bread, peanuts, and bananas will fill you up, let me tell you. When we sat down to eat our meal we were like “what kind of food did we get?” Monkey food. This is what monkeys eat. Other people were eating pasta with sauce. Salads. Sandwiches. We were eating chunks of bread, handfuls of peanuts and bananas. What a silly life.
I accidentally left my guava juice in the fridge when I left this morning. :( I hadn’t realized it till I was half way to the train station and by then I wasn’t going to walk back to get it. I wish I had now.
After dinner we jammed with a few more people and we left for a showing of The Third Man. Alex had gone on a Sewer Tour that showed you all of the places where the movie was filmed there in Vienna. I’d never seen the movie so I was psyched to go see it and in Vienna, too! We took the train there and caught the 10:55 showing. I unfortunately drifted off for about 20 minutes there in the middle of the movie, which frustrated me, but I can rent the movie anytime. It was still cool to go and see it. It didn’t get done till about 1 a.m. and by then the subway had closed. We had a half hour walk back to the hostel. It felt like it was 9 p.m. because it was really bright and there were tons of people walking around.
So now I’m on my way to Antwerp, Belgium. I won’t get there till 11 p.m. or so. That’s alright with me. I’m looking forward to seeing the country my mom studied in when she was a little younger than I am now.
Hanging out with Manchester Alex made me miss England.
The train I’m currently on stopped at the Passau Hbf Station and there’s an old man with a blue driving cap, a blue button up tee shirt, blue jean shorts that are just a tad too short, dark blue socks up to mid calf and brown sandals. He’s standing at the top of the stairs waiting for someone to come. He paces a little to the left, turns, paces a little to the right. Looks down the stairs. He watches the people come up and greet the others around him. He paces to the left again, looks at his watch. I wanted to see his loved one meet him but we pulled out of the station before it happened.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
4 p.m. and my titles have gotten lame lame lame
Just spent a delightful afternoon in Salzburg. I think I really like that city. It was small enough but also had a nice big feel. I thought I was going to miss the Thursday market because I heard that it closed about noon. I arrived at the train station at half eleven and couldn’t manage to figure out the bus system. I spent 15 minutes trying to decide which bus I should take, finally asked someone and they said it best to just walk. So I did. I asked a few more people along the way if I was headed the right direction. Success!
I ended up taking a slightly different route but thanks to the trusty map Seb B’s mom gave me, I found the Mirabelle Platz the back way. I’m glad I took the back way because I was greeted with all the bread and sweets stands :) The front was all flowers and fresh produce. I decided to eat at the market. There were stands selling frankfurters with mustard and ketchup and Steigel bier. So that’s what I had. I then went back to the sweet bread stands and got a giant sweet roll.
Twice at HMC Seb B made traditional Austrian dumplings from bread his grandmother sent with him. The first kind we had with goulash and the second he made with spinach and butter. I was able to recognize the spinach butter ones at the market. I almost got about 6 of those. But I really just wanted to keep the memory of the homemade ones in my mind and on my palate.
I walked across the street to the gardens. They had a section that was basically a maze of skinny trees. It wasn’t a labyrinth. More like trees that had been planted really close together, creating enclosed spaces with little openings from people pushing their way into the center. This is what I did. I sat and listened to all the people chatting in German around me. I’ve become quite taken with German. Maybe I should start to study it.
After wandering around the park a bit I made my way to the city center. I wandered around a bit. Found a post card. Wrote it for James Kanimba. Found a post office. Sent it to James Kanimba. I also bought a roll of tape so that I can stick stuff in Lydia’s notebook and not have hundreds of little pieces of paper floating around my already stuffed and cluttery Paris purse. And shoved inside my delicate copy of Brother’s Karamazov. That poor book.
I have many things with me that are doomed to not make it back to the States. I feel a little bad putting my tennis shoes on every morning and saying “Shoes, you might not make it back to the States. Socks, you won’t make it back to the states with the looks of that heel.” I think it’s better to foresee these things though so that when it comes right down to the moment of truth I won’t hesitate and I won’t feel bad. Those jeans knew their travels were almost over.
Anyway.
After mailing that post card I walked next door to the panorama museum. I figured it was a euro 50. Why not? Basically this guy in the mid 1800’s went to some of the most far off and beautiful places in the world and painted huge pictures of them. I think there were 25 paintings of places like Mecca, the Grand Canyon, the Matterhorn, Jerusalem, Istanbul, the Sphinx, etc. So that was cool.
I then decided a coffee would be the right thing after that. I found a little places and I think it was called the Golden Duck. It really could have been anything. I managed to order one cappucchino, please, in German. That was good, but bad because my waiter then thought I actually spoke German. Of course the rest of the German I actually knew would not let me tell him I didn’t speak German and that I needed the check, please. So I had to out myself as a non-German speaker.
So I made a nice jaunt back to the station without the use of my map and without the direction of strangers. Yess.
Now I’m on the train to Wien. I can’t wait to get to Vienna. I’ll charge this laptop. Post these posts. Download photos. Shower. And talk to Lydia. Hopefully I can find some musicians to chill with. I need a bit of music in my life that I’m participating in.
I ended up taking a slightly different route but thanks to the trusty map Seb B’s mom gave me, I found the Mirabelle Platz the back way. I’m glad I took the back way because I was greeted with all the bread and sweets stands :) The front was all flowers and fresh produce. I decided to eat at the market. There were stands selling frankfurters with mustard and ketchup and Steigel bier. So that’s what I had. I then went back to the sweet bread stands and got a giant sweet roll.
Twice at HMC Seb B made traditional Austrian dumplings from bread his grandmother sent with him. The first kind we had with goulash and the second he made with spinach and butter. I was able to recognize the spinach butter ones at the market. I almost got about 6 of those. But I really just wanted to keep the memory of the homemade ones in my mind and on my palate.
I walked across the street to the gardens. They had a section that was basically a maze of skinny trees. It wasn’t a labyrinth. More like trees that had been planted really close together, creating enclosed spaces with little openings from people pushing their way into the center. This is what I did. I sat and listened to all the people chatting in German around me. I’ve become quite taken with German. Maybe I should start to study it.
After wandering around the park a bit I made my way to the city center. I wandered around a bit. Found a post card. Wrote it for James Kanimba. Found a post office. Sent it to James Kanimba. I also bought a roll of tape so that I can stick stuff in Lydia’s notebook and not have hundreds of little pieces of paper floating around my already stuffed and cluttery Paris purse. And shoved inside my delicate copy of Brother’s Karamazov. That poor book.
I have many things with me that are doomed to not make it back to the States. I feel a little bad putting my tennis shoes on every morning and saying “Shoes, you might not make it back to the States. Socks, you won’t make it back to the states with the looks of that heel.” I think it’s better to foresee these things though so that when it comes right down to the moment of truth I won’t hesitate and I won’t feel bad. Those jeans knew their travels were almost over.
Anyway.
After mailing that post card I walked next door to the panorama museum. I figured it was a euro 50. Why not? Basically this guy in the mid 1800’s went to some of the most far off and beautiful places in the world and painted huge pictures of them. I think there were 25 paintings of places like Mecca, the Grand Canyon, the Matterhorn, Jerusalem, Istanbul, the Sphinx, etc. So that was cool.
I then decided a coffee would be the right thing after that. I found a little places and I think it was called the Golden Duck. It really could have been anything. I managed to order one cappucchino, please, in German. That was good, but bad because my waiter then thought I actually spoke German. Of course the rest of the German I actually knew would not let me tell him I didn’t speak German and that I needed the check, please. So I had to out myself as a non-German speaker.
So I made a nice jaunt back to the station without the use of my map and without the direction of strangers. Yess.
Now I’m on the train to Wien. I can’t wait to get to Vienna. I’ll charge this laptop. Post these posts. Download photos. Shower. And talk to Lydia. Hopefully I can find some musicians to chill with. I need a bit of music in my life that I’m participating in.
May 7
Ha ha again I’m on a train. Again I’m glad to be using an American keyboard because my fingers have such intense muscle memory. I was using a German keyboard for two days while at Seb B’s mom’s house and the Y key was switched with the Z key. Also the @ symbol was on the Q key and you couldn’t use the regular shift key to get it, you had to use a second shift key. In place of the quotes/apostrophe key is an A with umlauts. There are many other differences but I’ll only mention one more. The question mark key is on the 0 key. You never realize how many Y’s are in an English sentence until you have to think about where to find a Y.
It’s the little things that make the world go round.
My two days at Seb B’s mom’s house were fantastic. It was a little bit like having a family again. Seb’s got 2 younger brothers, Laurence, who’s in his first year at college, and Felix, who’s 17 and was accepted to a school in Canada for his senior year. Laurence was in the middle of his exam week so I didn’t see much of him except at lunch and dinner. Felix also had several tests, but managed to play some music, go on walks with me, go to a concert, and dance with me in the dining room. I taught him some lindy hop and he taught me a cha cha routine. I realized I have a long way to go if I want to get back into the ballroom style. But it Will happen. It was brilliant to borrow some brothers for a few days.
I got a lot of business done while in Innsbruck so I feel good about that. I also started to put together a guest list for the traditional wedding celebration Josh and I are going to have in October. Man, my family is huge.
So I’m stopping in Salzburg, Austria today to catch part of their Thursday market. I’ll walk around the gardens across from the market. I’ll go to the city center. I’ll eat some lunch. I’ll get the train that afternoon to Vienna. I can’t wait to get to Vienna! I won’t get to waltz while I’m there but I’ll get to go to the museums and the hostel I’m staying at is decently priced and has instruments you can use. Please, God, let there be a bass!
Did I already mention that Lydia is bringing a mandolin and a harmonica with her when she comes? Well, she is. Guess I’ll be trying my chops at the harmonica for the next month.
I was trying to book a hostel in Brussels but they were outrageously expensive. And their facilities didn’t seem that expansive or good. So I figured I’d get a hostel in Antwerpen, about a 40 minute train ride from Brussels. That’s fine with me but now I’ve got a compromised expectation of Belgium. The chocolate better make up for it.
Felix was a little impressed with how much stuff I had in such a limited amount of luggage. And he was amused with some of the items I deemed vital for travel. Namely my dance shoes. I think I’d travel without a toothbrush before I traveled without my dance shoes.
I was thinking the other day that if I went deaf I could still dance. I’d know all the songs in my mind and besides, I’d have a partner who would lead me. If he just let me know that the song was “In the Mood” I’d know how I wanted to dance to it. And I dance without music quite a lot anyway. As long as he was dancing in time with the music, I would be too. I don’t know why this thought came to me. I think cuz my left ear was clogged on one of the train rides and I couldn’t hear perfectly through the left earphone. The point is I could still dance and I would still want to. It’d be a bit like Beethoven, only a little different.
The first night I was in Innsbruck Felix was going to a guitar concert. I went with him and the guy who played was a world renowned classical guitarist. He was so expressive in the sense that he distorted his face according to the mood of the chords he played. He hummed along with his own playing, sometimes singing a scat note or two. He opened and closed his mouth with down turned lips like a big grouper trying to shake the fishing line. He hunched his shoulders, threw his right arm in the air after a particularly intense strum like a rock star. The guy was not just a musician, Felix said, he was a comedian. During the first few movements of the first song, Felix and I were suppressing laughs. We couldn’t look at each other or we would have disrupted the silence of those sitting nearest us. When he finally finished his first full piece he struck the last note, slightly lifted the guitar away from his body, replaced it on his lap, and hung his body over it like a marionette. The crowd clapped and released the laughter they’d all been stifling like Felix and me. After that the musician made a joking comment or two and the audience finally knew that it was acceptable to laugh when he did something unexpected or quirky. There was now a relationship between the performer and the audience. He played some more modern pieces near the end of his concert including a classical guitar homage to Jimi Hendrix. For his encore he played 2 original pieces, the second of which was almost bluesy, almost funky. He’d tap the body of the guitar for a percussion sound, he’d strum and pluck high on the neck like and 80’s metal guitarist. You could just about dance to it.
Have I mentioned the mountains much? They look like ant hills covered in moss. Only they’re mountains covered in trees.
I’m going to Salzburg where “that terrible film that everyone knows about except Austrians” was filmed. The Sound of Music. Seb’s mom is awesome. She grew up there so she gave me some advice on what to see.
Bis Bald!
(A German saying which basically means see you soon but it’s used when you know that you will definitely see that person soon. So I say it to you.)
It’s the little things that make the world go round.
My two days at Seb B’s mom’s house were fantastic. It was a little bit like having a family again. Seb’s got 2 younger brothers, Laurence, who’s in his first year at college, and Felix, who’s 17 and was accepted to a school in Canada for his senior year. Laurence was in the middle of his exam week so I didn’t see much of him except at lunch and dinner. Felix also had several tests, but managed to play some music, go on walks with me, go to a concert, and dance with me in the dining room. I taught him some lindy hop and he taught me a cha cha routine. I realized I have a long way to go if I want to get back into the ballroom style. But it Will happen. It was brilliant to borrow some brothers for a few days.
I got a lot of business done while in Innsbruck so I feel good about that. I also started to put together a guest list for the traditional wedding celebration Josh and I are going to have in October. Man, my family is huge.
So I’m stopping in Salzburg, Austria today to catch part of their Thursday market. I’ll walk around the gardens across from the market. I’ll go to the city center. I’ll eat some lunch. I’ll get the train that afternoon to Vienna. I can’t wait to get to Vienna! I won’t get to waltz while I’m there but I’ll get to go to the museums and the hostel I’m staying at is decently priced and has instruments you can use. Please, God, let there be a bass!
Did I already mention that Lydia is bringing a mandolin and a harmonica with her when she comes? Well, she is. Guess I’ll be trying my chops at the harmonica for the next month.
I was trying to book a hostel in Brussels but they were outrageously expensive. And their facilities didn’t seem that expansive or good. So I figured I’d get a hostel in Antwerpen, about a 40 minute train ride from Brussels. That’s fine with me but now I’ve got a compromised expectation of Belgium. The chocolate better make up for it.
Felix was a little impressed with how much stuff I had in such a limited amount of luggage. And he was amused with some of the items I deemed vital for travel. Namely my dance shoes. I think I’d travel without a toothbrush before I traveled without my dance shoes.
I was thinking the other day that if I went deaf I could still dance. I’d know all the songs in my mind and besides, I’d have a partner who would lead me. If he just let me know that the song was “In the Mood” I’d know how I wanted to dance to it. And I dance without music quite a lot anyway. As long as he was dancing in time with the music, I would be too. I don’t know why this thought came to me. I think cuz my left ear was clogged on one of the train rides and I couldn’t hear perfectly through the left earphone. The point is I could still dance and I would still want to. It’d be a bit like Beethoven, only a little different.
The first night I was in Innsbruck Felix was going to a guitar concert. I went with him and the guy who played was a world renowned classical guitarist. He was so expressive in the sense that he distorted his face according to the mood of the chords he played. He hummed along with his own playing, sometimes singing a scat note or two. He opened and closed his mouth with down turned lips like a big grouper trying to shake the fishing line. He hunched his shoulders, threw his right arm in the air after a particularly intense strum like a rock star. The guy was not just a musician, Felix said, he was a comedian. During the first few movements of the first song, Felix and I were suppressing laughs. We couldn’t look at each other or we would have disrupted the silence of those sitting nearest us. When he finally finished his first full piece he struck the last note, slightly lifted the guitar away from his body, replaced it on his lap, and hung his body over it like a marionette. The crowd clapped and released the laughter they’d all been stifling like Felix and me. After that the musician made a joking comment or two and the audience finally knew that it was acceptable to laugh when he did something unexpected or quirky. There was now a relationship between the performer and the audience. He played some more modern pieces near the end of his concert including a classical guitar homage to Jimi Hendrix. For his encore he played 2 original pieces, the second of which was almost bluesy, almost funky. He’d tap the body of the guitar for a percussion sound, he’d strum and pluck high on the neck like and 80’s metal guitarist. You could just about dance to it.
Have I mentioned the mountains much? They look like ant hills covered in moss. Only they’re mountains covered in trees.
I’m going to Salzburg where “that terrible film that everyone knows about except Austrians” was filmed. The Sound of Music. Seb’s mom is awesome. She grew up there so she gave me some advice on what to see.
Bis Bald!
(A German saying which basically means see you soon but it’s used when you know that you will definitely see that person soon. So I say it to you.)
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