Bohemian Rhapsody in Prague

We arrived in Prague with very few plans. The first day we woke up very late after our long drive and then got lost trying to find the train station to tale the train into Prague. We finally found it before Kitz killed anyone and got to Prague. Then we bought a map, bought some very nice lunch (Kitz had to have some borscht and boy was she nicer after that) at the Mona Lisa Cafe. We had asked some questions at an info booth in the train station but the lady there answered no questions and seemed very put out that we had asked her anything. We then wandered to the old part of the city past a demonstration against Syria, through alleys, and to Charles' Bridge. We had very little planned for Prague, so we just wandered taking pictures of things like the astronomical clock and Charles Bridge. Kitz saw an advertisement for a concert that night in the Mirror Chapel in the Klementimum and after looking at the list of pieces we decided to do it. So in this glorious old chapel painted throughout with frescoes, we listened to some Bach, Pachelbel, Motzart, and Vivaldi. It had been raining much of the afternoon and when we got out it started again. It was also getting cold with the onset of the night, so we decided to stop and get some hot chocolate. We went to this chocolate shop that had some advertised and bought so chocolates from the display and two cups of hot chocolate. The chocolate was hot chocolate, but not really a beverage. We received two little cups of melted chocolate. Rich? Yes. Good? For eating straight chocolate it was sweet but good. Did it fill us up? Yes and we didn't even eat all of it because it had solidified. So our dinner was melted chocolate.

The next day we got up late and left late, so I actually had some of the chocolates we bought for breakfast too. Kitz was not amused. Neither of us is a chocoholic. We like it when there is good quality but won't eat a ton. I think we ate more chocolate in Prague than during our entire vacation thus far. We did get some truffles and a box in Brussels and a small bag in Liege. I'm sure we had some in Switzerland though I can't really recall. I can't remember having chocolate in Switzerland though we did have caramels and I had chocolate ice cream. But we did have quite a bit of chocolate in Prague.

I would also like to mention the man who sold us the tickets to the concert. Kitz communicated with him in Russian mostly and he thought we were Russian though I looked English. In Italy, I looked Polish. A little later this man asked where we were from guessing Russia, Poland, and Lithuania. I just got asked today if I'm Russian. In Florence a waiter asked if we needed a Russian menu but Ricky said I look more Russian than Kitz. I'm not really sure I look like anything. I'm mostly English, Irish, and French with some Native American and Germanic thrown in, but somehow I can also sometimes look Eastern European. Well until I find people who look like me, I will just assume I look like no nationality. In the US, we don't really care about this since we are a big melting pot, but since I have come to Europe many people keep guessing the wrong nationality, so I am now more aware that some nationalities have a look.

Anyway, after the chocolate breakfast we went to the Strahov Monastery with an extremely old and orate library. We wandered through the rooms and were treated to more Eastern European hospitality as we were kicked out 10 minutes before closing time. There were 15 minutes left and we had two Roman rooms left to see but they were now closed so close to lunch time. Fine. We will spend more time at the castle. We didn't need to see those rooms we paid to see anyway. So, we walked out our frustration to the castle. It wasn't very far away, but we had to stop and have lunch since Kitz hadn't had chocolate breakfast like I had, she was in a bad mood.

The castle was more of a palace, which is not a castle. My main problem is that it was constantly being renovated, but the main cathedral, St. Vitus was left unfinished for 400 years. They began construction in 1344, but didn't finish in time for all work to cease with the Hussite War. They didn't work on it after the war then a fire severely damaged some things in 1541. So they forgot about it for a while (tall structure in the middle of Prague and very visible until some guys in 1844 wanted to finish it. But it wasn't until 1929 that it was finished. Almost 600 years. And you think you have problems leaving things uncompleted. Besides that the castle was nice and we bought some music from this group of Bohemian Funfest musicians outside the castle to listen to as we drove through Bohemian countryside o the morrow. Really fun stuff, similar to Klezmer but not the same at all. Anyway, we wandered the castle and learned about the exciting and crazy history of Prague and all the Bohemian kingdom. Then it was finally time for a Ikea to get some new luggage. I got a duffel and Kitz got a hard suitcase to put all the photos and watercolors of Prague in. My dad loves Prague since he loves most former parts of the Hapsburg Empire, so now he can decorate the Beijing apartment with European pictures. He hasn't been to Vienna, but I bet he'd love that too. He actually grew up in Germany and we passed the place he used to live in Germany on the Autobahn. Kitz was asleep.

In the castle complex, there is this little part called the Golden Lane. In essence it is a row of tiny houses (three rooms at most) that are backing against the wall that used to be defensive. They are these preserved houses that the government bought that all shared a toilet and spout once they had running water. Yeah, not superb conditions but romantic. Many artsist and painters lived there for inspiration before the government bought them all up, including Franz Kafka. It is now a shop, but I got to stand if Kafka's former house. There was a fortune teller who lived there, but the Germans killed her because she predicted the end of the Third Reich, and an avid film collector, an herbalist, and many more all recreated or preserved for tourists. Above the houses is a long wall with a narrow room to shelter the guards with holes to shoot crossbows out of. They filled it with hundreds of suits of armor and helmets, weapons, and much more. They also have a cross bow shooting game to win prizes at up there too. Loved it there. It was like a recreated made-up world. We bought my Dad a shirt with Kafka in Prague there.

After this high adventure, we finally made it back to the eastern European hostel where our clothes were still drying hanging in the room after we washed them last night. We packed and got ready to leave in the morning. Late (as usual) we woke and had breakfast then drove slowly, avoiding the highways, through Bohemia. We eventually crossed into Austria and stopped at Käsemacher Welt, which begins another adventure for another day.

Long European Drive into Night

On a Wednesday night we left Milan. It was really a Tuesday morning at about 2 am. We had to be in Paris by sometime the next morning to exchange our rental car with a new one. We had put about 8000 kilometers on that little car. I was going to miss our little 2-door VW Up! I hadn't even named it so I didn't get too attached. It didn't even have cruise control. But first we had to get to Paris. Kitz took the first few hours of the night while I slept. Since I was the navigator, I told her to wake me up at a town before we changed our course. I woke up before that when she stopped at a small Italian Alpenhorn town to find a 24 hour ATM that would take her card before we got to the Mont Blanc tunnel. We had taken the Frejus tunnel to get to Italy but we would take Mont Blanc to get back. We were in the mountains when I woke up though I could not clearly see them. When we drove through the Swiss Alps, we could clearly see the stark, green mountains resplendently bowing over us. But that was during the day. The French Alps during twilight slowly faded into dark shapes on all sides as we drove to Italy. I love driving in the night for this mysterious moonscape. There are fewer vehicles and we were able to see lit castles perched on the sides of the mountain, sometimes almost right above us. These valleys we sped through seemed enchanted when we were the only car in sight. Like an historic amusement park ride, we were shown small towns, crosses, chapels, and castles either lit or in vague outline from the streetlamps. Then came the Mont Blanc tunnel, followed by Mont Blanc lit by moonlight. Soon I took over driving so that Kitz could sleep. I had my iPod with the directions and things to listen to as I drove through the rest of the night and rising sun showing France.

I love the quietness of cross-country driving during dawn wether it is in Wyoming, Utah, California, Pennsylvania, Kansas, Wisconsin, or France. I love to watch how the color of the light slowly changes as it washes the land. The land keeps changing until the light is clear but the changes are all to swiftly moving to capture or define. The fields change from lavender to peach and finally to grass with all the colors in between. As an echo the sky also slowly transformed from secretive and warm night to clear day as all the pastels in the world were thrown out into the brightest of sun and shaken through the painted air.

Kitz slept and I used my iPod to keep me driving to Paris. As more cars joined the highway and the day was completely clear, there was no more magic, just driving to Paris. Kitz woke up and took the wheel to drive to the Europcar outside Gare de Lyon. We emptied many things from the car and back into our backpacks. Then we went and saw all the fine people at the Europcar desk. Ibrahim took care of our car rental again and upgraded us to a car with a nav system and cruise control. This really raised our spirits as we began the long drive to Prague. Kitz got us out of Paris and close to the edge of France then she slept while I drove us across Germany to the Czech Republic. While I really did like driving on the autobahn, it did involve lots of speeding up and slowing down. There were certain zones where there were speed limits and only two lanes with slow trucks and Cars going 200 km/hr. But it was still nice to not have tolls. I'm really hoping Germany will be added to Italy and France ad a country we do not get sent tickets from. I'm sure we will get some from Switzerland, the rest I can just pray not to get tickets from. Because we are hiring the car, the tickets may take many months to be mailed to my US address. I am not looking forward to that. In addition to vignettes, there are speed cameras and you are only allowed about 2 km/hr over the speed limit in Switzerland before you get a speeding ticket according to the Internet. So around Christmas or a little after, I may be getting presents from Europe.

So we left the countries where I understand the language: Germany and France and returned to a country where everything is a mystery. Italian and Czech have very little familiarity to me which is humbling. But we made our way to Praha with some diacritical marks, or at least the outlying town of Ricany with an upside-down tent over the c. My iPod doesn't have these marks which has only ever bothered me when trying to spell Zizek with two upside down tents over the z's. But we made it to Ricany and then struggled to find the hostel. We finally did find the hostel and it reminded Kitz of Russia and Eastern European buildings but it was cleaner on the inside. She somehow communicated in Russian with the lady to check in and we finally got to sleep after 17 hours of driving and this threadbare but homey hostel seemed like heaven.

The Mosquitos of Milan

After a nice and quick two days in Florence, we went to church Sunday morning (getting lost again) then drove to Bologna. I assumed that this was the place where bologna (pronounced boloney by the uneducated American public) was created. Not something I would want to be known for. We arrived quite early at the hostel on the edge of town and they told us how to drive into town. It was Sunday and this was cheaper than the bus since parking was free. So we drove in, parked, and wandered. Bologna is actually very well known for their culinary expertise, so we eventually sat down in one of the few open cafés and ate a two plate meal. We each had two courses. Stuffed is a word to describe it. During this trip I have started to feel sick with the amount of food. I usually graze through the day, so meals, especially large meals is something my body is not used to. We had just planned on wandering around town and skipping dinner. But that was before we met up with Ricky. Ricky lives in Bologna and is a friend of Leti, Kitz's best friend. So he walked us around and we did get some amazing gelato and ended up in the Modern Art Museum of Bologna. Ricky works in fashion and specializes in pattern making. He and Kitz hit it off like a rocket. We spent most of the day talking and walking.

A quick break to mention how awesome the modern art museum was. It was quite amazing and I may have that opinion since I love modern and classical art. One of my favorite exhibits was this room of large panels done by Mossimo Kaufmann. He uses an eyedropper to administer the paint to the panel and I loved it. Some of them looked like magically enchanted computer boards and some looked like twinkling stars. It was a beautiful museum. After that visit, Ricky tried to find us a restaurant he recommended, but we went to three and none were open. So eventually we found a supermarket that was about to close and ran in for some ingredients that we took back to Ricky's flat and he made us dinner. I was not ready for it. After lunch I would have been fine fasting for the rest of the day. But I ate more, enough to make me feel sick. It was good, but too much food is too much.

So we returned to the hostel and slept before the drive to Milan where I met the mosquitos. We drove and arrived in Milan early enough to still go out and do things like see the Doma. We drive to Leti's apartment and dropped off our stuff then hit the town. We had already done some shopping in Florence, but now we got even more. With Leti and her friend Aida, we hit the town. Aida was crazy, and even more so than usual because she just had an amazing job offer while we were standing with her. So we shopped then had aperitifs. In Milan the way aperitif goes is you pay for your drink then help yourself to an all you can eat buffet. It was good food but nothing spectacular and since I don't drink alcohol, I got this drink that was the most subtly flavored milkshake I have ever had. I can't even remember what it was, but it was amazing.

A break to talk about ice cream or gelato in Italy. When we first got to Florence, we both got gelatos. But we were used to the small servings we had been given in France. Small but tasty. Now we were given enormous amounts of gelato in hot weather. Kitz got a cone, but I got a cup. Nevertheless our arms were both covered in melted gelato by the end. While we got a small serving of gelato the next day and some excellent gelato in Bologne, we were still cautious after the first gelato adventure. We ended up pouring water from my water bottle over our arms to clean up. But after that milkshake and the gelato we had in Crema two days later, Italy satisfied my ice cream needs. We did have some gelato in Milan the next day, but it wasn't anything that blew me away. We met Leti's sister for aperitifs that night after doing laundry and wandering. We went to this small vegetarian restaurant and the buffet had amazing food. By this point I counted my mosquito bites. Sixteen on one leg and twelve on another. The total eventually reached 33 and I was wearing insect repellant this whole time. The first day we were there we all sat it some grass because we were in a park, but after this short sit-down, the mosquitos followed us and never left me. I've never had so many close friends.

Our final day in Milan, we actually left and went to Crema, where Leti grew up. We got up a bit late and then drove to Crema, had lunch and took naps. Kitz slep for most of the afternoon which was good since she was going to be driving most of that night. We finally got outside and had some amazing gelato and then saw an old church. We got back to Milan just in time to meet Leti's brother and sister for a Napolese pizza dinner. The pizza was amazing even for a 4 am breakfast and it was our final goodbye to Milan before we started to drive back to Paris that night.

Finding Florence

The first thing I should mention about Florence is that Google maps does not work there. Like much of the rest of Europe, street signage is nonexistent or extremely hard to locate. So whenever we were trying to locate a street, it would never be found. So when we arrived in Florence at 5 am after driving from La Toussuire, we spent an hour driving down unnamed streets looking for our hotel. There were one way streets that never ended or turned around, but seemed to continue forever into another time and place. This was at 5 am when no one else was awake, and the empty streets really helped this feeling. Of course we were both exhausted and upset at the time, but we finally found our hotel's street by chance, and then finally found our hotel. Three hours of sleep later I woke up to figure life out, including where the Internet was (broken at the hotel) and how I could print ticket reservations off to see museums later in the day. I finally figured it all out and went back to the hotel at about noon to wake Kitz up.

After a fairly frustrating morning, the rest of the day made up for it. We wandered around Florence and went to the Uffizi. Art just relaxes me and it did again. By the time I left, I wanted to think about life and wander the streets forever. But Kitz wanted to have good Italian food, so we found a nice restaurant with pizza. After seeing a Michelangelo, a Donatello, some Leonardos, and many Raphaels, I decided this was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles day. Splinter would be proud. But that was a nice day after all the confusion and getting lost and figuring out buses.

The next day we were up earlier to get to the Galleria Del'Acedemia to see David by our ticket time for 11 am with menthe and Coke granitas for breakfast to cool us down. With all this heat there come the inevitable mosquitos. I have never had more bites even when hiking and camping in the deep woods as I got in Milan two days later. Florence was not as bad and only had a few. After seeing and being amazed by David, we wandered. David is something that has been appropriated by pop culture for the most part, but the statue itself is amazing to behold. While at first I considered the head to be too large in proportion to the body, I eventually realized despite that fault, this was one of the most perfect statues I had seen. I have seen many statues, but my real love is painting/ two-dimensional art forms. I have not studied many statues with the time and intensity I thought David deserved. It was reminiscent of the ancient Roman and Greek statues' musculature but the balance and the preserved perfection of the statue is what makes it memorable. Just like the Mona Lisa, I think it has had a bit too much hype, but it still is beautiful.

Our wandering took us to Santa Croce, the oldest Franciscan Abbey in Florence. After marveling at that, we wandered over to the home of Michelangelo. The best part about that hot and stuffy house was the complete lack of people. There were three or four other tourists at most in the whole house. More people worked there. After that we did a bit of shopping then found another cafe just before the 20 minute rain shower. The same accordion player who was near our cafe last night was far too close tonight and talking was hard without raising our voices.

When we first decided to go to Florence, I couldn't help thinking about the movie & novel of A Room With A View by E. M. Forster. This may seem a bit strange but I love this movie. It may not be a very serious film but it is Merchant and Ivory at their best. But I didn't see anything from the movie in Florence, though my mind kept playing the soundtrack. The Florence from a movie is very different from a modern Florence, but still lovable in it's own way. It wasn't the winding narrow streets or getting honked at by Italian guys when I was looking scrubby in cut offs and an old t-shirt I had divested of collar (though these helped) that made me like Florence. It was the difference from France. I had been in France and northern Europe for so long, Italy seemed like another world and I liked the heat and the otherness as I adjusted to excellent waiters, hot weather, and a dream-like haze of antiquity.

Sitting in traffic on the side of a mountain

After a lovely mountaintop finish of the Tour de France, we have been sitting in bumper to bumper traffic in the Alps between La Toussuire and St. Jean-de-Maurienne. It is a very picturesque spot to be stuck in but we are stuck nonetheless and not as capable of appreciating the beauty. We are driving all the way to Florence tonight and thus can't stop and just wait a few hours until everyone clears the road. It has been a blisteringly beautiful day though. Yesterday, we checked out of our mountain ski lodge hotel and set up our tent on the side of the race route for tomorrow. We were next to some Dutch guys and some Norwegian girls. Kitz slept most of the day while I read. This peaceful laziness was disturbed when we tried to get dinner in town. I felt sorry for this poor lady who only spoke French and Italian and clearly had no training as a waitress. She was clearly filling in and had no knowledge of the menu or table numbers. But after waiting an hour and 10 minutes to get water am eventually food, mostly I just wanted to get out of there. Some Italian men camped down the road from us wanted us to join their feast but after sitting outside for two hours, we just wanted to get warm and sleep.

Many times I have slept in many awkward places, positions, and times. This had led to the belief that I could sleep anywhere. I think that supposition is entirely based on how sleep deprived I am because I could not sleep well in that car.

Despite sleep deprivation, Kitz and I got up. She got her hair cut and we were sitting near the finish line (80 meters away) before 11 am. We were sitting next to some South Africans and some Americans. On the other side of them was Marco, the drunk Belgian. Now one thing many people will tell you about me is that when I am sleep deprived I am more fun than when I'm not. Such was the case that morning. They were all going through wine bottles like Cookie Monster goes through cookies. It was great and it wasn't until later that I started to come down from the high and began to stare at things, like the ground or nothing. But it was still great. I got lost for about 45 minutes looking for a toilet and ended up in a cow field somehow, but it was still great. My sweater got wine spilled on it and it was still great. These finish line events turn into parties as soon as you find someone who speaks a language you know. Some more Americans joined us later. A couple from Washington D.C. added to the intense merriment and some people they had met earlier joined in. Even Scott, Dave, and Zack from the stage on Monday were about 50 meters away, so we visited. They had met Brian and Richard (the two American guys) and the South African chicks at a party Tuesday night waiting for the stage on the side of a mountain, though no one had a clear memory of the meeting because of some Danish guys and the large amount of beer they brought.

That was our last stage of the Tour de France. Most of the other people will be following for another stage or so, but this was our goodbye. And even Marco's songs and recounting his life story to me couldn't take away the enjoyment. Frankly, I even enjoyed Marco's drunk ballads. I may never meet any of these crazies again, but I will remember that stage fondly. Even now we have been sitting in traffic for an hour and a half trying to get off this mountain. Some Slovakian guys in the car behind us kept running up and down and we blasted some K-Pop and all danced while the cars all just sat there. Some crazy Norwegian guys came by too.

Despite cycling being a team sport, when most people cycle they do it on their own. But suddenly here we all are at the top of a mountain shouting, yelling, singing, and getting drunk together. I may not have gotten drunk, but there was such a sense of communitas for even just a moment as we all gathered to cheer Pierre Rolland to the top of the climb, and then every other of the 173 riders after that in the forty minutes it took them to get in. You want the day and the race to just continue forever. But it won't. Even as we said goodbye to the Dutch guys we camped next to and folded up the tent, even as we told the Italian men we couldn't have dinner with them because we had to get to Italy, and even as we said we would try to keep in touch, we all will drive our separate ways and never will we have a day like that again. Just like those days where a domestique cyclist will leap out of the pack and solo to the finish minutes ahead of the peloton, days like that do not come often and are very precious. As we drive now faster down the mountain, it all begins to fade away and we will now behind all these people and the Tour to continue our lives, our ride, our trip.

Sitting on a mountaintop

I haven't written much lately because I just didn't want to. Following theTour de France takes some logistics and time planning. There are thousands of people who want the same space ad you to shout encouragement to the same people you do. It is a bit crowded and uncomfortable with tons of planning. Without is probably a major inconvenience with little reward. So after the insanity of the time trial in Liege, we followed the tour for the first four stages and then we took off for foreign parts. We visited some friends of my sister outside of Brussels and I spent most of the day listening to people speak Russian. I brought a book but still got to watch an hour of Mikael's dance recital recorded on a Blackberry and explained to me by Mikael in Dutch. Mikael is a 6 year old boy and we cemented our friendship by playing football (soccer) with a balloon. At least his Dutch was easier to understand compared to Russian. That was a very interesting day.

We found a Laverie to wash our clothes the day after the stage ended in Boulogne-sur-Mer. On getting to the hotel: we went to the start and feed zone that day and tried to get into the city and avoid the finish. But one of the roads we needed was closed for the Tour. Without a small map (only a large one) I navigated us through many many country roads that seemed to have no names to the freeway our hotel was off of. Life success of the day.

To return to the relevant, we found a place to do laundry the next morning in Le Portel, next to Boulogne-sur-Mer. Our hotel was a block away from the sea, so we got to go explore the beach on the English Channel for a bit and hear the sea that night. We met some nice Brits following the Tour on bikes at breakfast and they were taking off for a few days too. I have really missed talking to people in English. My sister was sick (very sick) for a week around this time. She would still go do things but was definitely feeling horrible. She even had me drive that day. She never lets me drive. I drove in England, but that was it. She much prefers to drive than to watch me drive. To be fair, she is better at driving manual than I am. So I drove us out of Boulogne-sur-Mer with a car full of clean clothes.

I have been the navigator since we rented the car in Paris, and have slowly figured out all the signage failings of France, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, and the Netherlands. I have figured out how to compensate as best I could. Ekitzel is not used to doing this and it wasn't until I had been going the wrong way on a highway for about 45 minutes that I asked her about our direction since we had crossed back over a motorway we had earlier used. She was so sick and not used to double checking directions, we had to turn around and go back. We were heading to Omaha Beach in Normandy and didn't arrive until 6 pm. We had dinner and found a room at the D-Day Hotel on the beach so we could see the cemetery in the morning and she didn't have to sleep outside. We had reserved a camping place at Mont St. Michel for that night, but the rain and her illness made that seem very undesirable. We did get to Mont St. Michel the next afternoon and camped that night. I explained the delay and checked us in entirely in French. Another life success. Then we went to Versailles.

I probably would have skipped Versailles and stayed in Normandy an extra day, but Kitz wanted to see it and see it we did. We had purchased tickets earlier online, but still ha to wait an hour and a half in line to get in then 20 minutes more for a girl to figure out why she couldn't find our ticket confirmation number. After experiencing her incompetence and the incompetently run souvenir stands at the Tour de France, I have decided that Germanic people should be in charge of running anything involving large amounts of people all trying to do the same thing. But I'm prejudiced. I like things to be run efficiently.

So Versailles was a palace and not really my thing. I only like palaces that are really old. Show me a good ruin r a catacomb any day. But it was fun despite the typhoon-like rain storm that soaked both Ekitzel and I despite all protection. We also both got dirty since the rain seemed to have absorbed some of the sand from the paths around the gardens and rained it down on us. We did get to see some nice fountains and all the Trianons, in addition to Marie Antoinette's fake English farm. It was so ridiculous, it was enjoyable. She had a fake lighthouse on a pond. I will upload pictures eventually of this very picturesque and very useless place. I was entertained by Marie's little version of a rural Disneyland. We finally rejoined the Tour on Monday in time for the Time Trial. We got to 25 m in front of the finish line at about 9:30 am and the Time Trial didn't finish until 5:30 pm. All day we got to watch one by one as the riders got their times. We were standing by some Americans all day and so got to know them pretty well. On our left was an antiques dealer from around Mobile and on our right were three guys who did IT and Engineering. They had slept in their car the night before and only one of the guys was really into the Tour. Dave knew about as much as I did about what had been happening and what was happening now. Scott rides, so he was looking at all the bikes. Zak slept during the entire trip, so really had no idea what was going on and no desire to figure it out. I ended up explaining things a bit, which is something I like to do a bit too much. But it was nice to hang with some Americans. On Omaha Beach we also met some Americans. We did go there on the fourth of July, so it was expected. We met these two older men, one Brit and one American. Both had fathers who had participated in the landings. These two men were best friends and on vacation together with their wives. They were driving with a trailer to pick up twelve cases of champaign for a friend's daughter's wedding. They were interesting guys and I hope I have friends like that if I ever want twelves cases of French champaign. There have been many interesting people we have met, but Dave, Scott, and Zak were the most entertaining. Scott started driving their rental car (a manual) without ever having really learned how to drive manual but since the other two went right to sleep he kept driving and the car still worked. Definitely the most entertaining people we've met.

After Monday in the sun, we stayed the night in Dijon, did more laundry and stocked up to spend a few days in the mountains. We had a hotel last night. It was a very nice ski lodge, so no complaints. It wasn't as nice as the one we had in the Belgian Dutch countryside, but very nice. Tonight though we are camping. The Tour de France is finishing at the top of a mountain tomorrow and they are closing the roads tomorrow, so we got here early and relaxed. On the way here yesterday we listened to Lord of the Rings audiobooks as we have been doing for a few weeks. We are in the Two Towers when Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn come to Edoras. As we drive we usually joke about parts from the movies. But we drove from the plains to the Alps and finally up a mountain. We got stuck behind a herd of sheep for a bit as the baby lambs and their mothers were being herded up a road. We finally reached the summit with a car with two doors an a three cylinder engine. Today we just parked the car on the side of a mountain, next to the road and pitched the tent. Ekitzel is tired, so she is sleeping while I read and stare into the distant misted peaks. They were covered in mist when I started writing this on my iPod but now they are more clear in the afternoon sun. Tomorrow the bike riders will struggle to the top of this climb while thousands of people cheer them on. I will be only one of those people, but every person is important, even those who can't drive manual.

Tour de France

Tour de France. Do you know what this is? If you don’t, you obviously have never experienced the insanity of cycling fans. I have enjoyed my time in Amsterdam and look back on it fondly. Liege has confusing streets, is a bit smelly in places, has excellent food, bad restaurant service, and I have had to use my French. But none of this matters. I spent the day doing paperwork while many of the other fans staying here wandered around the exhibition and the stage platforms they constructed. I’ve seen all this before, but never with this many fans. I have been in crowds at many stages in the Tour of California and USA Procycling Challenge in Colorado. I have even been sworn at when I was a course marshal by a farmer in Utah when I wouldn’t let him pass. But this is THE RACE. All the other races were big, but none was so big. There are people here from all over the world to cheer on their favorite cyclists. We are bunking with a Brazilian and an Australian. There are many Australians here, probably to cheer on last year’s winner Cadel Evans. It is so exhilarating to be around all these people who love this sport as much or more than I do. We wandered out to get waffles in Liege and as we were walking back, I was thinking of how much people can be brought together through their idiosyncrasies. It is not the general character of the people but the little similarities that  can bring people together. Maybe it makes us feel less alone in the world if we see how similar we are to at least one other person. We can’t be alone if someone shares this quirky trait with us. I am definitely not alone in my love of cycling, though I generally watch races at home alone because I don’t know many other people who actually watch cycling, and if they do, I am usually more into it than them. But here, people are here on their bikes, in their kits (one lady never took hers off in the three days we saw her), ready to fly their crazy flags.

Except not enough. After having been at the prologue for the Tour de France, I have to say that people in California showed more spirit. Whenever a Belgian or French rider came around there were cheers, but there seemed to be much less excitement than when I was standing in a crowd in Colorado last year. Those people were crazy. They shouted for everyone and kept cheering. I figure if a rider is in the Tour de France, and I am there, they deserve a loud banging on the barriers with my hand. Now I realize that this time trial was two and a half hours long with a new rider every minute or so, but still I wanted to keep cheering them. The way in which they mold their bodies to the skinny time trial bikes and maneuver it with the fastest speed possible, is beautiful.  It is not the same as the delicate stone work I just saw in Le Grande Place, Brussels which hundreds of years ago was carved out of this stone and still seems to be living. But a rider on a bike and ancient stone lace are both beautiful in their own ways. Our bodies and the way they work is like the Hallelujah Chorus sung in a cathedral. So many elements work together to create a structure that is so useful and in that uses it can be dedicated to, is beautiful. These men are expending more energy than it takes to run a marathon every day for two weeks to takes themselves over thousands of miles of road as quick as they can. What goal is more simple? It is an extreme, but our bodies are these works of art and we can feel how precious every movement is as we walk down the street, yawn and stretch our arms, and type thousands of words trying to convey a feeling.

Thoughts while driving from Volendam to Liege

I’ve spent quite a bit of time the last few days staring at the sea. In Ijmuiden, I wandered along the sandy path and stared at the sea. Then on the hydrofoil into Amsterdam, I just stared at the canal we were traveling over. Then today, I spent some time in Volendam staring at the sea. I’m not sure if it was an effect of the ocean or just my own relaxed mind. So many years I have generally subsisted on insufficient sleep with more than sufficient things to do. One of the most relaxing things I usually do would be to go hiking, watching cycling races, or to watch football matches. The rest of my life is not that relaxing, but this summer has been different. I have no official job, no classes, no theatre projects, and no research projects. I’ve been reading some Walter Benjamin for fun, but mostly I seem to have been just floating through the weeks. There has been planning and finding directions and other traveling responsibilities, but that’s it. I have seen art, famous monuments, and wandered through strange cities and let the streets branch out in front of me. Sun breathes in my presence in these places that I have never been. I am a stranger in a strange land, but these places feel as familiar as so many others. People walk near me, going about their own ways – business or pleasure. The streets are streets. The people live, love, and die. These streets are older than the one’s I usually walk on. The streets of London, Edinburgh, Orkney, Paris, Luzern, and Holland have all been paved and pounded into the ground by feet, wagons, horses, and vehicles for many thousands of years. What makes these streets different from the newer ones? What makes these crowds different from the others I have been through. I have wandered through lakes, gulfs, seas, and oceans of people through my life. I like to drift through them, only hanging onto a few. I like seeing cities and moving through the streets, a gust of wind, blowing past and enjoying it all.

But I don’t. I generally like to keep too busy to do these things, except interludes when I can camp and hike during the summer. What would I do if I didn’t keep busy? Would I just do this: wander? Probably. It is nice for now to see all the things to be seen, but I miss busy-ness. I miss having to wake up at a certain time and be places everyday. My sister and I could sleep all day with no consequences. It was nice at first, but now I want to be somewhere at sometime to do something useful. I am loving the pictures and soon watching the Tour de France, but there is so little to do. I only need to get directions, make decisions, and occasionally speak French or German. That’s it. So, I watch the sea role in and out and think about how it is the same sea in New Jersey, Shenzhen, Seattle, and South Africa. The same water goes and comes with a rhythm that is not one I usually hear. My rhythm is that of the clock and the alarm and the fast walk to campus.

Switzerland - wonderland with few street signs

Last Thursday, Ekitzel drove us across France to Switzerland. I was reminded of my love of driving because of all you get to see. I kept trying to take photos with her camera since mine was out of batteries, but it really didn't capture even a tenth of the beauty. Ekitzel freaked out at the border because we just drove through without being stopped at all. No looksies, no questions, no stopping. She does come from China. I figured since we had a French car we were fine, and we were. We didn't get stopped at the Swiss-French border or the French-German border. The Schengen Zone in Europe is wonderful with the open borders, no lines for borders, or anything else. Ekitzel will also not have to worry about running out of pages in her passport book. She's almost all out of her extra pages with the multiple crossings between China and Hong Kong.

We stopped in Vevey on Lake Geneva to take pictures, eat ice cream, and walk along the lake. It was one of those sites that can't really be described because it is so beautiful. There was a lightning storm going over the mountains. It darkened and hid the mountains in a blue-grey sky then slowly it lightened again in the half hour we were there. We were at one end of lake and the other disappeared into a white distance of mist going on forever that darkened once the storm passed over. The lake seemed to fade into forever. Very trite, but I can't describe the place. It reminded me of those Chinese ink landscapes where the mountains, lakes, and rivers all fade into mist. We ate ice cream while watching distant lightning on the mountains and a sky that faded from light to dark at a moment's notice with mountains and far shores that faded in and out of sight. With lemon ice cream.

Ekitzel finally drove us through the storm upon the mountains and we realized how light the tiny car (a VW Up! car) was as it was swayed across the road by the wind. The rain hammered down and the wind tossed up as we went up high gradient winding mountain roads and then came down them. We were trying to ascend Atlas with all the weather the gods threw at us just making it more beautiful. We came at last to Luzern and realized that while the Swiss may be excellent at making watches, keeping to time schedules, and other punctual things, they are horrible at signage. It took us ten minutes of driving in the town to see one street sign. The highways are well signed and the roundabouts, but the ordinary streets did not merit the same treatment. It took us about an hour to find our hostel (it may have been longer) in a small town in Switzerland. We finally did and basically collapsed.

The next day was one of relaxation. We needed some food, some medications, and to replace the sunglasses I left in a bathroom in France. We wandered around the old town and did all our shopping including the purchase of a comprehensive road atlas of Europe, then sat next to the lake. We finally decided to move and found a river cruise around the lake with audio guide in three languages: German, English, and Chinese. I will now take a minute to mention Chinese tourists. Ekitzel came from China and was hoping to escape Chinese people, but little did she know how far they have come. In London, Paris, and Luzern there were many Chinese tourists in their own tour buses (some driven very poorly), with their own groups with the head who speaks English (but can't really understand), take pictures of houses and sailboats when on a lake in the Alps, and eating at their own Chinese restaurants in France, England, and Switzerland. They also seem to use vacations mainly as shopping trips. On Orkney Island, we saw a Chinese restaurant, and we even saw a Chinese mother in Vevey. They seem to be everywhere. Except the Alps.

The next day we woke up early to hit the Farmer's Market and eat some breakfast purchased there before driving a few minutes away to take a cable car going steeply up into the Alps. We spent 5.5 hours on a hike that was supposed to be three, but it was beautiful. We were looking for cheese farms, but didn't find any. But the hike was so beautiful, we weren't disappointed. It was so beautiful, there was only room for exhaustion and wonder. And mud.

On seeing works of art

In this very digital age we can see a picture of every work of art at the drop of a hat. So why do we still go to see original works of art? I just spent an inordinate amount of my five days in Paris either being frustrated by a waiter, riding the Metro, or viewing works of art. I am considering the monuments I saw to be architectural works of art and the churches also along with the art inside them. Couldn't I have saved myself time and much frustration at visitors taking pictures, using a flash to take a photo, speaking on cell phones (all when they were not supposed to), and being generally irritable in their large groups? After seeing Notre Dame, Sacrè Coeur, and Saint-Chappelle in one day followed by l'Arc de Triomphe, I felt uplifted and wondered at how all these people used so much of their worldly goods (or other peoples) to show their love or worship of God. I know not all of it was genuine, but much of it was and the beauty of it still moved me today. These artisans (whether paid or not) finessed and caressed these statues and plans of buildings until it was transformed into a thing of beauty. These buildings and statues conveyed a love of God or France that carried throughout the centuries. Just looking at the pictures of the churches or the Arch does not convey this. The pictures may be exquisitely framed and taken in perfect light but they cannot connect the audience with the creator of the work in the same way.

I went to l'Orangerie and Centre Pompidou the next day through the much changed weather. L'Orangerie was special to me because it contained Monet's Waterlillies. I have come close to crying only at a few paintings in my life and they were all Monet's or Van Gogh's but mostly Monet. I have only ever shed tears over a Monet. In the Minnesota Institute of Art is a Wheatstacks painting from Monet and it is the only painting I have ever cried at in exhilaration of aesthetic pleasure. In London's National Gallery I have come close with a Van Gogh painted a few months before his death and seen as somewhat unfinished. But many Monet's do this to me including the Wheatstacks, train station, cathedrals, and others. I love many of the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists because of the globs of paint they use. They glob it because they can. Paint was finally available in tubes which made the Impressionist movement possible. Before all artists had to make their own paint and they seemed to spread it as thin as they could. Buy now they could clump it on canvases from tubes. This allowed them to create a scene of the senses and paint a picture that was not exact, but conveyed the feeling of objects. It reminded me of how a feeling of a morning in a field of wheatstacks cannot be captured in a photo, neither can driving through the Alps or Lake Geneva, the Cotswolds, Scottish Highlands, Paris on a Sunday morning, or sailing on Lake Lucerne. None of these can really be captured in a photo and neither can these works of art. You can see the brushstrokes and how the paint was dabbed. You can see how the sunlight caught these dabs and not how they were perfectly lit. You can see the varnish from the old masters ad how the painting still sparkles in the sunlight. All of these efforts of the artists including varnish in their oils to give them a shiny appearance after they oxidize. Oil paints don't dry per se, they oxidize to harden slowly. If the first layer of paint hardens quicker than the top layers, the paint can crack. I saw these cracks, dabs, and reflective varnishes. These artists made these originals and they reflect their care and effort. Through the Musee d'Orsay and the 10 hours we spent at le Louvre, I was reminded of the brilliance of these works but also the brilliant artists behind them. Da Vinci began adding beeswax to his paints to quicken the drying, but before him a few weeks was minimum to wait for a painting to dry. All of these artists had their own formulas for paint and some of the paints darken with time and some reds also fade leaving faces ashen. But you must see the paints in their original to see the artists.

By the end of le Louvre, I was tired of art. I'd seen thousands of paintings, all beautiful, but my mind and eyes were tired. But I needed to keep seeing before I left Paris the next day, so I did.

Remembering Orkney in Paris

So, I went to Orkney Island. Before Dublin. Before seeing much of the Lake District besides a quick stop at Lake Windermere. I had to go to Orkney mainly due to Simon Schama's History of Britain. There are many places he goes to showcase the incredible breadth of the history of the British Isles and one of the first places he goes is the Neolithic village of Skara Brae on Orkney Island. He shows how incredibly intact this village was found buried in sand on the west coast of Orkney Island looking out at the Atlantic. I have now been there and it was incredible to think of people living 5 or 6 thousand years ago on this cold desolate island in the North Atlantic. It was beautiful and remote. The World Heritage sites I have been to have probably never been so sparse of people and these ones are older than the pyramids. We could walk right up and touch the standing stones in the Ring of Brodgar and were allowed inside a Neolithic burial mound that Vikings had already broken into and carved runic graffiti on. Vikings considered this place old and ancient. We walked around the ancient village of Skara Brae at a respectful distance because of the fragility, but we were allowed into a newer broch. A broch is a ruin of a village with a central core building or house. The Broch of Gurness was built during the Iron Age, so recent compared to the Neolithic ruins. But it was still old and the very fact that I could get inside of a dark hole, or storage room most likely, built in the Iron Age is a bit too much to comprehend. These stones were laid around the birth of Christ and I can climb all over them!

The island was very sparsely populated and we rented a car to drive around. The only car they had was a older manual Jaguar station wagon. Luckily Kitz got to drive because I would not have been able to drive a manual on the wrong side. But we got to traverse many one lane dirt roads in our quest to see World Heritage sites. It was so lovely and remote from the crowds that I am now a part of in Paris. I think there were more people in Notre Dame than the whole Orkney Island. I am missing the remote beauty but not the freezing cold weather. Summer has not yet come to Orkney.

Driving through England

I must admit that I had my reservations when I booked a car to drive from London to Edinburgh, then from Edinburgh to the far north shore of Scotland, and then after a ferry around the island of Orkney, then finally back to London. I have actually been studying how the various bus and coach drivers drove through the streets while I was a passenger for the last two months. But I will now report that my sister, myself, and the car survived. I usually drive everywhere in the States and while I may seem to be rushing through the landscape compared to hiking or biking, I love experiencing the speeded up vistas seen through my windshield and always having the option to stop and take pictures. I didn't stop as much as I would have liked to but as soon as I got out of London, the end goal was in my mind.

Driving up I was almost alone in the car since Kitz slept most of the way. I was left with my thoughts as I drove and they were occupied mainly with how humans had shaped everything I had seen through many thousands of years. Forests had been felled, regrown, and refelled to make pasture land. I remembered Sherwood Forest, Enclosures, and Clearances and pictured people used to living on the land being evicted. I imagined the poet John Clare only being safe and sane when he was in his little corner of the world. With no real home, I have always felt more transient than settled. Home could be a building, but could also be how you feel most at peace. I always feel peaceful when I am driving on long roadtrips. By exiling myself from the everyday and then taking myself to a place where I am a stranger makes me feel peaceful.

We never lived anywhere very long while I was growing up and the house we lived in the longest has survived in my dreams and memories as an imagined haven of security. But the home I remember in Cincinnati, Ohio no longer exists. We returned to the house a few years after we had moved and the new owners had renovated it. The outside uncleared forest and shabby old trees with wild onions and dandelions growing all around had been meticulously manicured. The mulberry trees with moss and wild strawberries overgrown underneath was no more. Even our ancient wooden shed was gone. This place had been my fairy kingdom and it was gone forever. The inside was the same. All the eccentricities and inconveniences of the 80 year old house had been molded into a fashion plate for Architectural Digest. Slowly the house I remember has become more dreamlike and less real.

The first memory I ever had was in the Gulf of Mexico. I was sitting in a floatation device for a baby that was brightly colored and had many different toys around the outside. The only real memory was of how amazing I thought this float was. But I know my parents were there and slowly my memory has incorporated facts that are not my memories but things my parents told me. The memory has always been mire like a dream than reality because it is so far back in my own memory. It feels like a memory of a memory. That is how driving through England feels. It is crowded in more memories that obscure the reality.

The reality is that this is farmland. It is beautiful farmland, but only farmland. I see novels, essays, and poems I have read as I drive to Lake Windermere, Edinburgh, the Grampian Mountains, Orkney Island. I see paintings painted and photos taken all along the road. But most of all I see what I want to see: beautiful history.

As I was driving from Lake Windermere to Edinburgh I kept thinking of the human forces that shaped the land and not the natural forces. I was looking at sheep and thinking of all the natural forces that shaped the geography of the States away from human influence. Even as I was driving past farmland thinking of this I realized my own Euro-centric fallacy. The Americas had been shaped by people as much as any continent. We imbue the many many civilizations of Native Americans that existed for thousands of years with an inability to completely change the shape of the world around them. They cut down forests, made new hills, and created deserts with the same force as any other civilization. We just forget them. We forget that our continent has been occupied for the same amount of time as all the other continents. The so-called discovery of America happened within a couple thousand years as the discovery of England. These people do not deserve to be forgotten any more than we deserve to be forgotten. The Native Americans have faded beyond even a memory of a memory. Now they are always thought of by myself with surprise. That is my own fault. I may not build pyramids for people to remember me, but what is this writing except a cry out to not be forgotten.

On Orkney Island, we went to a Neolithic grave mound called Maeshowe. It was the largest burial chamber from this Neolithic Age they have ever found. Do note that this is way before the pyramids were built. These communities up in the North Atlantic constructed a stone burial chamber that is still intact today. But when this burial mound was excavated, no bodies were found in it. We don't know why there were no bodies in it. The chamber had been opened before when some Vikings heading to fight in the Crusades were caught in a sudden Blizzard and fell through the roof. Maybe they took the bones out, but it is not likely. They were headed to the Holy Land to kill many heathen to make more bones. Why would they want these old bones? The Vikings actually spent the three days they were trapped in the tomb carving runes into the walls. Most of them carved their names I'm conjunction with something indicating they were the carvers. Some were more creative. If you are educated, what better use to put literacy than carving your name into walls? They wanted to be remembered as did the tomb builders. What use is a tomb besides being remembered by the living and the gods?

Humans have been trying to think of ways of being remembered since there have been humans. I went to the Ring of Brodgar on Orkney. This is the third largest henge (or ring of standing stones) in the British Isles. This was also the second henge I have been to after Stonehenge and I could walk right inside of this henge and lean against the stones that had been placed 5-6 thousand years ago. No one really knows the purpose of the henge exactly, though speculation about religious and calendar needs have been theorized. But these people probably didn't need such a large reminder if they only needed a calendar that lasted a lifetime. These stones took thousands of man-hours to move so they would always be there to be seen and remembered. Even me, with my indoor plumbing and cell phone, couldn't help but think about the people that chipped these stones out of a quarry and then transported them nine miles before standing them in a specific place. These people still dressed in fur but they created hundreds of stone circles throughout the British Isles and a large incredibly empty tomb. I joked with Kitz about the fad for henges because I don't understand what would motivate people to put so much effort into being remembered, or even making permanent changes to their environment. It is so easy to change our environment that our struggle is to keep it the same. I can't even comprehend a people with so little control over their own environment that nothing they made or did could prevent plagues, epidemics, all the cattle dying. The environment was always something to be feared because it could kill so easily. I can just imagine these people standing up the stones and then watching year after year as they stayed put lending some permanence to their fragile existences. Maybe all these words I am writing are supposed to do the same thing.

Last week of London

I have not been taken or defected to Russia. I have just been too busy or sick to update the blog. The last week I had in London was spent with my sister revisiting the best parts of London like Tasmanian devils. The sinusitis was still plaguing me, so most of my impressions are a bit hazy. I did get to see The Avengers 3D and Moonrise Kingdom. I also got to see Henry V at The Globe. That made an impression. It was a wonderful staging, excellent acting, and a wholly wonderful production. Even though I was sick, that production was wonderful. It reminded me of how wonderful London was and why I will miss it. That was my speeded up goodbye to London.

Where is Alexis?

Recovering from a sinus infection. I slept through much of the Jubilee celebrations, though I woke up for the flotilla and went to the concert in Hyde Park. Even the Derby I took a peek at, but this last week has been filled with sleeping. I did see some Royal Shakespeare Company shows with the class: The Comedy of Errors and Twelfth Night. Though they were both entertaining, they weren't stunning. Twelfth Night was much better than The Comedy of Errors, but even in my drug-addled mind, it didn't even come close to my top five plays from London.

I finally saw a doctor on Wednesday. He was a nice British man who confirmed my self-diagnosis of a sinus infection. I got some drugs then ran to Heathrow to meet my sister Ekitzel coming in from Hong Kong. She is also sick. With many drugs in me, I took her to see Westminster and Trafalgar Square before we both realized how tired we really were. The next day, we also tried to spend all day at the Victoria and Albert, but that turned into a few hours before it was nap time. Today, we spent a few hours at the British Museum before we returned and purchased Ekitzel cough medicine to stave off more impending illness. When we returned to the flat to collect all our things and move them to the hostel, I found that the cleaning ladies had thrown away all my food and all my prescription medication.

All my prescription medication. All those beautiful prescriptions from that nice British doctor. I don't really feel well enough to care about it at this instance, but I'm sure I need to do something about this. I should probably call the pharmacy and explain the situation or the doctor even. But instead, I decided to sit down and prepare myself for the backpacking adventure that is about to begin. I am about to put on my backpack and trek across Hyde Park to the hostel. I am already missing a place I temporarily called home. So now I am praying that I can make it for two months without any place that seems permanent. I have a feeling I may be throwing away more clothes soon. I already ditched my coat. After Scotland, my turtleneck may go. But now I am squaring my shoulders and hoping my body is well enough to make it across the park.

Good night and good luck.

Sick in Stratford-upon-Avon

Yeah, the inevitable illness that always catches up with me finally caught up on Monday. I stayed home all day and slept. I finally got up and went to Billy Elliot before heading back home to back for our trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. I have really been trying to keep a great attitude despite feeling like I just got out of a spaceship that crash-landed on the earth. But, I finally gave up feeling good and tried to not be cranky. I probably failed at that about the time we were going around Shakespeare's birthplace. Being on my own was what was needed so I could just wander a little, appreciate the beauty of what I was seeing and then sit down. But I failed. I fell asleep during the RSC's Julius Caesar, wanted to sleep instead of exploring Oxford, slept all day today, yesterday afternoon, and before leaving for Stratford-upon-Avon. I feel like Rip van Winkle. I sleep and wake up in surprising places.

But enough of that. I am loving what I recall of Stratford-upon-Avon and the Cotswolds. I did not really like our bus driver, Fred. Though, unlike most everyone else, I understood everything he said. My one talent I have discovered in the UK is my ability to understand most dialects of English. I have also discovered that I look like I know where I am going. I was even asked for directions in Stratford-upon-Avon. This is added to being asked for directions in London, Dover, and Edinburgh. I just look like I am non-threatening and competent. This does not apply to farms. Farms are the one place where I know absolutely nothing. I have visited them before and still know very little. My weakness was revealed at Mary Arden's farm. One thing I did learn there was that most pigs just want you to feed them grass. At least the ones I met were satisfied with clumps of grass raining down upon them. "Doors and sardines. Doors and sardines. That's theatre; that's life."

I did discover that the dress I bought in Oxford while wandering the streets in a completely useless fashion is highly flammable, but other than that, it was a good find. I am wearing it now and as long as I keep it away from any heat sources, I hope it lasts through Europe. I am required now to leave the sanctuary of my room, tissues, and bed and venture out to see another play by Shakespeare. After that, who knows.

I wonder what Alexis is doing tonight . . .

Listening to Camelot and Brighton singing Camelot, which I approve of. Well, I have not been completely and overwhelmingly busy this week. There was the day I spent at Hampton Court Palace. Despite the fact that many many people lived there, it felt like a museum - empty and lifeless. These all seemed like showrooms more than the remnants of a home. It is a lifestyle very far removed from any I know. But I really don't understand much of what I see in museums. It is all very far removed. I went to the Imperial War Museum and even while I was going through the WWI trenches, I knew that I would not have to stay very long. The smell alone was sickening, but I could imagine burrowing into the mud to escape the bombs if they were going off just overhead.

I actually felt a greater connection to my family as I remembered growing up watching documentaries on wars (especially WWII). Within a museum there is always a distance between us as museum-goers and the material on display. I went to the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery today and while looking at the religious paintings from the 1300s I noticed the large difference between our view of religion and their view of religion. They use so much gold and gilding, I imagine their expectation of heaven is dripping in gold. But then I was wondering what we expect from heaven and religion.

The gilded pictures depict a vision of religion that is outside of my religious vision, but won't heaven be outside of all of our experience. This worldly frame of reference that we all have is all we know. Heaven and all the things beyond our mortal existence must be so profoundly different that I think it would be inexpressible with all the gold, shining lights, and art in the world. All this altar art is beautiful and you can see the dedication and belief of the artist in the craftsmanship and beauty but I think it is something beyond expression that the artist is trying to channel into a painting.
But enough profundity. Detroit at the National was a play that I really enjoyed. It may not have been the best play, but I connected to it so much that I was sucked into the experience of this play. It may not have been as good as Antigone, but it spoke volumes to me.

I loved this profound connection to insane humanity. I also saw Jersey Boys and The Duchess of Malfi this week along with spending a few hours at the Science Museum. There was a large section on the history of medicine, and many other things that I don't connect to as much, but find very interesting. In the Portrait Gallery I connected most to the portraits of authors. John Clare, Byron, Burns, Scott, Wollstonecroft, Paine, the Shelly's, Keats, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Jane Austen - these were the pictures I was the most excited to see. These are my people. Not my family, but totes my people.

The Eternal Search for Bins

You may be wondering why I haven't written all week. If you are, you really need to have a busier life or have more hobbies. I have been sleeping, seeing all shows at the National Theatre that I haven't already, and searching for bins. Bins are what the Brits call waste receptacles or trash cans and there are not enough of them in London. Often I take a large bag just to carry waste until I find a bin, which may not be for hours and hours. You would expect that next to food kiosks you would have a bin. Not true. Sometimes they are in underground corridors with no food at all. Sometimes they are miles away from any food, behind a telephone box so as not to be visible. I believe they have a lovely and grand plan to hide bins. Sometimes I think I see a bin but it is for paper recycling and I only have old food wrappings. I wonder if it is to deter visitors from returning. But in the Underground they have many public announcement posters urging people to keep the city clean for the Jubilee and Olympics and bin trash - except there are not enough bins.

But enough of that. This week I have seen Antigone with Christopher Eccleston, Moon on a Rainbow Shawl, War Horse, and Chariots of Fire. Currently, I am waiting to see Detroit at the National Theatre as well. Moon on a Rainbow Shawl and Antigone I saw at the National Theatre as well. Detroit is the last show I have not seen at the National. I'm not sure exactly what I will do now besides see the two plays by Hare and Rattigan that are playing together. Monday I spent much of the day sleeping to recover from Edinburgh until Moon on a Rainbow Shawl started. Tuesday I spent all day at the Imperial War Museum until I saw War Horse. After class on Wednesday, I saw Chariots of Fire followed by Antigone. Today I spent all day at Hampton Court Palace reveling in architecture and history. I also got lost in the maze and frolicked in the gardens.

Soon my time in London will come to an end and I will go on to search for bins in other parts of Europe. But for now I'm hoping Detroit will be amazing though I doubt it will be better than Antigone.

Tripping to Scotland

Scotland. Scotland. Home of Kailyard Literature, Sir Walter Scott, Nessy, and Willie from the Simpsons who has red hair and wears a kilt sometimes. Or was he from Ireland? No clue. Anyway, after much wandering around Edinburgh, including a hike to Arthur’s seat, I have concluded that Edinburgh is beautiful without the bone-freezing rain. The museums, art galleries, old closes, and castles are all admirable and I love them. The weather is the one thing to complain about.

Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday I have wandered all over this city. I have walked through hail, sleet, rain, cold gale-force winds, and pleasant sunny weather. The last was truly the best I could have done without all the others. Walking through hail ended with my legs turning into popsicles, and the rest just made me feel like crying whenever I saw men in kilts.

The National Art Gallery had some beautiful works including a Monet called "Seascape, Shipping by Moonlight," which I loved. I did my inevitable crying at some Monets, a Cezanne, and a Van Gogh. The Cezanne and the Van Gogh were unusual and a very early style for Cezanne and an unfinished style for Van Gogh. They were all moving. The Edinburgh Art Centre also had some beautiful works in their exhibit on gardens.

The National Museum of Scotland housed the cloned sheep Dolly, but also had some other interesting exhibits on geology, natural history, mummies, and Scottish history from the beginning of time. Staring at Pict engravings really reminded me of how little we know. The Picts lived so long ago and one of the few things we have left are these engravings which we can’t understand. We don’t know their culture or anything about them. We know so much about the dynasties of Egypt, and ancient Greek and Roman cultures, but these people left behind only a few things that lasted many thousands of years. So many people live, die, and disappear, leaving nothing permanent. Man is not a permanent thing and will be washed away by stronger and more everlasting forces. This feeling was confirmed as I walked up and down buildings that are hundreds of years old and falling into ruin. Even the memorials on Calton Hill will only commemorate for a little while, then they will deteriorate like everything else until there is nothing left. Edinburgh Castle also is built on stone left from an extinct volcano, as is Arthur’s Seat. The Castle is interesting, but the stones have been weathered just like the smooth stones all around Arthur’s Seat, worn from all the hikers. The elegance and beauty of the Castle will eventually be lost, along with memory of what it was like.

On Wednesday, we went out and sailed on the Firth of Forth. Cold wind made it an uncomfortable journey, but nothing as bad as Tuesday’s hail. We saw Edinburgh from the other side and also some seals, sunning themselves on a buoy. I have never been very close to wild animals ever. Most of my experience with animals is in zoos. But there are seals and puffins that live in the Firth. A fox was outside my bedroom window when we first arrived. A fox like from Disney’s Robin Hood! I have never lived in the country, so wildlife has always seemed more exotic than it probably is. Even sheep seem exciting. Or at least lambs. Lambing just concluded, so there are fields here covered in ewes with lambs. Many of the ewes look like they got hit too many times with the ugly stick, but the lambs are adorable. Delicate and prancing around their mothers. Even laying down exhausted in the field, they look so cuddly and sweet. The bus to the First of Forth and the bus to the Highlands took us past more lambs than I can imagine.

The Highlands have not even been mentioned. We took a day trip from the Royal Mile to Loch Ness and back again through Inverness and the Grampian Mountains. It was beautiful and much of the scenery reminded me of Glacier National Park and the desolate landscapes of New Zealand in Lord of the Rings. But it was starkly awesome. Despite the cold and the occasional showers, I loved it. We drove past the castle that was used as Castle Anthrax in Monty Python and the Holy Grail and the place where they shoot parts of Monarch of the Glen. Of course there were also places where they filmed Braveheart as well, but that was assumed. I was sitting next to a French woman (I seem to be running into many French people here including those French guys at the pub who didn’t speak English). We had some basic communication back and forth about our trips, but the most enticing thing was right out the window. We arrived in Loch Ness and explored the ruins of Castle Urquart on the Loch and then took a boat (called The Jacobite Queen) around the dark waters of Loch Ness. While I didn’t see any sign of Nessy, I did try to call out to her. This attempt was unsuccessful. But then we got back on the bus and drove back through Inverness and the Grampians until we returned to the Lowlands and Edinburgh.

Speaking of the Grampians, there is the literary aspect of Edinburgh I have not mentioned. I read some novels set in the Grampians a semester ago, but Edinburgh itself has many different memorials to their writers. They have Makars Square with quotes from many of Scotland’s famous writers, a museum dedicated to Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Burns, a monument towering over the New City for Scott, a monument to Bobbie Burns, The Elephant House (where JK Rowling supposedly came up with the idea for Harry Potter), the schools where JK Rowling, Tony Blair, and many others went (including Ian Fleming and Sean Connery for a James Bond connection). I love all the literary connections, but it is interesting that most of my knowledge of Scottish history is from literature classes. I don’t really know much besides how Culloden, the Act of Union, and Jacobites relate to the authors of the time period and how they were influenced. It was interesting to learn more and be reminded of what I already knew.

I am about to leave the city of David Hume, Adam Smith, and many others very soon to return to London. It is a much smaller, homier city than London. Despite all the bad and good weather, I really loved everything I saw. I wish I could wander through Edinburgh more and instead of discovering a horrible side of myself (like Dr. Jekyll) I think I would find a place that speaks to me the same way it has spoken to other authors – loudly.

Scotland!

No Scotsmen on horses, but still amazing. We got here on Monday afternoon and I've been wandering around taking pictures ever since. We went to a great pub with live music the first night. Yesterday, I wandered the Royal Mile with Brighton and Caroline and we then hiked up to Arthur's Seat in Holyrood Park. After that we walked back and it started hailing! It hailed earlier in the day when we were in the Royal Scots museum, but we were walking and found no shelter. Anyway, my legs and hands frozen by the time we met up with everyone else. Then we went to a pub that was much louder and not as down-key. I think I was feeling sick after the freezing walk, but I didn't stay too long. There were some French guys there who didn't speak English and tons of university students. But that's all I've done so far. Leaving again. This was a quick post to let you know I'm too busy to blog much.

Leaving London

After a few weeks in London, I left. Gone. Bu-bye. Vamos. I went to the London Temple on Friday. It is out in Lingfield near a race track. There were flowers, grounds, a man-made lake, a bench to sleep on; basically everything I could find in Hyde Park. But the temple was nice. I got to help in the baptistry, which I have never done before. It was a nice day overall followed by going to a fringe musical - Spring Awakening. It was definitely interesting. I didn't know much about it going in, but it was assuredly interesting in looking at a community that denies the existence of sex as something to be discussed. It was interesting in many ways, especially the staging. But it wasn't mind-blowing or something I loved excessively. The top shows I have seen so far have been the hip-hop Othello, The Collaborators, Misterman, and Long Day's Journey Into Night. After the play, we left early to take a bus to go to Dover via Canterbury. It is interesting that I really don't know the geography of England at all. I have no idea of where so many things are outside of London. I know where Wales is, but so many things exist in this mush of a country outside the map of London. I got a glimpse of Canterbury with a cathedral in the distance. Then off to Dover. The castle was the most impressive part of the trip. I loved exploring so much and the ancient buildings had their own sense of history. Walking on buildings from the 1200s was something that made me aware of how small I am and what a small amount of time I have existed. After my trip back in time, I walked along the beach and went to a museum with the oldest sea-faring vessel in the world. It was pretty cool. After a long bus ride back, we went to a fringe theatre production called Three Kingdoms which completely confused me. But it had some great movement-based theatre. Anyway, I had a great day outside of London. Then church was in Portuguese on Sunday. And now I am off to Scotland!