Sunday. Where to start with Sunday? Well, I'll start when I first saw the day at 4 am. And from then until 7 am. Needless to say, when it was time to finally "wake up", I was less than rested. If it had been any other day, I would have just slept in later, but today we had big plans. We were going to the London Zoo with my friends Cameron and Evan! After dragging myself off the mattress, we met them near their apartment, not far from mine, and had a delicious brunch at a an adorable cafe.
From brunch, we made our way to the zoo, which is in Regent's Park. I had been wanting to go to the zoo since I saw the giraffes leaning over the fence on Yom Kippur while my dad and I walked around on a break from temple. Fortunately, we could make this dream come true as a lovely double date! As Peter said, the giraffes and the gorillas were really the highlights. The giraffes are just so incredibly adorable and gently looking for their size, with amazing eyes and eylashes. The gorillas, well, they're just so human. One little guy came over to the glass, took some straw, and put it behind his head as a pillow! We went to them twice and, the second time, stood there for at least a half an hour while they entertained the crowd.
I'll complete mine shortly, but here is his side of the story...
The author of this blog has asked me to write a ceremonial guest posting in order to detail the events of the previous weekend. I arrived in London on Saturday morning, having rested comfortably in a premium economy seat on Virgin Atlantic, albeit one within close proximity to a gentleman who decided to snore loudly during the entire flight. After quickly getting through immigration and collecting my bag, I took the Heathrow Express to Paddington, where I changed for the Bakerloo to Elephant and Castle. Upon arrival at said author's flat, there was much rejoicing. We then took a lovely stroll around Borough Market, where they sell Raclette, a cheese and dish indigenous to parts of Switzerland and France, from the french racler, meaning "to scrape", where said cheese is melted and scraped upon small potatoes, accompanied with gherkins. It is delicious. We then took a stroll along the Thames, and saw the Telectroscope, which is an art installation which connects London to New York via video-link. That evening, a bunch of the Other Libby's friends came over, and we had Thai and drinks. A lovely first day in London.
Sunday morning we woke up to pouring rain, which threatened to ruin our day at the London Zoo with Cameron and Evan. The four of us went to brunch at a lovely place near Cameron and Evan's flat, and I had "pancakes". Despite not resembling pancakes, they tasted sort of like pancakes, and they came with maple syrup and clotted cream and jam. Not too bad. Miraculously, while the skies remained a semi-permanent grey, the rain held off, and we all enjoyed an afternoon at the zoo. Personally, I was excited to see the giraffes, because they have long necks. But the gorillas were pretty spectacular as well. The aquarium had nice fish, including some very large fish. The gift shop had lots of crappy souvenirs, which we did not buy. We then retreated to a pub and I proceeded to have a Guinness and a jacket potato with cheddar and baked beans. Yum. Finally, that evening we went to Sarah's house for a party, and then went out to dinner at a Mediterranean brasserie.
Monday morning we woke up to pouring rain. But it kept raining, sadly. Nonetheless, we ventured in the area around Piccadilly, bought tea at Fortnum and Mason, had high tea at The Wolseley, bought a tie at Liberty, had wine at the BFI café, and then dinner at Ping Pong, which serves all sorts of delicious dim sum. By the time we got back home, we were beat -- and only had the energy to sit on the couch and watch the television.
Tuesday came, and I left to go back to the states. But not before having pasta with some of the Other Libby's delicious pasta sauce. Another wonderful time in London, and likely my last before the author comes back across the pond herself. So long!
It's sad to write about Peter's last visit to London. It shouldn't be sad because that means I am getting closer each day to being back in New York where I won't have to worry about when I next see him. I've really enjoyed our frequent "vacations", however, and am sad to see them end. I don't know the next time we'll get to be in Europe together so frequently. Anyway, there is all too much to write about (hence the delay) so I better get started...
The first time Peter came to London, and possibly every subsequent time, we have gone to Borough Market and gorged on the deliciousness that is raclette (melted, bubbling cheese over boiled potatoes with a side of gherkins). The Market is only open Thursday through Saturday so, despite jetlag and putting off his usual post-plane nap, once he arrived and got cleaned up, we went straight to the market. With full bellies and having caffeinated at Monmouth Coffee company, we walked to the part of the Southern bank of the Thames near Tower Bridge. I had dinner there last Thursday night and it is a really beautiful part of town with restored old buildings, cute shops, and nice restaurants. Once there, we realized that the recently opened Telectroscope was on that part of the bank. This much hyped project is intended to seem like it is a tunnel that connects New York and London with huge viewing areas at either end. In reality, it is just a broadband connection attached to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang-looking teloscope ends. Its still kind of cool, however. Except for the fact that it's free in New York and costs one pound in London. There the Brits go again, making everything more expensive here.
From there, we followed the Thames east to Tate Modern. Because of the three day weekend, it was a bank holiday on Monday, they were having a three-day event, UBS Openings: The Long Weekend. I wasn't sure what events were going on when, but I knew I wanted to go at some point. When we got there, we spent some time taking in the street art painted onto the sides of the building.
(All the pictures from the day can be found here.)
I've often thought of changing the byline of my blog to "England and America are two countries separated by a common language." It's a George Bernard Shaw quote that perfectly epitomizes what it is like to be an ex-pat in London--you expect everything to be incredibly similar to the states, especially linguistically, but you find yourself baffled much more often than you care to admit.
Today, while perusing some of the grammar blogs I have recently started reading (when your full time "job" is writing, you become suddenly fascinated by proper usage of the English language. And by "you" I mean, "me") I came across this one. It is written by an American expat with a doctorate in linguistics who lives in England and is married to a Brit. It is smart, funny, and incredibly helpful. If only I'd found it in October.
Update: My friend Lauren, a talented writer, was inspired by this post and wrote and incredibly amusing one of her own.
...that there is life outside the library.
...that I AM in fact in London and there are still many new places to explore. Like the part of the South bank near Tower Bridge (this area has a name, I just don't know it) which is amazingly gorgeous, quaint, and highly recommended by me as of tonight.
...why I used to carry my small camera absolutely everywhere, no exceptions. (And that I need to go back to that "no exceptions" thing.)
...that, even though it seemed impossible, I can still meet new people from school. New NORMAL people.
...that despite really missing New York and everything and everyone there, that my time here is limited and I should soak every minute--both academically and socially--up like a dry sponge.
...that some British slang is hilariously ridiculous!
...that I have interesting things to say and can have conversations with topics besides my disseration, crafting, and television.
...that a glass or two of red wine can solve many stress-related issues. (Disclamer: That was not meant in an unhealthy or obsessive way, but in a totally healthy, with friends, at the end of a long day over Italian food kind of way.)
It's just really nice to be reminded.
I've been working on a couple of projects for the last week or so and figured, rather than spreading them between lots of posts, I would just cluster them into one update.
These are the pictures of the second bridesmaid's necklace I finished. It took me a while because, half way through, I ran out of some basic supplies and had to find somewhere to get them. I'm finding it hard to alter the design after loving so much how the first one came out. I think I am too afraid to make mistakes because of how important this is and so I'm being more cautious than I would be with pieces I am making for myself. I may tweak this after I see how the next two come out.
Since I was so happy with how the card came out, I wanted to do something similar for a journal cover. I've been meaning to make myself a journal to jot down sketches of ideas I have when I'm away from home or can't craft at the moment (like right before bed, when I'm desperately trying to fall asleep, and all I can do is design jewelry in my head). For this journal, I used all of the same construction techniques as I did for my friend Sarah's, but used a magazine advertisement for the background instead of a photo. It is this really interesting, organic picture with imagery from Alice in Wonderland scattered throughout. I thought that was fairly appropriate inspiration. Hopefully, if some of my drawings come out well, I will be able to document my projects through the different stages and record how the idea goes from paper to the finished product.
Strange Incidences:
1. Shortly after we move into the flat, The Other Libby hears very creepy, weird screeching noises. She thinks the neighborhood kids are strangling a cat and decides that our perfectly safe neighborhood is dangerous.
2. Walking home through the small park one night, I notice a small, furry, reddish animal with glowing eyes. Decidedly not a cat, rat, or bat (or squirrel but that doesn't rhyme). I go home and ask The Other Libby if it is possible that I saw a fox. As is typical when I ask a "dumb American" question, she looks at me strangely. Of course it is possible, I am informed. I had never heard of city foxes until now. And I thought New York City's rodents were bad.
3. Lying in bed late one night enjoying the now long gone warm air blowing in through my window, I hear the most blood curdling noise I've ever heard. Partially human child scream, partly animalistic, totally frightening. Following the noise, I hear car sirens so I assume, like The Other Libby, that neighborhood children are being bad.
Well, it turns out that incidences 1 and 3 are caused by number 2. The Other Libby's friend told us that it is the mating call of foxes! (Insert really immature humor here.) Not totally trusting her, I googled it. Clearly, we're not the only ones. You can sort of hear what it sounds like in this video.
Ok, so my dissertation is not actually a disaster. Stop freaking out, family. The title is, however, a clever pun coined by one of my similarly frustrated classmates. The dissertation is getting us down. Well, not just down, also up. And, if you can't tell from the last few sentences, a bit crazy as well. I will try and explain...
I spent a large majority of Saturday in bed. I wasn't sad, and I wasn't particularly short on sleep. I was, however, painfully lethargic. In asking around, it seems to be a common theme. Most likely, it was just a bug going around. It did feel, however, like once the weekend came and I didn't have the school library to go to, I just collapsed.
Today couldn't have been more different. I had 2,500 words due today and, in complete me-fashion, left them until today. It isn't necessarily a big deal since I had a pretty good plan of exactly what I wanted to say and I type really fast. It isn't, however, a whole lot of fun to have your body wracked with adrenaline and your heart running a marathon all day. The days like this fly by and I get a lot of really quality work done. At the end of the day, unfortunately, I feel like I got hit by a truck.
That's what this dissertation writing thing is. The monotony just wears on and on, so you have to create your own variations in the day. Unfortunately, that seems to manifest itself in being on this intense roller coaster. The worst part about all of this is that I knew it would be this way going in. I've done this already. And I did it with a lot more on my plate. Granted, it was very, very hard as an undergraduate and I feel much more competent this time around. That doesn't mean, however, that I have kicked all of my bad habits in the butt. I am completely aware of them, and have been all year, but I feel almost as powerless to overcome them. This time around, I'm not pulling all-nighters which is definitely an improvement. I'm also taking a much more laid-back attitude to my writing and trying to be open about letting the project progress organically, rather than forcing it to stick to a pre-determined plan. So I've improved slightly. But not as much as I would have hoped. Maybe for the PhD?
For a long time, dusk has been my favorite time of day. No matter what the weather, whether snowy, crisp, or warm, dusk seems to bring out the best in the season. It is a calm time, right before night, when all of the lights shine really brightly and the sky turns gorgeously blue.
I didn't realize for a while why I loved dusk so much until I met the neurologist and author Oliver Sachs at Dartmouth my senior year. I was invited to a small dinner with him and he spoke about his different projects and research. What interested me most was his discussion of a small island in the Pacific where a large majority of the inhabitants have a genetic disorder that leaves them completely color-blind; rather than having difficulty distinguishing colors, they just do not see them at all. I was really intrigued by this story and wanted to ask a question. The problem was, I was the only non-science person in the room and thought I should ask a question pertinent to my studies. I therefore asked him if the people on this island made any art since they couldn't see color. Interestingly enough, they did. He told us about seeing their mosaics and fabric work in the daylight and that, to his eyes, it looked like just a random assortment of pieces in no particular order. At dusk however, when the sensitivity of the cones of your eye (the part that allows you to see color) is compromised, he was able to distinguish the tonal patterns in their art because he was more tuned into the changes in luminescence. This fascinated me, so I read his book on the subject, The Island of the Colorblind. I think about meeting Dr. Sachs and this book at almost every dusk.
Which leads me to why I'm rambling on about this. The other night, The Other Libby had friends over and we went out onto our tiny little porch off of the living room to enjoy the night air and have a few drinks. As we sat there, the dusk came over us. The piece of sky we could see between the buildings so was gorgeously blue and was casting an amazing light on everything as it contrasted against the warm yellows of the lights inside. I ran upstairs to get my camera and here's what I took:
As the second Sunday in May often is, last Sunday was a big day in my family. Not only was it Mother's Day but, concurrently, it was my brother's 20th birthday. That's right, the big 2-0. Decade number two. Officially a twentysomething. It's pretty scary, if you ask me. I remember exactly where I was on my twentieth birthday.
I had just moved to Toulouse for my semester abroad and was have a slightly difficult time adjusting to speaking, thinking, writing and reading French exclusively. My birthday was the first Thursday of the program. I had a really difficult day that day. I got lost getting home from school and then didn't hear from my family until much later than I thought I would. I was really homesick and lonely. Fortuantely, the evening was much better than the day. To celebrate, my host mother, in her only generous act, took me, Kate, Carolyn and Meg to the oldest bar in Toulouse where we had white wine. Seeing as my birthday is April Fool's, which in France is called the Poisson D'Avril (fish of April), the girls brought me a delicious cake with strawberry's on top in the shape of a fish. From there, we met the rest of our group for dinner. After a nice evening, and our first real group social outing, I wanted to thank everyone for being so warm and making me such a nice party even though I barely knew most of them. The problem was, I wanted to thank them in English so that I could accurately express my emotion. As I began to do so, Jonah, the group stickler for the rules, chastised me and made me do it in French. At the time, we all thought he was so mean for doing that to me on my birthday. In reality, he really helped me learn French.
While that story has nothing to do with my brother or my mom, I couldn't help but think of it as I thought about the two of them the other day. I can't believe how old my brother is getting and how different this experience of being away from my family is from that one four years ago. I wish I could have celebrated with them, instead of us representing our major world cities of Los Angeles, New York and London. Thankfully for technology, I was able to talk to both of them and the distance did not seem quite as far as it is.
