Luckily, I haven't. But it's supposed to be very dangerous here. Apparently, in the summer, gypsies will throw their live babies at you, and while you catch the child, other kids will run up and take everything out of your pockets. Pretty twisted, but you have to give the gypsies credit for ingenuity; probably the most ingenious theft I've ever heard of.
I've spent 2 full days here now. Friday I went around to some monuments, the colosseum, ect... It's a very interesting city. As Cristiano's brother pointed out, it's unusual in that the locals are much more involved with the history than in most cities. For example, people are driving by the colosseum to get to work everyday, you hear the bells from the vatican every hour on Sunday. The history is unescapable. It's remarkable.
Saturday, I spent the morning at St. Peter's Bacilica. It's really, really amazing, which is a word that pales in front of the site. Bernini's work is unfathomable to me. However, there's something a little bit nauseating about the history of the church. The obolisks with cross stuck into the top don't really do much for me besides boost my cynical side... In the afternoon, I went with Cristiano around to whatever monuments I hadn't seen yet. We had a good talk about existence over beers in the rain.
Today I planned to go to the Vatican Museum, because it was free, although it was supposed to be crowded. When I couldn't even fit on the Metro, I decided to go for the National Museum instead, which was sort of disappointing. Some interesting pieces, but nothing really awing. I spent the rest of the day with some of Cristiano's friend's from Rome, very nice people. I'll head to the Vatican Museum tomorrow.
This has been brief, but I'm really tired. I've also been writing in my journal so much, it seems at times very redundant to write this on top of it, but it's the way it goes.
Tomorrow night, I'm on a night train headed to Paris. I'll spend 2 more days there (Versailles?) and then I'm off to Dublin from where I fly out. I can't wait to go home! It's been a wonderful trip, but I'm ready to apply what I've learned here. And I miss Jane terribly...
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Livorno
I guess we have some catching up to do...
Venice was really incredible. Actually, I didn't go into a single museum. I went into a few churches. Mostly, I just walked. It's a great city for walking. Since it's an island, it's impossible to get unrepairably lost. It's also impossible to not get lost in Venice. The way the streets wind around is very disorienting, especially for an American that's used to having his cities on grids. Still, there are few things in the world better than wandering through dark, overhanging alleys, down into mossy steps that lead to your own relflection, looking out into the side-canal and the decay along the buildings that is inevitable and omnipresent. I took my time on the streets there, usually buying a gelatti everyday.
As I wrote in my first entry, Venice was really the goal of this trip, and specifically, Brodsky's grave. Brodsky also wrote a book length essay about Venice, named Watermark. I read it carefully, and slowly while I was there, the same way that I wandered the canals. It was really beautiful. It's just over 100 pages, and large print, so even so it didn't take long to finish. The book winds through his various experiences in Venice--in the second half of his life, he went to Venice almost every year. He finished the book with an episode involving running into W.H. Auden in a cafe. It interests me that this city was so attractive to the both of them, as it is to me. I've met a lot of people on this trip who didn't think much of Venice. Most say that there isn't very much to do, which really is quite true. Venice, however, is a work of art: it needs no activity.
To further my Brodsky fest, I visited his grave three times. I had arrived in Venice on Sunday morning, and I went to the grave for the first time on Monday, followed by Tuesday and Wednesday. He's buried in the episcopalian section of the graveyard, which is somewhat ironic; Brodsky was a very proud (though secular) Jew. Even more ironic, he's buried in the same plot as Ezra Pound, the great antisemite of the modernist poetry movement. Unforunately (maybe), I couldn't find Pound's grave, but there are signs everywhere saying that he is in the same courtyard.
On Monday, after I had been to the grave, I wandered the city for a long time. At one point, I stopped on a bridge, overlooking a small canal with a gondola coming towards me. It caught my eye that the boat kept drifting off course, and the pilot kept having to push his foot against the walls to push away from the buildings. This is the only human contact that the walls outside these buildings have. No one can stop here to lean against the wall, and there can't even be a casual bump in the presence of a crowd. The only touch that this wall gets is one of desperation, a touch that tries to correct direction. The customers, in front of the pilot, were even more intriguing. It was a couple, probably my age, though perhaps older. They were sitting very awkwardly, as though they'd just gotten together. They were on opposite sides of the bench, and in the middle, their hands were connected. The man's expression was apathetic, perhaps a little nervous. The expression on the woman's face, however, is unforgettable: the greatest, strongest and most pure smile that I have ever seen. It seems that not everyone is able to really see the magic in venice, since it must come from within. This woman, at that moment, most definitely understood.
On Tuesday night, I met a Canadian named Paul. He's a 21 year old architecture student from Halifax, Ontario. On Wednesday, Paul and I met Evan, another canadian. He is a 25 year old philosphy graduate and a stone mason, specializing in dry stone masonry. Evan was on his way to Southern Italy to live on a farm through WWOOF and build a dry stone house. Very nice guys, though in the 6 days that I was with them, I may have learned too much about architecture. A little too much alchohol was consumed between the three of us (remember, it's legal here), and about the maximum amount of fun was had. We had some really fantastic talks, and I learned a lot from those guys.
Those six days include the time that I spent in Florence. Paul and I left for Florence on Thursday morning, and Evan met us there on Friday. The architecture expertise became very valuable in Florence. I learned first hand what was so unique about the duomo, how it was constructed, and why it meant so much; definitely more than I got out of my guidebook. The three of us went around to several churches, several gardens and several museums--including the Ufizi and the Accademia, which were definitely not disappointing. As far as the city of Florence, I was a little disappointed. After Venice, I think anything would have been a let down. But the art was wonderful. Seeing the Botaceli collection was incredible, and the Rembrantd as well. And the Statue of David, of course. All of the art was every bit as wonderful as the reputations would suggest. I spent quite a bit of time at both David, and the Birth of Venus, just staring. It was wonderful.
Yesterday, Monday, I left for Livorno. My friend Cristiano lives here. He was an exchange student to Nevada Union my Junior year; Sanrda Rockman and Tony Jackoloni were his host parents. It's about a 15 minute train ride from Pisa, but it's much larger. It's one of the largest ports in Italy, and I actually find it quite nice, despite warnings from Cristiano. It's really not a tourist destination at all, but that's okay. Apparently, several hundred years ago, Pisa was the major port. The water level then when down so much that it was useless, so the Madici family had Livorno built, putting in nice incentives for people to move here liek "any legal convictions are forgiven if you move to this city." Sounds like a good deal! It's really fantastic just to be here, in an apartment instead of a hostel, having delicious (a much too modest word for Cristiano's INCREDIBLE cooking) home-cooked Italian meals. Today we walked to the beach and had a great talk about poetry. Cristiano is a philosophy major, and his English is excellent, lending to beautiful conversation. He studies in Pisa, so tomorrow I'll accompany him to his university, and just wander while he has class. Apparently the leaning tower is really the only thing to see in Pisa, but it will still be fun. It's nice to be able to really relax here. I've been waring myself out being on the go so much, and I never want to stop moving because I always feel like while I'm in Europe, I shouldn't waste a moment. Somehow, while I'm here, I'm much more able to let go. It's really been fun so far.
Venice was really incredible. Actually, I didn't go into a single museum. I went into a few churches. Mostly, I just walked. It's a great city for walking. Since it's an island, it's impossible to get unrepairably lost. It's also impossible to not get lost in Venice. The way the streets wind around is very disorienting, especially for an American that's used to having his cities on grids. Still, there are few things in the world better than wandering through dark, overhanging alleys, down into mossy steps that lead to your own relflection, looking out into the side-canal and the decay along the buildings that is inevitable and omnipresent. I took my time on the streets there, usually buying a gelatti everyday.
As I wrote in my first entry, Venice was really the goal of this trip, and specifically, Brodsky's grave. Brodsky also wrote a book length essay about Venice, named Watermark. I read it carefully, and slowly while I was there, the same way that I wandered the canals. It was really beautiful. It's just over 100 pages, and large print, so even so it didn't take long to finish. The book winds through his various experiences in Venice--in the second half of his life, he went to Venice almost every year. He finished the book with an episode involving running into W.H. Auden in a cafe. It interests me that this city was so attractive to the both of them, as it is to me. I've met a lot of people on this trip who didn't think much of Venice. Most say that there isn't very much to do, which really is quite true. Venice, however, is a work of art: it needs no activity.
To further my Brodsky fest, I visited his grave three times. I had arrived in Venice on Sunday morning, and I went to the grave for the first time on Monday, followed by Tuesday and Wednesday. He's buried in the episcopalian section of the graveyard, which is somewhat ironic; Brodsky was a very proud (though secular) Jew. Even more ironic, he's buried in the same plot as Ezra Pound, the great antisemite of the modernist poetry movement. Unforunately (maybe), I couldn't find Pound's grave, but there are signs everywhere saying that he is in the same courtyard.
On Monday, after I had been to the grave, I wandered the city for a long time. At one point, I stopped on a bridge, overlooking a small canal with a gondola coming towards me. It caught my eye that the boat kept drifting off course, and the pilot kept having to push his foot against the walls to push away from the buildings. This is the only human contact that the walls outside these buildings have. No one can stop here to lean against the wall, and there can't even be a casual bump in the presence of a crowd. The only touch that this wall gets is one of desperation, a touch that tries to correct direction. The customers, in front of the pilot, were even more intriguing. It was a couple, probably my age, though perhaps older. They were sitting very awkwardly, as though they'd just gotten together. They were on opposite sides of the bench, and in the middle, their hands were connected. The man's expression was apathetic, perhaps a little nervous. The expression on the woman's face, however, is unforgettable: the greatest, strongest and most pure smile that I have ever seen. It seems that not everyone is able to really see the magic in venice, since it must come from within. This woman, at that moment, most definitely understood.
On Tuesday night, I met a Canadian named Paul. He's a 21 year old architecture student from Halifax, Ontario. On Wednesday, Paul and I met Evan, another canadian. He is a 25 year old philosphy graduate and a stone mason, specializing in dry stone masonry. Evan was on his way to Southern Italy to live on a farm through WWOOF and build a dry stone house. Very nice guys, though in the 6 days that I was with them, I may have learned too much about architecture. A little too much alchohol was consumed between the three of us (remember, it's legal here), and about the maximum amount of fun was had. We had some really fantastic talks, and I learned a lot from those guys.
Those six days include the time that I spent in Florence. Paul and I left for Florence on Thursday morning, and Evan met us there on Friday. The architecture expertise became very valuable in Florence. I learned first hand what was so unique about the duomo, how it was constructed, and why it meant so much; definitely more than I got out of my guidebook. The three of us went around to several churches, several gardens and several museums--including the Ufizi and the Accademia, which were definitely not disappointing. As far as the city of Florence, I was a little disappointed. After Venice, I think anything would have been a let down. But the art was wonderful. Seeing the Botaceli collection was incredible, and the Rembrantd as well. And the Statue of David, of course. All of the art was every bit as wonderful as the reputations would suggest. I spent quite a bit of time at both David, and the Birth of Venus, just staring. It was wonderful.
Yesterday, Monday, I left for Livorno. My friend Cristiano lives here. He was an exchange student to Nevada Union my Junior year; Sanrda Rockman and Tony Jackoloni were his host parents. It's about a 15 minute train ride from Pisa, but it's much larger. It's one of the largest ports in Italy, and I actually find it quite nice, despite warnings from Cristiano. It's really not a tourist destination at all, but that's okay. Apparently, several hundred years ago, Pisa was the major port. The water level then when down so much that it was useless, so the Madici family had Livorno built, putting in nice incentives for people to move here liek "any legal convictions are forgiven if you move to this city." Sounds like a good deal! It's really fantastic just to be here, in an apartment instead of a hostel, having delicious (a much too modest word for Cristiano's INCREDIBLE cooking) home-cooked Italian meals. Today we walked to the beach and had a great talk about poetry. Cristiano is a philosophy major, and his English is excellent, lending to beautiful conversation. He studies in Pisa, so tomorrow I'll accompany him to his university, and just wander while he has class. Apparently the leaning tower is really the only thing to see in Pisa, but it will still be fun. It's nice to be able to really relax here. I've been waring myself out being on the go so much, and I never want to stop moving because I always feel like while I'm in Europe, I shouldn't waste a moment. Somehow, while I'm here, I'm much more able to let go. It's really been fun so far.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Venice
So here I am, in Brodsky's favorite city. Unfortunately, these are not my favorite keyboards. This thing is really a pain in the espresso to type on, so this will be brief.
This is definitely my favorite city so far. It's fascinating the way that the government has attempted to preserve time here: no roads, no telephone cables up in the air. How Faulknerian that this city of all should be slowly sinking, defying man's defiance.
Venice is supposed to be expensive, but it's the cheapest place I've been so far, except for transport. My hostel is on one of the side islands, and theoretically is should cost me €6.50 per trip, but I looked up a youth discount (THANK YOU RICK STEVE!), so I have 3 days unlimited travel for €22. Today alone I would have spent €26 from going around so much. But I had a cappuccino today for €1, which is pretty much magical. It was also the best coffee I ever had in my life.
I'm very tired; it's difficult to sleep on trains. Aside from the keyboards utterly sucking, the internet here is sadistically expensive, so I really must go. I'll probably get on sometime later this week and give an update, but I can't afford a very detailed account, because hanging out on the internet doesn't bode well for my budget. So, for the time being, ciao.
This is definitely my favorite city so far. It's fascinating the way that the government has attempted to preserve time here: no roads, no telephone cables up in the air. How Faulknerian that this city of all should be slowly sinking, defying man's defiance.
Venice is supposed to be expensive, but it's the cheapest place I've been so far, except for transport. My hostel is on one of the side islands, and theoretically is should cost me €6.50 per trip, but I looked up a youth discount (THANK YOU RICK STEVE!), so I have 3 days unlimited travel for €22. Today alone I would have spent €26 from going around so much. But I had a cappuccino today for €1, which is pretty much magical. It was also the best coffee I ever had in my life.
I'm very tired; it's difficult to sleep on trains. Aside from the keyboards utterly sucking, the internet here is sadistically expensive, so I really must go. I'll probably get on sometime later this week and give an update, but I can't afford a very detailed account, because hanging out on the internet doesn't bode well for my budget. So, for the time being, ciao.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Paris has been interesting. I don't like it nearly as much as I thought I would, I think in part because I loved London so much. There's nothing in particular that I don't like about it, it simply doesn't quite feel right to me. It's beautiful though. The art is amazing.
Sunday, when I got here, I basically just waited at the Hostel all day. I was too tired really to do anything, so I sort of just dozed in the lobby for a few hours. This hostel is right along the Bassin de la Villette, a beautiful canal. The room that I've been staying is at the edge of the building and has a huge window, so every day at Sunset there's a beautiful veiw of the sun reflecting off of the water. It's wonderful. I walked along the canal a bit, and finally I was able to get a hold of Magda, my cousin in Paris. We'd been e-mailing back and forth all day, and eventually I actually went over to their flat in the south of Paris for drinks. After that she and her husband Pierre took me out to dinner. It was really great to see her, since the last time I was 14 years old! It was nice also to be able to really talk to Pierre for the first time, since it's always different when you're a young teenager. We went to a very nice restaraunt in their neigborhood, and I went home to sleep. In the hostel, there were only two other people in my dorm, both girls. One is 29 (she's still here, not particularly friendly), and the other was 19. She was only there for a night, but it was really interesting to talk to her. She's an art history major, so she explained to me a lot about sculpture that I didn't understand as far as balance and engineering. She told me that when you see a Roman copy of a Greek sculpture, there's almost always a stump holding it up somewhere, because the Romans weren't as good at balance.
All of this came in very handy on Monday, when I spent the day at the Louvre. That day I stayed almost completely in the sculpture section. It took me a few hours to get through French sculpture, and then I moved on to Greek and Roman. Unfortunately, a good portion of the Greek sculpture is closed right now, probably because it's not tourist season. It was interesting though to see the way French sculpture has changed. I think their collection went back to the 15th centure, and they were really quite terrible at balance then. By the time the collection got up to the 19th century, it was unbelievable. There was one piece of a boy dancing, his arms out flung, one foot in the air, and leaning on the front of his foot. I couldn't imagine being able to balance something like that when I thought of it. There was another interesting piece of a Greek Titan laying dead on the ground after he had been cast from the heavens. It was small, but very powerful. As far as Greek/Roman sculpture, they certainly do have their masterpieces. I don't remember the names, but all of them are very famous. Winged Victory was definitely my favorite of them all though--I think that the only word to really describe that piece is "awe." I also made my way up to some of the Italian paintings, but the museum closed before I got very far.
Tuesday the Louvre is closed, so I had a very touristy day. I went to the top of the Eifell Tower and to Notre Dame. The Eiffel tower was kind of a dissappointment. I somehow expected it to be a little more romantic, I suppose. It's not as beautiful in real life as it is in pictures, and mostly I was just cold. Notre Dame, on the other hand, was really beautiful, but depressing. It really reminded me of the Biblical scene where Jesus casts out the merchants from the temple (I think I saw a painting of that scene the day before). There were signs everywhere saying "No Flash Photography" and "Please be quiet, this is a holy place." Still, people were lining up to take pictures of the alter, and talking just completely conversationally, as if they were going for a stroll in the park. The priests were shushing everyone, but really to no avail. I'm not Christian, of course, but still, it seemed very wrong. It seems like so many people here, all around Paris and especially in the Louvre, are not so much looking at things as they are as much as what would make a good picture. They're recording the moment at the cost of living it, which seems sad to me. These things are never as beautiful in a picture as they are in person, no matter how wonderful of a picture it is. At Winged Victory, that's all that people were doing. I didn't see a single person really just LOOKING at it, taking it in at all.
Wednesday, I was back to the Louvre. I did all of the paintings that I hadn't seen on Monday. It took me all day. The Da Vinci's were really amazing, although the Mona Lisa was also sort of depressing. You can only walk up to about 10 feet from the painting, so it's difficult to really inspect it, or get a feel for it. It's also so crowded that to see it from different angles is very difficult. The French painting was beautiful, and the Deutch painting especially. Of course, I fell for Rembrantd again. They had a few really minor self-portraits, not really that impressive, but some of the other paintings were amazing. There was one of a woman having her feet washed I think, really beautiful. It's so rare for any artist to go as deep as he did.
Yesterday, Thursday, I went to the Orsay Museum. I'm not a huge fan of Impressionism, so I didn't enjoy it that much. They do, however, have the original of the Monet painting that's hung up above my desk. It's better in person, and still the only Monet painting that I really really love. They had 1 or 2 really impressive Cezanne paintings, although I found most of his work really quite boring. Apparently Rilke considered Cezanne to be his foremost artistic influence, which I found really surprising. I have a book on it at home that I'll have to get to one of these days. The really impressive aspect of the museum, to me, was the sculpture. They had absolutely the best sculpture I've ever seen, even better than the Louvre. There was one of a naked woman sleeping, and the way her body was contorted was just fascinating. I simply can't imagine being that estute in physical detail. There was another of Eve's temptation, a very interesting subject. There are several paintings depicting Eve corrupting Adam, but very few showing Eve's experience. She was huddled up against a stump, the apple on the ground beside her and she had her face in her arms, crying. Wrapped around the stump was the satanic serpent. It was really beatiful, and really very perfect. There are 2 men from Brazil in my dorm (they came separately, never met each other before). Last night we all went to a pub together, also with an American from our room. The American was very boring, but the Brazillians are very interesting. One is a journalist, here to cover some convention. He actually met the Governator earlier this week. The other doesn't speak English very well, but he's been to Disneyworld in Florida 4 times! He said it was his dream as a child, but his family never had enough money, so when he grew up he kept wanting to go back.
Today I haven't done much of anything. I spent quite a bit of time going back and forth from train stations, trying to figure out when I'm leaving tomorrow. I finally got my ticket reserved, and it turns out I'm leaving tomorrow night, which gives me tomorrow during the day to make it over to the modern art museum. I think they have a good Picasso collection there, and probably Dali as well, but I'm bracing myself for some bad works. Apparently the main exhibit that is currently in the museum is called "The Void." The whole exhibit is just 9 empty rooms, one after another. I'll try to be open minded as best I can. Unfortunately, I think in this situation my best is not very good.
I'm excited about going to Venice, but nervous. The train station is several miles from the Hostel, and I think I'm going to walk it, since I have all day. It will give me some good time to just see the city, which is really why I'm there. I'm not sure what kind of computer access I'll have there... apparently the hostel isn't very nice. The reviews say it's sort of mediocre, but it's really the only hostel in Venice. They have B&B's and things, but they're expensive. Since I'm spending the night on the train, I'm saving some money by not having to be in a hostel that night. It's actually quite expensive in Venice. There's a man from Florence in my dorm, and apparently it's much cheaper there.
I've really been homesick the last few days. I didn't expect that at all. I miss being able to nest somewhere, whereas here as soon as I settle in, I have to leave. It's also been hard to be away from Jane for so long; we've really gotten used to seeing each other regularly.
On a comical note, in Portland, I traded my roommate David 50 dollars for 50 euros that he had leftover from Ireland. I went to use it in a pub yesterday, and apparently it was a counterfeit. He wouldn't take it. He took my other fifty euro bill though. I'm a little skeptical as to if that's true though, because I used it at the train station today, which I would think would be more savvy to those things.
This afternoon I'm supposed to see Natalie, a woman from Oregon House that's a good friend of Hillary, who I stayed with in London. She was in London the first two days that I was, so I saw her there quite a bit. She lives here, so it will be nice to see the city more from her perspective.
Sunday, when I got here, I basically just waited at the Hostel all day. I was too tired really to do anything, so I sort of just dozed in the lobby for a few hours. This hostel is right along the Bassin de la Villette, a beautiful canal. The room that I've been staying is at the edge of the building and has a huge window, so every day at Sunset there's a beautiful veiw of the sun reflecting off of the water. It's wonderful. I walked along the canal a bit, and finally I was able to get a hold of Magda, my cousin in Paris. We'd been e-mailing back and forth all day, and eventually I actually went over to their flat in the south of Paris for drinks. After that she and her husband Pierre took me out to dinner. It was really great to see her, since the last time I was 14 years old! It was nice also to be able to really talk to Pierre for the first time, since it's always different when you're a young teenager. We went to a very nice restaraunt in their neigborhood, and I went home to sleep. In the hostel, there were only two other people in my dorm, both girls. One is 29 (she's still here, not particularly friendly), and the other was 19. She was only there for a night, but it was really interesting to talk to her. She's an art history major, so she explained to me a lot about sculpture that I didn't understand as far as balance and engineering. She told me that when you see a Roman copy of a Greek sculpture, there's almost always a stump holding it up somewhere, because the Romans weren't as good at balance.
All of this came in very handy on Monday, when I spent the day at the Louvre. That day I stayed almost completely in the sculpture section. It took me a few hours to get through French sculpture, and then I moved on to Greek and Roman. Unfortunately, a good portion of the Greek sculpture is closed right now, probably because it's not tourist season. It was interesting though to see the way French sculpture has changed. I think their collection went back to the 15th centure, and they were really quite terrible at balance then. By the time the collection got up to the 19th century, it was unbelievable. There was one piece of a boy dancing, his arms out flung, one foot in the air, and leaning on the front of his foot. I couldn't imagine being able to balance something like that when I thought of it. There was another interesting piece of a Greek Titan laying dead on the ground after he had been cast from the heavens. It was small, but very powerful. As far as Greek/Roman sculpture, they certainly do have their masterpieces. I don't remember the names, but all of them are very famous. Winged Victory was definitely my favorite of them all though--I think that the only word to really describe that piece is "awe." I also made my way up to some of the Italian paintings, but the museum closed before I got very far.
Tuesday the Louvre is closed, so I had a very touristy day. I went to the top of the Eifell Tower and to Notre Dame. The Eiffel tower was kind of a dissappointment. I somehow expected it to be a little more romantic, I suppose. It's not as beautiful in real life as it is in pictures, and mostly I was just cold. Notre Dame, on the other hand, was really beautiful, but depressing. It really reminded me of the Biblical scene where Jesus casts out the merchants from the temple (I think I saw a painting of that scene the day before). There were signs everywhere saying "No Flash Photography" and "Please be quiet, this is a holy place." Still, people were lining up to take pictures of the alter, and talking just completely conversationally, as if they were going for a stroll in the park. The priests were shushing everyone, but really to no avail. I'm not Christian, of course, but still, it seemed very wrong. It seems like so many people here, all around Paris and especially in the Louvre, are not so much looking at things as they are as much as what would make a good picture. They're recording the moment at the cost of living it, which seems sad to me. These things are never as beautiful in a picture as they are in person, no matter how wonderful of a picture it is. At Winged Victory, that's all that people were doing. I didn't see a single person really just LOOKING at it, taking it in at all.
Wednesday, I was back to the Louvre. I did all of the paintings that I hadn't seen on Monday. It took me all day. The Da Vinci's were really amazing, although the Mona Lisa was also sort of depressing. You can only walk up to about 10 feet from the painting, so it's difficult to really inspect it, or get a feel for it. It's also so crowded that to see it from different angles is very difficult. The French painting was beautiful, and the Deutch painting especially. Of course, I fell for Rembrantd again. They had a few really minor self-portraits, not really that impressive, but some of the other paintings were amazing. There was one of a woman having her feet washed I think, really beautiful. It's so rare for any artist to go as deep as he did.
Yesterday, Thursday, I went to the Orsay Museum. I'm not a huge fan of Impressionism, so I didn't enjoy it that much. They do, however, have the original of the Monet painting that's hung up above my desk. It's better in person, and still the only Monet painting that I really really love. They had 1 or 2 really impressive Cezanne paintings, although I found most of his work really quite boring. Apparently Rilke considered Cezanne to be his foremost artistic influence, which I found really surprising. I have a book on it at home that I'll have to get to one of these days. The really impressive aspect of the museum, to me, was the sculpture. They had absolutely the best sculpture I've ever seen, even better than the Louvre. There was one of a naked woman sleeping, and the way her body was contorted was just fascinating. I simply can't imagine being that estute in physical detail. There was another of Eve's temptation, a very interesting subject. There are several paintings depicting Eve corrupting Adam, but very few showing Eve's experience. She was huddled up against a stump, the apple on the ground beside her and she had her face in her arms, crying. Wrapped around the stump was the satanic serpent. It was really beatiful, and really very perfect. There are 2 men from Brazil in my dorm (they came separately, never met each other before). Last night we all went to a pub together, also with an American from our room. The American was very boring, but the Brazillians are very interesting. One is a journalist, here to cover some convention. He actually met the Governator earlier this week. The other doesn't speak English very well, but he's been to Disneyworld in Florida 4 times! He said it was his dream as a child, but his family never had enough money, so when he grew up he kept wanting to go back.
Today I haven't done much of anything. I spent quite a bit of time going back and forth from train stations, trying to figure out when I'm leaving tomorrow. I finally got my ticket reserved, and it turns out I'm leaving tomorrow night, which gives me tomorrow during the day to make it over to the modern art museum. I think they have a good Picasso collection there, and probably Dali as well, but I'm bracing myself for some bad works. Apparently the main exhibit that is currently in the museum is called "The Void." The whole exhibit is just 9 empty rooms, one after another. I'll try to be open minded as best I can. Unfortunately, I think in this situation my best is not very good.
I'm excited about going to Venice, but nervous. The train station is several miles from the Hostel, and I think I'm going to walk it, since I have all day. It will give me some good time to just see the city, which is really why I'm there. I'm not sure what kind of computer access I'll have there... apparently the hostel isn't very nice. The reviews say it's sort of mediocre, but it's really the only hostel in Venice. They have B&B's and things, but they're expensive. Since I'm spending the night on the train, I'm saving some money by not having to be in a hostel that night. It's actually quite expensive in Venice. There's a man from Florence in my dorm, and apparently it's much cheaper there.
I've really been homesick the last few days. I didn't expect that at all. I miss being able to nest somewhere, whereas here as soon as I settle in, I have to leave. It's also been hard to be away from Jane for so long; we've really gotten used to seeing each other regularly.
On a comical note, in Portland, I traded my roommate David 50 dollars for 50 euros that he had leftover from Ireland. I went to use it in a pub yesterday, and apparently it was a counterfeit. He wouldn't take it. He took my other fifty euro bill though. I'm a little skeptical as to if that's true though, because I used it at the train station today, which I would think would be more savvy to those things.
This afternoon I'm supposed to see Natalie, a woman from Oregon House that's a good friend of Hillary, who I stayed with in London. She was in London the first two days that I was, so I saw her there quite a bit. She lives here, so it will be nice to see the city more from her perspective.
Monday, March 9, 2009
End of London
Let's see, since I last wrote in detail...
I was playing badminton with the girls that Hillary is a nanny for, and shortly after that I typed up the blog entry about going to the British Museum. Hillary's bed is against the wall, but the mattress doesn't go all the way up to it, so I was leaning in a kind of funny position. Then, I set down the computer after I was typing, I got up to grab something, and bam! My back was dead. I actually just stayed in the flat the next day because it hurt to move so much. After that, I spent two days in the National Gallery and surrounding area. It was really amazing. They have my favorite Rembrandt portrait there... I stared at it for an hour straight at one point (including blinking time). I thought it was about the most fantastic museum in the world until today, when I got to the Louvre, but more on that later.
On Friday, the day before I left London, I made it over to Westminster Abbey, the place where Chaucer's buried, along with T.S. Eliot, Tennyson, Ben Johnson and several other major poets. It was pretty interesting--a lot of monarchs are buried there as well, which was less interesting to me. Something is a little eiry though about being literally surrounded by decay(ing)(ed) corpses. After that I went to St. Paul's Cathedral, the place where John Donne was once the dean. That was really a treat. FYI: although almost all of the museums in London are free, the churches are expensive! It cost me 10 and 12 pounds to get into those churches... St. Pauls was much nicer than Westminster. The whole place is absolutely covered with beautiful sculputres depicting famous English generals dying on the battle field, often held by angels. William Blake is also buried there, which was very interesting.
Something sort of strange occured to me in London on a philisophical note. I was really excited about going to England to see the home of my language. I really identified myself with the British in that way, that we speak the same language and are thus united on a spiritual level (sort of an abstract theory, and sort of intangible). I realized while I was there that we really don't speak the same language. Probably the most valuable thing about that week was the realization that the cultural differences that exist between the US and the UK have are rooted in linguistics... kind of interesting.
I'm running out of time for the internet, so I've got to wrap this up... I'll talk about Paris in the next entry, probably tomorrow or the day after.
I was playing badminton with the girls that Hillary is a nanny for, and shortly after that I typed up the blog entry about going to the British Museum. Hillary's bed is against the wall, but the mattress doesn't go all the way up to it, so I was leaning in a kind of funny position. Then, I set down the computer after I was typing, I got up to grab something, and bam! My back was dead. I actually just stayed in the flat the next day because it hurt to move so much. After that, I spent two days in the National Gallery and surrounding area. It was really amazing. They have my favorite Rembrandt portrait there... I stared at it for an hour straight at one point (including blinking time). I thought it was about the most fantastic museum in the world until today, when I got to the Louvre, but more on that later.
On Friday, the day before I left London, I made it over to Westminster Abbey, the place where Chaucer's buried, along with T.S. Eliot, Tennyson, Ben Johnson and several other major poets. It was pretty interesting--a lot of monarchs are buried there as well, which was less interesting to me. Something is a little eiry though about being literally surrounded by decay(ing)(ed) corpses. After that I went to St. Paul's Cathedral, the place where John Donne was once the dean. That was really a treat. FYI: although almost all of the museums in London are free, the churches are expensive! It cost me 10 and 12 pounds to get into those churches... St. Pauls was much nicer than Westminster. The whole place is absolutely covered with beautiful sculputres depicting famous English generals dying on the battle field, often held by angels. William Blake is also buried there, which was very interesting.
Something sort of strange occured to me in London on a philisophical note. I was really excited about going to England to see the home of my language. I really identified myself with the British in that way, that we speak the same language and are thus united on a spiritual level (sort of an abstract theory, and sort of intangible). I realized while I was there that we really don't speak the same language. Probably the most valuable thing about that week was the realization that the cultural differences that exist between the US and the UK have are rooted in linguistics... kind of interesting.
I'm running out of time for the internet, so I've got to wrap this up... I'll talk about Paris in the next entry, probably tomorrow or the day after.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
In Paris
I was very busy in London. Hillary, the friend I was staying with, never really stops moving, and I was sort of in tow all the time. I spent a lot of time at the gallery and I saw a really neat Byzantium exhibit, but overall, it was pretty uneventful. I threw my back out midway through the week, and I even stayed in her flat for a day--it was pretty tough to move. I feel a lot better now though. I am, however, very tired. I ended up taking a coach to Paris from Londond (the coach got on a Ferry) and I barely slept last night. I had some interesting experiences in England, but I'll have to get to writing about them some other time, because I'm simply too exhausted right now. More soon...
Monday, March 2, 2009
London Town
Early saturday morning, I got up planning to take the bus into the city center. From there, I was to take a short taxi ride over to the docks, and barely make it there in time to check in. I didn't really see another choice because the first bus ran at 6--it's an hour bus ride from Dave's to the city center, the ferry left at 8:05, and I had to be there by 7:30, so it seemed like it should be okay. Unfortunately, I--with my packed bag--arrived to the bus stop at 5:58 to discover that there is no six o'clock service there on Saturdays--only Monday-Friday. I went back into the flat and waited until 7:00 to wake Dave and ask him to drive me in. He was very gracious, of course, since Dave's probably the ultimate host, and drove me in. It was sort of a scary hour though...
The boat that I was on was named The Ulysses, which was sort of cool. The whole boat was James Joyce themed. Why would I, Forrest, not like this, you ask? After I saw "Nora Barnacle's Food Emporium," my respect for the whole thing kind of dropped. It was interesting being at sea though. I've never done any major travel by boat before, it was interesting. For such an early departure, there was a lot of alcohol in that boat. I hung out quite a bit in "HLeopold Bloom's Pub," (all I got was a sandwich, it was 8 in the morning for god's sake!) and most people were pretty drunk by the end. Leave it to the Irish.
Luckily enough, the boat took my right to a train station, and I only had to wait about 15 minutes for the train to get there. I sat with a very interesting group of people. The first was an Englishman--he seemed very proper. He had a fairly educated accent, although he did mention having a blue collar job. He was very clever though. I've heard before that English people are uptight, but I've found the opposite. They've got quite vicious humor though; you can't take anything personally. The second was technically an Irishman. He was raised in Dublin, but he's lived in London the last 10 years, and is now married to an Englishwoman. He sounded more Cockney than Irish, but really somewhere in between, if you can imagine that. He was a huge, dark-skinned man who obviously did a lot of weight lifting. His arms were massive around, tattooed, and his stomach was bulging a little, but from muscle I think. He'd just been married last week, and he wasn't very good about it. Every time a girl would walk by he would talk in very graphic language about whether or not he would like to engage in certain activities with her. They were at the table across the aisle. Across from me was another Dubliner, but she'd also been living in England for a long time; she really sounded much more English than Irish, and besides an Irish "R" slipping through every now and again, I couldn't even tell she wasn't English. We talked a bit on the first leg of the ride. As we passed a mountain, the proper gentleman mentioned that someone had fallen off it recently and died. "Did you know that Holland just made psychadelic mushrooms illegal?" I replied. They were very confused. Apparently, a French tourist recently got hopped up on mushrooms and jumped off a bridge (thus the connection) and the result was the prohibition of mushrooms in Holland. I explained the connection. "I also heard," replied the English gentleman, "that someone did that on Mt. Kilimanjaro recently."
At the first or second stop, a very strange man got on and sat at the table across the aisle, next to the proper man and the Dubliner. He reminded me a lot of Johnny Depp's character from Pirates of the Carribean--who is of course based on Keith Richards. He was never quite looking where he was supposed to be looking. He started some tangent about a band. The dark skinned Dubliner interrupted him: "Have you been to eating mushrooms lately? You've been hitting up Mt. Kilimanjaro?" Keith Richards was so clueless, he didn't even catch on that we were laughing at him.
"Where are you from in America?" he asked me. "I'm from Norther California, but I live up in Oregon now." I said. "So you're from Steinbeck country then?" He asked. "Yeah sort of." "He's one of my favorite authors." You have to of course imagine this all in very drunk Cockney dialect. At one point he asked me "Do you say 'a hotel' or 'an hotel'?" "If we're writing formally, we put 'an hotel', but we usually just say 'a hotel'." I said. "Well then," he replied, "you're not really speaking the Queen's English, are you?" I was temped to say "No, we're speaking William Faulkner's English!" but I resisted.
At one point, the proper gentleman looked at me and said "Well, I hope you go back to America with some good stories." Just afterwards, he nodded his head toward Keith Richards.
We had to transfer trains at one point, and fortunately, the dark-skinned Dubliner was also headed to London. One thing I've noticed here is that they really don't hold you hand with directions the way that they do in America. People are definitely more expected to figure things out for themselves. As I was sitting with this man on the next train, I began to realize slowly how strange he was. He kept talking about how hard it was to not look at other women. As the conversation went on, he revealed that he and his wife had only been married last week, and that she's five months pregnant. It sounds like a marriage really destined for success...
I told him that my friend in London had planned to go clubbing that night, and I was to go with her. "Oh man, you've got to check out the chicks, just loike so hot man," he said. "Well, seeing as I'm going with my girlfriend's best friend, it's not a very good idea to go on the prowl," I said. "You gotta be careful mate!" he said, "really really careful! You know whatever you do, she's going to be typing on Facebook or whatever to your girl back home!" "Yeah, you're right." I said. I figured we should just leave it at that...
When I got to London, we had a little get together with some Oregon House kids. Hillary (the girl that I'm staying with here, Jane's best friend from grade school) is a part time nanny, and her employer gave us permission to sleep in the house. Another Oregon House girl named Natalie--one that I didn't know really until Saturday night--is now living in Paris, and she was in London for the weekend. We ate some crackers and cheese and had some wine, and then we went to dinner. After that we went to this club... and I really don't like clubbing. For one thing, I don't really enjoy dancing anyway, but doing it in a hot, crowded, drunken room while watching strangers randomly rub their genitals against my friends is even less enjoyable. We got home around 3:00 in the morning and went straight to sleep. Yesterday we had a picnic by Hillary's school, and then we went to a pizza place, because Erika had half price vouchers there. It's nice to be able to socialize a little after spending a week basically alone, and it's also really nice having Hillary to show me around the city. Last night, after pizza, I ended up in a hostel. Hillary has midterms this week, and she wanted her room empty so that she could study. It was actually a really nice hostel though--only 18 pounds and it included breakfast. It equals out with the exchange rate right now to about 25 dollars. Not bad.
The Hostel is right near the British Museum, and I checked that out today. It's pretty amazing. Unfortunately, since it's not tourist season, a lot of the exhibits are shut down for repair of some sort. Still, it was very cool. I saw too many things to list, but the highlight for me was definitely the Greek sculpture. Call me a neo-classicist, but something in me just has this feeling from Greek sculpture that it's the highest form of art ever reached. I get the same feeling from Faulkner, Brodsky and Paz, but it's very rare for any visual art--as amazing as visual arts are--to touch me that way. There was one sculpture in particular of a priestess of Demeter (the goddess of seasons, her daughter Persephone is married to Hades and goes to live with him in the winter. Demeter doesn't like that very much and so she stops the plants frm growing until Persephone comes back, thus seasons), she was looking up at the sky, or toward Olympus if you will, and the look of suffering on her face was so perfect. It seems so well to reflect and widen the human experience. I later saw a small figuring of Demeter herself with a similar expression, although she was looking down this time, toward the Underworld.
This afternoon I went to meet Hillary's girls. She baby sits two very feisty British girls after her classes everyday. They're cute, but very snappy. They're also quite amused by any American idioms. Apparently in England "pants" are what we call underwear, and what we call pants are "trousers." That's one of their favorites. Also, in badminton, what we call a "birdy" is here called a "shuttlecock." That's one of my favorites.
Hillary is at a play right now, and I'm in her flat. I felt like I could use a little down time, so here I am. I have not a clue what I'll do tomorrow--which means probably the tourist information center!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
A Few Days In
Dublin is amazing. I'm particularly lucky, because Irish history has been especially interesting to me ever since I read A Portrait of the Artist about a year ago, and then shortly afterwards, Yeats made his way into my life. There are a lot of places that I've passed by 10-15 times, and never realized that they were important historically--like the post office, host of the 1916 Easter Uprising. It's right in the middle of O'Connel Street in Dublin.
It wasn't my fault that I couldn't get out of the door! I was glad to know that one. It seems like a nice neighborhood, but maybe there's some crime here. We have a lock that must be done with a key from the inside as well as out. I was able to leave the house shortly after my last blog entry.
Dave told me about an article he read by a city planner, calling Dublin an example of exactly what you shouldn't do while building a city. The way it's set up is pretty bizarre. It's extremely easy to get lost in, because none of the roads are straight. They wind around without you noticing, which can be very confusing after a pint. Especially since I don't drink very much at home, my tolerance is definitely worth mocking, and one pint is definitely the limit if I want to make it back to the right bus stop.
There's a river dividing Dublin, called the Liffy. It's fairly small--much smaller than the Willamette--it's probably about 30 feet across. Since it's so small, there's not as much of a sense of division on either side of the river as there is in Portland, but still, there is some. On the north side of the Liffy, there's a major road named O'Connel street. It's almost indisputably my favorite place in Dublin. It has a huge divider in the middle, with one way traffic on either side, and along the divider, there are six (I think) huge statues erected to important figures in Irish history. The first is O'Connel, after whom the street is named. There are several in between dedicated to people that I don't know who they are, and the last one, close to a mile from the Liffy, is a statue of Parnell. It was driving me crazy trying to remember who he was, until finally I realized, he's the political figure that Stephen Daedalus's' family argued about so fervently! About half way up O'Connel is the spire. It's probably 10-15 feet in diameter at the bottom, and raises up to the height of about 60 stories, all silver and ending at a point. Since the highest building in Dublin is around 15 stories, that's quite high. Apparently it was a millennium project, and the Dubliners don't think much of it. I saw in pictures or the revolutionary days, there used to be a pillar there. Dave said that it was a tribute to some British officer (named Nelson, I think), and the IRA blew it up in the 70's. O'Connel street merges into another street, where the Garden of Remembrance is located. It's a fairly big garden with a huge pool in the middle shaped like a cross. At the tip, there are stairs leading up to another pool with a statue of swans and men rising from the water, overlaying a huge pole with an Irish flag. The Garden is dedicated to the remembrance of those who gave their lives in the cause of Irish freedom.
The nationalism here is pretty incredible. It's something that I was thinking about a lot before I left too, how absurd it seems to me. The nationalism here is no less absurd than in America, I think. I have to wonder, are the Irish people really afforded more liberties now than the Scottish people? I doubt it. Of course, it's a question of principle--that the English people should not have the ability to govern the destiny of the Irish people. But still, there's something very Camus-like about this whole thing. With an obviously distinct culture, why does the government seem that important. Not to mention that one of the first things that the Irish Parlament did after coming to power was pass a bill effectively censoring all major literature. The Irish people refused to fight in WW2, and since then, it seems, the government has been doing its best to show that they're not isolationists anymore. Joining the EU, hopping on the Eurail system, converting to the Euro when England wouldn't. But still, Irish people for the most part speak English, they drive on the left side of the road, and there are fish and chips joints every few blocks.
Another thing that surprised me was that the Irish Gaelic language is still very much alive. Apparently, they teach it in school, beginning in Kindergarten. Dave told me that very few Dubliners speak it, but that in the country side, it's often the predominant language.
Despite O'Connel housing the post office, the Spire, and the statues, there's not very much on it as far as stores or shops. It has three McDonals, 2 Burgerkings, a Pennys, and various other things that I could see in America. South of the Liffy is the Temple Bar district, and that's where things get interesting in that department. Dave turned me on to a pub called the Porterhouse. They have a huge menu of beers from all over the world. Yesterday I tried a Russian beer! It was kind of so-so.
I went to the Writers' Museum on the second day, which was great. I saw Yeats' autograph, and Joyce's too. The highlight for me was seeing James Joyce's piano, which I actually got to touch. It was a pretty neat experience. I had to chuckle though, there was a little note by it saying something like "One can tell that Joyce's priorities were not quite right, since he bought this piano new at a time that his family was in financial hardship." I really wished that my dad were with me to share that one, since I don't think it would seem as funny to anyone else.
The next day, I went to the James Joyce center, which was fairly mediocre. There's a museum a little south of Dublin, but it's only open April through September (NOOO!). They had a couple of short documentaries about Joyce's life, one of which was about Joyce and the National Library of Ireland. I hadn't really had any desire to go there, but after I found out that a major episode in Ulysses is set there, I was somewhat interested. When I found out that the reading room is the place where Joyce and Yeats were first introduced, I HAD to go. As soon as I was done in the Joyce center, I high tailed it down to the library. As I approached, there were huge signs with Yeats' face on it saying "A life's work" or some other mundane aphorism like that. It turns out that the library happens to be having a full on exhibit on the work of Yeats--for free! Inside, I saw a lock of his hair, his spectacles, and several handwritten copies of his poems; originals, not photocopies, with lines crossed out and other words put in. It was incredible. Also, his nobel medal.
After that, I preceded into the readers room, where Joyce and Yeats were introduced, and also where the Scilla and Carybdis episode of Ulysses takes place. That was pretty amazing too. After that, I had my first pint to celebrate one of the most amazing days of my life.
Since then I haven't done too much exciting, although just taking the city in is interesting. I'm going everywhere on foot, which makes for some nice little-things kind of sight seeing. I walked over to the "the beach", by which I mean not really a beach, but it was nice. I also saw the War Memorial Gardens, which were beautiful, but I would imagine they'd be a lot more amazing in the Spring when the flowers bloom. I think I've got a day in Dublin on April 4th or so, and I'll try to check it out then.
Today I'm headed to Dublin Castle, and to the National Museum of Decorative Arts. My feet are getting tired from walking everywhere, but they'd better get used to it...
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Flight Out
One of my roommates recently read me a diary entry of his from a bus trip. He was struck by the way our uniqueness could just as easily bring us together as it does separate us, and for some reason the current of interaction leans toward the latter. I could help but think about that today on the airplane. Brodsky wrote somewhere that the formula for prison is a deficit of space with a surplus of time, and if that's the case, I just got a mini dose of conviction.
I didn't talk to anyone during the whole flight besides an occasional "excuse me," "thank you," or "sorry." This struck me as totally strange. After all, as far as I could tell, we had three significant things in common. Firstly, we were human. It's somewhat cliche, but still, it's true. Being a linguistic descendent of Whitman, I can hardly ignore that. The second is that we, all of us on the flight, had been brought to the same place at the same time. There's a lot of space in the world, and time certainly is still in a surplus, even outside of prison. There's something seemingly significant in that; perhaps there's something that we all share in causality to arrive there. Perhaps not. Lastly, though somewhat redundant, is that all of us were going to the same place from a common location. There has to be some commonality between a group of people sharing something that specific. Still, conversation was kept to a minimum among the passengers.
On the leg from JFK to Dublin, I was next to a couple. They seemed nice, very conservative. They struck me as being probably very Catholic. She was a timid, large and somewhat sharp looking woman. He was a large man with a tucked in shirt and faded jeans. He had classy looking glasses and side burns; it was a very hypermasculine appearance. There were little personal screens in front of every seat, and almost everyone on the plane was watching something. They had about 10 movies to choose from, and 1-2 episodes of about 20 different popular TV shows. The people with money paid to watch HBO specials, but most of us just watched the free features. This couple watched seperate movies for a few hours, and hardly interacted. I was way too tired to get any reading done, especially since the only novel that I brought with me is stream of consciousness, so I was watching TV too. I dozed off for a while, and when I woke up, the man had curled himself into the woman's lap, with her arm around him. It was one of the most loving things that I've seen in a long time.
The first sign that I notice in the airport said "Mind Your Buggy," which I found pretty ammusing. The first ad that I saw was a billboard over a staircase that said "Smooth Landing?" advertising some Irish whiskey. Going through customs was kind of anticlimactic. I sort of half expected an interrogation of some kind, as opposed to just a stamp and and a very mundane attitude.
I'm staying with one of Vladimir's (Jane's Dad) coworkers here, named Dave. Being in the passenger seat on the drive here was terrifying. For some reason (despite Jane's warning), I hadn't expected Ireland to drive on the left side of the road. It's so counter-instinctive. I kept feeling like I should have been in control of the car, but I wasn't, and making any kind of turn was just horrible.
Now I'm here in Dave's flat. There's some kind of strange lock on the door, and I can't figure out how to leave the house--embarrassing, I know. Dave's gone back to sleep after picking me up, and I can't really do anything until he's up. Not only is the door an issue, but I have not the slightest clue how to work the public transit here. Right now, I'm just doing my best to not go to sleep. I'll try and get to a tourist information center sometime today, but if I just relax, that's okay too. I've got more time in Dublin that I really need, so some down time is always nice.
Goofy little differences:
1) The light switches. They're really strange. In America, there are those large rectangular switches that you palm, as opposed to the ones that stick out. The light switches here are like little tiny mini rectangular switches. They're funny.
2) The toilet handle is a little different. I'm not sure that I know how to use it... It's kind of a similar shape, but longer and wider. It doesn't feel the same when you press it either. I haven't figured out how to get it to flush yet...
3) I just had some Earl Gray tea made in England... and I don't know if I can ever go back to American made tea...
That's it for today... more soon.
I didn't talk to anyone during the whole flight besides an occasional "excuse me," "thank you," or "sorry." This struck me as totally strange. After all, as far as I could tell, we had three significant things in common. Firstly, we were human. It's somewhat cliche, but still, it's true. Being a linguistic descendent of Whitman, I can hardly ignore that. The second is that we, all of us on the flight, had been brought to the same place at the same time. There's a lot of space in the world, and time certainly is still in a surplus, even outside of prison. There's something seemingly significant in that; perhaps there's something that we all share in causality to arrive there. Perhaps not. Lastly, though somewhat redundant, is that all of us were going to the same place from a common location. There has to be some commonality between a group of people sharing something that specific. Still, conversation was kept to a minimum among the passengers.
On the leg from JFK to Dublin, I was next to a couple. They seemed nice, very conservative. They struck me as being probably very Catholic. She was a timid, large and somewhat sharp looking woman. He was a large man with a tucked in shirt and faded jeans. He had classy looking glasses and side burns; it was a very hypermasculine appearance. There were little personal screens in front of every seat, and almost everyone on the plane was watching something. They had about 10 movies to choose from, and 1-2 episodes of about 20 different popular TV shows. The people with money paid to watch HBO specials, but most of us just watched the free features. This couple watched seperate movies for a few hours, and hardly interacted. I was way too tired to get any reading done, especially since the only novel that I brought with me is stream of consciousness, so I was watching TV too. I dozed off for a while, and when I woke up, the man had curled himself into the woman's lap, with her arm around him. It was one of the most loving things that I've seen in a long time.
The first sign that I notice in the airport said "Mind Your Buggy," which I found pretty ammusing. The first ad that I saw was a billboard over a staircase that said "Smooth Landing?" advertising some Irish whiskey. Going through customs was kind of anticlimactic. I sort of half expected an interrogation of some kind, as opposed to just a stamp and and a very mundane attitude.
I'm staying with one of Vladimir's (Jane's Dad) coworkers here, named Dave. Being in the passenger seat on the drive here was terrifying. For some reason (despite Jane's warning), I hadn't expected Ireland to drive on the left side of the road. It's so counter-instinctive. I kept feeling like I should have been in control of the car, but I wasn't, and making any kind of turn was just horrible.
Now I'm here in Dave's flat. There's some kind of strange lock on the door, and I can't figure out how to leave the house--embarrassing, I know. Dave's gone back to sleep after picking me up, and I can't really do anything until he's up. Not only is the door an issue, but I have not the slightest clue how to work the public transit here. Right now, I'm just doing my best to not go to sleep. I'll try and get to a tourist information center sometime today, but if I just relax, that's okay too. I've got more time in Dublin that I really need, so some down time is always nice.
Goofy little differences:
1) The light switches. They're really strange. In America, there are those large rectangular switches that you palm, as opposed to the ones that stick out. The light switches here are like little tiny mini rectangular switches. They're funny.
2) The toilet handle is a little different. I'm not sure that I know how to use it... It's kind of a similar shape, but longer and wider. It doesn't feel the same when you press it either. I haven't figured out how to get it to flush yet...
3) I just had some Earl Gray tea made in England... and I don't know if I can ever go back to American made tea...
That's it for today... more soon.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Night Before
Hi everyone!
So many people kept asking me to e-mail them about my trip to Europe, that I decided that this would be a much more efficient format. After all, I want to do some things over there that don't involve a computer!
In addition to personal updates, I'll probably be posting poems, essays, or other writings that materialize during my trip.
The overall itinerary for my trip looks like this: I'm flying into Dublin, staying there for a week, and then I'm off to London. After seven days of England, it's to Paris, followed by Venice and Florence. I have an 8 day Eurail pass, which is intentionally too many days of travel, in case I spontaneously decide to go somewhere else.
The overall objective of the trip lies in Venice: standing over Joseph Brosky's grave.
That's the overview!
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