The Queen, minding the gap, and red phone booths:
I am still planning the post about Glasgow but, in the meantime, here are the pictures from the trip (nearly 500!) to keep you all distracted at work, the library, or wherever you may be checking up on me from...
Click on these links for: Edinburgh, Melville Castle, and Glasgow.
The power of a holiday is astounding. No matter what happens, whether it is routine or out of the ordinary, it pulls you back into your past and reminds you of where you were every year around that time. A routine holiday is comforting in its sameness, in the familiarity of its smells, tastes, benign family chatter, even the inevitable stress that comes from entertaining all of those genetically tied to you. Holidays that are different from what you are used to have another effect entirely. Like when you get sick and are reminded of those days in elementary school when you could stay home and watch daytime television all day and all you want is to be back there knowing your mom is going to take care of you, a holiday away from routine makes you nostalgically homesick right down to the pit of your stomach. I should say that I'm not really sure that feeling is universal. Just insert "I" into every "you" I just used. The thing I realized this year, however, is that I haven't had a steady holiday tradition in at least six years now, from the time I left home from college. It got me thinking about all of the things I've done for Passover over the last dozen years or so, and I thought I should jot them down. Just like a resume, this chronicle will start with the newest at the top and go back in time....
2008:
Continuing their incredible warmth and hospitality, my Jewish "adopted family," who had my dad and I over for break fast and have subsequently had me over for a number of Friday night dinners, invited me for both Seders. The first night was about fifteen people, very loud, boisterous, and chaotic. It would have been so much fun if I didn't have a splitting headache that was preventing me from really engaging in extended conversation. The second night was just nine of us, their family and another family that they always do second night with. I was very honored to be included in that. We read from Haggadas that were newly written by their synagogue. It was unanimous; they were awful. A paragraph sans spelling error was a treat and there was no meaning or ruach to be found anywhere. But, with a lot of humor, interruption, and sarcastic debate, we muddled through. The food and company were delicious and entertaining, respectively and as usual.
(The rest of the anecdotes were ones I brought up over the course of the two Seders this year. Different parts of the meals made me think of each of these years and inspired this more linear and composed reminiscing.)
2005:
I'm guessing on the year here but I know for sure it wasn't '03 or '04 and since I hated Chabad in '06 (for campus political reasons) I probably didn't go. Although that may have been when a lot of the politics started, come to think of it. Anyway, for simplicity's sake, lets go with '05. So, as I said, I was at Chabad that year, it was the second night. This I am certain of because I always went to Hillel the first night (see below). About three dozen kids crammed into the Rabbi's house with tables scattered all throughout their small first floor. The thing that stood out to me about the seder was the Shmurah Matzah, the kind that's really thin, round, and burnt. I'd had it before but at this seder I learned that the Chabad have a tradition that at every point in the seder where we are required to have some matzah, we have to have an entire round....each. That's a lot of very, very dry matzah before the meal even starts. Good thing I prefer this kind to the regular, square variety. And that's why I remembered this anecdote. We had some last night and I was the only one who enjoyed it. Good thing, too, because I got sent home with the leftovers!
2004:
Every time over the past 48 hours I've thought to myself, "It is really hard to be Jewish in London. New York is so much easier," I am reminded of Pesach 04: Toulouse Edition. The matzah I ate that year was DEFINITELY not observed strictly for no longer than 18 minutes. It might have even had yeast in it. It was all I could find, however. And I carried it with me from Toulouse, to Nice, to Corsica. Yes, I was proud of how hard I tried. For seder, I went to a friend of my host mother's. I don't remember much of the night except being incredibly overwhelmed. It is hard enough praying in Hebrew but Hebrew AND French. Oy! The three things that really stood out to me that night, besides having to read en français to a table of Françaises, were all Sephardic traditions. 1. The food was delicious. And there was rice. And legumes. 2. The oldest man there, I think he was the grandfather, took the seder plate around the table right at the beginning of the seder, and bumped it on everyone's head. I think it was for good luck. 3. The charoset, instead of being chopped and moist like my mom's, was sticky and rolled into little balls.
2003 (and 2005 and 2006):
Hillel seders. Oh the chaos! Oh the crappy food! Oh the Manischewitz pong! One of the "class clown" types, usually Justin or Bozz, would tell the story. It rarely matched the biblical version, but never failed to entertain. The meat was usually undercooked, the charoset never edible. We all bonded over the horror and reminiscing about our mother's cooking, however. That's what I'm talking about. Thinking about the past is what holiday's are all about. It's funny though. As much as these seders lacked in religion and as much as they pained my palette, all the holidays at Dartmouth really did become tradition over the years and I took comfort in that. It is those holidays, and my Dartmouth family, that I miss almost as much as my real family and older traditions these times of year. Sappy, I know. But this is my blog, so deal.
1990somethingorother:
The chaos of the seders the last two nights were in such stark contrast to the way my dad used to run seder. He would plan for weeks. Each part that would be dolled out and read by a family member was pre-Post It noted in his own Haggadah with their name on it so that the evening would run like a well-oiled machine. No bickering, no whining that the passage was too long, you didn't want to be the wicked child, or that you couldn't pronounce Rabbi Akivah ben Eliazar or whatever his name is. For a number of years, he would print out interesting articles and stories that would be bound into a supplemental Haggadah. I always thought that was unique to our family but, I've come to find out, it is pretty common among the liberal Jewish intellectuals of the eastern seaboard (maybe the western seaboard as well, but I don't know many of those types. I'll have to ask Andrew). It doesn't affect my memory of those supplements, however, that others have done it. I will always think of the seder as a place for political and topical conversation as well as learning and being thankful.
So, on the note of being thankful, I am thankful for all of these opportunities I have been able to have. Even if I get melancholy and homesick on the holidays, it just reminds me of all that I have experienced and all of the changes that will continue to come in my life. The scary thing is that, now, I just can't wait to start traditions of my own at some point.
Day 1
Peter and I left London to head to Edinburgh early last Monday morning. The train ride was five hours but, thanks to The Other Libby's suggestion to sit on the right side of the car, the trip went very fast because we had the picturesque English coastline as entertainment. Along the way, we passed the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed. Not only does the name sound more British than almost anything, ever, it was also an incredibly gorgeous and picturesque town. We want to try and stop there sometime. After arriving in Edinburgh and settling into our hotel, we set off to see the town. We didn't do much specifically the first day except get a lay of the land. We walked down Princes street, the main shopping drag, and then up to the Royal Mile which is the center of the old city and connects the Queen's Scottish residence, Holyroodhouse, at one end and the castle on the other. Besides walking around a bunch, and introducing Peter to the joys of jacket potatoes (these are essentially baked potatoes with stuff in them. Not very original, but very, very British) at a pub, the one site we took in the first day was the fantastically cheesy and incredibly gimmicky Scotch Whisky Experience (and no, I did not spell that wrong...apparently they don't need the 'E'). I've learned about myself over my travels the last few years that I only like the extremes of sites; I love both the very off-beat, local things to do and see and I love the really tacky, obnoxiously touristy things as well. If you're going to have to be a tourist, why not live it up? This was one of those places. After four or so really annoying videos teaching us about the history and making of Scotch (where I did actually learn a little), we took a "barrel ride" through the history of Scotch making and drinking. Think "its a small world", minus the budget, plus the alcohol.
Day 2
Our second day was a jam-packed, wonderful day. After breakfast at the hotel, we set right out to Holyrood Park, the park neighboring the royal palace. This might not have been something we would have known to do on our own but The Other Libby said, and I quote, "you're fools if you don't go." We wanted to go first thing in order to avoid the inevitable afternoon rain. (I include this tidbit because Peter didn't know if we could/should brag about how well we planned this trip. I told him we could. So this is me bragging that we managed to do all the outdoor activities we wanted, not get wet, and it rained every day.) The park was gorgeous. Very wild, very hilly, very Scottish. We walked around for a while, climbed a rock or two, took a lot of pictures of the Edinburgh vistas. We probably would have stayed longer if we had actually dressed for hiking and not a stroll through Central Park. Oh well, you live and you learn. From there, we returned back to the Royal Mile, stopped for a cup of coffee, and walked to the other end of the Old City to see the Castle. It was your typical old castle with a lot of history. There was some stuff about Mary Queen of Scots, wars, yadda yadda. I liked the crown jewels of course. And the history about the crowning of the monarch on some stone that came from Edinburgh and gets placed in the throne in Westminster Abbey during coronation. We also learned that the UK flag comes from the combination of the English flag (white with a red cross) and the Scottish flag (blue with a white diagonal). After the castle, we had another jacket potato for lunch at this "wee" shop we had passed the day before. The gentleman who ran it couldn't have been sweeter and I ate the local delicacy of haggis (the vegetarian version of course) in my potato. What followed lunch, however, was just about the best half hour of the whole trip. Well, for me at least. It had been my goal of the entire trip to get Peter into a kilt. Early on, however, I realized that the whole get-up is quite expensive and I started to worry that my wish would not be fulfilled, much to his happiness. Remember a minute ago how I said I love cheesy, touristy things? Well, wouldn't you know it, right across from the Scotch tour was a tartan making showroom/factory/tourist trap. And what did they offer as one of their many services inside this tartan megalopolis? Kilt costume pictures, of course! The ensuing arm -twisting and dressing up need no explanation, really. All you need to see are these:
I know, I know. We look incredible. Tartan really suits us.
My boyfriend may break up with me for a) making him do this and b) sharing it with the internet but I think its worth it. After all of that excitement, we clearly needed a rest, so we went back to the hotel for an evening nap before dinner. Dinner was at this incredible little place called the Witchery, back on the Royal Mile, and another of The Other Libby's superb recommendations. It was a cute little place in an old building with candles and dark wood everywhere. We had a really nice meal and ended the day on a high note.
Day 3
Before we departed for our subsequent destination, we spend the morning doing one last Edinburghian activity. In the 40s at some point, King George VI commissioned a new Royal Yacht, HMY Britannia. After his death, this became the Queen's ship and she decorated it and occupied it for nearly 50 years. In 1997 (or something like that), they decided that they no longer needed a royal yacht and it was decommissioned. After a UK-wide competition of the port cities, Edinburgh won to have the Britannia dock in her port and become a museum. Peter and I spent the morning and a good part of the early afternoon exploring the ship and listening to all of the audio guide information. It was really and incredibly fascinating tour and I'm glad we fit it in before we left the beautiful and quaint city...
(Editor's Note: Clearly, I haven't shown many pictures in this post. I took nearly 300 in Edinburgh alone and it is just too time consuming to choose which ones to show here. When they are all online, I will include links to the websites where you can see them.)
Star Jump is apparently the British term for Jumping Jack. Doggy something or other is another weird aerobic move. How do I know this? Jo bought the Davina McCall* Work Out Video and Libby and I jumped around this evening trying to burn some fat but really just looked like idiots.
This is the only video I could find online and, while it is clearly a remix of the original, does give you some idea of the lunacy of our workout. I guess at least we elevated our heart rates rather than just sitting on the couch.
*According to the Brits in my house, Davina McCall is the well-known TV presenter (read: host) of the all-too-popular Big Brother.
There has been a lot of heavy eating the last month for me. Not heavy as in, sit on the couch and finish a bag of potato chips or eat a burger and fries but heavy as in, go out for really nice, long dinners and have all three courses even though you know you shouldn't. I knew that from before my birthday through when Peter returned stateside that that would be the case. And it was definitely worth it. My birthday dinner, c/o Daddy, was absolutely phenomenal. I can still taste the chevre risotto with circles of black truffle on top. Yum. And in Glasgow, well, I'll save that for a Scotland update but, boy, we had a great meal or two. So, last night, I ran with Libby, today I ate lightly, and I generally had the mindset that this was going to be a spring cleaning of my eating habits.
Until I got an e-mail from a Dartmouth friend in London. Her dinner date for restaurant week had suddenly canceled due to work. Did I want to go to The Cinnamon Club for dinner? I thought about the proposition for a few seconds. I don't have any real plans besides intense work this week, I haven't seen her in a while, and I wanted to try this restaurant. I think you know what my answer was. According to her, of her friends here, I am "the kind of person who would just randomly be up for a nice (read: overpriced) dinner." I'm not sure that is necessarily a good thing, but it certainly is the truth. So, come 9 pm, I was on the tube heading to meet her. The dinner wound up being fairly mediocre. I'm not sure if it was because it was the abbreviated restaurant week menu or if it was because the place is overrated. Either way, I didn't clean my plate so I guess I didn't totally ruin said diet. The conversation, however, was lively, entertaining, and fully of gossip. Just how I like it.
Best part of the evening had to be, however, the walk back to the tube. Instead of going to St. James' Park where I got off, we went to the Westminster stop. I know I was there when I was ten, and I know I've seen it from across the river, but Big Ben and the Abbey sure are gorgeous all lit up on a clear, crisp night with the London Eye looming in the background. I must remind myself to revisit those sites sometime in the near future.
Here, I wanted to insert a picture describing the above scene. I was going to make a stupid joke that it wasn't my picture and I just stole it from someone else on Flickr because I was an idiot and didn't have my camera with me. Vox isn't, as usual, letting me upload, however, so you'll just have to go to this link. It's the exact picture I would have taken so we can just pretend, right?
A few other notes:
--Apparently I am a liar. I said I would write about Scotland today and I didn't. But at least I posted, right? A Demain...
--Apparently being on my own is what creates blog posts. I think the reason I can't write as much when I'm in New York is because, most of the time, I'm walking somewhere with someone or on my cell phone. Here, I have less people to call and I don't live near any of my friends (except my roommates [excuse me, flatmates...I've been away for too long], that is) so I walk and think a lot more. For example, the above post, and these bullet points, was composed on my walk back from the tube just now. So, I think the answer is that regularly running and/or walking alone is in order as a habit of mine so that I can always have time to think. Not that I don't think way too much already. Ok, I'm rambling now....
--Apparently spending five hours reading comic books about 9.11 is depressing. In case you were on the fence with that issue...
---Apparently having short hair makes it dry super fast. It used to be that if I wanted to wash my hair before going out for the evening I would have to do it in the afternoon, go with a wet head, or just not wash it because it took so long to air dry and blow drying was a huge pain. Tonight, however, I showered and then blow dried my hair. It was dry in five minutes! Miraculous! Now I know why super busy people (read: mothers) often have short hair...
Last night I arrived back in London for the second time this month. It was a bit strange to be re-arriving and to unpack, once again. After five nights and about seven lovely days in tartan-covered Scotland, Peter and I disembarked at Kings Cross with fuller stomachs, a memory card chock full of pictures, and a little bit more relaxation under our belts. I'm now writing this back on my Ikea bed in my incredible flat but, of course, everything is a little quieter and a bit more lonely. Peter and I just spent almost a month and a half together and it was luxurious, to say the least. We haven't had that much time together since I came to London and it was so nice to just "be." Of course, now, it feels really strange to not have someone to talk to almost every minute of the day and he has only been gone a few hours. I know I will adjust quickly to more room in the bed and more closet space but its not always an adjustment I like making. Oh well. Anyway, tomorrow starts the snap back to the realities of school and responsibility so I'm putting it off just a bit longer by catching up on some trashy TV, magazines, and NPR podcasts. Expect long Scottish updates tomorrow...
I arrived back in London early on Saturday morning, Peter in tow, and proceeded to basically sleep the day away. After awaking from the much-needed nap, we met up with my friends from school at our favorite curry restaurant for some good food and good catch-up. Sunday, however, was much more eventful. Two things happened that rarely, if ever, occur:
1. It snowed in London! Despite the exclamation point, I'm not sure how I felt about that. It's April and, even though I love snow, I'm really ready for spring dresses, lighter coats, and shoes without socks. The snow was beautiful, however. And it was something that I had yet to see this year missing the only snow in London and all the snows in New York. Here are two pictures from the courtyard outside my house of the light dusting:
2. I exercised! The Other Libby and Jo [editor's note: Jo is my new flatmate who moved in with us when we moved in January. She is one of The Other Libby's closest friends] came up to my room while Peter and I were unpacking my stuff and told me they were going on a short run. To everyone's surprise, I decided to join them. We quickly jogged up to the Imperial War Museum and back. It was probably only fifteen minutes, but at least it was something. Jo recently bought an incredibly cheesy DVD called "Strictly Come Dancersize." It's based on the popular UK reality TV show "Strictly Come Dancing." There is so much florescent spandex and bedazzeled clothing that its just too much for words. After the run, I felt a bit energized and wanted to try the DVD. We did a bit of the Cha Cha and Quickstep before I got worn out. Here are the documentary photographs showing us preparing for the run so that I can prove to the world that, no, I do not just sit on the couch all day:
I have really let myself down in terms of this blog for the last month. I have just put it off and put it off until I became so far behind that I couldn't imagine recovering. Instead of just letting myself continue down this slippery slope to no-more-blog-dom, I am going to list all of the posts I have been meaning to do. This seems to be a somewhat common phenomenon in the blogosphere and so I am going to copy those I read in order to save myself. From time to time, when I have a boring day in the library and don't have anything else to write about, I hope to cull from this list and reminisce on things past (read: March). Here goes:
1. The FORM Art Fair in London that I attended and gave a short lecture at
2. The field trip with my class, all of the long, three days of it.
3. My experience at the Armory part of the Whitney Biennial in which I participated in an artwork/talk therapy by Bert Rodriguez.
4. Doing research at the MoMA Library
5. My Birthday celebrations
5a. Friday with my friends
5b. The day of with family and Peter
6. Returning to London after a month in New York
This list will most likely stay unwritten about for a little while seeing as I am currently on the train up to Scotland with Peter. (I am currently looking to my right as I type watching the English coastline, incredibly picturesque towns, and many farm animals.)
