So I've spent the last couple days climbing stairs, gaping at ancient buildings, dodging youth hostelers, and cleaning the Underground soot out of my nose. I'm here with Stephanie, another student on the French Romanesque & Gothic Art and Architecture course (we've got to find a shorter name for it--FRoGGA? Is that politically incorrect?) and we've been running ourselves ragged. With just a few days to cover London, I've been scrambling to "get it all in," even though I told myself beforehand that there's no WAY to get it all in, and you have to give yourself permission to chill. Anyway, I had even less time than Stephanie because British Airways asked me to stay a day late in Seattle and accept a fat wad of cash (an amount which I don't want to disclose, because I don't want to admit how quickly it's going away) and a night at The Westin hotel & spa in Seattle. Okay, it seemed like a good idea, and it still was, but I have to say that I've never been at a hotel that got so many things so mixed up. But that's another story for another day. I'll be in a better space to write about my experience when they refund me the 75 dollars they charged me for a surprise after I'd made sure my bill was clear (for the fourth time, for various reasons). ANYway. It's been runrunrun.
Today I went to Westminster Abbey not once, but twice. The first, Stephanie and I went on a walking tour (which I've discovered is a very good idea when affordable) and learned a lot about the place, which is always nice when you're dealing with very old buildings. Saw the oldest door in England. It's very grand, glorious, and impressive, but my favorite part was probably two arches near Poets' Corner, where they removed some memorials a while back and discovered very faded medeival paintings on the wooden panels. Beautiful. There were more extremely faded ancient paintings in the smaller area off the main nave, whose name escapes me right now, except that it's part of the 13th century structure. I'll post pictures when I get the chance. I am so in love with medeival, pre-Gothic stuff. Simpler lines, and of course, the patina and the rub and the washing away of time. Somehow faces reposed in grace and haloed with gold or even more poignant when you can barely make them out. It's as if you're seeing them through time, as if time is a barrier but not totally. I don't know; if you, gentle reader, get the woo-woos or the heebie-jeebies when you see old buildings or ancient art, then you'll understand. If you don't, that's okay. Chalk it up to empathic nonsense.
The little cloyster was cute too. Like I said, I'll be posting the pictures, but for now, I have four minutes of internet remaining and only 5 hours of time in which I might sleep before we have to get up and catch our bus out to Canterbury. Side note: a horse's canter is, in fact, named after Canterbury, not the other way around (or other way round, if you're British).
Hmm...what else...I've gazed upon the outside of the Tower of London twice but didn't get a chance to go in. Saw a church that Shakespeare worshipped in. Stood in the area where Chaucer's house would have been when he was tax collector at a city gate. Went to Evensong at Westminster this evening. Took a boat ride on the Thames. Walked the river at night. Gotta go before the computer does it for me!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Anticipation is Half the Fun?
The other day I blind-pulled a "self-affirmation card" from a stack at the local health food store, and it said:
and I thought that was apropos for me, especially in the process of getting ready for this trip. I have imagined all kinds of worst-case-scenarios and hypothetical hangups. Some people would call that "being responsible," but it turns out that it's just a method of making your pack way too heavy, especially when you're not going to some third-world country without stores anyway. And I've learned that other people, upon hearing about your exciting plans, just love to offer all kinds of warnings too--everything from things that they've imagined, to that odd news story from 7 years ago, to a recent horror movie, to what happened to aunt So-and-So thirty years ago with her ex-husband in a different country altogether. Rick Steves says I should take a money belt, Mom's worried about me being in Italy all by myself (it'll be just me and a couple million scary men, apparently), I turn on the tv and there's a commercial for the new show, "Locked Up Overseas."
One piece of advice I've received over and over again, however, that I've taken to heart: Pack Light. Even though I've spent several months obsessing over clothes and going to Goodwill every other minute in hopes that a pair of Chaco's or a pack would magically appear (both of which have magically appeared since then, in other ways), I ended up cutting out about half of my "Europe clothes" when I tried to lift my pack. And since then, I've cut out even more, shipping two boxes home to my parents' house from Orcas Island, where I'm currently staying. Okay, let me back up.
Memorial Day weekend, I packed all my stuff into a storage unit. When you open the door, a bed and several boxes threaten to collapse on you, just like the notorious cartoon closet. I kept things I was still hoping to bring with me on my crazy summer in my car and stayed at a friend's house for the remainder of the quarter. That was an adventure in itself, since we're both grad students and TAs, but I think it went well. I have been watching her cat most weekends for half of the year, so it was a balanced exchange. Last week, I trimmed my pack down to about 35 pounds and hopped the Greyhound to Orcas Island. Now I know, from backpacking in the mountains, that 35 pounds is doable. I can (or could) walk ten miles uphill (both ways?) with a big ol' pack. But lifting it repeatedly and carrying it around in a scary bus station (the Seattle one, to be exact) turned out to be a lot more difficult. So yesterday, from Orcas Island's only post office, I sent more stuff home. They told me I needed a "from" address and I told them I was homeless. A happy wanderer with several hangups.
So the final list:
blazer, hoodie, long-sleeved linen shirt
two nice tee shirts, two tank tops
swimsuit
summer dress that can also be worn w/swimsuit
jeans, gauchos, long skirt
Chacos, little ballet slippers
4 pairs of underwear, 4 pairs socks
red tights (these are extra, but I have to finish Alisoun of Bath's trip to Canterbury in her crimson stockings--I'm a nerd)
two bras
packable rain jacket
fleece sleeping bag, lightweight round pillow
Frida Kahlo sari (for beach blanket)
small towel, washrag
camera, memory card reader, thumb drive
cell phone, charger, adaptor
medicine
first aid kit: bandaids, neosporin w/ duct tape wrapped around it, chai tea, ibuprofin, remnants of a sewing kit
a little chunk of Fels Naptha, 10 dryer sheets
extra baggies, big plastic bag (for rain)
lock, caribiners
water bottle
notebook, map, drawing pad, etc.
passport, dl, appropriate cards including STA travel card w/insurance
copies of the above
doggie shampoo bar (not kidding!) and other toiletries
Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein, The Salmon of Doubt by Douglas Adams
a cold
I'm not kidding. Now I'm sick. My ears feel weird, it hurts to swallow, and my sinuses are pushing down on my teeth. Figures. Something I didn't plan for.
I have had many troubles in my life, and the majority of them never happened.
and I thought that was apropos for me, especially in the process of getting ready for this trip. I have imagined all kinds of worst-case-scenarios and hypothetical hangups. Some people would call that "being responsible," but it turns out that it's just a method of making your pack way too heavy, especially when you're not going to some third-world country without stores anyway. And I've learned that other people, upon hearing about your exciting plans, just love to offer all kinds of warnings too--everything from things that they've imagined, to that odd news story from 7 years ago, to a recent horror movie, to what happened to aunt So-and-So thirty years ago with her ex-husband in a different country altogether. Rick Steves says I should take a money belt, Mom's worried about me being in Italy all by myself (it'll be just me and a couple million scary men, apparently), I turn on the tv and there's a commercial for the new show, "Locked Up Overseas."
One piece of advice I've received over and over again, however, that I've taken to heart: Pack Light. Even though I've spent several months obsessing over clothes and going to Goodwill every other minute in hopes that a pair of Chaco's or a pack would magically appear (both of which have magically appeared since then, in other ways), I ended up cutting out about half of my "Europe clothes" when I tried to lift my pack. And since then, I've cut out even more, shipping two boxes home to my parents' house from Orcas Island, where I'm currently staying. Okay, let me back up.
Memorial Day weekend, I packed all my stuff into a storage unit. When you open the door, a bed and several boxes threaten to collapse on you, just like the notorious cartoon closet. I kept things I was still hoping to bring with me on my crazy summer in my car and stayed at a friend's house for the remainder of the quarter. That was an adventure in itself, since we're both grad students and TAs, but I think it went well. I have been watching her cat most weekends for half of the year, so it was a balanced exchange. Last week, I trimmed my pack down to about 35 pounds and hopped the Greyhound to Orcas Island. Now I know, from backpacking in the mountains, that 35 pounds is doable. I can (or could) walk ten miles uphill (both ways?) with a big ol' pack. But lifting it repeatedly and carrying it around in a scary bus station (the Seattle one, to be exact) turned out to be a lot more difficult. So yesterday, from Orcas Island's only post office, I sent more stuff home. They told me I needed a "from" address and I told them I was homeless. A happy wanderer with several hangups.
So the final list:
blazer, hoodie, long-sleeved linen shirt
two nice tee shirts, two tank tops
swimsuit
summer dress that can also be worn w/swimsuit
jeans, gauchos, long skirt
Chacos, little ballet slippers
4 pairs of underwear, 4 pairs socks
red tights (these are extra, but I have to finish Alisoun of Bath's trip to Canterbury in her crimson stockings--I'm a nerd)
two bras
packable rain jacket
fleece sleeping bag, lightweight round pillow
Frida Kahlo sari (for beach blanket)
small towel, washrag
camera, memory card reader, thumb drive
cell phone, charger, adaptor
medicine
first aid kit: bandaids, neosporin w/ duct tape wrapped around it, chai tea, ibuprofin, remnants of a sewing kit
a little chunk of Fels Naptha, 10 dryer sheets
extra baggies, big plastic bag (for rain)
lock, caribiners
water bottle
notebook, map, drawing pad, etc.
passport, dl, appropriate cards including STA travel card w/insurance
copies of the above
doggie shampoo bar (not kidding!) and other toiletries
Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein, The Salmon of Doubt by Douglas Adams
a cold
I'm not kidding. Now I'm sick. My ears feel weird, it hurts to swallow, and my sinuses are pushing down on my teeth. Figures. Something I didn't plan for.
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