When you're in Barcelona, look up. The architecture is stunning - everyone knows about Gaudi and Art Moderne, but even buildings that don't belong to either or those categories are really lovely. There's so many balconies! The best ones have clothes hanging from them. Also, saints - we're staying on the 'road of the arc of Saint Eulalia', the patron saint of Barcelona (or one of them) and there's an icon of her with her special 'X' cross in a little alcove tucked above street level.


Or rather, don't just look up, look around. Barcelona just buzzes with people - a lot of them are tourists right not, of course, but they're tourists from everywhere, crowding streets and sidewalks and the marina and the beach and definitely crowding all the famous sites. And to take advantage of the tourists are buskers, con artists, a gazillion hawkers selling on the street (or in the alleyways, from which you sometimes hear a whispered "hash") and lots of people dressed up at statues or in other fantastic costumes attempting to glean money from the tourists passing on La Rambla. My favorite was one dressed as the Predator who was messing with people, touching their faces and their hair.

In terms of sights, we've been walking everywhere, enjoying the gorgeous older part of the city including the fantastic Modernista buildings, the highlight being the Sagrada Familia, which Josh called the most incredible work of architecture that he's ever seen (but he's Spanish, so who knows if there's a little bit of Nationalism mixed up in that opinion). We've been to Park Guell, the Arc de Triumphe which is more fun than the French version, the beach (flat, rather boring, very busy including hawkers selling beer, massages, coconut and other treats), the very large flea market, the Picasso museum tracing the artist's development from a young age, the Barcelona Cathedral, a pastry school with a window you can look into, lots of alleyways and peoples' laundry, bars, tapas and wine, shopping at the food market in the center of the city (cheese, fresh figs, jamon serrano so fine its like prosciutto, the waterfront with sellers that put their wears on blankets with ropes attached to each corner so that they can pick up and go at any moment, and and more that I can't remember. That was certainly a very long run-on sentence. Its been a long three days.

Generally, I like Barcelona quite a lot. Its very alive and vibrant, full of people and bikes (yay) and things happening all the time. Its also colorful and funky in a very Mediterranean way, and the food is quite excellent. Its very, very full of tourists, though, which might be the only downside although its sort of a big one. It may well be exhausting living in Barcelona, but its perfect for a visit, and it is truly beautiful. Also, its probably quite different in the off-season. Yesterday we heard two Bob Marley songs played about 100 meters from one another down the boulevard leading to the beach, catering fairly clearly to the tourists in the tropical, sunny atmosphere in summertime Barcelona. It would be interesting to see at other times of the year.

Tomorrow its off to Venice, where I've never been, and an apartment overlooking a canal (smelly, or awesome?). Hurrah!

Barcelona! And, okay, so I lied.

Well, not that I lied but I blatantly said that I would try to be better about blogging and then failed. Alas. Now, though, it should be easier - although my family only has one computer, hostels are often well equipped and, let's face it, I can always stay up late or get up early!

Anyway, now we're in mainland Spain, in Barcelona! Our flight out of Tenerife - the northern airport this time - was delayed by nearly an hour, probably because it is one of the most badly situated airports in the world. Apparently, they asked a german engineer to choose the site of the airport, and he marked bad areas with an X and good areas for the airport with an O - the builders thought it was the other way around, an chose a TERRIBLE place. The airport is also the sight of the worse aviation accident in history, when two jumbo jets collided (Josh's mom was in a movie theater in La Laguna when it happened, and she says that an announcement came over the speakers asking all medical personnel to report to the airport - when they came out of the theater, it smelled like burning).

But we made it. Barcelona is so different already - hot, humid, absolutely chock full of tourists and way more expensive. Sometimes in Tenerife I felt like a serious outsider, but here we're just one of the crowd, which is something of a relief. The hostel is also nice and quiet, and located in the center of the city, so its already exciting. We got in late last night, but early enough to watch Spain beat Portugal! Hurrah! (I don't think the Portuguese sitting next to us at the restaurant were too pleased, but they took it with good grace).Our first full day is still ahead of us, so we'll see what happens!

The last few days in Tenerife were slightly mad, as we tried to take my family to see as much of the sights of the islands as possible. The first day, we did an entire loop of Tenerife, getting back home around midnight. We did an absurd amount of beaching - well, perhaps not too absurd, given we were on an island - for my sister, saw many beautiful buildings and churches, and drove A LOT. Also tried to give them a 'taste' for the island, trying local cuisine and especially local wine. It was certainly fun, but also somewhat insane.

I miss Tenerife, but continent, here we come!!!

A Tenerife Day

I feel like I should apologize for writing so little while on vacation; what else do I have to do? Unfotunately, while I am fairly busy, the greater problem is that the computer is not always free, especially in the evenings when I tend to be here. Let me explain the workings of a normal Tenerife day.

8:00 Get up. This is approximate; Josh´s aunt´s family all have to be at work and school by 830, so we usually are woken up by then and eventually get out of bed

9:00 Leave to have the day´s adventure. Usually visiting another town or going to the sea (more on this later)

1100 (or so) Coffee. Spanish coffee is delicious. And super cheap. Actually, all food here is cheap, and generally quite good. Also, the coffee is small and thus very manageable, even for people who don´t normall drink much of it, i.e. Josh and myself

230 Get home for lunch (this is when the work and school day ends in Spain. Its only 6 hours long. How glorious.). Lunch usually lasts for about an hour, from 3 to 4. It is also the biggest meal of the day, and leads to....

400 SIESTA. Not everyone takes one, and not every day, but how great is that? A built in nap!!

500 Do something else, or just go for a walk, read, whatever. This would be the time I would blog, except that Josh´s cousins and his uncle are home and on the computers. As might be Josh or his mother, also visiting and also without computers. Sigh.

930 or 10: Dinner. Usually light. Very, very later, even by my families standards. Not sure if this is entirely healthy. But whatever!

12 or so: Bed.

And that is it! The normal run of my days. Josh and I did do two day trips this week, so we had lunch out, but besides that its how its been. Its so lovely to be staying with a family; getting to converse and eat with other people, seeing what real life in the Canary Islands is like. Also, they are absolutely fantastic people, which helps.

Anyway, yesterday we went to La Laguna, a nearby town, to walk around some more and see a book fair that had been set up. Its a lovely little town, one of the most European I´ve seen here (including a man playing accordion!!!!), with historic buildings dotting what seems like every corner. There are a number of churches and convents, including an active one (!) with an iron screen which the nuns sit behind during services to avoid the public. We also found a few lovely little galleries and the city market; upon noting which, I have to say that I have some sort of gift for finding both museums and markets. Call me crazy, but I find them everywhere I go. Perhaps its the parts of the city I like to wander in?

In the afternoon it was back to La Laguna with the whole family to see Josh grandmother-in-law, have a delicious bit of cake at a local bakery famous for their desserts, and go to the police station to report a stolen wallet. Spanish bureaucracy, apparently, rivals Russian in its complexity.

Anyway, a lovely day in a beautiful city. I promise to try to be better about blogging in the future!

Climbing the Mountain, or The Highest Kiss in Spain

Before I go back to Tenerife, I need to talk about El Teide. We climbed it with Josh´s uncle Fran and his climbing class, a lucky chance since Fran knows more about Tenerife and its environment and history than anyone has a right to, and gave mini-lectures, so we got to learn things too.

El Teide is the highest peak in Spain (although I personally think that including islands is sort of cheating, but whatever mainland); the second highest peak is nearby, part of El Teide´s caldera. If you know anything about volcanoes, you´ll know that this means that at some point an even larger volcano existed, then blew up, leaving a crater (the caldera) and the burgeoning beginnings of the current El Teide. Even if you don´t know anything about volcanoes, suffice to say that it was a fucking big mountain. El Teide isn´t exactly anything to sneeze at either (did I use that idiom correctly? And to think I just graduated from college). Wikipedia informs me that the peak is 3718 meters above sea level, which is pretty darn high (Wikipedia also informs me that El Teide is highest elevation of the islands of the Atlantic, and that it is the third largest volcano in the world from its base. This is impressive.)

Anyway, the thing is pretty darn high.

The mountain itself sits inside El Teide National Park. Riding up on the bus, we wound higher and higher into the clouds, as laurel forest turned into pine, passing small hamlets and villages. When we finally emerged above the cloud layer, the terrain was becoming more volcanic, almost desert-like; the pines faded away, leaving only native plants standing. To reach the path, we drove into the caldera, the landscape increasingly desolate and uneven, resembling the grand canyon in its plunges and variations in rock shade, texture, layers.

The climb from the base (the parking lot, in other words) to El Refugio (the Refuge) where we would spend the night is intended to take about 5 hours. It begins as a relatively easy climb, winding its way slowly up the base, then suddenly shoots up a ridiculously steep incline to the Refuge. From there, the peak itself looms about another hour up the trail, again intensely steep and extremely rocky.

The climb is extraordinary. Set in a landscape so alien its almost lunar, the varied lave flows creating distinct and beautiful patterns and colors spreading out from the volcano, or piling up in distinctive waves. Low vegetation dots the landscape, leaves a pale green to avoid too much sun, sometimes forming fields sometimes a lone plant. We came at the right time to see the plants in bloom, particularly the Tajinaste, a tall purple annual that will soon retreat back into the earth. As we climbed, the views became increasingly spectacular, lit by a sun that was falling down El Teide´s far side and sending its long shadow out towards the island Gran Canaria in the East. The increasingly golden sunlight brought out contrasting colors in the flows, and brought into relief the patterns of flow along the base of the volcano. In short, it was magnificent.

After a potluck dinner (nearly everyone brought something homemade! bravo, Spain!) we went to look at the stars, the air outside ridiculously cold for the middle of summer (never did I think I would be wearing sweatpants, a hat, gloves, two jackets and long underwear during my travels his summer, but there you go). The stars were incredible, more than I´ve seen anywhere except perhaps my parents´farm in the middle of nowhere, and maybe even more than there. Then it was time for bed, in order to get up at 5am to climb to the peak before sunrise.

Shivering, following a night of sparse sleep due to a creaky bed and a deep snorer, we began the climb up into the dark. Navigating by the lights of our group, it seemed like we were following fairy lights from farther up the mountain as the tiny headlamps of groups up ahead winked in and out as the wound toward the peak. The sky gained a rim of color as we climbed, eventually becoming light enough to see without the lamps as we passed the outpost of the cablecar that bears the less adventurous to a view below the peak. The last part of the climb became harder with the altitude, as Fran warned that the air was now so thin that we had to go slowly, taking deep breathes and stopping occasionally to look out over a landscape that was being revealed.

We reached the peak about ten minutes before the sun rose above the clouds, with enough light to easily climb around the crater that marks the peak, wisps of suphur issuing from its sides and perfuming the air. Pictures were taken, excitement ran high and we achieved the highest kiss in Spain. The sun rose golden, and the day was beautiful.

Canary Islands, Part I

Or rather one Canary Island, Tenerife. From the air, Tenerife resembles what might have happened if houses were built higher up on its volcanoes, then slid down the cracks in their sides to pool on flatter ground by the sea or sometimes on slight plateaus on their side. Coming into the south, the volcano El Teide dominates the island - or maybe it would from any direction, given that it is by far the biggest.

To be continued............... we are off to climb El Teide!

The Last of London

Although it almost seems pointless to finish up London when there´s so much of the Canary Islands to explore, here goes anyway. Then I can finally move on!

On saturday we explored Leicester Square and Covent Garden, a winding netword o small charming shops, including a pilgrimage to Neal´s Creamery) from which the infamous Cheeseboard in Berkeley orders their British cheese. We stopped for a satisfyingly greasy and golden lunch of fish and chips at a place that stands on the site of the 3rd fish and chip shop in London. You can imagine the layers of grease building up over the centuries.

We then strolled down to the National Portrait Gallery for a brief fling, examing the portraits of notables such as Elizabeth I and dishevelled looking playwrites. Their cafe featured a lovely lavender shortbread. Next we went across the river to the National Theater and purchased the last two tickets to Women Beware Women, perhaps the second most famous Middleton play and one that certainly earns its name (but more on that later). Leaving Marianne and Ron, I rushed to the British Museum and Bloomsbury, walking through the latter to find the old houses of the Bloomsbury Group, including Lytton Strachey, Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf, Clive Bell, etc. (forgive my nerdiness; I read many of the Bloomsbury Group in my British Studies class and was minorly obsessed).

The British Museum, on the other hand, is a place that anyone can enjoy, and many do. I´d never made it there despite my other trips to or through London, so despite a short amount of time I made the trip. It was immensely worth it. The BM is a building as beautiful and impressive as the art it contains; the bright white space of the courtyard opens into rooms filled with treasures and beautifully designed and decorated. It reminded me of the Hermitage. I could have spent days in the BM (its somewhat of an anthropologist´s dream) but instead settled for a fling through the Enlightenment Room, a look at some antiquities from Kent, and the Elgian Marbles. The Marbles I have wanted to see since I took Classics in high school, and they didn´t disappoint. They seem to breath history and elegance, their crevasses invisibly caked with Greek anger and Western pride.

Leaving the BM, there was a quick stop at home for dinner, then off with Marianne to the National Theater. Its another interesting building, although probably built around the 70s so not in my favorite style of architecture. Women Beware Women was extraordinary, almost operatic in the production style, complete with revolving set, chandeliers that lowered from the ceiling, a live jazz band and sumptuous costumes. The production was set in the 50s, and with a level of vision and close-to overproduction that could have failed but instead was held up by the extremely high level of acting. The play itself is a little melodramatic and insane, but all the better for it. Scandal after scandal, and very few left alive at the end. An interesting contrast to Macbeth, since Middleton and Shakespeare were contemporaries (interestingly, Middleton also edited a version of Macbeth, he had a think for strong, debatably evil women, I think).

So that was London. On to the Canary Islands!

"More London" and Macbeth

To explain the title of this post, one of my favorite signs that I saw yesterday was literally a sign pointing to "More London". Hard to believe at first, it was explained by the presence of an actual complex entitled "More London" but was still hilariously odd. Apparently its location on the South Bank is in an area that has been recently developing into an 'artsy' part of town, and probably only just acknowledged as a cool part to be in; which I suppose explains the name. But it was still rather strange, and I bet the sign makers had a good laugh about it.

Really, yesterday was a day filled with Shakespeare and wandering. If I wasn't so lazy right now the sentence would be alliterative and sound more awesome, but alas I have not yet had coffee this morning. Anyway, after a leisurely breakfast I set off in the direction of the London Eye, with plans to meet the rest of the group there in two and a half hours; they went to a garden museum that while potentially lovely I simply lacked a great deal of interest in. (on a side note, coffee just arrived! expect a increasingly greater deal of coherence from here on out). As I wandered in the general direction of the Eye, I passed through a great deal of embassies, by a number of churches, saw a place called Shakespeare's Pub that I was tempted to enter until I looked closer and it became clear that nothing recommended they place outside of the name (they probably realized that they could capitalize off the name alone and took no pains with food or atmostphere), and many other enjoyable things. Near Buckingham Palace - a name that itself fills me with some Shakespearean nostalgia - I was mistaken for a local by three American girls who were trying to find the palace. Despite my degree in Geography, after looking at their map I pointed thm in the wrong direction, before realizing a few minutes later after actually seeing the Palace in the opposite direction and hurrying after them to let them know so that they could watch the Changing of the Guard.

Wandering through the adjacent St. James park, I noticed people taking pictures of the squirrels. They weren't particularly cute, but they are very tame because people feed them regularly so they'll eat from your hand. I suppose they were cute, but there was something strange about the outright adoration of squirrels that really, if one is honest, are sort of vermin. Anyway.

On my way out of the park (which is quite lovely) and with about an hour to go before I had to meet my contingent at the Eye, I stumbled upon a small gallery with a 'contemporary textiles' exhibit. It was an extremely colorful and diverse exhibit, from puppets to new style quilts to things that really weren't textiles, like teacups covered in plaster and net. Since I love textiles, fabrics, etc., and because it was the work of contemporary artists and its always interesting to see what's in the minds of artists in was quite nice. Its amazing that even with so many free museums they go even farther and have free gallery exhibits too; although then again, they serve entirely different ends. For example, artists don't sell their works at the museums (can you imagine Monet skulking around and pasting subtle price tags under his works with contact information?).

Meeting at the Eye, we immediately concluded that the line was not worth the ride, and decided lunch was a much more appropriate idea. After lunch we went over to see the Tate,which outside of being a fantastic modern art museum is an absolutely gorgeous building, set in an old re-designed power plant that towers above its surroundings (including the Globe) but which is contrasted with the fragility of the birches that stand in front of it. The interior is equally impressive, split into five (six? seven?) floors on one side and then a massive open exhibition space on other; all the more impressive in its vastness because there was curently no exhibition occupying it. The art includes a room of Soviet propoganda posters, which I quite enjoyed as well as - naturally - a great deal of other interesting and important art.

Then we split up again and I went off to explore the South Bank, or old theater district. First stop was a hundreds of years old market called the Borough Market near London Bridge. Following the warren of streets in the area I came upon it almost by accident, surrounded by small food stores and chiming with the sounds of conversation and a few loud sellers advertising their produce. Artisan food goods and produce, ales, fish, sausage, jams, breads, cheese, sweets, puddings, honey, strawberries........... It was wonderful. Of course I would say that, but it really was. Large, and lively and just excellent. One vendor tried to persuade me to buy some Milwaukee rye (ironically) by telling me that it makes women irresistible to men. Ha.

Next was Southwark Cathedral, which might be my favorite church in London. It was somehow welcoming despite the cold stone (or perhaps because of it, it being a hot day), smelling of incense with light streaming down from its high windows. The cathedral is filled with history, plaques dedicated to various personages and burials for some of the more famous or rich, including a plaque of a doctor that spoke of his fame and skill in somewhat ridiculous terms. One of the burials is of the Bishop who was in charge of helping put together the translation of the bible. And a shrine to Shakespeare (Winedalers, breath a collective sigh here, please). He looks a bit cocky, actually, lounging on his elbow with one knee bent. I spent a few minutes standing in front of it, admiring both the shrine itself and a gorgeous modern stained glass window above him featuring various characters from his plays (including Macbeth and his Lady, Beatrice and Benedict, Malvolio and Sir Toby, Hamlet....).
There was also a bowl for cats left out inside the cathedral. I found this funny. And charming.

After another stop at the market to pick up dinner (goat cheese, bread, strawberries), I decided to walk along to the Thames to the Tower, across the Tower Bridge, then back along the South Bank to the Globe in time for Macbeth. Eating my slightly strange sandwich I strolled along, passing mainly joggers and businessmen off of work. Its a lovely bit of the river, along the North Bank in that area, and not too busy. Then I got near the Tower. The Tower was a mobscene. Probably better than earlier in the day, but just so many tourists! Most eating ice cream, due to the unusually warm weather, some eating KFC or fish and chips, both illustrious foods on offer nearby. The Tower itself is fascinating, although I´ve never taken a tour. And I noticed that there are dolls in the windows of what must be its NW tower, on the lowest level. Why are they there? Is it the giftshop? I may never know.

The Tower Bridge was even worse than the tower for crowds of people, and the South Bank wasn´t much better. Although I doubt many of them were tourists, on that Friday Evening no-one seemed to be able to resist the many bars and pubs of the South Bank (the site of `more London`), overflowing into the surrounding streets. It was lovely weather.

A brief stop off at the Tate, and then it was time for the Globe. For the first time, I sat in the seats above rather than being a groundling (which is fun, but tiring), enjoying the view and the high level of audience participation that they brought to Macbeth (I know, of all plays). It was a stunning performance. Their stage was enhanced by a simple ring hung from the top of the stage that had a curtain and a few lengths of chain suspended from it, rotated mechanically but also by human hands. The costumes were simple but evocative (except the witches, who were terrifying), the staging immaculate, the passion real. I love Shakespeare, and I love the Globe.

Cambridge!

So, Cambridge. Actually, before Cambridge I woke up at 5am, thought it was 7am due to a stupidly erroneous clock on the oven, got dressed, went for walk, wondered why all of London was rising so late besides a few bikers and construction workers, went home, unloaded the dishwasher, made a cup of cocoa and THEN figured out my grievous error. Sigh. So again, who knows how coherently this will turn out. Here’s hoping for the best!
But after everyone was up, and showered and breakfasted we did make it to Cambridge. And what a day it was! Beautiful, and sunny, warm (well, not for Texas, but still warm) and with just a slight hint of a breeze. The train from King’s Cross to Cambridge was an express train, taking only a little more than an hour, and out of the window the impressively verdant countryside slide by, studded by towns, townships and what can only be termed hamlets (to be or not to… oh, never mind). It really was amazing green, the emerald expanses of fields, hedges and fully-leafed trees.
Then we arrived to Cambridge. Arriving at the town center, we booked on to a tour, something I have never done before. Generally I just wander around and get a bit lost and try to see as much of a place as feasibly possible. This was the best place to do so, however, as I learned many a thing I simply couldn’t have learned on my own, no matter how observant, although perhaps with the aid of some tome or other. These interesting facts included:

* Cambridge was founded by students fleeing the townfolk around Oxford, with whom they were feuding and at odds. Then they decided to stay.
* The golden scepter in Henry VIII’s hand on the Trinity College gate (the college he founded just before his death) was replaced by a table leg years ago, probably by students. It remains there to this day, and no-one has ever confessed.
* Tennyson’s statue in the Trinity Chapel (where there also stands one of Newton) has his pipe tucked into his robes at the base of the figure. Showing it was judged inappropriate for a chapel, but they just couldn’t leave him without something that was so integral to his personality so they found a way to work it in.
* The apple tree planted outside of Trinity dedicated to Sir Isaac Newton is said to have come from an apple from the tree that first inspired Newton by dropping an apple on his head (and possibly giving him a bump in addition to that inspiration).
* The famous King’s College Chapel was founded by Henry IV but finished by Henry VIII, who also built a prayer screen through the middle in honor of his marriage to Anne Boleyn. He actually also decorated it with symbols from both York and Lancastrian sides of the royal family, including a coat of arms with the York dragon and Lancanstrian greyhound on either side to celebrate (and, one supposes, attempt to finalize) the end of the War of the Roses. I would like to take a moment here to thank Shakespeare and Winedale for my knowledge of English history. Cheers! I owe you a beer.
* The original college printing press was housed in a relatively grand building with a tower in it. Apparently they used to - and possibly still do - attempt to convince froshies that the first Sunday of the term everyone had to go to that church and worship on Sunday.
* The oldest part of the college is a tower composing part of Corpus Christi chapel that dates to Saxon times (before the Norman invasion!), marked by a particular kind of stonework at the corners that my descriptive powers are simply not going to tackle, but which I could probably draw.

There were other things, but my memory didn't grab on to them with sufficient force, so they probably weren't quite as interesting. After the tour, we had lunch in a church converted into a cafe, recommended by the venerable Rick Steves (if you don't know who Rick Steves is, I should explain that the comment is partly tongue in cheek, since he basically writes guidebooks that make it easy for Americans to travel, and idea not entirely without merit but not exactly the sort of thing I would normally follow). The cafe was very pleasant, and it must say something about the number of fairly ancient churches in Cambridge that they can afford to turn one into a cafe - although it should be noted that services are still held there, in a section walled off with glass. And that actually reminds me of another thing the guide said; apparently there are so many churches in Cambridge that it seems like each small section of the city wanted their own, even if the nearest was only about 200 yards away. In other words, there are a lot of them.

Then we went punting. After a few false starts and hiccups we were moving with a fair degree of accuracy and speed down whatever the river in Cambridge is called, along the backs of the colleges, under stone bridges (including the "bridge of sighs", which students apparently walk across to get their exam results, a very understandable name) and by groups of picnickers taking advantage of the gorgeous weather and glowing grass to watch punters drift by, navigating with greater or lesser degrees of accuracy. In fact, the punting as a bit like playing bumper boats at times, especially in very crowded areas - the flat boats aren't exactly known for their maneverability and since they allow groups to take them out themselves inxperienced punters come up with unexpected and hilarious manuevers. During my time as punter an experienced punter luckily shouted out pointers ("are you left or right handed?" "right" " then pole on the right side, using the end to steer"), and while I can't say we were exactly zipping along, weaving in and out of other boats with ease (have you seen those boats?), the accuracy and enjoyment certainly improved. In fact, I really enjoyed punting, and the day and town couldn't have been more beautiful, nor the current more obligingly languid. I just had to remember to duck to get under the bridges.

Punting marked pretty much the end of our Cambridge trip, although I did visit a two-story candy store (or, "Olde Sweet Shoppe" which should obviously be pronounced "old-ee sweet shop-ee") and tried a rhubarb and custard sherbert (!) that actually had those two flavors, although more custard than rhubarb. Its really a gorgeous city and a charmingly college town, although steeped in tradition in amazing amounts. The architecture is astoundin ly old and yet varied, a city of stone and narrow streets everywhere one goes, and the colleges add to the charm. Wouldn't mind going there myself, although mainly in theory given my lack of plans.On the train back I made an effort to look out the windows instead of read (an overlooked way of isolating myself, ah!), and was rewarded by gorgeous vistas of the English countryside, and even a community garden.

The final adventure of the day was an attempt to walk from Kings' Cross Station - where the Cambridge train came into - and South Kensington, by the house. Using only a Tube map, not an actual map. It was fun! And made me once again very aware of how little the Tube map has any relevance to the actual scale of the city. I was also surprisingly successful, and made it all the way to Green Park station (four away on the Piccadilly line) before deciding I should probably get on the train just to get back for dinner. Notable sites included the LCE, "Goodenough College" (the actual name!), the Treasury, the entrance to the old City of London, Convent Garden and many other things that just happened to be along the way. I love wandering in cities.

What a long post. Tonight it Macbeth - I got the date wrong - and who knows what else. Hurrah! London!

Beginnings

This trip I am trying low-tech ('old school') travel. No cellphone, camera, iPod or computer. Also, unintentionally, without a watch. I found last time that travelling without a time-telling device is a terrible idea, so I may have to buy one. But the others ARE intentional, mainly for the purpose of travelling with a degree of immersion wherever I happen to be. I've found that its hard to really experience cities through the isolation created by the sound barrier of an iPod or the lense of a camera. So far it isn't so bad, although already on the plane over I sorely missed my iPod due to the presence of The Snorer in the seat directly behind me.

Ah, The Snorer. I wish there were some way to request, instead of an aisle or window seat, a seat away from crying babies or, in this case, The Snorer. I swear that this man started snoring the minute he came on board (aided by a sleeping pill, perhaps?) and besides mealtimes didn't stop until we landed in Heathrow. This is impressive, since Dallas to Heathrow takes about 8.5 hours. One has to admire the dedication.

So, my plane flight wasn't exactly restful. I managed to sleep a bit - I think - but tossed and turned and cursed the nasal passages of that man. Still, I survived. On another note, I wouldn't neccesarily recommend American Airlines for Transatlantic flights. No personal screen, relatively little space, and you have to pay for wine (shock! horror!).

Regardless, I arrived safe and sound, sailing through customs and navigating the Underground to the lovely house/apartment where I am staying with family friends Marianne and Ron. Its about a two minute walk from South Kensington station, just by the VA and the Natural History Museum. The French Academy is half a block away, so the area is also a very French part of London. After I arrived Ron and I went for a walk to find a sandwich and passed a cafe crowded with the sound of French that Ron said was filled every morning by French women drinking cafe. I am always surprised about just how international a city London is, although its probably more so in the summer. But just the number of languages around! The food choices! The range of people! I love it. London may be one of the most perfect cities in the world (free museums!), if only it weren't so crazy expensive.
Speaking of which, looking at the prices in realtor's windows, a room here would cost per week what my rent in Austin costs per month, if not more. Well, a girl can dream.

Anyway, post sandwich and tea at a lovely (chain) cafe called Paul's - where all the employees are French, it seems - Ron and I went to VA to look at their theatrical costume exhibit, which was wonderful. Returning to the house, Marianne and her two sisters Charlotte and Judy had returned from Kew Gardens. M&R and I shortly set out on a walk in Chelsea, visiting a statue of Sir Thomas More (Saint, Scholar, Statesman read the base) and the houses of various luminaries of the world of art and literature, including Oscar Wilde. What a clever man.

At that point it had been a long day for all, so dinner, a British murder mystery and bed followed each other in that order.

Then, of course, I woke up around 5 because my sleep schedule is completely out of wack and couldn't go back to sleep, so here I am. Apologies for incoherence or general uninteresting blathering. I will try to do better in the future.

Today, we are probably going to Cambridge. And tonight, Macbeth at the Globe!