Let me tell you a story. It's not an exciting story, but I feel that it's sort of indicative of much of my life.
I've been in Budapest for a week today. Our train to Warsaw, a night train, was leaving tonight at 10pm. Come 8:30pm, I looked at the ticket. The following conversation ensued:
"Hey, Lena, this ticket says 20:00. The train left half an hour ago."
*blank stare*
Yes, we managed to miss our train after spending the entire day in the apartment, doing nothing but packing. Obviously, life wants me to run out of money and starve away to nothing. Fortunately, we went to the train station and were able to get tickets for tomorrow morning's train (at $10 more than we spent before, but you do what you gotta). That's one less day we have in Warsaw and possibly dropping a city later on, but it's also a valuable life lesson learned: always check the ticket haha.
Other than that minor mishap, the time in Budapest has been fun. It's not really my type of city (large, dirty, decaying, incomprehensible signs in a foreign language), but I can see why people choose to study abroad here. The nightlife is basically never-ending, and there are lots of opportunities to live in a degree of splendor for an affordable amount of money. The baths are really nice, and the buildings would be super impressive if there were any degree of upkeep. Unfortunately, it seems like both the Nazis and the Soviets destroyed much of the pride of the Hungarian people in their nationality. Years and years of brutal occupation will do that, but it's hard to find redeeming qualities in a city like this when the people seem perpetually downtrodden. Still, maybe in 10 years, a new generation completely untouched by an occupying power will change the mentality here.
We've taken a couple of day trips: one to Bratislava, Slovakia, and the other to Eger, a small town in the wine producing region of Hungary. It rained both days, of course. Bratislava was a very nice place, well-kept and tiny. Eger, also tiny, had a lot of cheap wine as a definite upside. It was also clean and cute, in a Baroque way. The Hungarian countryside isn't generally all that nice, dotted with Soviet-era apartment blocks and crumbling, make-shift train stations. I don't know, I guess I'm just more contented in places that let me lead my typical American, charmed life, without reminding me how horrible people can be to others. I also appreciate people with a resiliency of spirit that the Hungarians just don't seem to have. I'm used to the Irish way of dealing with problems: make a joke and move on. There isn't a lot of laughter on the streets here. If you go to the baths or some other place for leisure, sure, people enjoy it. But day to day life seems to be more about straight up survival than just being happy to be alive. It's much, much different than Scotland.
I'm probably being unfair, but Eastern Europe is definitely not somewhere that I see myself ending up. Slavic stoicism is not my style. I expect that this will be one of those trips that makes me grateful that I grew up where and how and when I did.
Also, I am learning patience. I have to, otherwise I would DESTROY someone.
Time for bed, as I now have to wake up early in the morning and actually catch a train. Word.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Packing doesn't get any easier with less stuff.
My time here has come to an end. This is really strange, both to write and to think about. I'm trying to figure out what to put in a "wrap-up" post, and it's nearly impossible. I mean, to me it doesn't really seem that different from finishing up a semester at 'SC, except, of course, I'm in Scotland. I've learned, both in classes and in day-to-day existence, about myself and the world. I can tell you more about lots of things than I could before, and I can make unfair generalizations about more groups of people than I could before haha. Mostly, I'm content.
I am super thrilled that I did this, as studying abroad has been one of my goals for as long as I can remember. I hope that I pass all of my classes (haha I'm pretty sure I will), because that's all I need to do for USC to count them. Hopefully I didn't fuck anything up that would cause me to have to stay for an extra year or anything. I can't imagine that I did. I didn't really expect the British university system to be as different from that of the US as it is. I guess that's the one thing that really stuck out to me here. British students do a lot more self-teaching, and, at least in upper level honors courses, there aren't many grades. You have a paper and an exam, maybe something else. Everything is graded anonymously, and exams are taken in large rooms with students from one or two other classes, proctored like US standardized tests. I think the interactions between students and professors are similar, though maybe more formal. People don't tend to get really friendly with their professors as some US students do. I can't really say which system I like better, but I'm leaning towards the American system. Mostly because I like the structure of lots of assignments, more class discussion, more access to professors. Better grades, haha. That's another thing that I don't understand about university here: the grading system. It goes from 0-100, like ours, but at least in my departments, a grade from 100-70 is an A (they have different designations, 1-3). 60-69 would be a B, 50-50 C, etc etc down to H. I got an A3, a couple of Bs, and one C so far, and my finals haven't been graded yet. I think it's nearly impossible to get anything in the A1 or A2 category though, so I don't really know why they exist. Grading tends to be ridiculously harsh here. Granted, all of my courses are upper level courses, which means a lot more here than it does at home.
Anyway, that's what I have to say about education. Living here has been fantastic, though I wish it were warmer sometimes. I really like the Scottish people, as they tend to be pleasant and generous and happy (generalizations, see?). I also love the European mindset, as it is about 2958295 times less uptight than that of most Americans. I like living in a country where sex and alcohol aren't the hugest concerns in people's lives, and people care what politicians and world leaders are doing. It's nice to know that the entire world isn't close-minded and sheltered. There are problems here, as there are anywhere, but they seem to be less pressing when people seem genuinely glad to be alive.
As for what I've been doing since returning from vacation: nothing, punctuated by short bursts of studying and exam taking. I'm now a senior, as far as school goes, whatever band may say. I get one fun summer of no worries (except for my dangerously emptying bank account), and then I have to face THE FUTURE. But, I have one more thing to put on my resume to seem worldly and cultured, so there's another good things about all this. I've discovered that Gossip Girl might not actually be the evil that I assumed it to be (only because Chuck has my heart, with his unrepentant ways and clever smirk), and I've both read and watched Pride and Prejudice (the new one, not so good, despite a damn fine Mr. Darcy). I liked the book, though, which was a surprise to me. I watched PS. I Love You and cried a whole bunch because it reminded me of my dad (I have issues, yeah). I did genuinely like it though, as a cleverly charming sort of movie. I went and got my hair cut today, meaning I chopped it all off. I think it's shorter than it's ever been in my life. Well, in the back anyway. I'm sure there will be pictures once I start traveling (in 2 days wooo). I had to do something to get my money's worth, as it was the most expensive haircut that I've ever gotten. Not too bad though, less than $40. I just never pay more than $15. And by I, I mean my parents, because I don't pay to get haircuts.
Now, I just have to pack, which I so don't want to do. I have one little box, mostly full of British candy for the fam, to mail home. I have a bunch of crap to either donate or throw away. I have to divide my clothes and possessions into "going on my travels" or "staying here." I have to drop a suitcase off at a friend's flat, because she's generously agreed to store it for me while I'm gallivanting around Europe. I have to go to the library to return a couple of books and print some last minute things. I have to do one more load of laundry and thoroughly clean my room for the final inspection. And then I have to get to Glasgow Prestwick Airport by noon on Sunday, as I fly out at 2:10pm. And then Budapest. I have tonight and tomorrow to devote to these things, so I am completely unconcerned.
That, friends, is the end of my life in Edinburgh. I love this city, with all of my heart, and look forward to coming back someday (besides the couple of days in June haha). But I also look forward to what's ahead, and getting home, more than I can possibly express.
The last blog entry from Edinburgh, over.
I am super thrilled that I did this, as studying abroad has been one of my goals for as long as I can remember. I hope that I pass all of my classes (haha I'm pretty sure I will), because that's all I need to do for USC to count them. Hopefully I didn't fuck anything up that would cause me to have to stay for an extra year or anything. I can't imagine that I did. I didn't really expect the British university system to be as different from that of the US as it is. I guess that's the one thing that really stuck out to me here. British students do a lot more self-teaching, and, at least in upper level honors courses, there aren't many grades. You have a paper and an exam, maybe something else. Everything is graded anonymously, and exams are taken in large rooms with students from one or two other classes, proctored like US standardized tests. I think the interactions between students and professors are similar, though maybe more formal. People don't tend to get really friendly with their professors as some US students do. I can't really say which system I like better, but I'm leaning towards the American system. Mostly because I like the structure of lots of assignments, more class discussion, more access to professors. Better grades, haha. That's another thing that I don't understand about university here: the grading system. It goes from 0-100, like ours, but at least in my departments, a grade from 100-70 is an A (they have different designations, 1-3). 60-69 would be a B, 50-50 C, etc etc down to H. I got an A3, a couple of Bs, and one C so far, and my finals haven't been graded yet. I think it's nearly impossible to get anything in the A1 or A2 category though, so I don't really know why they exist. Grading tends to be ridiculously harsh here. Granted, all of my courses are upper level courses, which means a lot more here than it does at home.
Anyway, that's what I have to say about education. Living here has been fantastic, though I wish it were warmer sometimes. I really like the Scottish people, as they tend to be pleasant and generous and happy (generalizations, see?). I also love the European mindset, as it is about 2958295 times less uptight than that of most Americans. I like living in a country where sex and alcohol aren't the hugest concerns in people's lives, and people care what politicians and world leaders are doing. It's nice to know that the entire world isn't close-minded and sheltered. There are problems here, as there are anywhere, but they seem to be less pressing when people seem genuinely glad to be alive.
As for what I've been doing since returning from vacation: nothing, punctuated by short bursts of studying and exam taking. I'm now a senior, as far as school goes, whatever band may say. I get one fun summer of no worries (except for my dangerously emptying bank account), and then I have to face THE FUTURE. But, I have one more thing to put on my resume to seem worldly and cultured, so there's another good things about all this. I've discovered that Gossip Girl might not actually be the evil that I assumed it to be (only because Chuck has my heart, with his unrepentant ways and clever smirk), and I've both read and watched Pride and Prejudice (the new one, not so good, despite a damn fine Mr. Darcy). I liked the book, though, which was a surprise to me. I watched PS. I Love You and cried a whole bunch because it reminded me of my dad (I have issues, yeah). I did genuinely like it though, as a cleverly charming sort of movie. I went and got my hair cut today, meaning I chopped it all off. I think it's shorter than it's ever been in my life. Well, in the back anyway. I'm sure there will be pictures once I start traveling (in 2 days wooo). I had to do something to get my money's worth, as it was the most expensive haircut that I've ever gotten. Not too bad though, less than $40. I just never pay more than $15. And by I, I mean my parents, because I don't pay to get haircuts.
Now, I just have to pack, which I so don't want to do. I have one little box, mostly full of British candy for the fam, to mail home. I have a bunch of crap to either donate or throw away. I have to divide my clothes and possessions into "going on my travels" or "staying here." I have to drop a suitcase off at a friend's flat, because she's generously agreed to store it for me while I'm gallivanting around Europe. I have to go to the library to return a couple of books and print some last minute things. I have to do one more load of laundry and thoroughly clean my room for the final inspection. And then I have to get to Glasgow Prestwick Airport by noon on Sunday, as I fly out at 2:10pm. And then Budapest. I have tonight and tomorrow to devote to these things, so I am completely unconcerned.
That, friends, is the end of my life in Edinburgh. I love this city, with all of my heart, and look forward to coming back someday (besides the couple of days in June haha). But I also look forward to what's ahead, and getting home, more than I can possibly express.
The last blog entry from Edinburgh, over.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Anywhere but here.
As my last post was sort of depressing, or at the very least highly emotional, this one will be upbeat and cheery. I am mostly over all of that blah blah blah nonsense, and I have a fantastically relaxing vacation to talk about! I spent the last week of April in Zurich, Switzerland and the environs of Lake Como, Italy, and have plenty to talk about- day by day, because there has to be order (it's the Swiss way). This will be long and probably minutely detailed. But hey, Lena asked for it.
April 22- I spent basically the entirety of this day in transit. First, I had to get from Edinburgh to London by train. I then had to get from central London to Luton Airport by both train and shuttle bus. I then got to sit in the airport for hours (because I overestimated the amount of time that would be necessary to get through security etc etc [it turned out to be, oh, 10 minutes; seriously, Luton is awesome if you have no need to feel remotely safe or secure haha]). Then onto an easyjet plane (my favorite European budget airline), which requires walking across the tarmac since they don't get real terminals. The flight from London to Zurich was only slightly over an hour, which is nothing to someone accustomed to 6 hour flights (and 4+ hour train journeys). I got to Zurich safely and soundly, the airport there is very shiny, passport control is very easygoing, found Stacy. Stacy is a good friend from high school who goes to Northeastern and is currently working in Zurich for 6 months on co-op. We hopped on a train to downtown Zurich, then on a tram, then on a bus (all of these trips took maybe 25 minutes in total), and then reached her apartment. It was fantastic. Very clean and Ikea furnished, thanks to her apartment-mate (Gerry, a 31 year-old, fabulously wealthy, regional manager of one of the largest banks in Ireland). We stopped at a McDonald's on the way home to pick up a salad, as, like most stores in Europe, Swiss stores close early by American standards. There ensued the most complicated exchange I've ever had at a Micky-D's, as apparently neither cashier really spoke much English, and neither Stacy nor I speak German. You may assume that McDonald's is the one safe place to easily eat wherever you go. You'd apparently be wrong. Had dinner, caught up a little, went to bed.
April 23- Stacy, as it was a Wednesday, had to work. I woke up, and we had breakfast together, as we did almost every morning that I was there. She left me a ton of maps and sightseeing suggestions, as well as a Zurichcard, which, once validated, was good for all of the public transportation and entrance to some of the attractions in Zurich. Fucking awesome. I spent my day riding the trams, because I loved them (sort of similar to Boston's T, to which I am also very attached), and seeing a couple of museums and art galleries. Zurich has a staggering number of art galleries, I assume because of the fantastic amount of wealth that the city enjoys. Stacy and I met up for a late lunch (which we also did every day that I was there) at a cafe, and I got to try some Swiss food. I spent the rest of the afternoon at another museum, this one for design, where I saw one of the most interesting exhibits that I've ever seen, about different ideas of utopia expressed through design. For dinner, we went out for fondue and raclette, basically the most famous Swiss foods that there are. Delicious. Home, dealing with a minor crisis involving our hostel for the upcoming weekend in Italy, relaxing, bed.
April 24- Stacy, to work. Me, walking tour of the city, as guided by some pages from a Rick Steves guidebook. Zurich has a couple of really gorgeous churches, as well as interesting stores and historical places. All of the pictures posted on my Facebook of Zurich are from this day. I know that it looks mostly overcast and dreary, and it mostly was while I was there, but the city was still beautiful and so clean. The sun did eventually come out, so I got to Chagall's stained glass windows in the Fraumunster properly illuminated. I was also harassed by a middle-aged Italian guy on holiday, something that would become a theme (the Italian part, at least). I ran into him twice throughout the course of the day and had to make up some really lame lies as to why I couldn't hang around and help him "practice his English." He probably hated me. I failed to care. Anyway, I saw more of the city, utilizing both my two good legs and various types of public transport. I took a water taxi out onto Lake Zurich, so I got to see the city from water as well as land. Zurich isn't really a place to spend any substantial sort of vacation, but I think it would be a charming place to work and to raise a family. After another delicious lunch, which involved eating a dried beef on pretzel bread sandwich (this description does not do it justice) at the intersection of the two rivers that run through the city, I went to see the Kunsthaus, or art museum. I spent hours and hours there admiring the collection. They had a small but impressive collection of Cy Twombly works, and the rest of the modern art collection wasn't too shabby either, so I was thrilled. After that, a dinner at home. Packing for the weekend, drinking gin and tonics, and watching Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle until 2am. As we're both from NJ, pointing out the inaccuracies in that movie and getting a craving for White Castle sort of necessitates the watching of the whole thing whenever it's on TV. Bed.
April 25- Wake up (me in time to get a shower and leisurely prepare myself for the journey ahead; Stacy, not so much) and catch a 9:06 train to Como, Italy. We brought breakfast for the ride, which consisted of Birchermuesli (new favorite breakfast) and beer. Okay, the beer wasn't breakfast. More a morning snack. When we reached Italy and got off the train, we realized that we actually had no idea where our hostel was in relation to the train station or the rest of the city. We were going to leave our bags at the station and explore, but, in true Italian fashion, it was impossible to figure out what the fuck the sign for left baggage was actually telling us to do. Also, during the course of this futility, the ogling by Italian men started. Haha, oh yes, my favorite country in the world. And man, do they love me an obscene amount. Stacy and I decided to go walk around the city with our bags, in the hopes that we would maybe stumble upon something useful. Como isn't terribly large, and there's a huge lake to orient oneself with, so we had little fear of getting lost. We wandered around Como for about an hour and then decided that maybe we should head back to the train station and attempt to find a map, as we didn't really know of any other way to find out where we needed to be. Went back to the train station (which, of course, was uphill) and located the main piazza on a map on the wall. Back down to the city. Next to the Duomo we found a tourist information booth, where we got all sorts of useful brochures and approximately 3 copies of the same map, one of which the woman working the booth used to direct us to our hostel. At this point, we were hungry, and it was still too early to check in. So we went down to the lake front and ate paninis. Eventually, it was late enough that we could check into our hostel, so we trekked along the lake in that direction. Upon arriving at the hostel, the woman at the front desk informed us that there was a phone message, possibly for us but she couldn't really understand. The message turned out to be Ilana, the friend from high school that we were meeting, saying that she couldn't make it that night. Ilana goes to Johns Hopkins but has been studying in Bologna all year. Okay, fine. The lady at the front desk is nice, and she allows us to only pay the price that members of Hostelling International (which we are not) pay, since we still have to cover Ilana's no-show. Stacy and I head back to Como and have a nice dinner of wine, pizza, and Caprese salad. Over the course of this weekend, I become impressed by how much Italian I actually know. I definitely know at least enough to feed myself, if not enough to be completely polite about it. Of course, we get gelato for dessert. We head back to the hostel, drink half a liter of wine, play Uno and mock the other travelers for awhile, get showers (partially in the dark, as the bathroom lights are on a motion sensor which doesn't extend into the shower stalls) and go to bed.
April 26- When we wake up, we aren't really quite sure what to do, as we think that Ilana is still going to meet us but God knows where. We check out of the hostel, as we're supposed to be staying in a different town for the next two nights (where we would have stayed all 3 nights, but they claimed to not have room for us on Friday when we called to confirm, hence the confusion mentioned on Wednesday night). We went to the Villa Olmo, right next to our hostel, which had a brilliant exhibit of Viennese artists going on. Spent some time in there, strolled around the villa's garden and park, still no word from Ilana. We head over to a beach that we saw the day before, take out some chaises that are leaning against a wall, and nap in the sun for about half an hour with our bags. It would have been longer, but some guy comes over and asks us if we've paid, and we have to play the dumb American "oh we didn't know- mi scusi" card. While walking back along the lake to the city, Ilana calls and says that she's on the train and will be in Como in about 45 minutes. Stacy and I effectively kill time, head BACK to the train station to meet her, and do so, after a little confusion. Stacy and I have seen pretty much the ENTIRE city at this point, between yesterday and this morning, so we head back to grab a quick lunch and get on a ferry to Menaggio, the town where our next hostel is. Lunch was paninis again, but this time we opted for a place with a grill cart and no menu. We ordered our food and paid, and then had to fight the throng of people around the grill to actually get the paninis made. Basically, we had to order twice. Italian efficiency at its finest. That took about 20 minutes, not even kidding. Fortunately, my Italian skills came in handy again, and we got delicious sausage paninis. One of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten. There was a French market down by the lake that Stacy and I had resolved to do shopping at the day before, so we hit that before getting on our ferry. We bought 2 bottles of wine (one for Gerry, one for the train ride back to Zurich) and about a pound each of Haribo candy. The ferry ride to Menaggio took about 2 hours, so we got to see a lot of the towns on Lake Como en route. Got to Menaggio, found the hostel. The owner was a guy in probably his 30s with a plaid shirt and tattoos. My type of place, and the view from our room was fantastic. Headed down to the center of Menaggio (which is a town of one piazza, so not much of a center) and had more pizza and a liter wine for dinner. Gelato for dessert. We then spent the remainder of the night on the hostel's balcony, drinking another liter of wine. I love Italy.
April 27- We bought a day pass for the ferries, combined with a ticket to the gardens of the Villa del Balbianello. Basically, we spent the whole day riding the ferries and stopping at whichever towns we chose. We did a lot of chatting and catching up along the way, so now some high school friends also know what a whore I've become haha. Went to Bellagio for the morning/lunch (piadinas this time), went to the villa and spent a good amount of time in the gardens (which we had to do a minor hike to get to) and saw the town of Lenno (not even a one piazza town), and then went to Tremezzo because it looked nice from the ferry. Sadly, Tremezzo had a whole lot of nothing, so we went to a cafe and got a fantastic gelato sundae to console ourselves. We then almost missed what may or may not have been the last ferry of the day (at 6:30pm), despite being positioned on the docks and ready for it (or so we thought). That minor crisis averted, we made it back to Menaggio and walked around some more. We then ate one of the best dinners that I've ever eaten in my entire life, having to do as much with atmosphere as with food. After that was more gelato, and then we decide to shower and turn in without a nightcap of more wine haha.
April 28- Stacy and I don't have to catch a train back to Zurich until 3:30, so we have plenty of time to get ourselves back to Como and its lovely train station. We check out of the hostel after eating our free breakfast (I think free breakfasts at hostels, no matter how small, are one of my greatest joys in life) and take the long ferry ride back to Como. We got back to Como and figured we'd have enough time for a sit-down lunch, but ended up cutting it sort of close because it took forever. However, it was worth it, as we got to sit and eat (more paninis, I have simple tastes) in front of the Duomo (which I studied in my Italian architecture class last semester). We stopped for gelato at what may be my new favorite gelato place in the world (possibly even better than that place in Sorrento, though maybe just an equal) and ran to the train station so Ilana could catch the train back to Milan that left before the one Stacy and I had to get. We hung out at the station and waited for our train, which we then caught and got ourselves comfortably situated in our cabin. Another train ride through the Alps, this one with a bottle of wine to share. We shared the cabin, at the end, with a guy who I could tell was going to be creepy. He started out by asking us if we spoke a variety of foreign languages, all of which I replied "no" to, because I had no desire to talk. Poor Stacy, though, was found out. The guy was from Georgia (the one next to Russia) and could tell that she spoke Russian because of her cheeks. Ilana had been teasing Stacy about her cheeks throughout the weekend (they're cute and sort of doll-like), so this was just delicious irony. Apparently, guys from the Soviet satellite countries just love Russian girls (Stacy was born in Uzbekistan, but grew up in Moscow), sort of how Italian men love me for no good reason (on that note, Ilana said that she'd never seen Italian men in general as interested in anyone as they were in me that weekend [and no, I have no stories, as middle-aged Italian dudes just remind me of the grosser parts of home haha]). So poor Stacy had about 45 minutes of awkward conversation with this guy, who, fortunately for me, didn't speak English. We got back to Zurich and hightailed it home, where we unwound and waited for Gerry to get back from work and make dinner for us. He'd been in Ireland the previous week, so I hadn't actually met him yet. He turned out to be exceptionally nice and an excellent cook as well as being Irish, so I was suitably charmed. Also, he has the biggest liquor cabinet I've EVER SEEN, with approximately 20 large bottles of Jameson's, along with other various and sundry liquors. We spent the night in the apartment, playing the longest game of Uno in history and drinking absinthe.
April 29- My flight didn't leave until dinnertime, so I spent the day doing some random stuff in Zurich, as Stacy was back to work. I took a cable car up to the top of the Uetliberg, a mountain that overlooks Zurich. My camera batteries were dead at that point, so I walked around for a few minutes and then headed back down. Met Stacy for lunch, we bought some Luxemburgerli from Sprungli for dessert and went to a department store cafe to eat a delicious, and awesomely cheap (by Swiss standards) lunch. The Swiss are on the Swiss franc, which is worth about the same as the US dollar, but costs of living are exceptionally high there because of the high salaries and whatnot. A cheap meal is usually about 25 francs a person, and kebabs cost 10 francs. Even at McDonald's, the value menu is about 3 francs an item. But the cafes in department stores are cool, because its all self-serve cafeteria style stuff, and the prices are really good. After lunch, I basically just rode public transport around until it was time to go back to the apartment and pack up my stuff. Stacy came home, changed, and we headed for the airport, after picking up some sandwiches for a quick dinner on the train from the local grocery store. We got to the airport in good time, and I got through security, in, again, minutes. I wish US airports were so efficient. I flew back to London and made it safely through passport control. Hooray, me. I then had to wait for an hour for my bus into central London, so I sat and had a coffee and read. Got on the bus and made it to Baker Street Station in the pouring rain. Thanks, London. I had arranged with a friend from SC who's studying in London to stay at her place that night and take a train back to Edinburgh the next day. I had to use a bus to get from Baker Street to her flat. I HATE the buses in London. Sure, they're iconic etc etc, but they are not fucking user friendly. They're actually goddamn impossible to navigate if you don't know what you're doing. Sadly, the Tube basically shuts down after midnight, which is what time it was. So I got on a bus that I knew would take me in the right direction (with what I later figured out was actually a ticket for the Tube, but that's neither here nor there) and proceeded to ride it all the way to the end of the line, missing my stop because it wasn't called what I thought it was on that side of the street. I had to get off the bus, run across the street (and almost get hit by a cab), and catch another bus going the opposite direction. It's a good thing neither of the drivers checked my ticket too closely, because, not only was it a ticket for the Tube, it was a single ride ticket. I have more problems in English-speaking countries... Anyway, I finally made it to Ella's flat, after a couple of wtf am I phone calls, and she kindly let me in so we could go to bed.
April 30- Ella had scheduled an appointment to get her hair cut at the beauty school (where they charge only 5 pounds but take 3 hours), so I didn't really see her. I took a shower and sat in her room and read all day, because it was raining, and I didn't really feel like exploring London in the rain. She got back around 1:30, and my train was at 3:30, so I opted to just head to King's Cross and let her study for upcoming finals. I stopped at Sainsbury's (a grocery store), picked up some provisions for the train ride, and made it to King's Cross. They decided not to post which platform my train would be at until about 5 minutes before the train was due to leave, so that made an exciting mass of people all running for the train at the same time. It was an uneventful ride, and I made it back to Edinburgh and back to my flat with the sun shining. Sort of Edinburgh's way of saying "welcome back, and, by the way, I'm way better than London."
And by now I'm sure that you're all throwing your hands up in surrender, so that's all the blog post I've got for now. Expect another one next week about final thoughts on the British educational system, how sad I will be to be leaving Edinburgh in a matter of days, excitement about summer travels (possibly with an itinerary), and news of a drastic haircut (incidentally, the most expensive one I will ever have had in my life, haha).
Ta. Hope you're happy, Lena.
April 22- I spent basically the entirety of this day in transit. First, I had to get from Edinburgh to London by train. I then had to get from central London to Luton Airport by both train and shuttle bus. I then got to sit in the airport for hours (because I overestimated the amount of time that would be necessary to get through security etc etc [it turned out to be, oh, 10 minutes; seriously, Luton is awesome if you have no need to feel remotely safe or secure haha]). Then onto an easyjet plane (my favorite European budget airline), which requires walking across the tarmac since they don't get real terminals. The flight from London to Zurich was only slightly over an hour, which is nothing to someone accustomed to 6 hour flights (and 4+ hour train journeys). I got to Zurich safely and soundly, the airport there is very shiny, passport control is very easygoing, found Stacy. Stacy is a good friend from high school who goes to Northeastern and is currently working in Zurich for 6 months on co-op. We hopped on a train to downtown Zurich, then on a tram, then on a bus (all of these trips took maybe 25 minutes in total), and then reached her apartment. It was fantastic. Very clean and Ikea furnished, thanks to her apartment-mate (Gerry, a 31 year-old, fabulously wealthy, regional manager of one of the largest banks in Ireland). We stopped at a McDonald's on the way home to pick up a salad, as, like most stores in Europe, Swiss stores close early by American standards. There ensued the most complicated exchange I've ever had at a Micky-D's, as apparently neither cashier really spoke much English, and neither Stacy nor I speak German. You may assume that McDonald's is the one safe place to easily eat wherever you go. You'd apparently be wrong. Had dinner, caught up a little, went to bed.
April 23- Stacy, as it was a Wednesday, had to work. I woke up, and we had breakfast together, as we did almost every morning that I was there. She left me a ton of maps and sightseeing suggestions, as well as a Zurichcard, which, once validated, was good for all of the public transportation and entrance to some of the attractions in Zurich. Fucking awesome. I spent my day riding the trams, because I loved them (sort of similar to Boston's T, to which I am also very attached), and seeing a couple of museums and art galleries. Zurich has a staggering number of art galleries, I assume because of the fantastic amount of wealth that the city enjoys. Stacy and I met up for a late lunch (which we also did every day that I was there) at a cafe, and I got to try some Swiss food. I spent the rest of the afternoon at another museum, this one for design, where I saw one of the most interesting exhibits that I've ever seen, about different ideas of utopia expressed through design. For dinner, we went out for fondue and raclette, basically the most famous Swiss foods that there are. Delicious. Home, dealing with a minor crisis involving our hostel for the upcoming weekend in Italy, relaxing, bed.
April 24- Stacy, to work. Me, walking tour of the city, as guided by some pages from a Rick Steves guidebook. Zurich has a couple of really gorgeous churches, as well as interesting stores and historical places. All of the pictures posted on my Facebook of Zurich are from this day. I know that it looks mostly overcast and dreary, and it mostly was while I was there, but the city was still beautiful and so clean. The sun did eventually come out, so I got to Chagall's stained glass windows in the Fraumunster properly illuminated. I was also harassed by a middle-aged Italian guy on holiday, something that would become a theme (the Italian part, at least). I ran into him twice throughout the course of the day and had to make up some really lame lies as to why I couldn't hang around and help him "practice his English." He probably hated me. I failed to care. Anyway, I saw more of the city, utilizing both my two good legs and various types of public transport. I took a water taxi out onto Lake Zurich, so I got to see the city from water as well as land. Zurich isn't really a place to spend any substantial sort of vacation, but I think it would be a charming place to work and to raise a family. After another delicious lunch, which involved eating a dried beef on pretzel bread sandwich (this description does not do it justice) at the intersection of the two rivers that run through the city, I went to see the Kunsthaus, or art museum. I spent hours and hours there admiring the collection. They had a small but impressive collection of Cy Twombly works, and the rest of the modern art collection wasn't too shabby either, so I was thrilled. After that, a dinner at home. Packing for the weekend, drinking gin and tonics, and watching Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle until 2am. As we're both from NJ, pointing out the inaccuracies in that movie and getting a craving for White Castle sort of necessitates the watching of the whole thing whenever it's on TV. Bed.
April 25- Wake up (me in time to get a shower and leisurely prepare myself for the journey ahead; Stacy, not so much) and catch a 9:06 train to Como, Italy. We brought breakfast for the ride, which consisted of Birchermuesli (new favorite breakfast) and beer. Okay, the beer wasn't breakfast. More a morning snack. When we reached Italy and got off the train, we realized that we actually had no idea where our hostel was in relation to the train station or the rest of the city. We were going to leave our bags at the station and explore, but, in true Italian fashion, it was impossible to figure out what the fuck the sign for left baggage was actually telling us to do. Also, during the course of this futility, the ogling by Italian men started. Haha, oh yes, my favorite country in the world. And man, do they love me an obscene amount. Stacy and I decided to go walk around the city with our bags, in the hopes that we would maybe stumble upon something useful. Como isn't terribly large, and there's a huge lake to orient oneself with, so we had little fear of getting lost. We wandered around Como for about an hour and then decided that maybe we should head back to the train station and attempt to find a map, as we didn't really know of any other way to find out where we needed to be. Went back to the train station (which, of course, was uphill) and located the main piazza on a map on the wall. Back down to the city. Next to the Duomo we found a tourist information booth, where we got all sorts of useful brochures and approximately 3 copies of the same map, one of which the woman working the booth used to direct us to our hostel. At this point, we were hungry, and it was still too early to check in. So we went down to the lake front and ate paninis. Eventually, it was late enough that we could check into our hostel, so we trekked along the lake in that direction. Upon arriving at the hostel, the woman at the front desk informed us that there was a phone message, possibly for us but she couldn't really understand. The message turned out to be Ilana, the friend from high school that we were meeting, saying that she couldn't make it that night. Ilana goes to Johns Hopkins but has been studying in Bologna all year. Okay, fine. The lady at the front desk is nice, and she allows us to only pay the price that members of Hostelling International (which we are not) pay, since we still have to cover Ilana's no-show. Stacy and I head back to Como and have a nice dinner of wine, pizza, and Caprese salad. Over the course of this weekend, I become impressed by how much Italian I actually know. I definitely know at least enough to feed myself, if not enough to be completely polite about it. Of course, we get gelato for dessert. We head back to the hostel, drink half a liter of wine, play Uno and mock the other travelers for awhile, get showers (partially in the dark, as the bathroom lights are on a motion sensor which doesn't extend into the shower stalls) and go to bed.
April 26- When we wake up, we aren't really quite sure what to do, as we think that Ilana is still going to meet us but God knows where. We check out of the hostel, as we're supposed to be staying in a different town for the next two nights (where we would have stayed all 3 nights, but they claimed to not have room for us on Friday when we called to confirm, hence the confusion mentioned on Wednesday night). We went to the Villa Olmo, right next to our hostel, which had a brilliant exhibit of Viennese artists going on. Spent some time in there, strolled around the villa's garden and park, still no word from Ilana. We head over to a beach that we saw the day before, take out some chaises that are leaning against a wall, and nap in the sun for about half an hour with our bags. It would have been longer, but some guy comes over and asks us if we've paid, and we have to play the dumb American "oh we didn't know- mi scusi" card. While walking back along the lake to the city, Ilana calls and says that she's on the train and will be in Como in about 45 minutes. Stacy and I effectively kill time, head BACK to the train station to meet her, and do so, after a little confusion. Stacy and I have seen pretty much the ENTIRE city at this point, between yesterday and this morning, so we head back to grab a quick lunch and get on a ferry to Menaggio, the town where our next hostel is. Lunch was paninis again, but this time we opted for a place with a grill cart and no menu. We ordered our food and paid, and then had to fight the throng of people around the grill to actually get the paninis made. Basically, we had to order twice. Italian efficiency at its finest. That took about 20 minutes, not even kidding. Fortunately, my Italian skills came in handy again, and we got delicious sausage paninis. One of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten. There was a French market down by the lake that Stacy and I had resolved to do shopping at the day before, so we hit that before getting on our ferry. We bought 2 bottles of wine (one for Gerry, one for the train ride back to Zurich) and about a pound each of Haribo candy. The ferry ride to Menaggio took about 2 hours, so we got to see a lot of the towns on Lake Como en route. Got to Menaggio, found the hostel. The owner was a guy in probably his 30s with a plaid shirt and tattoos. My type of place, and the view from our room was fantastic. Headed down to the center of Menaggio (which is a town of one piazza, so not much of a center) and had more pizza and a liter wine for dinner. Gelato for dessert. We then spent the remainder of the night on the hostel's balcony, drinking another liter of wine. I love Italy.
April 27- We bought a day pass for the ferries, combined with a ticket to the gardens of the Villa del Balbianello. Basically, we spent the whole day riding the ferries and stopping at whichever towns we chose. We did a lot of chatting and catching up along the way, so now some high school friends also know what a whore I've become haha. Went to Bellagio for the morning/lunch (piadinas this time), went to the villa and spent a good amount of time in the gardens (which we had to do a minor hike to get to) and saw the town of Lenno (not even a one piazza town), and then went to Tremezzo because it looked nice from the ferry. Sadly, Tremezzo had a whole lot of nothing, so we went to a cafe and got a fantastic gelato sundae to console ourselves. We then almost missed what may or may not have been the last ferry of the day (at 6:30pm), despite being positioned on the docks and ready for it (or so we thought). That minor crisis averted, we made it back to Menaggio and walked around some more. We then ate one of the best dinners that I've ever eaten in my entire life, having to do as much with atmosphere as with food. After that was more gelato, and then we decide to shower and turn in without a nightcap of more wine haha.
April 28- Stacy and I don't have to catch a train back to Zurich until 3:30, so we have plenty of time to get ourselves back to Como and its lovely train station. We check out of the hostel after eating our free breakfast (I think free breakfasts at hostels, no matter how small, are one of my greatest joys in life) and take the long ferry ride back to Como. We got back to Como and figured we'd have enough time for a sit-down lunch, but ended up cutting it sort of close because it took forever. However, it was worth it, as we got to sit and eat (more paninis, I have simple tastes) in front of the Duomo (which I studied in my Italian architecture class last semester). We stopped for gelato at what may be my new favorite gelato place in the world (possibly even better than that place in Sorrento, though maybe just an equal) and ran to the train station so Ilana could catch the train back to Milan that left before the one Stacy and I had to get. We hung out at the station and waited for our train, which we then caught and got ourselves comfortably situated in our cabin. Another train ride through the Alps, this one with a bottle of wine to share. We shared the cabin, at the end, with a guy who I could tell was going to be creepy. He started out by asking us if we spoke a variety of foreign languages, all of which I replied "no" to, because I had no desire to talk. Poor Stacy, though, was found out. The guy was from Georgia (the one next to Russia) and could tell that she spoke Russian because of her cheeks. Ilana had been teasing Stacy about her cheeks throughout the weekend (they're cute and sort of doll-like), so this was just delicious irony. Apparently, guys from the Soviet satellite countries just love Russian girls (Stacy was born in Uzbekistan, but grew up in Moscow), sort of how Italian men love me for no good reason (on that note, Ilana said that she'd never seen Italian men in general as interested in anyone as they were in me that weekend [and no, I have no stories, as middle-aged Italian dudes just remind me of the grosser parts of home haha]). So poor Stacy had about 45 minutes of awkward conversation with this guy, who, fortunately for me, didn't speak English. We got back to Zurich and hightailed it home, where we unwound and waited for Gerry to get back from work and make dinner for us. He'd been in Ireland the previous week, so I hadn't actually met him yet. He turned out to be exceptionally nice and an excellent cook as well as being Irish, so I was suitably charmed. Also, he has the biggest liquor cabinet I've EVER SEEN, with approximately 20 large bottles of Jameson's, along with other various and sundry liquors. We spent the night in the apartment, playing the longest game of Uno in history and drinking absinthe.
April 29- My flight didn't leave until dinnertime, so I spent the day doing some random stuff in Zurich, as Stacy was back to work. I took a cable car up to the top of the Uetliberg, a mountain that overlooks Zurich. My camera batteries were dead at that point, so I walked around for a few minutes and then headed back down. Met Stacy for lunch, we bought some Luxemburgerli from Sprungli for dessert and went to a department store cafe to eat a delicious, and awesomely cheap (by Swiss standards) lunch. The Swiss are on the Swiss franc, which is worth about the same as the US dollar, but costs of living are exceptionally high there because of the high salaries and whatnot. A cheap meal is usually about 25 francs a person, and kebabs cost 10 francs. Even at McDonald's, the value menu is about 3 francs an item. But the cafes in department stores are cool, because its all self-serve cafeteria style stuff, and the prices are really good. After lunch, I basically just rode public transport around until it was time to go back to the apartment and pack up my stuff. Stacy came home, changed, and we headed for the airport, after picking up some sandwiches for a quick dinner on the train from the local grocery store. We got to the airport in good time, and I got through security, in, again, minutes. I wish US airports were so efficient. I flew back to London and made it safely through passport control. Hooray, me. I then had to wait for an hour for my bus into central London, so I sat and had a coffee and read. Got on the bus and made it to Baker Street Station in the pouring rain. Thanks, London. I had arranged with a friend from SC who's studying in London to stay at her place that night and take a train back to Edinburgh the next day. I had to use a bus to get from Baker Street to her flat. I HATE the buses in London. Sure, they're iconic etc etc, but they are not fucking user friendly. They're actually goddamn impossible to navigate if you don't know what you're doing. Sadly, the Tube basically shuts down after midnight, which is what time it was. So I got on a bus that I knew would take me in the right direction (with what I later figured out was actually a ticket for the Tube, but that's neither here nor there) and proceeded to ride it all the way to the end of the line, missing my stop because it wasn't called what I thought it was on that side of the street. I had to get off the bus, run across the street (and almost get hit by a cab), and catch another bus going the opposite direction. It's a good thing neither of the drivers checked my ticket too closely, because, not only was it a ticket for the Tube, it was a single ride ticket. I have more problems in English-speaking countries... Anyway, I finally made it to Ella's flat, after a couple of wtf am I phone calls, and she kindly let me in so we could go to bed.
April 30- Ella had scheduled an appointment to get her hair cut at the beauty school (where they charge only 5 pounds but take 3 hours), so I didn't really see her. I took a shower and sat in her room and read all day, because it was raining, and I didn't really feel like exploring London in the rain. She got back around 1:30, and my train was at 3:30, so I opted to just head to King's Cross and let her study for upcoming finals. I stopped at Sainsbury's (a grocery store), picked up some provisions for the train ride, and made it to King's Cross. They decided not to post which platform my train would be at until about 5 minutes before the train was due to leave, so that made an exciting mass of people all running for the train at the same time. It was an uneventful ride, and I made it back to Edinburgh and back to my flat with the sun shining. Sort of Edinburgh's way of saying "welcome back, and, by the way, I'm way better than London."
And by now I'm sure that you're all throwing your hands up in surrender, so that's all the blog post I've got for now. Expect another one next week about final thoughts on the British educational system, how sad I will be to be leaving Edinburgh in a matter of days, excitement about summer travels (possibly with an itinerary), and news of a drastic haircut (incidentally, the most expensive one I will ever have had in my life, haha).
Ta. Hope you're happy, Lena.
Monday, April 7, 2008
We all want something beautiful.
I'm going to say right now, this entry is going to do the Highlands absolutely no justice. There aren't words strong enough to actually describe the sort of landscape up there. There just aren't. Maybe if you were to listen the theme to Jurassic Park or Lord of the Rings with your eyes closed and imagine the landscape evoked by that music (minus any possible dinosaurs or hobbits), you could sort of get it. But probably not.
The tour of the Highlands started here in Edinburgh. We took a bus for three days of gorgeous countryside and awesome Celtic myths. I saw mountains and castles and fairy knolls. Also, more sheep and deer than I've ever seen in my life. The guide was a Glaswegian named Tony, and I absolutely fell in love with him haha. It helped that he looked remarkably like Damian Lewis and was impossibly charming and funny, as Scotsmen are wont to be. But yeah, besides Tony being a great guide, the tour had all sorts of other upsides. Mostly, I plan to make enough money to buy a house up there (the going rate for a one-story, modestly sized house is half a million $) and then completely withdraw from civilization. It's overrated anyway.
I don't really know how to write up the trip. I think it's better told through pictures, which I'll post on Facebook eventually. Sadly, I don't have pictures of everything because my camera batteries are sort of waging a war of attrition against me. They've ceased holding a charge for any longer than, say, 5 minutes of use. Fucking frustrating.
Anyway, as I said, the tour was three days. We went from here to Loch Ness and spent the first night in Fort Augustus on the edge of the loch. For the next day, we drove up to the Isle of Skye, where we spent the night. The Isle of Skye might as well not even be earth. The landscape up there seems completely alien, for a variety of reasons. I was basically looking out the bus window and thinking that I was further from what I consider real life than I ever had been before. That night it snowed, so there was a nice coating of snow on everything for the ride back down to Edinburgh for the next day. Abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous.
I know, I'm a total cop-out. I honestly have no idea what else to say about it. If you want some things to Google, to sort of piece together what I saw for yourself, I can give a list:
Part of the absolute charm of Scotland is the regard for and love of the landscape. The Scots really, really love their country, and they have been enduring some of the worst weather in the world for thousands of years because of this love. The Highlanders especially exemplify this spirit, because it can be a miserable life up there. Especially in the winter and especially when there were no modern conveniences. It's sort of astounding to think about the things that people will put up with to stay where they are. The Scots enjoy what they call "hill-walking" or "going for a wee wander," which is actually hiking. I've learned that understating things is sort of the Scottish way. We went for a wee wander in Glencoe on the first day, and if I'm going to live in the Highlands, I am for sure going to need to get in shape haha. I am so not a hiker. And Scotland's hills are actually mountains, so yeah. I'd be perfectly happy being a sheep farmer's wife. It's not a bad life, when you wake up everyday to the most beautiful countryside in the world (I haven't actually been everywhere in the world, but I have no reservations about that sweeping statement).
And then I returned to Edinburgh to find that my 18 year old cousin is apparently engaged, fueling my current burning desire to retreat from everything. How did I find this out? Through motherfucking Facebook. Here comes a big, long diatribe, so get yourself a drink or something. It's actually sort of shocking to me how hurt I am by this, but there you have it. I'm changing my life's ambitions because of it. I was considering, following my earlier deep introspection, moving back to the East Coast after graduation because of the disconnect that I'm feeling between me and my family. Not anymore. I will be applying to grad schools here in the UK, pretty much exclusively I think. I probably sound completely irrational, but it mostly feels like my family has forgotten that I exist. It's stupid, I know. They're all so proud of me, talk about me all the time, blah blah blah. But my cousin, who has lived next door to me for all 18 years of her existence, decides to get engaged, and nobody sees fit to tell me this for two months. I have to find out from an update to her fiance's Facebook. Excuse me, what? I talked to my cousin last week. I talk to other members of my family every goddamn week. This is big news, guys. The sort of thing that I would like to know about, if only to voice my disapproval. Because I absolutely disapprove. This is going to change my life as well as theirs, as selfish as that sounds.
Basically, the way I see it is this. Ashley, my cousin, has been dating Ben, who graduated high school with me and was a friend of mine, since spring of my freshman year. So for two-ish years. Fine, whatever. I don't particularly like Ben, as he's always been basically an irritation for me. We agree about nothing, I think he's a fool. His dad's a priest, and he wants to be one too. He's changed religions (from Presbyterianism to Episcopalianism), I think mostly to win over my family. He'll say that it was after deep introspection and lots of searching blah blah don't care. Not the source of my deep-seated dislike. My family also dislikes Ben, for basically the same reasons that I do. He's opinionated, obnoxious, and foolish.
Ashley drags him along to all of our family functions, and, if there's one thing that should be known about my family, it's that they like to tear outsiders apart behind their backs. Maybe not the most noble trait, but whatever. We love each other and try to keep each other from being stupid. It's sort of like being part of a clan, with the inherent distrust of outsiders. Someone who has married into the family will probably forever be criticized, for one thing or another. Examples: being neurotic, being too overbearing, treating a dog like a child (my uncles are excellent fodder for the Lynch tribunal). So Ben doesn't stand a chance, is what I'm saying. He's already been a topic of discussion whenever I've been home, and I'd rather not have to talk about him for the rest of my life. I'd rather not have to see him for the rest of my life. He disturbs my hard-won peace. I know, I sound completely awful and selfish saying all of this. He makes my cousin happy blah blah blah. She's 18. She wants to go to med school, and she's still only a freshman in college. Ben's a junior, and he still lives with his parents. I don't know when they plan to marry, but I'm afraid that he's going to ruin her potential. She's a smart girl, but the women in my family do stupid stuff for love. Like marry idiots.
I genuinely like going to family functions. Have done for my entire life. Ben has made them more difficult than enjoyable. I sort of predicted that this would happen, but not so soon. I expected to have time to wean myself off of using my family as a source of peace. But fine, this is the way it is now. Ashley and Ben will get married, and I'll be the absent achiever. Talk about a person who can't deal with change. I'll probably seem like the jealous spinster, and I'll be forced to endure the wedding to avoid having people say mean shit behind my back. This is an odd side of me, I know. I'm not doing myself any favors here.
I just wish that someone had thought to tell me about this. If I had a fortress of solitude, it was my family. It may seem weird to be so upset about something happening in my extended family, but as I said, clan structure. My cousins might as well be my brothers and sisters for as often as we saw each other growing up. I can't make a distinction between immediate and extended. We all live next door to one another, for fuck's sake. I said before that home was no longer feeling like home. This just sort of clinches it. Growing up sucks, really. I wasn't ready to give up the peace that I felt with my family.
In better news, Doctor Who is back. This is how I will get through everything.
The tour of the Highlands started here in Edinburgh. We took a bus for three days of gorgeous countryside and awesome Celtic myths. I saw mountains and castles and fairy knolls. Also, more sheep and deer than I've ever seen in my life. The guide was a Glaswegian named Tony, and I absolutely fell in love with him haha. It helped that he looked remarkably like Damian Lewis and was impossibly charming and funny, as Scotsmen are wont to be. But yeah, besides Tony being a great guide, the tour had all sorts of other upsides. Mostly, I plan to make enough money to buy a house up there (the going rate for a one-story, modestly sized house is half a million $) and then completely withdraw from civilization. It's overrated anyway.
I don't really know how to write up the trip. I think it's better told through pictures, which I'll post on Facebook eventually. Sadly, I don't have pictures of everything because my camera batteries are sort of waging a war of attrition against me. They've ceased holding a charge for any longer than, say, 5 minutes of use. Fucking frustrating.
Anyway, as I said, the tour was three days. We went from here to Loch Ness and spent the first night in Fort Augustus on the edge of the loch. For the next day, we drove up to the Isle of Skye, where we spent the night. The Isle of Skye might as well not even be earth. The landscape up there seems completely alien, for a variety of reasons. I was basically looking out the bus window and thinking that I was further from what I consider real life than I ever had been before. That night it snowed, so there was a nice coating of snow on everything for the ride back down to Edinburgh for the next day. Abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous.
I know, I'm a total cop-out. I honestly have no idea what else to say about it. If you want some things to Google, to sort of piece together what I saw for yourself, I can give a list:
- Glencoe
- Eilean Donan Castle
- Culloden
- Inverness
- William Wallace Memorial
- Commando Memorial
- Loch Cluanie and Loch Lochie
- Portree (there's video of an exploding whale if you look hard enough)
- Doune Castle (where part of Monty Python and the Holy Grail was filmed)
- Ben Nevis
Part of the absolute charm of Scotland is the regard for and love of the landscape. The Scots really, really love their country, and they have been enduring some of the worst weather in the world for thousands of years because of this love. The Highlanders especially exemplify this spirit, because it can be a miserable life up there. Especially in the winter and especially when there were no modern conveniences. It's sort of astounding to think about the things that people will put up with to stay where they are. The Scots enjoy what they call "hill-walking" or "going for a wee wander," which is actually hiking. I've learned that understating things is sort of the Scottish way. We went for a wee wander in Glencoe on the first day, and if I'm going to live in the Highlands, I am for sure going to need to get in shape haha. I am so not a hiker. And Scotland's hills are actually mountains, so yeah. I'd be perfectly happy being a sheep farmer's wife. It's not a bad life, when you wake up everyday to the most beautiful countryside in the world (I haven't actually been everywhere in the world, but I have no reservations about that sweeping statement).
And then I returned to Edinburgh to find that my 18 year old cousin is apparently engaged, fueling my current burning desire to retreat from everything. How did I find this out? Through motherfucking Facebook. Here comes a big, long diatribe, so get yourself a drink or something. It's actually sort of shocking to me how hurt I am by this, but there you have it. I'm changing my life's ambitions because of it. I was considering, following my earlier deep introspection, moving back to the East Coast after graduation because of the disconnect that I'm feeling between me and my family. Not anymore. I will be applying to grad schools here in the UK, pretty much exclusively I think. I probably sound completely irrational, but it mostly feels like my family has forgotten that I exist. It's stupid, I know. They're all so proud of me, talk about me all the time, blah blah blah. But my cousin, who has lived next door to me for all 18 years of her existence, decides to get engaged, and nobody sees fit to tell me this for two months. I have to find out from an update to her fiance's Facebook. Excuse me, what? I talked to my cousin last week. I talk to other members of my family every goddamn week. This is big news, guys. The sort of thing that I would like to know about, if only to voice my disapproval. Because I absolutely disapprove. This is going to change my life as well as theirs, as selfish as that sounds.
Basically, the way I see it is this. Ashley, my cousin, has been dating Ben, who graduated high school with me and was a friend of mine, since spring of my freshman year. So for two-ish years. Fine, whatever. I don't particularly like Ben, as he's always been basically an irritation for me. We agree about nothing, I think he's a fool. His dad's a priest, and he wants to be one too. He's changed religions (from Presbyterianism to Episcopalianism), I think mostly to win over my family. He'll say that it was after deep introspection and lots of searching blah blah don't care. Not the source of my deep-seated dislike. My family also dislikes Ben, for basically the same reasons that I do. He's opinionated, obnoxious, and foolish.
Ashley drags him along to all of our family functions, and, if there's one thing that should be known about my family, it's that they like to tear outsiders apart behind their backs. Maybe not the most noble trait, but whatever. We love each other and try to keep each other from being stupid. It's sort of like being part of a clan, with the inherent distrust of outsiders. Someone who has married into the family will probably forever be criticized, for one thing or another. Examples: being neurotic, being too overbearing, treating a dog like a child (my uncles are excellent fodder for the Lynch tribunal). So Ben doesn't stand a chance, is what I'm saying. He's already been a topic of discussion whenever I've been home, and I'd rather not have to talk about him for the rest of my life. I'd rather not have to see him for the rest of my life. He disturbs my hard-won peace. I know, I sound completely awful and selfish saying all of this. He makes my cousin happy blah blah blah. She's 18. She wants to go to med school, and she's still only a freshman in college. Ben's a junior, and he still lives with his parents. I don't know when they plan to marry, but I'm afraid that he's going to ruin her potential. She's a smart girl, but the women in my family do stupid stuff for love. Like marry idiots.
I genuinely like going to family functions. Have done for my entire life. Ben has made them more difficult than enjoyable. I sort of predicted that this would happen, but not so soon. I expected to have time to wean myself off of using my family as a source of peace. But fine, this is the way it is now. Ashley and Ben will get married, and I'll be the absent achiever. Talk about a person who can't deal with change. I'll probably seem like the jealous spinster, and I'll be forced to endure the wedding to avoid having people say mean shit behind my back. This is an odd side of me, I know. I'm not doing myself any favors here.
I just wish that someone had thought to tell me about this. If I had a fortress of solitude, it was my family. It may seem weird to be so upset about something happening in my extended family, but as I said, clan structure. My cousins might as well be my brothers and sisters for as often as we saw each other growing up. I can't make a distinction between immediate and extended. We all live next door to one another, for fuck's sake. I said before that home was no longer feeling like home. This just sort of clinches it. Growing up sucks, really. I wasn't ready to give up the peace that I felt with my family.
In better news, Doctor Who is back. This is how I will get through everything.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
And you thought I was boring before.
Since I am leaving for a tour of the Highlands tomorrow morning, I should probably update this with spring break happenings now. They were myriad and slightly more exciting than what I've been doing for the last week.
Lena came to visit from March 20th to the 29th, which was absolutely brilliant. I can't really describe the feeling of having an actual friend to hang out with and talk to after 3 months divorced from everything that I considered real life back in CA. Making friends is one thing, but it takes a long time to actually get to the level of comfort with one another where you can just have fun. So that made everything that we did that much more enjoyable.
As for what we actually did, there was first the trip to St. Andrews to visit Lena's Cal friend Elizabeth. St. Andrew's is an adorable, tiny (only 3 main streets) town, and I'm definitely going to look into going to grad school there. The school has a museum studies masters program, and my grandmother (and father) would be super thrilled. I'll probably go back there later this month or early in May to meet with people in the art department and see what exactly the grad program entails.
After that, there was a ton of Edinburgh sightseeing. We did Craigmillar Castle, which I'd never seen, and Edinburgh Castle, which I had. I really love castles. It's so easy to imagine what life may have been like when people actually inhabited them, whether they be complete or in ruins. They're fun places to let your imagination run wild (also, I've seen too many period movies/read too many period romances). We also went to two of the main museums in Edinburgh, the National Gallery (art) and the National Museum (natural history/culture). Free museums never stop being awesome. However, as far as I saw, the National Gallery has no Caravaggios. Unforgivable. It's also arranged like a typical nineteenth-century art museum, which, while interesting for me as a study in the changes that have occurred in museum display over the years, makes the whole place super overwhelming for the typical patron (I assume). The National Museum is a lot of fun with some really interesting displays and juxtapositions within the Early Peoples exhibits especially. Enough about that, but seriously. I could write a paper on that place. Maybe I will. It could be part of an honors thesis topic.
On the less cultural front, we did some clubbing, which hahaha. I am awful at that scene, but it's always entertaining anyway. I don't even know what to write about it. I feel that Brits tend to do the clubbing thing when they're younger (say 18ish) and then graduate to flat parties and stuff by the time that they're 3rd years and up. It's very much a younger crowd at the clubs here. Pubs, however, are a mix of all ages. And older Brits go clubbing, too, so it's a weird mix of 18 and 40 year olds. Plus a bunch of international visitors and travelers of all ages, of course.
At the end of her visit, Lena so graciously gifted me the most awkward night of my life sharing a couple of mattresses on the floor (they follow me wherever I go) with her and a French guy named Julien. We went to Glasgow to see the city/visit him (someone met in a club in Budapest), and a series of misunderstandings and cultural faux-pas followed. It was a good time, no doubt. I just suck really hard at interacting with the French. It mostly has to do with my complete American-ness and how the French are so similar to us in mentality, just French. They expect everyone to adopt their cultural affectations when they're around (not in a rude or mean way, but still), and we expect everyone to be familiar to and receptive of the American way of doing things. So handshakes are out, kisses on the cheeks are in, etc. I have a personal space bubble, and I often seem really rude to Europeans. I know this, but if I'm not thinking, it's really hard for me to not offend people (the French especially). I really admire French culture etc etc, I just don't think that could ever be me haha. The most I can manage is a happy medium between American and French. I have yet to discover what that is. But yeah, Glasgow. It's a city, plain and simple. Big (relatively), dirty, and ugly. There are good parts, but I have no interest in living there. That's for sure. Glasgow sort of terrifies me, not least because I can't understand a word that the inhabitants say. I may visit again, just to see some of the more famous sites, but it's not somewhere to spend any long period of time. Unless you want to be a violent football hooligan, that is. Then, all you have to do is support Rangers or Celtics (definitely not both), and you're well on your way.
Other than the things that required leaving the flat, Lena and I downloaded and watched a lot of movies and just generally tried to save money while still enjoying our time. I introduced her to all sorts of Scottish delicacies (haggis included), and we ate lots of ice cream. A mostly relaxing break, as all breaks should be.
Since she left, I've been sitting in my flat watching V.Mars and various movies. My favorite has been Shoot 'Em Up, which I now consider the perfect movie. It was basically written and directed with exactly me in mind. It's totally creepy, actually, how much of an ideal audience I am for that movie. There are all sorts of little things that I really enjoyed, besides the obvious violence and sex that I am all over in any movie. So yeah, that = what I would make if asked to make a movie.
As mentioned previously, I'm going to the Highlands tomorrow. It's a USC trip, so free everything. Spectacular. We're spending two nights on the Isle of Skye. Other than that, I have no idea what the itinerary is. I also don't care. All I know is that I have to meet the bus at 8:30 tomorrow morning, and then I'll be whisked away to the gorgeous Scottish countryside. Good enough for me.
And now, back to mainlining V.Mars before I leave.
Lena came to visit from March 20th to the 29th, which was absolutely brilliant. I can't really describe the feeling of having an actual friend to hang out with and talk to after 3 months divorced from everything that I considered real life back in CA. Making friends is one thing, but it takes a long time to actually get to the level of comfort with one another where you can just have fun. So that made everything that we did that much more enjoyable.
As for what we actually did, there was first the trip to St. Andrews to visit Lena's Cal friend Elizabeth. St. Andrew's is an adorable, tiny (only 3 main streets) town, and I'm definitely going to look into going to grad school there. The school has a museum studies masters program, and my grandmother (and father) would be super thrilled. I'll probably go back there later this month or early in May to meet with people in the art department and see what exactly the grad program entails.
After that, there was a ton of Edinburgh sightseeing. We did Craigmillar Castle, which I'd never seen, and Edinburgh Castle, which I had. I really love castles. It's so easy to imagine what life may have been like when people actually inhabited them, whether they be complete or in ruins. They're fun places to let your imagination run wild (also, I've seen too many period movies/read too many period romances). We also went to two of the main museums in Edinburgh, the National Gallery (art) and the National Museum (natural history/culture). Free museums never stop being awesome. However, as far as I saw, the National Gallery has no Caravaggios. Unforgivable. It's also arranged like a typical nineteenth-century art museum, which, while interesting for me as a study in the changes that have occurred in museum display over the years, makes the whole place super overwhelming for the typical patron (I assume). The National Museum is a lot of fun with some really interesting displays and juxtapositions within the Early Peoples exhibits especially. Enough about that, but seriously. I could write a paper on that place. Maybe I will. It could be part of an honors thesis topic.
On the less cultural front, we did some clubbing, which hahaha. I am awful at that scene, but it's always entertaining anyway. I don't even know what to write about it. I feel that Brits tend to do the clubbing thing when they're younger (say 18ish) and then graduate to flat parties and stuff by the time that they're 3rd years and up. It's very much a younger crowd at the clubs here. Pubs, however, are a mix of all ages. And older Brits go clubbing, too, so it's a weird mix of 18 and 40 year olds. Plus a bunch of international visitors and travelers of all ages, of course.
At the end of her visit, Lena so graciously gifted me the most awkward night of my life sharing a couple of mattresses on the floor (they follow me wherever I go) with her and a French guy named Julien. We went to Glasgow to see the city/visit him (someone met in a club in Budapest), and a series of misunderstandings and cultural faux-pas followed. It was a good time, no doubt. I just suck really hard at interacting with the French. It mostly has to do with my complete American-ness and how the French are so similar to us in mentality, just French. They expect everyone to adopt their cultural affectations when they're around (not in a rude or mean way, but still), and we expect everyone to be familiar to and receptive of the American way of doing things. So handshakes are out, kisses on the cheeks are in, etc. I have a personal space bubble, and I often seem really rude to Europeans. I know this, but if I'm not thinking, it's really hard for me to not offend people (the French especially). I really admire French culture etc etc, I just don't think that could ever be me haha. The most I can manage is a happy medium between American and French. I have yet to discover what that is. But yeah, Glasgow. It's a city, plain and simple. Big (relatively), dirty, and ugly. There are good parts, but I have no interest in living there. That's for sure. Glasgow sort of terrifies me, not least because I can't understand a word that the inhabitants say. I may visit again, just to see some of the more famous sites, but it's not somewhere to spend any long period of time. Unless you want to be a violent football hooligan, that is. Then, all you have to do is support Rangers or Celtics (definitely not both), and you're well on your way.
Other than the things that required leaving the flat, Lena and I downloaded and watched a lot of movies and just generally tried to save money while still enjoying our time. I introduced her to all sorts of Scottish delicacies (haggis included), and we ate lots of ice cream. A mostly relaxing break, as all breaks should be.
Since she left, I've been sitting in my flat watching V.Mars and various movies. My favorite has been Shoot 'Em Up, which I now consider the perfect movie. It was basically written and directed with exactly me in mind. It's totally creepy, actually, how much of an ideal audience I am for that movie. There are all sorts of little things that I really enjoyed, besides the obvious violence and sex that I am all over in any movie. So yeah, that = what I would make if asked to make a movie.
As mentioned previously, I'm going to the Highlands tomorrow. It's a USC trip, so free everything. Spectacular. We're spending two nights on the Isle of Skye. Other than that, I have no idea what the itinerary is. I also don't care. All I know is that I have to meet the bus at 8:30 tomorrow morning, and then I'll be whisked away to the gorgeous Scottish countryside. Good enough for me.
And now, back to mainlining V.Mars before I leave.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
More to a nigga's life than money and hos.
As it is now officially spring break, and I managed to pump out 4,000 words of academic drivel in less than 24 hours, I suppose I should update this, and you, on the state of my life.
First, I obviously don't remember exact details of the last 19 days, which means you miss out on all of the boring stuff. Lucky you guys. There is no structure beyond first. I'm too tired for that.
Mostly, I've been watching every episode of House ever and the occasional downloaded movie. Zodiac and The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford were both worth my time, and I'm not sure that I could make a definite decision as to which I liked better. They're totally different movies, and both played to some of my movie soft spots. I would like a tattoo of Jesse James' face. The real Jesse, not Brad Pitt in the role of... It's one of my absolute favorite stories of all time. And the folk song about his life (covered by the likes of the Pogues and Bruce Springsteen, if you've never heard it) is a brilliant piece of Americana. I will probably use it as a lullaby for some future child. Anyway, Zodiac bothered me for some indeterminate reasons, and I think Fincher was lazy in parts. Entertaining, though.
All of that media was a futile attempt to put off my essays indefinitely. It worked, in that I didn't actually start them until yesterday morning, leaving me until noon today to write 4,000 words, half on the symbolism of blood in insular art, and the other half on the Gupta and Chinese influences on Northern Qi Buddhist art. I turned them in at approximately 11:05 this morning, so well before the deadline. And I got 4ish hours of sleep and saw the sunrise. Rather, would have, had it not been so dreek (pertaining to weather, Google it). I think they're decent and will at least score a passing grade. Good enough.
Yesterday, between bouts of essay writing, I went on a field trip to one of the Historic Scotland labs to see Pictish stones being conserved/refurbished. It's one of those art historical considerations that you never really get to see or think about, so it was pretty awesome. I'd consider, and have done, a career in historic preservation. There's not much money in it, but it's pretty noble. I'm a big believer in making sure that some history is available to future generations. I also got the chance to talk to my teacher some in the taxi over to/bus back from the lab. I thought she was American, but it turns out that she's actually the product of an American Air Force cadet and a British mother, and she grew up on military bases in the UK and Europe. So technically American, but has only lived in the states for less than 10 years of her life. She had some interesting suggestions for what I should look at as possible thesis topics and said that she had exactly the same dilemma in school that I'm currently having (see: no fucking clue where my interests really lie). She also said that if I decide to apply for an internship at the Philly Museum of Art again (which I did last summer, and was summarily denied), I should ask her for a recommendation, because she has a friend who works there. That's a pretty sweet connection to have, so go me. If I end up going to grad school in two years, and find an internship during next school year, I'll definitely pursue that route.
Now, I am just waiting for Lena to get here. Her flight is supposed to land in Glasgow in a matter of minutes, and she should be in Edinburgh by dinner. Which is good, as I am already starving and have eaten all of my food. I think I have some frozen green beans left.
Speaking of food, sort of, I've eaten a disgusting amount of candy the past few days. I bought an assortment of little Cadbury chocolates the other night, because I anticipated needing them for paper writing. Two days later, I got a package from my grandmom with more Easter candy, as well as a small packet of rice cakes, a package of ramen, and some instant oatmeal. Also, lots and lots of Peeps and other fun things (like a deviled egg made out of chocolate that = awesome). Easter candy is by far my favorite. But yeah, I made the oatmeal, ramen, and rice cakes into meals to last for 3 days. That, plus 2 liters of Coke Zero and way, way too much candy. I should probably have gone into diabetic shock at some point.
And on to health matters, I had the distinct pleasure of dealing with the socialized health care system the other day. I thought I had an ear infection (I don't, but I had chronic ear infections when I was little leading to tubes being put in my ears blah blah blah I have an innate fear of them), so I decided to go to the campus health center. Basically, it was the same as the USC health center (crowded, noisy, etc), but more hectic. The only time for walk-ins is 9-10am, Monday to Friday. Total pain in the ass. I waited for about an hour and a half to be seen, and I was the second to last person in the waiting room. People who came in after me were seen before me. I don't really care, but that's like 100 times worse than my one experience with the USC health center. The doctors sort of had patients on an assembly line, calling the next patient as the previous one was walking out of his or her door. I know it doesn't sound that bad, but it was pretty stressful, haha. Erin claims that socialized health care fails in that it doesn't give doctors any incentive to actually figure out what's wrong with a patient. I'm all for the system, but, going by the get-you-in-and-out mentality that I saw, it definitely needs some consideration. I'd like to think that doctors don't need incentive beyond actually helping someone. I know, idealism. But the doctor was very nice, at least. I'm pretty sure I could more accurately diagnose my problem, and I would like that hour and a half of my life back, but whatever. Live and learn.
Now, I think I am going to watch more House, as I have no more class until August. Yeah, unh, whut.
First, I obviously don't remember exact details of the last 19 days, which means you miss out on all of the boring stuff. Lucky you guys. There is no structure beyond first. I'm too tired for that.
Mostly, I've been watching every episode of House ever and the occasional downloaded movie. Zodiac and The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford were both worth my time, and I'm not sure that I could make a definite decision as to which I liked better. They're totally different movies, and both played to some of my movie soft spots. I would like a tattoo of Jesse James' face. The real Jesse, not Brad Pitt in the role of... It's one of my absolute favorite stories of all time. And the folk song about his life (covered by the likes of the Pogues and Bruce Springsteen, if you've never heard it) is a brilliant piece of Americana. I will probably use it as a lullaby for some future child. Anyway, Zodiac bothered me for some indeterminate reasons, and I think Fincher was lazy in parts. Entertaining, though.
All of that media was a futile attempt to put off my essays indefinitely. It worked, in that I didn't actually start them until yesterday morning, leaving me until noon today to write 4,000 words, half on the symbolism of blood in insular art, and the other half on the Gupta and Chinese influences on Northern Qi Buddhist art. I turned them in at approximately 11:05 this morning, so well before the deadline. And I got 4ish hours of sleep and saw the sunrise. Rather, would have, had it not been so dreek (pertaining to weather, Google it). I think they're decent and will at least score a passing grade. Good enough.
Yesterday, between bouts of essay writing, I went on a field trip to one of the Historic Scotland labs to see Pictish stones being conserved/refurbished. It's one of those art historical considerations that you never really get to see or think about, so it was pretty awesome. I'd consider, and have done, a career in historic preservation. There's not much money in it, but it's pretty noble. I'm a big believer in making sure that some history is available to future generations. I also got the chance to talk to my teacher some in the taxi over to/bus back from the lab. I thought she was American, but it turns out that she's actually the product of an American Air Force cadet and a British mother, and she grew up on military bases in the UK and Europe. So technically American, but has only lived in the states for less than 10 years of her life. She had some interesting suggestions for what I should look at as possible thesis topics and said that she had exactly the same dilemma in school that I'm currently having (see: no fucking clue where my interests really lie). She also said that if I decide to apply for an internship at the Philly Museum of Art again (which I did last summer, and was summarily denied), I should ask her for a recommendation, because she has a friend who works there. That's a pretty sweet connection to have, so go me. If I end up going to grad school in two years, and find an internship during next school year, I'll definitely pursue that route.
Now, I am just waiting for Lena to get here. Her flight is supposed to land in Glasgow in a matter of minutes, and she should be in Edinburgh by dinner. Which is good, as I am already starving and have eaten all of my food. I think I have some frozen green beans left.
Speaking of food, sort of, I've eaten a disgusting amount of candy the past few days. I bought an assortment of little Cadbury chocolates the other night, because I anticipated needing them for paper writing. Two days later, I got a package from my grandmom with more Easter candy, as well as a small packet of rice cakes, a package of ramen, and some instant oatmeal. Also, lots and lots of Peeps and other fun things (like a deviled egg made out of chocolate that = awesome). Easter candy is by far my favorite. But yeah, I made the oatmeal, ramen, and rice cakes into meals to last for 3 days. That, plus 2 liters of Coke Zero and way, way too much candy. I should probably have gone into diabetic shock at some point.
And on to health matters, I had the distinct pleasure of dealing with the socialized health care system the other day. I thought I had an ear infection (I don't, but I had chronic ear infections when I was little leading to tubes being put in my ears blah blah blah I have an innate fear of them), so I decided to go to the campus health center. Basically, it was the same as the USC health center (crowded, noisy, etc), but more hectic. The only time for walk-ins is 9-10am, Monday to Friday. Total pain in the ass. I waited for about an hour and a half to be seen, and I was the second to last person in the waiting room. People who came in after me were seen before me. I don't really care, but that's like 100 times worse than my one experience with the USC health center. The doctors sort of had patients on an assembly line, calling the next patient as the previous one was walking out of his or her door. I know it doesn't sound that bad, but it was pretty stressful, haha. Erin claims that socialized health care fails in that it doesn't give doctors any incentive to actually figure out what's wrong with a patient. I'm all for the system, but, going by the get-you-in-and-out mentality that I saw, it definitely needs some consideration. I'd like to think that doctors don't need incentive beyond actually helping someone. I know, idealism. But the doctor was very nice, at least. I'm pretty sure I could more accurately diagnose my problem, and I would like that hour and a half of my life back, but whatever. Live and learn.
Now, I think I am going to watch more House, as I have no more class until August. Yeah, unh, whut.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Deep introspection.
I don't really remember exactly when I posted last, but I can pretty much guarantee that I haven't gone out and done anything exciting since then. That's not to say that I've been totally idle though. I've been doing a lot of thinking, actually. This is going to be one of those posts that helps me sort out some thoughts and doesn't really do anything for you guys, so, sorry. I'm using this as an actual blog as opposed to a travel one right at this moment. Meaning, feelings more than narrative events.
First, what I've actually physically done recently: nothing besides going to a party last night. And watching lots and lots of Bones and NCIS. Also, looking at the puppies currently up for adoption in the LA area right now. Basically, forcibly manipulating my heartstrings. The Christmas episode of Bones actually made me cry, but that's neither here nor there.
So, yesterday, Jerry (a guy that works for the management company from which the Awesome [what I've just now decided to call next year's apartment, for obvious reasons] is being rented) was supposed to fax me a copy of our lease to sign. I set it up with Jonathan, one of the other SC students here, so that I could use his fax machine and would pick up the lease from his place at 9pm and then go to a party that one of his friends was having. I walked to the dorm where he lives, in tempest-grade winds I might add, only to have him tell me that the lease had never come through. Jonathan is slightly awkward, at best, so I don't think it ever crossed his mind to let me know this before I walked all the way over there, but whatever. The party was in the dorm, because things like that are allowed here. We got there and FOB was playing and beer pong with Corona was occurring. I should probably say that this was a "surf" themed party. So of course, I felt right at home. Over the course of the night, which was really only three and a half hours, Jonathan and I became reigning beer pong champions by winning 3 games. More importantly, though, I met the Canadian version of me. Her name is Alysha, and she's an ANTH major. We talked about a lot of stuff that I've had on my mind lately, because it's been on hers too. Basically, I have a huge girl-crush on myself. Anyway. We also proceeded to finish off a partial bottle of Grey Goose, so go us.
But yeah, the stuff that's been on my mind is life. More specifically, the real world vs. academia. I know, I'm a junior, and it's way too early for this crisis, but since basically everyone that I know is now facing/has just faced it, mine is being prematurely precipitated. That, and it's really all I ever think about. My concerns are two-fold, really, with lots and lots of little creases.
Concern #1 goes something like this: I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I know what I like. I know what I believe. I know what my weaknesses are. I don't know how all of those things are going to work towards my happiness in employment. I worry that I'm only working toward a career in museums/arts administration because it sounds cool to say. I could be the young, hip professional arbiter of taste that I can't be in my personal life, for a variety of reasons. When I really think about it though, that isn't so much what I want. Yes, I love art. That one fact is completely undeniable. But, I hate the economics of art. I hate pretending that taste is something that should be qualified and commodified. I know, I'm discounting entire fields of intensive study by tremendously interesting scholars (hello, Kant), but it just sort of makes me feel sick. Erin and I argue about this occasionally, as my view is idealistic and naive and hers is grounded in solid communication theory, but for both music and art I am a proponent of basically socialist, corporation-free realms. Impossible, blah blah blah, not my point. My point is, really, that I don't know if I can buy into the institutions of art. Sell my soul to the Man, if you will. I think museums are valuable resources, in that they have the potential to expose a lot of people to a lot of really important cultural productions, but I have a million tiny problems with the whole system. These million tiny problems (concerning things like ownership and struggles over repatriation and private vs. subsidized and having to pay to see objects that should belong to all of us) add up to a possibly insurmountable issue for me. The good that museums do is so intellectually specific and so clouded by the way that we've chosen, as a society, to run them.
Ultimately, I love art, but not the art world. And I've been thinking about this in terms of what else I could do that would be less morally compromising for me. There are tons of jobs that one can get with a liberal arts degree, completely outside the realm of art etc. But if I don't want to work in art, what else do I care about? Nothing. This is another crease of this problem. It is art, and only art, about which I am deeply passionate.
This leads me directly to Concern #2. If I love art so much, why not just become an academic? Write about art, in my own way, forever. Be free to study art/people interactions, which is what makes up the bulk of my interest. Because I don't know if I can do it. The thought of grad school is kind of making me panic at this moment. My entire life, I've had my sights set on eventually getting a Ph.D and being Dr. Lynch. There aren't any of those in my family. I know, though, that to do that would require at least 3 more years of schooling- 1 for a master's, and 2 more to write a doctoral thesis, defend it, etc. Technically, I could skip the master's and go right into a Ph.D. program, focusing on my chosen topic. Problem there is, I can't even fathom being able to choose a topic for intensive research any time soon. Also, I like the idea of a taught master's, because it would enable me to get a more solid practical foundation, something that an art history degree doesn't provide. I would get my master's in something like museum studies or public art, actually qualifying me to work in the art world. And then, maybe, I would have more of a focus for my eventual thesis. But maybe not.
Like the art world, I have a million small problems with this route. Mostly, I'm tired of this life. I don't know how much more research I can do before I lose all interest in everything. I feel like the number of papers that I have left in me is quickly becoming so small that just my BA might do me in. Especially if I plan on writing an honors thesis next year, which I do. And I can't even begin to imagine what I'm going to write that on, though Roman Britain looms large in my mind right now. The other problem with the academic life is money. More specifically, I don't have any. I'm living a life of self-denial, and it's destroying my will to do anything. I can't go out to eat when I want to. I can't buy all of the clothes that I'd like to have. I can't live a life of idle luxury haha. But really, it's too constrictive for me. I would be more than happy to live out the rest of my life in a shack in the woods, as I keep threatening. But that's not a feasible option right now. I would still need to be able to travel sometimes if I did that, and I don't have the savings necessary for that venture. The need to travel comes from another deep-seated issue, that being my wanderlust. I can't stay in one place forever. I hate making new friends, but it's emotionally easier than getting tired of my surroundings. My issues are varied and terrible, let me tell you.
What that all comes down to is this: I think I am going to need to take AT LEAST a year off after my BA. I don't know where I'll go or what I'll do, but right now, staying in LA and trying out museum work doesn't seem terrible. I can then decide how much my soul is going to cost and if I have the emotional strength to go back to a life of research and deprivation. A master's only takes a year, two part-time, so I think, in all likelihood, I will get one. Whether or not I can stop after that, I don't know. I have to evaluate my reasons for wanting a Ph.D. Mostly, I think, it's a selfish, shallow thing. Does getting a Ph.D. make me a better person? Nope. Will it help me make the world a better place? Nope. Really, then, is it worth what it's going to cost me (mentally and economically)? I don't need to decide that right now.
Of course, I'm going to apply for all of the fellowships/scholarships that I can next year. I think most of them can be deferred for a year anyway, so it couldn't hurt. And hell, who wouldn't want to be a Rhodes' Scholar? I'm as good as Bill Clinton, at least.
Now we get to the really crazy part of all this personal reflection- my alternate job choice, should museum work really be as terrible as I fear it might be. I am seriously, SERIOUSLY considering the possibility of becoming an FBI agent. I know, completely and totally ridiculous. Almost out of character for me, even, but only if you don't know me and where I come from. My father is a retired police officer. He became a police officer because he wanted to help people, and every other job that he'd tried failed to make him happy. Basically, I am beginning the long road of following in his unsatisfied footsteps. I don't really think of being an FBI agent as working for the Man, though it is basically the pinnacle of "Man-ness." The CIA, on the other hand, is totally working for the Man. The draw of the FBI is, as my Facebook status says, the art crimes division. I would have plenty of excuses to see the world, I'm sure, while still being able to feel that I am doing some Good and making the world, and the art world, a better place. This really does fit into my belief in art being for everyone, as I would be mostly trying to catch people who remove art from the public realm in order to sell it (for great economic gain) into the private realm. I'd be like the Robin Hood of hippie federal agents. Yes, I really and truly can justify anything. But I'd at least have a stable income and job security and the ability to move around a lot. Downsides, of course, being the need to get in serious shape before I can even think of Quantico and the possibility of being shot at all the time. I firmly believe that being a Special Agent in the FBI is approximately 4,000 times cooler than being a doctor in some obscure field of art history, though. And more socially conscious.
What's really funny about all that, and ties back to Alysha, is that she feels exactly the same way. Except, instead of becoming an FBI agent, she's looking into becoming a Mountie. I'm not even kidding. I think we're going to have lunch later this week, so we can continue to be awesome together.
If you read all that, you now know more about my psyche than anybody else in the world, basically. Congratulations. Now go do something constructive.
- C
First, what I've actually physically done recently: nothing besides going to a party last night. And watching lots and lots of Bones and NCIS. Also, looking at the puppies currently up for adoption in the LA area right now. Basically, forcibly manipulating my heartstrings. The Christmas episode of Bones actually made me cry, but that's neither here nor there.
So, yesterday, Jerry (a guy that works for the management company from which the Awesome [what I've just now decided to call next year's apartment, for obvious reasons] is being rented) was supposed to fax me a copy of our lease to sign. I set it up with Jonathan, one of the other SC students here, so that I could use his fax machine and would pick up the lease from his place at 9pm and then go to a party that one of his friends was having. I walked to the dorm where he lives, in tempest-grade winds I might add, only to have him tell me that the lease had never come through. Jonathan is slightly awkward, at best, so I don't think it ever crossed his mind to let me know this before I walked all the way over there, but whatever. The party was in the dorm, because things like that are allowed here. We got there and FOB was playing and beer pong with Corona was occurring. I should probably say that this was a "surf" themed party. So of course, I felt right at home. Over the course of the night, which was really only three and a half hours, Jonathan and I became reigning beer pong champions by winning 3 games. More importantly, though, I met the Canadian version of me. Her name is Alysha, and she's an ANTH major. We talked about a lot of stuff that I've had on my mind lately, because it's been on hers too. Basically, I have a huge girl-crush on myself. Anyway. We also proceeded to finish off a partial bottle of Grey Goose, so go us.
But yeah, the stuff that's been on my mind is life. More specifically, the real world vs. academia. I know, I'm a junior, and it's way too early for this crisis, but since basically everyone that I know is now facing/has just faced it, mine is being prematurely precipitated. That, and it's really all I ever think about. My concerns are two-fold, really, with lots and lots of little creases.
Concern #1 goes something like this: I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I know what I like. I know what I believe. I know what my weaknesses are. I don't know how all of those things are going to work towards my happiness in employment. I worry that I'm only working toward a career in museums/arts administration because it sounds cool to say. I could be the young, hip professional arbiter of taste that I can't be in my personal life, for a variety of reasons. When I really think about it though, that isn't so much what I want. Yes, I love art. That one fact is completely undeniable. But, I hate the economics of art. I hate pretending that taste is something that should be qualified and commodified. I know, I'm discounting entire fields of intensive study by tremendously interesting scholars (hello, Kant), but it just sort of makes me feel sick. Erin and I argue about this occasionally, as my view is idealistic and naive and hers is grounded in solid communication theory, but for both music and art I am a proponent of basically socialist, corporation-free realms. Impossible, blah blah blah, not my point. My point is, really, that I don't know if I can buy into the institutions of art. Sell my soul to the Man, if you will. I think museums are valuable resources, in that they have the potential to expose a lot of people to a lot of really important cultural productions, but I have a million tiny problems with the whole system. These million tiny problems (concerning things like ownership and struggles over repatriation and private vs. subsidized and having to pay to see objects that should belong to all of us) add up to a possibly insurmountable issue for me. The good that museums do is so intellectually specific and so clouded by the way that we've chosen, as a society, to run them.
Ultimately, I love art, but not the art world. And I've been thinking about this in terms of what else I could do that would be less morally compromising for me. There are tons of jobs that one can get with a liberal arts degree, completely outside the realm of art etc. But if I don't want to work in art, what else do I care about? Nothing. This is another crease of this problem. It is art, and only art, about which I am deeply passionate.
This leads me directly to Concern #2. If I love art so much, why not just become an academic? Write about art, in my own way, forever. Be free to study art/people interactions, which is what makes up the bulk of my interest. Because I don't know if I can do it. The thought of grad school is kind of making me panic at this moment. My entire life, I've had my sights set on eventually getting a Ph.D and being Dr. Lynch. There aren't any of those in my family. I know, though, that to do that would require at least 3 more years of schooling- 1 for a master's, and 2 more to write a doctoral thesis, defend it, etc. Technically, I could skip the master's and go right into a Ph.D. program, focusing on my chosen topic. Problem there is, I can't even fathom being able to choose a topic for intensive research any time soon. Also, I like the idea of a taught master's, because it would enable me to get a more solid practical foundation, something that an art history degree doesn't provide. I would get my master's in something like museum studies or public art, actually qualifying me to work in the art world. And then, maybe, I would have more of a focus for my eventual thesis. But maybe not.
Like the art world, I have a million small problems with this route. Mostly, I'm tired of this life. I don't know how much more research I can do before I lose all interest in everything. I feel like the number of papers that I have left in me is quickly becoming so small that just my BA might do me in. Especially if I plan on writing an honors thesis next year, which I do. And I can't even begin to imagine what I'm going to write that on, though Roman Britain looms large in my mind right now. The other problem with the academic life is money. More specifically, I don't have any. I'm living a life of self-denial, and it's destroying my will to do anything. I can't go out to eat when I want to. I can't buy all of the clothes that I'd like to have. I can't live a life of idle luxury haha. But really, it's too constrictive for me. I would be more than happy to live out the rest of my life in a shack in the woods, as I keep threatening. But that's not a feasible option right now. I would still need to be able to travel sometimes if I did that, and I don't have the savings necessary for that venture. The need to travel comes from another deep-seated issue, that being my wanderlust. I can't stay in one place forever. I hate making new friends, but it's emotionally easier than getting tired of my surroundings. My issues are varied and terrible, let me tell you.
What that all comes down to is this: I think I am going to need to take AT LEAST a year off after my BA. I don't know where I'll go or what I'll do, but right now, staying in LA and trying out museum work doesn't seem terrible. I can then decide how much my soul is going to cost and if I have the emotional strength to go back to a life of research and deprivation. A master's only takes a year, two part-time, so I think, in all likelihood, I will get one. Whether or not I can stop after that, I don't know. I have to evaluate my reasons for wanting a Ph.D. Mostly, I think, it's a selfish, shallow thing. Does getting a Ph.D. make me a better person? Nope. Will it help me make the world a better place? Nope. Really, then, is it worth what it's going to cost me (mentally and economically)? I don't need to decide that right now.
Of course, I'm going to apply for all of the fellowships/scholarships that I can next year. I think most of them can be deferred for a year anyway, so it couldn't hurt. And hell, who wouldn't want to be a Rhodes' Scholar? I'm as good as Bill Clinton, at least.
Now we get to the really crazy part of all this personal reflection- my alternate job choice, should museum work really be as terrible as I fear it might be. I am seriously, SERIOUSLY considering the possibility of becoming an FBI agent. I know, completely and totally ridiculous. Almost out of character for me, even, but only if you don't know me and where I come from. My father is a retired police officer. He became a police officer because he wanted to help people, and every other job that he'd tried failed to make him happy. Basically, I am beginning the long road of following in his unsatisfied footsteps. I don't really think of being an FBI agent as working for the Man, though it is basically the pinnacle of "Man-ness." The CIA, on the other hand, is totally working for the Man. The draw of the FBI is, as my Facebook status says, the art crimes division. I would have plenty of excuses to see the world, I'm sure, while still being able to feel that I am doing some Good and making the world, and the art world, a better place. This really does fit into my belief in art being for everyone, as I would be mostly trying to catch people who remove art from the public realm in order to sell it (for great economic gain) into the private realm. I'd be like the Robin Hood of hippie federal agents. Yes, I really and truly can justify anything. But I'd at least have a stable income and job security and the ability to move around a lot. Downsides, of course, being the need to get in serious shape before I can even think of Quantico and the possibility of being shot at all the time. I firmly believe that being a Special Agent in the FBI is approximately 4,000 times cooler than being a doctor in some obscure field of art history, though. And more socially conscious.
What's really funny about all that, and ties back to Alysha, is that she feels exactly the same way. Except, instead of becoming an FBI agent, she's looking into becoming a Mountie. I'm not even kidding. I think we're going to have lunch later this week, so we can continue to be awesome together.
If you read all that, you now know more about my psyche than anybody else in the world, basically. Congratulations. Now go do something constructive.
- C
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