Sonya Wilson's Blog

Spring 2011

I’d already decided that traveling alone is a fascinating way to explore the world, but this past trip to Dallas brought me a few pleasant surprises that substantiated this conclusion of mine.

I began by attending a conference at the Dallas Hyatt which planted me smack dab in the middle of downtown Dallas.  With an afternoon free, I decided to do what I love to do most when in a new city—meander around in a semi-aimless fashion and stumble upon cool discoveries along the way.

I left the hotel, which was throbbing with clusters of laughing, talking people, and wandered away for some solitude only to encounter more clusters of people exploring Dallas together.  For some reason, I was starting to feel that traveling alone was kind of a lame idea.  Then I ran into a really cool castle-like museum called the Old Red and forgot about it, being as I was wrapped up in trying to get a photo shot from the right angle, which as you can see never really happened.

After that I wandered over toward a small crowd of people on a little patio next to a little grassy knoll.

I came closer to see what was going on, and in turns out that this was THE grassy knoll, the grassy knoll from which a shot allegedly rang out on November 22 of 1963, which alleged shot may have been THE shot that killed President Kennedy.  An ex-US government investigator was hawking his books laden with photos, and his glib sidekick was talking up a storm through a microphone. I joined the crowd to listen to how Lee Harvey Oswald may not have fired the shot that killed Kennedy, how other guns were found in other surrounding buildings, and how smoke was captured on camera as coming from this, the, grassy knoll.

“Glib Sidekick” continued to discuss more graphic details including the injury that Kennedy sustained and how it was covered up, as it gave clues as to the direction of the bullet and pointed to the very possible conclusion that contrary to previous thought, the Kennedy assassination was actually a conspiracy.

“What kind of group would conspire to kill the president?” someone asked.

“Well, the mob and the CIA, you know, they were in cahoots over other deals too,” Glib Sidekick replied.

“The CIA?” the guy next to me says.  “What interest would the CIA have in it?”

“An excellent question.  Are you two together?”  He looked at me.

The guy and I looked at each other.  “No.”

“Would you like to be together?  Cuz you should, you’d make a really cute couple.  So people in the CIA could’ve had several reasons; they thought he was a threat to national security, he closed down anti-Castro training centers that had links to the CIA, he was pulling out of the Vietnam War…” he rambled on.  A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees above us.  It was quite a pleasant, serene spot.

“You see that tiny white X on the road?” Glib Sidekick pointed to a small mark in the street just beyond us.  “That’s where the bullet hit the street.  Yeah, who would know, right?  And this grassy knoll isn’t a distinctive landmark either, I mean most of you didn’t expect to find us here, you were probably just wandering around and saw us…like this lovely couple, who just met, by the way…” he gestured toward me and the guy next to me.

The people around us laughed.

“I’m serious dude, if you don’t ask her out, I will.   So folks, the photos you see here are all not released to the general public until 75 years after the assassination, which means they won’t be available until 2039, but you can get it all here in this magazine….”

He talked rapidly and engagingly, rattling off interesting bits of information just a bit too fast for me to file them all in my brain.

“So the government has actually agreed that it was a conspiracy, but surprisingly, most public school textbooks aren’t updated to reflect this.  Interestingly enough, all home-school textbooks are.”  He looked at us.  “Are you going to home-school your kids?”

More chuckles.  This guy was not letting up, but it was kind of funny.  “We haven’t discussed that yet,” I replied.

When he was done with his spiel, Glib Sidekick stepped over to us.  “So what are you both doing in Dallas?” he asked.

“I’m at a conference down at the Hyatt,” I said.

“I’m going to a wedding tonight across the street at the Old Red,” said the guy, who looked to be about my age.

“A wedding; great!  You taking her?  No?  Would you like to take her?”

We smiled, but this was getting sort of ridiculous.

“Seriously dude, if you don’t ask her out, I’m next in line, k?”  He finally walked off.

So after he had left us alone, we introduced ourselves because it seemed like the only polite thing to do after such a setup.  As we walked away from the crowd, Glib Sidekick called, “Hey!  You going off together?”

“Yeah.  We’re just going to explore the city.”

The look on his face seemed to be an amusing combination of surprised, pleased, confused, and wistful.  We left him to sort out his emotions.

So an awkward meeting, truly, but the guy and I had a great time wandering the streets of Dallas, encountering unexpected gems like an aviary tucked into an obscure street corner and the most hardcore cowboy store either of us have ever seen.  He also loves to travel, so we had a great time talking about our favorite ways to explore new cities and what we liked about the different scenes of Dallas unfolding right in front of us.  (And no, we didn’t get to the topic of home-schooling our kids.)

As we parted ways, I realized that had I not been alone in the first place, I wouldn’t have gotten to know Random Dallas Friend (which is what he called me in his email.  He said I should definitely blog about our little adventure but not use his name; the internet is a small place, you know).  So here’s to new and unexpected travel discoveries, to a glib comedian, and to an unnamed half-Italian engineer—a fun fifty-minute friend to have while exploring downtown Dallas.

Boston was a welcome reprieve from the Mad hattanness.   Green, lush, humid smells of hot summers and warm gusty winds, colonial-style buildings, gorgeous shady suburbs with flower gardens, people who amble instead of scramble.  People say that Boston is a big city with a small town feel…which sounds irritatingly cliché, but that’s actually kind of what it felt like.

I also happened upon historic sights, like random graveyards, pretty and pleasant, which seemed to display a peaceful ambiance from the collision of the weathering of time with the grateful and thriving present.  But maybe I was just projecting.

I went to Boston to check out a unique grad program at Emerson College.  During the course of my personalized 2-hour tour, I became increasingly excited about the program, an MA in Publishing and Writing.  Not only can you learn all about the different aspects of the publishing industry and get connected to the local industry via internships, but you also get to take a variety of great writing classes!  Could it get any cooler than that??

A classroom at Emerson that I could see myself getting really distracted in

After the tour I went wandering.  I was on my way to the down the historic one-mile walk on State Street toward the harbor when I passed a fun-looking fountain that had attracted mounds of kids, like flies to lemon meringue pie.  (Do flies like lemon meringue pie?  Or am I just projecting?  It’s my fave dessert.)

I took a few moments to photograph the fountain with the squealing children.  Before I could get any good photos, I noticed that they were having way too much fun.  And that I was hot.  And that the water looked terribly refreshing.

I dried off sitting by the gently lapping water at the harbor, soaking in the sun, watching the jellyfish be jellyfish, and polishing off the remains of my Reuben sandwich.

Ahhh.

—

Me and my new best friend, Maks Chmerkovskiy

Right?  You can be best friends after one dance lesson, right?

New York is fun, but it’s just teeming with people–all kinds of people, all over the place.  I almost feel like I’m back in Rome for the crowds, London for the diversity–except New York seems even more diverse.

When I took this picture I was sitting next to some Italians in the dining area at the Whole Foods, trying to understand their conversation and watching from the clear glass wall as people milled around Union Square.  By the way, this Whole Foods is AMAZING.  (Supposedly there are about 5 of them in Manhattan.)  There’s enough prepared food to boggle even the most decisive mind, and with 3 floors, this place is no secret.  Despite 35 cash registers, you still have to wait 15 minutes in line.

In case someone is wondering what in the world I was doing taking a ballroom dance lesson from Maksim Chmerkovskiy, let me explain.  I was taking a ballroom dance lesson from Maksim Chmerkovskiy.  In case you’re wondering who he is, he’s an amazing ballroom dancer on Dancing with the Stars.  I actually don’t watch TV myself, but this season was an exception, and if you really want to know why, just ask and I’ll explain–it has to do with Evan Lysacek.

The dance lesson was preceded by a seminar a few days earlier given by Maks which was a lot of fun.  He taught us a bit of the jive, the samba, the rumba, and all about the figure 8 hip action, which he said is the basis for all the dances.  In my private lesson, he taught me more about hip action and a bit of footwork.  He’s extremely detailed, funny, and friendly.  He explained how the movements flow in the context of the whole body, and to help me get it, he had me put my hands on his back muscles as he contracted and stretched them as he was conversely stretching and contracting his stomach muscles to get the biggest figure 8 possible.  At one point he said something like, “Since you’re an intellectual, you’ll understand this…”  (Intellectual?  Um, is it the glasses?  Probably since I told him I was looking into the publishing scene and grad schools here.  Ah, the beauty of deceptive first impressions.)

At another juncture he said, “Now, I don’t mean to sound racist at all.  But, understand me correctly, since your name isn’t”—he looked up and lowered his voice—“Maria Torres, this Latin dancing is not in your blood and it’s not natural for you.  Right?

“Si, es la verdad, tu sabes que no soy de Mexico,” I said.

“Okay, I have no idea what you just said.  But I’m Russian, and it’s not natural for me either.  But I believe that there’s no such thing as natural talent.  You have to do something over and over and over until it looks natural and it feels natural, and then you’re better off than someone like Maria Torres, because she’s doing what’s natural, but now we can do more than what’s natural and apply it to all kinds of dance.  You know what I’m saying?”

I nodded.  If I was an intellectual, I better get it.

So we practiced the figure 8 over and over, him pulling my hips back until I looked like Maria Torres, only worse, and I started to get it.  Then we worked on the feet, how to point the toe place the heel and pull in the knee to the point of, um, maximum feminine aesthetic affect.  Then he did an amazing demonstration of how the arms just follow as an extension of proper technique, and I–can I sound like a Californian for a second?—I was like, WOW.

Anyway, it was kind of surreal working with a celebrity, but also pretty normal since I felt like I already knew him, and just really fun.  And si, I  have been practicing.

I’m now on a bus on the way to Boston to check out Emerson College, and I have a full day scheduled in New York Monday before I head back home.  I’ve already been asked twice why in the world I’m looking to move to New York if I already live in San Diego.  Pues, mis amigos, that’s what I’m here to find out!

Upon arriving in Spain from Italy, I found that my Spanish had coalesced into a commingled compilation of confusion.  I’ll call it Spitalish.  I could still communicate in Spanish when people weren’t trying to learn English, but so often my brain kept wanting to speak Italian, which was hilarious because I hardly know any.  My last day in Madrid I couldn’t even ask for directions.  It went something like this: “Scuse,  I mean perdon, sa dov’e la stazzione…I mean, donde es el, el lugar donde el tren…um, do you speak English?  Great.  Can you tell me where the train station is?  Thanks.”

Anyway, once I found the high speed train, I was on my way to my last destination–Barcelona.  ¡Qué ciudad!

I arrived in the evening after an interesting chat (in English) with a Peruvian professor I met on the train, and by the time I found my B&B and settled in, I was starving.  It was about 9:30 and I set out to find a certain bar (a common place to buy meals).  As I was finding my way, I got the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, and realized that the streets were deserted.  “Strange,” I thought.  For Spain, it was dinnertime and the streets should have been awash with people.  I found out why as soon as I tried to enter the bar.

It was crammed with people; every seat was taken, and every seat was turned in the direction of the TV that was broadcasting a soccer game.  (Hello, it was the final game.)  I stood in the doorway for a few moments wondering how I was going to feed my gnawing stomach, as no one was paying any attention to the clueless redhead staring out at them.  I maneuvered my way through the chairs to the bar and presented myself to the girl behind the counter.

“Si?” she asked.

“Um…”  I knew what I was about to say was going to sound ridiculous, but I said it anyway.  “Como como?”  (How do I eat?)

After she finished cracking up, she handed me a menu with a smile.  I devoured my huge hamburger with the works (including a fried egg), with papas bravas, outside.  A car whizzed by and I could hear the game blasting on the radio.  After a few minutes, a roar of cheering came from inside the bar, complete with fireworks and shouts from the neighboring apartments–it was a score.  They lost the game, though, and soon the streets returned to a comfortable murmur.

The next day was gorgeous.  Barcelona is right on the Meditteranean Sea, about a half-hour stroll from where I was staying.  I love the water, so I meandered that direction.  I found that it’s pretty relaxing to just explore without an agenda.

Placa de Catalunya

Fountain in Placa de Catalunya

Dessert after a yummy lunch. The waiter was super friendly, and after talking with him for awhile I realized I hadn't forgetten all my Spanish after all.

Rambla de Mar, by the water

That's me in the top left square

I couldn't resist visiting the aquarium

and photographing the purple octopus.

Sigh.  Walking by the water’s edge on a breezy spring afternoon is my idea of a relaxing vacation.  Barcelona also has some beautiful parks.

"Cascada" in Parc de La Ciutadella

My new best friend in Parc de La Ciutadella

Parc Zoologic

Parlament de Catalunya, next to Parc de La Ciutatella

Speaking of parks, my favorite place in Barcelona is probably Parc Guell, designed by a very famous and very out-of-the-box architect named Antoni Gaudi, who is hard to not learn about if you spend any time in Barcelona–his eye-catching structures are an integral part of the city’s personality.  Parc Guell is a large expanse up in the foothills north of the city.  Aside from having a great view and a lot of walking paths and trails amongst native shrubs and pretty landscaping, it’s full of Gaudi’s work.  Unfortunately my camera ran out of battery after I took a few shots, but you can see from this link (or this one) some of the crazy and amazingly artistic structures he designed that are scattered throughout the park.

I actually had to climb a rock post to get this shot. It's not even a good shot, but it was fun. I think one lady in the photo is staring at the crazy girl climbing a rock post.

Park Guell

Gaudi’s most famous work is probably the Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, began in 1882…and it’s slated for completion in 2026.

View from inside the Sagrada Familia

Spiral staircase inside one of the towers

Gaudi was a sickly child who spent a lot of time in the woods with his mom, examining nature instead of going to school.  This gave him the background for much of his later work as an architect; he employed many patterns found in nature into his structures.  This is just one example I snapped from a display:

(And I know this spiral staircase in one of the spires in Sagrada Familia may not be exactly a logarithmic spiral, but you probably could have fooled this English major.)

Below is the side of an apartment building, designed by Gaudi:

Here’s an aside: one benefit to exploring without much of an agenda is that you get to be surprised.  I was walking along a street called La Rambla on my way to the water, and noticed this interesting tent-like thing.

I follow the crowd inside and BAM!  There’s this huge bazaar with masses of beautiful displays of fruit, produce, chocolate, meats, etc…dozens of beautiful displays one after the other.  Pretty exciting.  Cheap, too.  Yum.

It’s actually a pretty famous place called Mercado de la Boqueria that tourists are supposed to visit–like so many other hot spots in the city–and I could have easily missed it.  You could argue that with this “discover as you go” style of traveling, I might miss some great sights.  Except that I didn’t go to argue, I went to explore and get a feel for the cities, which I got by wandering around, which I had a great time doing, for which reason I can now argue that by wandering around you can get a great feel for the cities and explore, which I did.  Huh?  Anyway, I did have a map.

I also have friends from Barcelona and a friend who’s been there, so I was actually well-equipped with a list of must-sees (gracias, amigos!).  On my last day, at the recommendation of Juan and Anna I stopped at this great restaurant, Sagardi, which was jam-packed with people and lots of delicious appetizers, which were enough to satisfy my bottomless pit.

With a full stomach, I stepped out into a courtyard and stumbled upon a grandiose, yet very pretty, church building.  I remember not wanting to bother taking my camera out to capture yet another fascinating structure.  You see, after 5 weeks of travel I was about “photoed” out.  There had been so many new and beautiful things around me that after 5 weeks of being shutter-happy, I had reached the point where I’d walk by an amazing building and think, “Oh, nice, a really cool building” and walk straight past it, NOT immediately whipping out my camera and shooting to high sky like a madwoman.  (This is probably why I unfortunately don’t have many photos of the Gaudian architecture.)  But this structure was striking enough that I could get my listless, weary hand to dutifully whip out my camera and snap a couple lazy shots, so here’s the last impressive building that actually made it onto my memory card:

I found out later that this church is called “Santa Maria del Mar” and that my Barcelonian friend Juan did his graduate thesis on this very building.  I only saw the west end but it’s actually a huge building and very beautiful on the inside, so I see from pictures on Wikipedia–an example of Catalan Gothic style.  Very cool!

Oh, I did take one more photo of a building, if this counts:

Lifeguard tower?  Art?  Whatever it is, it’s quite the anticlimactic end to my travel tales.  But anyway, after about five days in Barcelona, I spent my last couple hours here on the beach.  I wandered about a mile down the shoreline in the sand sans shoes, collecting shells, sea glass, some cool old pieces of washed-up colored tile, a cheap back massage from an old “indigena de latinoamerica” woman, and a really crummy pickup line from some guy that I’m not going to repeat here.  And finally, after five weeks of travel in three countries and over eight cities, I actually felt about ready to go home.  I flew to London, crashed a few hours at Newman and Gloria’s, and boarded my flight to Chicago, where I would visit family for a few days before heading to San Diego.  Whew!!

A few days ago, I put my feet into the Pacific Ocean once again.

But this is not the Pacific Ocean.  It’s the Mediterranean Sea in Barcelona.  I haven’t posted pictures from my last leg of my trip–Spain.  It begins in Madrid:

Photographers in Madrid

A marathon we happened upon while riding a bus

Madrid was what I expected it to be–a big city.  I spent 6 days here, enjoying the church life and seeing some of the sights.  On Sunday afternoon, Socorro and I went to the famous El Prado Museum, which displays about 1300 paintings as well as sculptures.  (Random personal observation: portrayals of the ruins of Rome had a new and profound pull on me.)  The Prado houses some of the most famous paintings in the world–the kind that make you just stand there for awhile and ruminate, like Diego Velasquez’s “Las Meninas.”

"Las Meninas" by Diego Velasquez, 1656

Velasquez paints himself into the picture, paintbrush in hand.  Philip IV and Queen Mariana are seen in the mirror in the back of the room, as if they are actually in the same position as us, the observers–so we end up being the ones gazed upon.  There’s a lot more to say about it if you’re into art history, which I unfortunately am not. Anyway, this painting inspired scores of other painters, including Picasso, who in 1957 created 58 “recreations” of the work.

John Singer Sargent was one of those inspired by “Las Meninas”–he spent over two weeks in the Prado copying it.  Some say the influence can be seen in the painting he unveiled three years later, “The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit,” which is on loan from the US and placed nearby.  I really like this piece, and I stood and studied it for awhile for reasons both spatial and psychological.  I also find it intriguing how he plays with light and shadow.

"The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit' by John Singer Sargent, 1882

It’s said that Francisco de Goya also took Velasquez’s painting as inspiration in “The Family of Charles IV” (for one, Goya paints himself into the background by an easel).  It’s not something I’d want hanging in my house but I appreciated making out the different personalities portrayed in the facial expressions of the sitters.  It got me wondering just how much we can ascertain of someone’s personality based on the painter’s portrayal of just one expression.  Maybe more than we think…or not.

After the museum perusal, Socorro and I had a delish artistic-looking dinner.  Honestly, the best part about Madrid was meeting and spending time with the brothers and sisters in the church life there.

Next on the plate…a bit of Barcelona.

While I was in Florence, I took a couple day trips.  The first was to

which was only an hour train ride from Florence.  It was strangely disorienting climbing an ascending staircase tilted on a plane by about 5 degrees, and you can see by the pattern of wear on the marble steps that I’m not the only one who felt that way.

My most exciting trip was a tour in of the region of Chianti, which is in Tuscany, on a scooter.  I went with a group of five plus a guide, who I had to myself on the scooter portion since everyone else was riding horses.  I’ve never ridden a scooter except for two laps around the parking lot of building 409 in which I almost ran into Professor Bazilevs…so this was definitely fun.  And the scenery was amazing.  The region of Chianti is well-known for its wine, and vineyards were abundant.

Grapevines in the Chianti region

Grapevines with Cypress trees in the background

Cypress trees

Me on a scooter, which is called a "vespa" (literally means "wasp")

Vespa tour

Dwelling in Chianti region

Green lake by restaurant in Chianti

Dessert with tour group

Wine tasting at Castello di Monteriggioni in Tuscany

I took a couple buses south back to fly out of Rome (the Milan airport, being farther north, was more susceptible to closure due to volcanic ash), and I stopped in Siena long enough to take a few photos.

Siena with Duomo (Catedrale di Santa Maria) and bell tower in the background

Cypress trees and bell tower in Siena

I then hopped back on the bus to Rome, not sure if my plane would be cancelled, half-hoping it would, as I was rather loathe to leave Italy, and here I was going back to Rome!!  I could almost taste the wind as I imagined another exhilarating ride on the back of a motorcycle in crazy Rome traffic…

…but my plane ended up taking off, a couple hours late, and I was on my way to Spain, about to try my tongue with my first experience of speaking Spanish to Spaniards in Spain and to test my tastebuds and try “tapas”…

Time to rumble and ramble.  I was planning to be in Florence (Firenze) for 2-3 days and then head to Paris, but thanks in part to the volcano I ended up languishing in Florence for eight days, which was fine with me since I wanted to spend more time exploring and working on my unique Italian/Spanish/English language hybrid in Italy, and I had started to get a bit nervous about going to Paris not even knowing how to ask where the bathroom was in French.

Florence is full of history and is a great place to visit.  There are museums, galleries, ornate historic buildings, beautiful views, great food, etc.  I will say, though, that it’s too touristy for my taste.  I admit that I was a contributor to this aspect, but it appears to the casual observer and to any other type of observer and probably to everyone else in the universe that the economy in Florence is built around tourism.  I heard that for every native Florentine, there are five tourists in the city at any given time.  It’s full of shops selling basically everything.  That’s fine, because we outsiders are the ones who decided to flood their city with ourselves and our bad shopping habits, but what got to me was the vendors with cheap souvenirs setting up shop outside, rows of vendors one after the other in heavily traveled areas, each selling the exact same junk.  As if we have nothing better to do than browse and buy useless miscellany all day long.

Browsing and buying gelato all day long, however, is another matter.

I did experience a dash of ennui wandering around by myself for eight days, but there was always more to see and do.  A few photos:

Piazza del Duomo (the dome is in the background)

From inside the dome

View of Santa Croce (church building on the left) from the dome

View from the south side of Arno River

View of Arno River and Ponte Vecchio from Piazzale Michelangiolo

Maritime pine trees (pini maritimi) as a backdrop for the cemetery Cimitero delle Porte Sante, on the grounds of the monastery Chiesa de San Miniato al Monto

Part of the wall of Forte Belvedere; view from Piazzale Michelangelo

Gazebo just south of Arno River by Ponte alle Grazie

Ponte Vecchio, a famous bridge and shopping area. First built in Roman times, it was destroyed twice by floods and rebuilt for the last time in the 14th century, with subsequent changes to the protruding buildings.

View facing west from Ponte Vecchio; Santo Spiritu church building

Random cool-looking tree on some random street

Beautiful city, isn’t it?  Now I should include some shots of city life.  Here’s a good one:

This is a toilet.  I know this because an Italian girl used it after I was finished staring at it.

Wandering around trying to find your way at night was also an experience.  Streets did nifty, unexpected things, like end all of a sudden and branch off into multiple streets.

Villa degli Strozzi branches into Via della Spada, Via Del Sole, and Via della Bella Donne

Painter (watercolor) in Piazza del Duomo

Sidewalk chalk artists by Porta Rossa

Next day; almost finished

Can I end a post about Italy without showing a picture of food? This was one of my late evening snacks, of course with olive oil and balsamic vinegar...

Here are just a few more pictures, out of several hundred, from my amazing 6-day stay in Rome.  (Place the cursor over the picture for a brief explanation.)

Looks like I’m coming back to Rome:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1R3PChxgSuQ

A very unimpressive picture, I know, but it was a rather stirring moment for me when I took it from the plane, as I was trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I was finally and actually in Italy. 

From landing to leaving, I loved seeing Rome.  It’s hard not to love it when you’re spoiled absolutely rotten by friends who take you under their wing and show you all around the city for 6 days straight.

The first night, Giuseppe and Noemi showed me around via car within and without the walls of the city.  When I first saw the Colosseum lit up with golden lights I could hardly believe what I was seeing.  There it was–the grand testament to not only, shall we say, the more animalistic side of man, but to man’s ability to design and construct such an amazing structure way before  the advent of  hydraulics–its well-known jagged frame still standing defiantly in the middle of traffic as cars circled around it as if it were any other roundabout.  (I’m not a structural engineer–unlike about 90% of the people I was priviledged to meet in Italy–nor do I claim to know anything about architecture, but I think just being a human being qualifies one to be impressed on some level.)

Photos of the Colosseum during the day:

if that’s not enough, here’s a video:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9F_X9rbWMU

Of course, there was plenty of time to explore another venerated aspect of Italy:  cibo (food).

I took about a kazillion pictures in Rome so I’ll need to probably create a Picasa album to show them, but I hope to post some of my favorites in my next blog before I get to rambling about my take on Florence…

It’s been over two weeks since I left the isle of the US, and it’s been a pretty amazing trip so far.  Apologies for not getting a post out sooner–running a blog is harder than I thought it would be for a semi-perfectionist running around in different countries without a computer, especially since a) internet cafes aren’t that easy to find, especially when I don’t stay in one place long enough to know my way around and b) there’s not much time to post pictures and write when I spend most of my time running around (and sleeping in). 

In case anyone is wondering, yes, I am stranded because of the volcano.  Instead of flying to France today, I am sitting in an internet cafe in Florence, Italy.  It’s actually quite nice to just relax and do nothing but work on a bit of blogging/picture posting.  Where am I going after this?  My flight is scheduled to leave the UK this coming Tuesday, but that flight may not be happening due to the ash, which is perfectly fine with me.  I think I’ll head over to Spain for awhile instead.  At any rate, I’m eager to post photos from my trip to Rome, but for some reason I’m going to bow to my binding sense of order and begin chronologically. 

So…springtime in London!

Rain, mostly cloudy, some sun, temperature in the 40’s…my first real winterish experience of the season.  I actually had to borrow a real coat, even though I’d brought my warmest.   My second day, a group of us–Maria, Gin Sil, Esther, and Sarah and Mai (two of the girls who so kindly hosted me)– took a trip out to Hampton Court Palace, home of Henry VIII.  It’s also the home of the Great Vine, over 230 years old.

The conference at Bower house was excellent. I got to reconnect with several people I know–KT Parker for one…and, for those of you who know Newman and Gloria, meet Annaliese!

London is extremely diverse.  It’s home to people from probably the “four corners of the earth,” all with the fahscinating British accent.  Yet what most interests me about London is the nuance in language, specifically word choice.  Probably those who speak any other language and travel at all are used to differences in dialect.   As an ignorant Southern Californian, however, I’m not.  So when the waiter didn’t understand me when I asked for a “to go” box, it took three repititions for me to realize that no matter how well I enunciated, he wasn’t gonna get it.  (Maria had to translate for me:  I wanted it “take away.”)  A “queue” is a line, a “toilet” is a restroom, and to “alight” is to…um…get off the train?  As to the meaning of “niggles,” it’s still a mystery.  Picking up a newspaper presented more problems.  What is it to “cock a snook” or to “be in a proper froth?”  And the names of the boroughs and/or tube stops–Picadilly Circus, Tooting Bec, Pudding Mill Lane, etc.–is it just me, or are those downright wierd?

So yes, fahscinating indeed.  Also, some of the signs (“publicity”) either confused me or made me laugh.

I wanted to check out Central London, so I rode the tube to Oxford Street, a popluar shopping area.  I ascended from the tube station to find myself smack dab in the middle of madness.  7-story buildings surrounded the streets on all sides, and hoards of people were being swept along in both directions in the typical London gait (fast) amidst a general roar of conversation.  I wasn’t sure what to do, so I stepped back for a moment and screamed, “I’m a tourist!” (More specifically, I whipped out my camera and started snapping.  I think I also yelled something like, “Please, allow me to be as annoying as possible,” and started videoing the crowd.)

On my last day I took a small cruise boat down the river Thames, from Greemwich to Westminster Abbey.

Yes it is...and no it's not.

 Regarding British food, I don’t have much to report except that a) they really like fish and chips and b) they eat something called “mushy peas.” It tastes like mushed peas.

 A few last shots of London (I should have mentioned this earlier, but for description or comments, place the cursor over the photo.  I’m new to WordPress and am still working with finding a setup I like for photos.).

That’s about all for London.  The best part was getting to go to the conference, blend with new people, and spend a little time with Newman, Gloria, and Annaliese.  Next post should be about ROMA!