June 30
I am no longer melting in Malaysia and have returned
to the cooler comfort of England. Overall, I have to say that Malaysia is still
one of my most favourite places to visit, decent prices, a myriad of good food
from all over South and Southeat Asia, and warm temperatures, albeit, sometimes
too warm!
I did forget to mention the other day that when I went to one of the malls one day while I was there, there was an exhibit in the mall about human rights problems in Malaysia. I found it very interesting. It talked a lot about squatters and the plight of migrant workers as well as Malaysia's indigenous peoples. I had never read anything on this before, so I was fascinated by this exposition.
As for my new pictures, it seems that either hotmail in general or msn or something is having troubles, and I am unable to upload all my latest photos, so I will try again tomorrow to hopefully add the rest.
I did forget to mention the other day that when I went to one of the malls one day while I was there, there was an exhibit in the mall about human rights problems in Malaysia. I found it very interesting. It talked a lot about squatters and the plight of migrant workers as well as Malaysia's indigenous peoples. I had never read anything on this before, so I was fascinated by this exposition.
As for my new pictures, it seems that either hotmail in general or msn or something is having troubles, and I am unable to upload all my latest photos, so I will try again tomorrow to hopefully add the rest.
June 25
"Sure...it's all fun and games until some girl
kid's your butt." I just read this on the back of some guy's T-shirt on
the bus today. Along with this was a store that sold "titbits," and I
bought an essential oil that apparently is very good for "meal
leather." All I can say is that Mandarin doesn't always translate so well
into English, at least if the translater doesn't have any command of the
English language.
I've been in Malaysia since Tuesday morning. The humidity didn't hit me the same way it did when I first arrived in this part of the world some 13 years ago, and then 3 years after that. Although Monterrey was in a fairly desertous area, it was certainly humid enough to prepare me for being in this type of climate. That includes the heat as well. I remember it taking me about a week to adjust to the temperature here in terms of being able to sleep properly at night, and now, there is no problem. The 45 degree days of Monterrey are hideous compared to here. Although I must admit, however, that when the sun comes out here, it's hot enough, and I remember how I used to think the sun was my enemy in Monterrey, how I never thought I'd live to see the day I would think the sun was my enemy!
The bougainvilles are still in bloom here, and I can smell their candy-like scent in the air. I love tropical plants and flowers and fruit. They are colourful and lush and tasty, when it comes to the fruit. I've already enjoyed my favourites from here, rambutans and mangosteens, and yesterday I got to try soursop, which wasn't too bad. If you are what you eat, then I'm really going down the fruitcake path!
I hope to do just a little more sightseeing while I'm here, but I have already gone to the Petronas Towers, for those of you that are wondering. I got a picture of them, which I'll be posting as soon as I can. I didn't go up into the towers as the free tickets were all out for the day, but I figure it's just as well. Unlike the Twin Towers in the US where you could go up all the way to the top, you can only go to the 42nd floor of the Petronas Towers, and I assume that many people have already taken photos of it, so if I'm really curious to see what the view looks like, I can see it on the Internet, I'm sure. I spent some time just shopping in the huge complex attached to it, apparently made for all the wealthy Arabs that come there, as they have all sorts of designer stores such as Escada and Versace, Armani proper and the Armani Exchange, stores that I would never even enter as I have no need for such things nor money I would want to spend there.
Mostly I've just been visiting a lot with my aunt, whom I haven't seen in 10 years--a pattern with which my readers are now probably most familiar. It's so good to be in touch and to visit again after so long. I should mention that I noticed a restaurant about a 5-minute walk from my aunt's house, which is called Las Carretas Mexican Food. I haven't the heart to try it, especially as a peek inside revealed no Mexican people working there, so I'm just a little hesitant!
I've been in Malaysia since Tuesday morning. The humidity didn't hit me the same way it did when I first arrived in this part of the world some 13 years ago, and then 3 years after that. Although Monterrey was in a fairly desertous area, it was certainly humid enough to prepare me for being in this type of climate. That includes the heat as well. I remember it taking me about a week to adjust to the temperature here in terms of being able to sleep properly at night, and now, there is no problem. The 45 degree days of Monterrey are hideous compared to here. Although I must admit, however, that when the sun comes out here, it's hot enough, and I remember how I used to think the sun was my enemy in Monterrey, how I never thought I'd live to see the day I would think the sun was my enemy!
The bougainvilles are still in bloom here, and I can smell their candy-like scent in the air. I love tropical plants and flowers and fruit. They are colourful and lush and tasty, when it comes to the fruit. I've already enjoyed my favourites from here, rambutans and mangosteens, and yesterday I got to try soursop, which wasn't too bad. If you are what you eat, then I'm really going down the fruitcake path!
I hope to do just a little more sightseeing while I'm here, but I have already gone to the Petronas Towers, for those of you that are wondering. I got a picture of them, which I'll be posting as soon as I can. I didn't go up into the towers as the free tickets were all out for the day, but I figure it's just as well. Unlike the Twin Towers in the US where you could go up all the way to the top, you can only go to the 42nd floor of the Petronas Towers, and I assume that many people have already taken photos of it, so if I'm really curious to see what the view looks like, I can see it on the Internet, I'm sure. I spent some time just shopping in the huge complex attached to it, apparently made for all the wealthy Arabs that come there, as they have all sorts of designer stores such as Escada and Versace, Armani proper and the Armani Exchange, stores that I would never even enter as I have no need for such things nor money I would want to spend there.
Mostly I've just been visiting a lot with my aunt, whom I haven't seen in 10 years--a pattern with which my readers are now probably most familiar. It's so good to be in touch and to visit again after so long. I should mention that I noticed a restaurant about a 5-minute walk from my aunt's house, which is called Las Carretas Mexican Food. I haven't the heart to try it, especially as a peek inside revealed no Mexican people working there, so I'm just a little hesitant!
8:43 AM | Read comments (1) | Permalink | Travel
June 24
And in case any of you are wondering, I don't mean
Birmingham, Alabama. I finally reached the city after the fiasco of having to
take a later train and what not to meet my cousin Baldeep, whom I hadn't seen
in a couple of weeks shy of 10 years. It was an excellent weekend!
Deep decided to show me a little of B'ham's nighlife by taking me to one of his favourite clubs. The music was actually low enough that I could hear most of what people were saying, although I must admit that my voice was hoarse after that night. Those of you at home know I almost never go to the salsa club anymore, and that has meant valuable protection for my vocal chords :o) However, it was fun to meet many of his friends, who, happily, were able to come out that night despite the previous night's exploits. England won their match the night before at the World Cup, so there was definitely partying all over, and I was told that the club was emptier than usual (as it was empty indeed) because many people were still recovering from the night before. Yikes! But it was a good time, and since we walked there, we also enjoyed a pleasant walk home.
Saturday, we spent all afternoon at Warwick Castle, which is pretty close to B'ham. It's the first Norman-style castle I've ever been able to see from the inside, although some of the rooms had been modernised up to the 19th Century as the royalty continued to use it until then. Now it is a full museum, unlike the Palacio Real in Madrid, which is a museum that the Royal family still lives in. Anyways, the scenery around the castle is gorgeous, and there is a Victorian rose garden as well as a peacock garden among the castle grounds. The rose garden was a sensation to the senses, both sight and smell. I could waste away many hours in a rose garden and would likely find myself musing about them time after time, as I have found myself doing with the full moon. The peacock garden was entertaining as several males were spreading their tail feathers for the females, and I got to watch a very strenous dance routine by one of the males. It was hilarous as the female just looked away. She didn't even look like she was being coy--if I can pretend to know what a coy female peacock would look like--she just wasn't interested. I have the dance captured on video, so if you want to see the video clips, please email me, and I'll send them to you. Both are about a minute long, I think.
Upon leaving the castle, we went home and rested for a while. That night, we did try to find something on the salsa scene, but it turns out that there is only salsa activity Monday to Friday. Saturday and Sunday seem to be devoid of salsa. What a strange concept! So we ended up going out to the same club we had gone to the night before, to Deep's disappointment. He had wanted to go somewhere different as he also felt the need for a change, but few people were free that night, and of those who were able to go out, they wanted to go to their favourite spot as they hadn't been there in a while. But it was ok. I met a few more of his friends there, so I think I got an almost complete picture of his crowd there.
Well, we caught up on all the 10 years in between. The last time we saw each other, I was only 19. Now we are well-established as adults (I would like to think). I always think it's interesting to meet people at early stages of their lives and then later. My own appreciation of the situation is even greater than it was before, and I also love more deeply than I used to as well, so the time I have with my friends and family that I don't see often become even more precious to me. Which is why, although I didn't spend this birthday being able to go for salsa, it was a great weekend because I spent it with Deep and then returned to London to have birthday dinner with Harpal and Dan. So great!!
Deep decided to show me a little of B'ham's nighlife by taking me to one of his favourite clubs. The music was actually low enough that I could hear most of what people were saying, although I must admit that my voice was hoarse after that night. Those of you at home know I almost never go to the salsa club anymore, and that has meant valuable protection for my vocal chords :o) However, it was fun to meet many of his friends, who, happily, were able to come out that night despite the previous night's exploits. England won their match the night before at the World Cup, so there was definitely partying all over, and I was told that the club was emptier than usual (as it was empty indeed) because many people were still recovering from the night before. Yikes! But it was a good time, and since we walked there, we also enjoyed a pleasant walk home.
Saturday, we spent all afternoon at Warwick Castle, which is pretty close to B'ham. It's the first Norman-style castle I've ever been able to see from the inside, although some of the rooms had been modernised up to the 19th Century as the royalty continued to use it until then. Now it is a full museum, unlike the Palacio Real in Madrid, which is a museum that the Royal family still lives in. Anyways, the scenery around the castle is gorgeous, and there is a Victorian rose garden as well as a peacock garden among the castle grounds. The rose garden was a sensation to the senses, both sight and smell. I could waste away many hours in a rose garden and would likely find myself musing about them time after time, as I have found myself doing with the full moon. The peacock garden was entertaining as several males were spreading their tail feathers for the females, and I got to watch a very strenous dance routine by one of the males. It was hilarous as the female just looked away. She didn't even look like she was being coy--if I can pretend to know what a coy female peacock would look like--she just wasn't interested. I have the dance captured on video, so if you want to see the video clips, please email me, and I'll send them to you. Both are about a minute long, I think.
Upon leaving the castle, we went home and rested for a while. That night, we did try to find something on the salsa scene, but it turns out that there is only salsa activity Monday to Friday. Saturday and Sunday seem to be devoid of salsa. What a strange concept! So we ended up going out to the same club we had gone to the night before, to Deep's disappointment. He had wanted to go somewhere different as he also felt the need for a change, but few people were free that night, and of those who were able to go out, they wanted to go to their favourite spot as they hadn't been there in a while. But it was ok. I met a few more of his friends there, so I think I got an almost complete picture of his crowd there.
Well, we caught up on all the 10 years in between. The last time we saw each other, I was only 19. Now we are well-established as adults (I would like to think). I always think it's interesting to meet people at early stages of their lives and then later. My own appreciation of the situation is even greater than it was before, and I also love more deeply than I used to as well, so the time I have with my friends and family that I don't see often become even more precious to me. Which is why, although I didn't spend this birthday being able to go for salsa, it was a great weekend because I spent it with Deep and then returned to London to have birthday dinner with Harpal and Dan. So great!!
June 23
Malaysia updates will come later as will Birmingham
updates, but for now, here's an entry I would have liked to post earlier had I
the opportunity to record this blog at the time. I recorded it in my journal on
June 16. This happened while I was waiting for the train to go to Birmingham.
I thought I had seen a lot of things in my time. I have, I think, and I've had a lot of strange conversations with strange people too. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw today: porno in the park.
I'm on my way to Birmingham to spend the weekend with Deep (my cousin). I arrived at the train station only to learn that I'm not able to take whatever train I want; I have to be on one before or after peak hours, what they call full fare hours. The next train wasn't leaving until 6:40pm, and I had arrived to catch a 4:51 train. So, I had loads of waiting ahead. I decided to stick around at the station as it would save me fare for the tube and also I was hot on account of a very warm afternoon. Going back into the tube would mean heating up on the non-air-conditioned underground during rush hour. The thought was not appealing, so I went outside to find a place to sit down and read. Unable to find a seat in shade, I read in the sun for a while, but the combination of heat and the bright white of the pages in the sunlight took their toll on my eyes, and I had to take a break. Being at a major bus, underground, and train station, there were a myriad of people scattered across the picnic tables and grassy bits as well as an assortment of people walking about.
One couple that caught my eye were comprised of a man with a large camera and a young woman in a small, stretchy black tank, a black pleated mini-skirt printed with red cherries, and black, patent leather stiletto boots. She was tall and lanky, so I assumed (and rightly so, as I later learned) that she was probably a model of some kind and was out for a photo shoot.
They were out of my mind the moment I looked away at other people. Several minutes passed by, and I turned my head in the normal course of people watching to find the couple now seated, the man on the grass and the woman on a little wooden barrier built behind the concession stands outside the station. What was remarkable about this was that her tank had been pulled below her breasts to reveal them quite freely, and the man was taking photos of this while she sat with legs spread and lifted her skirt. I'm guessing she hadn't any underwear on. Fortunately, the angle at which they were seated showed only her profile. I would hate to have caught more than I did. I have to say that I felt rather stunned by this.
The only other nudity I had seen in public prior to this was women sunbathing topless in Spain and Austria. It's a non-issue in that context, although in Vienna when I saw it, it was odd because 2 fully covered Muslim women were strolling past on the path where the topless sunbathers laid. It was a contrast indeed.
I'd like to think that what I saw was supposed to be some sort of artistic photography, but I am judging the book by it's cover here. A scantily clad woman that could have passed for a prostitute had it been nighttime is hardly artistic in the poses she was doing. A person might want to photograph prostitutes to show that they are real people with sad lives, thereby making a statement on society, perhaps, but you wouldn't need any nudity for that in my imagination.
It turned out there was another man with this group, and they moved further down the grass for a change of location. The woman seated herself on the bench of a picnic table next to a man that was thankfully completely absorbed in his book. It had struck me that no one seemed to notice the first photo shoot, but they tried the same pose again, and this time people noticed. What was remarkable in this case is that all of the people that noticed were men, and they actually said something so that the woman quickly covered her breasts before having time to shoot any photos, and they all moved away to who knows where. The men did not gawk or take any pleasure; they actually drove this group out of the area! I have to say that I am still stunned, but I guess I'll get over it.
I thought I had seen a lot of things in my time. I have, I think, and I've had a lot of strange conversations with strange people too. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw today: porno in the park.
I'm on my way to Birmingham to spend the weekend with Deep (my cousin). I arrived at the train station only to learn that I'm not able to take whatever train I want; I have to be on one before or after peak hours, what they call full fare hours. The next train wasn't leaving until 6:40pm, and I had arrived to catch a 4:51 train. So, I had loads of waiting ahead. I decided to stick around at the station as it would save me fare for the tube and also I was hot on account of a very warm afternoon. Going back into the tube would mean heating up on the non-air-conditioned underground during rush hour. The thought was not appealing, so I went outside to find a place to sit down and read. Unable to find a seat in shade, I read in the sun for a while, but the combination of heat and the bright white of the pages in the sunlight took their toll on my eyes, and I had to take a break. Being at a major bus, underground, and train station, there were a myriad of people scattered across the picnic tables and grassy bits as well as an assortment of people walking about.
One couple that caught my eye were comprised of a man with a large camera and a young woman in a small, stretchy black tank, a black pleated mini-skirt printed with red cherries, and black, patent leather stiletto boots. She was tall and lanky, so I assumed (and rightly so, as I later learned) that she was probably a model of some kind and was out for a photo shoot.
They were out of my mind the moment I looked away at other people. Several minutes passed by, and I turned my head in the normal course of people watching to find the couple now seated, the man on the grass and the woman on a little wooden barrier built behind the concession stands outside the station. What was remarkable about this was that her tank had been pulled below her breasts to reveal them quite freely, and the man was taking photos of this while she sat with legs spread and lifted her skirt. I'm guessing she hadn't any underwear on. Fortunately, the angle at which they were seated showed only her profile. I would hate to have caught more than I did. I have to say that I felt rather stunned by this.
The only other nudity I had seen in public prior to this was women sunbathing topless in Spain and Austria. It's a non-issue in that context, although in Vienna when I saw it, it was odd because 2 fully covered Muslim women were strolling past on the path where the topless sunbathers laid. It was a contrast indeed.
I'd like to think that what I saw was supposed to be some sort of artistic photography, but I am judging the book by it's cover here. A scantily clad woman that could have passed for a prostitute had it been nighttime is hardly artistic in the poses she was doing. A person might want to photograph prostitutes to show that they are real people with sad lives, thereby making a statement on society, perhaps, but you wouldn't need any nudity for that in my imagination.
It turned out there was another man with this group, and they moved further down the grass for a change of location. The woman seated herself on the bench of a picnic table next to a man that was thankfully completely absorbed in his book. It had struck me that no one seemed to notice the first photo shoot, but they tried the same pose again, and this time people noticed. What was remarkable in this case is that all of the people that noticed were men, and they actually said something so that the woman quickly covered her breasts before having time to shoot any photos, and they all moved away to who knows where. The men did not gawk or take any pleasure; they actually drove this group out of the area! I have to say that I am still stunned, but I guess I'll get over it.
June 16
You are probably wondering what I have been up to, but
there hasn't been much, actually. I've been chilling at my cousin's place for
the week and am about to take off to see another cousin in Birmingham for the
weekend. On Monday, I leave for Malaysia. I don't know how much time I'll have
to write another entry or when I'll get the chance to enter one as I hear my
aunt in Malaysia has dial-up, so I wanted to write a quick note to keep you all
up to date as to where I am and what I'm doing in case you're worried that I
haven't put in an entry in a while.
I've mostly checked out shopping this past week, and I wanted to go to another show, but I didn't get around to it. I forgot that it's only Wednesdays and Saturdays that they have matinées, and not every day of the week, so that didn't help. Yesterday, I did go to Bramah's Tea & Coffee Museum, which has the history of tea and coffee in Europe since the past 400 years or so. This is a great-smelling place, incidentally. They have a tea room at the entrance, and the museum is off to the side. It was quite fascinating for me to learn how tea became popular, and I learned that my favourite tea, Earl Gray, was originally a blend of Chinese Orange Blossom essence and black tea, not what we get today with oil of bergamot. One of the Chinese legends as to how tea drinking began was that a monk was trying to prevent himself from falling asleep while trying to reach enlightenment, so he chopped off his eyelids and then drank some tea. Guácala! That's all I can say to that. However, I was also interested to learn that the Italians, although well-known for their coffee didn't really start drinking it until the mid-1800s as it was not popular there until someone brewed some espresso at that time. Anyways, in my opinion, this museum is a must-see in London if you're interested in tea and coffee even just a little bit. It has historical significance in terms of tea and coffee's value as a commodity, among other things.
I did forget to mention, I think, that I went to see Stephen Sondheim's "Sunday in the Park with George" about the artist Georges Seurat and his descendants, well a fictional story anyways. The second half was completely unexpected, and the music was excellent as could be expected from Sondheim. Stories of these artists really speak to me, the people that must finish their work while inspired, that aren't able to conform to social expectations, the kind that find it difficult to give back the love they receive because they live in a different world. I kind of understand how it feels sometimes, although I won't lay claim to being as much an artist as Seurat or anyone like the character in the story. If it ever comes to Edmonton, or if you're ever somewhere the play is showing, I highly recommend it.
This weekend also presents a new thing for me. I have been going salsa dancing on my birthday for several years now, and this weekend is the first time I won't be as I'll be in Birmingham. I'm sure I'll survive :o)
I've mostly checked out shopping this past week, and I wanted to go to another show, but I didn't get around to it. I forgot that it's only Wednesdays and Saturdays that they have matinées, and not every day of the week, so that didn't help. Yesterday, I did go to Bramah's Tea & Coffee Museum, which has the history of tea and coffee in Europe since the past 400 years or so. This is a great-smelling place, incidentally. They have a tea room at the entrance, and the museum is off to the side. It was quite fascinating for me to learn how tea became popular, and I learned that my favourite tea, Earl Gray, was originally a blend of Chinese Orange Blossom essence and black tea, not what we get today with oil of bergamot. One of the Chinese legends as to how tea drinking began was that a monk was trying to prevent himself from falling asleep while trying to reach enlightenment, so he chopped off his eyelids and then drank some tea. Guácala! That's all I can say to that. However, I was also interested to learn that the Italians, although well-known for their coffee didn't really start drinking it until the mid-1800s as it was not popular there until someone brewed some espresso at that time. Anyways, in my opinion, this museum is a must-see in London if you're interested in tea and coffee even just a little bit. It has historical significance in terms of tea and coffee's value as a commodity, among other things.
I did forget to mention, I think, that I went to see Stephen Sondheim's "Sunday in the Park with George" about the artist Georges Seurat and his descendants, well a fictional story anyways. The second half was completely unexpected, and the music was excellent as could be expected from Sondheim. Stories of these artists really speak to me, the people that must finish their work while inspired, that aren't able to conform to social expectations, the kind that find it difficult to give back the love they receive because they live in a different world. I kind of understand how it feels sometimes, although I won't lay claim to being as much an artist as Seurat or anyone like the character in the story. If it ever comes to Edmonton, or if you're ever somewhere the play is showing, I highly recommend it.
This weekend also presents a new thing for me. I have been going salsa dancing on my birthday for several years now, and this weekend is the first time I won't be as I'll be in Birmingham. I'm sure I'll survive :o)
6:57 AM | Permalink
June 12
A good friend of our family from back home is
originally from England and frequently states that it's a great thing to go out
to see the English countryside. Having spent many happy summers on my
grandparents' farm as a child, this prospect had always interested me. I
finally had my chance to delight in this pleasure when I went to Swindon, about
an hour's train ride from London, to see my cousin Davin and his wife Dipi. The
main attraction for me in Swindon is actually them, not the fabulous outlet
shopping complex in the town, although should I ever need to go on a shopping
spree, that would be the place to do it. However, Swindon itself has little
else to offer unless you are interested in the history of trains in England.
Swindon was the hub for trains for Southern England for a number of years being
that it was the central location between Bristol and London. Bristol, I think,
was where one could catch the boats to go to America. Anyways, I was happy to
visit with Davin and Dipi as I had only met them once at their wedding 10 years
ago, and weddings are never good times to get to know people as they are too
busy and have too many things going on to really just be relaxed and talkative.
While Swindon itself may not be the most exciting place, there are many attractions outside of it in neighbouring counties and towns that are well worth it. We went to Bath on Saturday, about a 45 minute drive from Swindon. This was exciting for me because Bath is a place often mentioned in Jane Austen novels, some of her scenes even being located there, so I was interested in seeing what it was like. As it turns out, there is a Jane Austen Centre there, so Dipi and I went in the museum to look around. There isn't a whole lot to see, but if you pay admission, you get a 15-minute introduction talk on Jane Austen's life and about the time she spent in Bath. I had originally thought how exciting it was to be in a place where Jane Austen would have been inspired and writing like a madwoman, and I was surprised to learn that the years she lived in Bath were 5 of her saddest and least productive years. Bath itself is a pretty city, though, but sadly a little touristy. I guess the town has always been that way since the Romans built up the town around the natural hot springs. People would have been coming to this place for centuries to bathe in the supposed healing waters.
After Bath, we went on to a town called Marlborough, a typical English countryside town, for tea. There are several tea shops here, a couple of which I have captured in photo and will hopefully post in the near future. The place we went to for tea is called Polly's Tea Room or some such thing, and in it, you find a help-yourself array of tea-cakes and pastries for your afternoon refreshment. I could have moved into the restaurant then and there. I should open up one of these for myself! The town itself is one of those places that you imagine British phrases running through your head, such as, "It's quite lovely." And it is lovely. English country gardens strewn with those famous roses, lilac bushes, peonies, and an array of annuals like petunias and snapdragons are matched with vine-covered stone or brick houses. The cobblestone roads in some areas of the place are not made for the tourists; these are the roads and the alleyways natural to the town.
On our way back from Marlborough, we drove past Stonehenge, although it was closed by the time we got there. You can't get up close to the stones, though, which I didn't know, so I was just as happy seeing it from behind the fence they have up. Any info I want about it I can find on the Internet for free rather than paying to get on the path there and read the signs. If you ever hear of Woodhenge, which isn't far from Stonehenge, it's not worth the visit. Fortunately I happened to come across a TV show before we left that morning that was talking about Woodhenge. Somehow it's supposed to be significant, but there isn't even wood there anymore. There are only small cement stumps representing where trees used to stand, and nothing looked impressive about it.
This is my last week in London, and I will be here for a sprinkling of days here and there on my way back from Malaysia and Barcelona, and then I'll be back on North America before long.
While Swindon itself may not be the most exciting place, there are many attractions outside of it in neighbouring counties and towns that are well worth it. We went to Bath on Saturday, about a 45 minute drive from Swindon. This was exciting for me because Bath is a place often mentioned in Jane Austen novels, some of her scenes even being located there, so I was interested in seeing what it was like. As it turns out, there is a Jane Austen Centre there, so Dipi and I went in the museum to look around. There isn't a whole lot to see, but if you pay admission, you get a 15-minute introduction talk on Jane Austen's life and about the time she spent in Bath. I had originally thought how exciting it was to be in a place where Jane Austen would have been inspired and writing like a madwoman, and I was surprised to learn that the years she lived in Bath were 5 of her saddest and least productive years. Bath itself is a pretty city, though, but sadly a little touristy. I guess the town has always been that way since the Romans built up the town around the natural hot springs. People would have been coming to this place for centuries to bathe in the supposed healing waters.
After Bath, we went on to a town called Marlborough, a typical English countryside town, for tea. There are several tea shops here, a couple of which I have captured in photo and will hopefully post in the near future. The place we went to for tea is called Polly's Tea Room or some such thing, and in it, you find a help-yourself array of tea-cakes and pastries for your afternoon refreshment. I could have moved into the restaurant then and there. I should open up one of these for myself! The town itself is one of those places that you imagine British phrases running through your head, such as, "It's quite lovely." And it is lovely. English country gardens strewn with those famous roses, lilac bushes, peonies, and an array of annuals like petunias and snapdragons are matched with vine-covered stone or brick houses. The cobblestone roads in some areas of the place are not made for the tourists; these are the roads and the alleyways natural to the town.
On our way back from Marlborough, we drove past Stonehenge, although it was closed by the time we got there. You can't get up close to the stones, though, which I didn't know, so I was just as happy seeing it from behind the fence they have up. Any info I want about it I can find on the Internet for free rather than paying to get on the path there and read the signs. If you ever hear of Woodhenge, which isn't far from Stonehenge, it's not worth the visit. Fortunately I happened to come across a TV show before we left that morning that was talking about Woodhenge. Somehow it's supposed to be significant, but there isn't even wood there anymore. There are only small cement stumps representing where trees used to stand, and nothing looked impressive about it.
This is my last week in London, and I will be here for a sprinkling of days here and there on my way back from Malaysia and Barcelona, and then I'll be back on North America before long.
June 05
I've been able to download all of the photos now. Hope
you enjoy these as well!
6:11 AM | Read comments (1) | Permalink
June 01
I have read on at least one occasion, whether in
research literature or non-fictional essays, I remember not, the metaphor of
populations in larger urban centres being likened to herds of livestock. The
justification for this is that in most situations where populations are
gathered together in public places, they are often herded, as are sheep or
cattle, for instance, from place to place. We are told to enter through this
door or that, stand in this line or the other; the phenomenon is more strongly
apparent in situations where the normal conditions have changed, such as when a
sidewalk is being repaired, one must cross to the other side of the street, or
during road work, one must take a detour to reach one's destination. When we
lack the cowboy on his horse or a shepherd to guide us, we have countless signs
to direct us as to what to do and where to go, and I daresay we even often have
these aforementioned guides as well.
The title of my blog today comes from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow called A Psalm of Life. While Longfellow was specifically talking about man's temporary time on this earth, I can certainly consider my own current travels to be a microscopic version of this, my temporary abodes lasting no more than a week or two on most occasions. (Check Google's definition of bivouac by typing "define: bivouac", without quotes, which gives you some good definitions). The line after this poem, however, is inspiring and relates well to my topic. He states, "In the world's broad field of battle, in the bivouac of life/Be not like dumb, driven cattle, be a hero in the strife!" Yet sometimes we cannot be heroes.
I felt like a dumb, driven beast (perhaps like a lost sheep) yesterday as I was making my way back to London from Frankfurt. It was quite an ordeal. I was first told that my luggage weighed too much for the allowance, which I had been told when flying out of London wasn't a problem because I had booked my ticket in Canada through Expedia. The airline personnel in Frankfurt didn't see things this way, and since I had no way to really take the extra 9kg out of my luggage, I was forced to pay for the extra amount, only €108. Ouch. After I went through security and checked the screen for my flight, I saw that it was delayed by 40 minutes. I went to sit at the gate and heard my name being announced a short time later (this in itself is difficult because every country I go to pronounces my last name wrong and has not been mentioning my first name on occasions where I have been called in some way, so I really have to pay attention). Well, KLM was at least nice enough to realise I wouldn't make my connection in Amsterdam, so they sent me back to the check-in counter to be given a new flight that would still allow me to make it to London that night. They ended up leaving me on my late flight out of Frankfurt but actually booked me in on a flight with British Midlands from Amsterdam. I would only arrive about an hour later than originally planned, which wasn't too bad. Then I had to go through security one more time. When boarding finally began, I couldn't board because there was something wrong with my boarding pass, so I had to see the lady at the gate desk to see what the problem was. Since I was one of the folks called with a missed connection, she was told to cancel my ticket completely and wasn't informed that I would still be on the original late flight. She wasn't happy about that and was spewing out things in French whenever someone tried to talk to her about how no one told her this information; she wasn't upset with me, though, I think just the people she was working with. The thing is that my luggage had to be reticketed and everything, so here I was, 5 minutes before the flight was to take off with this poor woman scrambling to get my things in order.
I reached Amsterdam well enough afterward and was finally feeling rested. I decided to find a phone to call my cousin to tell her I would be arriving later than expected and that I needed to find out to make sure my luggage was going to be on my Amsterdam flight because I wasn't sure how they had tagged it considering the woman back in Frankfurt had still issued me a second boarding pass for the connection I was going to miss. I thought maybe my luggage had been mistagged. After I called my cousin, I went to my gate to see if anyone was working there only to find out that my flight had been delayed there too by almost 1.5 hours. We wouldn't be leaving Amsterdam until 11pm. I couldn't find anyone that was working, but one of the security guys did inform me where I might find some KLM reps to talk about my luggage situation. I went to that desk, but due to the lateness of the hour, there was no one working. By this point, all the restaurants and shops started closing down but for the huge duty free stores. Although I had had something to eat on the Frankfurt flight, it wasn't anything close to being supper, and I wanted to eat something a little more substantial. After walking around for a bit and spending a few minutes on the Internet, I went back to my gate to see that my flight had been delayed a further half hour, but at least someone was working at the desk by that point, so she helped me get everything figured out plus gave me my boarding pass. She also gave me a voucher for a snack, but the problem was that almost all the places in the airport were closed. She told me to go to the main lounge, but there were 3 of them, and I couldn't find almost any of them until it was about time to make my way back to the gate for boarding. I was so tired by this time that I couldn't walk really fast anymore, so it was taking me a while to get around this huge airport. They finally made the announcement that they would be boarding right away, so we all got up to stand in line, and kept standing, and standing, and standing...until finally they made an announcement that the engineers had to check the plane. We waited a while longer until it was 11:30 exactly, at which point they announced a problem with the aircraft and that they would have to switch aircraft. Those of us standing sat down on the vents on the side of the wall, and I began talking to the guy ahead of me in line. He flies for business a lot, so we compared notes about all the different fun experiences we've had while in airports and planes. Finally, they fixed the problem with the original aircraft after all, and when we got on the plane, the captain explained to us that the airplane was late coming from London because of this same problem and that the replacement part for this problem was equally problematic, so they had to replace it once again in Amsterdam. In case we hadn't waited enough, the pilot got on the speaker again to announce that we had to wait further because the vehicle that pulls the plane out of the gate had gone to the wrong aircraft for some reason, so we were just waiting for them to get back to us. Things were overly comical to me by this point, especially being so tired, and I laughed straight for about 3 minutes or so. We finally took off at 12:30am.
Finally arriving in London, all I could think about was whether the trains would still be running and how I was to get to my cousin's place. What I wasn't expecting was the Spanish inquisition at customs, which as you can imagine, isn't so surprising since I am unemployed and was unable to show them my printed itinerary for leaving the country in July. Note to self: bring paperwork with me next time. And in fact, I have to because I have a special note on my presence in this country saying that if I don't produce this information, I will be sent back to wherever I'm flying from. The customs officer told me I was lucky that he felt I was being honest with him, which is why he was letting me in the country at all and not sending me back to Amsterdam. By the time I called my cousin, it was 1am, meaning the trains were no longer running.
This tired beast only knew that I had been driven from desk to desk, security to security, airport to airport, in a most inconvenient way and yet in the most efficient way that was possible under the circumstances. I at least arrived with my luggage and was able to get in the country. Who was the hero in this case? There were two: my cousin Harpal and her husband Dan, who came in the lateness of the hour, despite having to work the next day, to pick me up from the airport, which is really not near where they live, and bring me back to their place so I could finally rest after the night's long cattle drive.
4:07 AM | Read comments (2) | Permalink | TravelThe title of my blog today comes from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow called A Psalm of Life. While Longfellow was specifically talking about man's temporary time on this earth, I can certainly consider my own current travels to be a microscopic version of this, my temporary abodes lasting no more than a week or two on most occasions. (Check Google's definition of bivouac by typing "define: bivouac", without quotes, which gives you some good definitions). The line after this poem, however, is inspiring and relates well to my topic. He states, "In the world's broad field of battle, in the bivouac of life/Be not like dumb, driven cattle, be a hero in the strife!" Yet sometimes we cannot be heroes.
I felt like a dumb, driven beast (perhaps like a lost sheep) yesterday as I was making my way back to London from Frankfurt. It was quite an ordeal. I was first told that my luggage weighed too much for the allowance, which I had been told when flying out of London wasn't a problem because I had booked my ticket in Canada through Expedia. The airline personnel in Frankfurt didn't see things this way, and since I had no way to really take the extra 9kg out of my luggage, I was forced to pay for the extra amount, only €108. Ouch. After I went through security and checked the screen for my flight, I saw that it was delayed by 40 minutes. I went to sit at the gate and heard my name being announced a short time later (this in itself is difficult because every country I go to pronounces my last name wrong and has not been mentioning my first name on occasions where I have been called in some way, so I really have to pay attention). Well, KLM was at least nice enough to realise I wouldn't make my connection in Amsterdam, so they sent me back to the check-in counter to be given a new flight that would still allow me to make it to London that night. They ended up leaving me on my late flight out of Frankfurt but actually booked me in on a flight with British Midlands from Amsterdam. I would only arrive about an hour later than originally planned, which wasn't too bad. Then I had to go through security one more time. When boarding finally began, I couldn't board because there was something wrong with my boarding pass, so I had to see the lady at the gate desk to see what the problem was. Since I was one of the folks called with a missed connection, she was told to cancel my ticket completely and wasn't informed that I would still be on the original late flight. She wasn't happy about that and was spewing out things in French whenever someone tried to talk to her about how no one told her this information; she wasn't upset with me, though, I think just the people she was working with. The thing is that my luggage had to be reticketed and everything, so here I was, 5 minutes before the flight was to take off with this poor woman scrambling to get my things in order.
I reached Amsterdam well enough afterward and was finally feeling rested. I decided to find a phone to call my cousin to tell her I would be arriving later than expected and that I needed to find out to make sure my luggage was going to be on my Amsterdam flight because I wasn't sure how they had tagged it considering the woman back in Frankfurt had still issued me a second boarding pass for the connection I was going to miss. I thought maybe my luggage had been mistagged. After I called my cousin, I went to my gate to see if anyone was working there only to find out that my flight had been delayed there too by almost 1.5 hours. We wouldn't be leaving Amsterdam until 11pm. I couldn't find anyone that was working, but one of the security guys did inform me where I might find some KLM reps to talk about my luggage situation. I went to that desk, but due to the lateness of the hour, there was no one working. By this point, all the restaurants and shops started closing down but for the huge duty free stores. Although I had had something to eat on the Frankfurt flight, it wasn't anything close to being supper, and I wanted to eat something a little more substantial. After walking around for a bit and spending a few minutes on the Internet, I went back to my gate to see that my flight had been delayed a further half hour, but at least someone was working at the desk by that point, so she helped me get everything figured out plus gave me my boarding pass. She also gave me a voucher for a snack, but the problem was that almost all the places in the airport were closed. She told me to go to the main lounge, but there were 3 of them, and I couldn't find almost any of them until it was about time to make my way back to the gate for boarding. I was so tired by this time that I couldn't walk really fast anymore, so it was taking me a while to get around this huge airport. They finally made the announcement that they would be boarding right away, so we all got up to stand in line, and kept standing, and standing, and standing...until finally they made an announcement that the engineers had to check the plane. We waited a while longer until it was 11:30 exactly, at which point they announced a problem with the aircraft and that they would have to switch aircraft. Those of us standing sat down on the vents on the side of the wall, and I began talking to the guy ahead of me in line. He flies for business a lot, so we compared notes about all the different fun experiences we've had while in airports and planes. Finally, they fixed the problem with the original aircraft after all, and when we got on the plane, the captain explained to us that the airplane was late coming from London because of this same problem and that the replacement part for this problem was equally problematic, so they had to replace it once again in Amsterdam. In case we hadn't waited enough, the pilot got on the speaker again to announce that we had to wait further because the vehicle that pulls the plane out of the gate had gone to the wrong aircraft for some reason, so we were just waiting for them to get back to us. Things were overly comical to me by this point, especially being so tired, and I laughed straight for about 3 minutes or so. We finally took off at 12:30am.
Finally arriving in London, all I could think about was whether the trains would still be running and how I was to get to my cousin's place. What I wasn't expecting was the Spanish inquisition at customs, which as you can imagine, isn't so surprising since I am unemployed and was unable to show them my printed itinerary for leaving the country in July. Note to self: bring paperwork with me next time. And in fact, I have to because I have a special note on my presence in this country saying that if I don't produce this information, I will be sent back to wherever I'm flying from. The customs officer told me I was lucky that he felt I was being honest with him, which is why he was letting me in the country at all and not sending me back to Amsterdam. By the time I called my cousin, it was 1am, meaning the trains were no longer running.
This tired beast only knew that I had been driven from desk to desk, security to security, airport to airport, in a most inconvenient way and yet in the most efficient way that was possible under the circumstances. I at least arrived with my luggage and was able to get in the country. Who was the hero in this case? There were two: my cousin Harpal and her husband Dan, who came in the lateness of the hour, despite having to work the next day, to pick me up from the airport, which is really not near where they live, and bring me back to their place so I could finally rest after the night's long cattle drive.
