So, London. Finally back in the English-speaking world. I hadn't been to London for more than 12 hours since 2001, so it was nice to be back. Of course, the last time I was in London for more than 12 hours, I was a practicing lawyer with lots of cash and a rolling suitcase on a one week vacation, not a soon to be grad student finishing up several months of travel possessed only of a very large backpack. Very different vibe.
Initial annoyance: I (foolishly) booked a hotel for my first night in town on Expedia. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Plus, the photos of the hotel seemed fine, and they had room service, which was key, since I was arriving late with no chance to have dinner beforehand (yes, this will be relevant). Upon check-in, I was immediately taken across the street to overflow housing (what hotel has overflow housing?), where I was given the smallest hotel room I've ever seen (seriously) with the tiniest bathroom to match. Starving, I began searching frantically for the room service menu (no luck). So I called the front desk to ask where the menu was. No menu.
ME: Well, is there room service. Because the website says there's room service. FRONT DESK: Yes.
ME: Well, what do you have?
FRONT DESK: Sandwiches.
ME: What kind of sandwiches?
FRONT DESK: We may have vegetable. I'll have to check.
ME: Forget about it.
When a website indicates that a hotel has room service, I take that to mean a menu, some options, and a guy who comes to the room carrying a tray and expecting a tip. Not maybe we have vegetable sandwiches. (Maybe I'm just like my mother/She's never satisfied.)
My other favorite thing about the hotel: it was situated about 10 feet away from a Tube platform, so my room shook every time the train zoomed by. Good times.
Aside from the first night, London was great. I spent the rest of my stay there with my friend Nina, who is lots and lots of fun. I went to Hampton Court Palace my first full day in town, which was just the right amount of cool historical stuff (fitting in rather nicely with my having just read a historical novel about Lady Jane Grey) and lovely soothing rose gardens. I also finally made it to the London Eye. The views are amazing, it's true, but I don't think I go to London for views of that kind. The things I want to see are all on the ground and not terribly high up.
More fun things in London: drinks with Todd and Carol and Jacqueline Kennedy (and of course Nina). Well, technically, Jacqueline Kennedy wasn't having "drinks" with us, as she is a little dog and a teetotaler, but she was allowed in the pub. Todd also let us see his amazing flat in Notting Hill which features (among other crazy rock star things, like his bathroom, which is considerably bigger than the hotel room I mentioned earlier) a garden AND a small house, the sole purpose of which is to give Todd a place to work on and store his mosaics(!?!) Love it. I also got to see a new friend I met in Tonga (not Tongan) who is now in business school in Spain, and who I think is pretty amazing. And not just because he's going to business school to do socially responsible entrepreneurship (although that helps).
Oh, weird conversation I overheard (so not English). While waiting for Nina to get home from work, I decided to have some Indian. Note: the Indian food I had in London was much tastier (and spicier) than anything I got in India. I'm just saying. The restaurant was empty, with the exception of a couple that came after I'd already been seated. Yes, I know that when there's not the general buzz caused by multiple simultaneous conversations, you can hear your fellow diners more easily. You can also hear them more easily when they shout. Basically, an older white American guy was there with his significantly younger West African companion. And the older guy decided that everyone in the restaurant needed to hear every story of every time he or anyone he knew had been gay-bashed, particularly those stories involving West African women doing the bashing (a former paramour of his had ended up in the hospital in this way). His young companion kept trying to make him lower his voice, but the speaker would have none of it (something to do with not being ashamed, and also wanting more wine). While I completely agree that being bashed is nothing for the victim to be ashamed of, I think it is completely appropriate to be ashamed when every diner and server in a restaurant can hear your conversation so well they'd think you were talking to them. Advice to the West African beau: start eating dinner at home.
So, I confess, I haven't done London justice. Part of this is faulty memory. The rest is the fact that London book-ended my trips to Bath and Oxford, so not only was I not there long, but I wasn't there continuously. Bath and Oxford will be the subject of my next entry.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Finishing Up Before Starting Something New: Verdun Sur Garonne and Toulouse
So, I realize that I've let 3.5 months go by without touching the blog. Despite the fact that I wasn't finished. As I was saying to a friend when describing the blog today, I at least need to write myself home. So, relying on my very good memory, here goes.
Ankle slightly recovered, I took the train from Paris to Toulouse. Amusing fact: on picking me up (very late), my cab-driver (yes, I know it should have been the Metro, but my backpack was heavy and cumbersome and I didn't feel like dealing with the transfers and the trek) bombarded me with questions and comments and observations. Actually, I have no idea what he bombarded me with, because he spoke in French more quickly than I speak in English. Fortunately, he was very good-natured about my not really speaking French and we managed to have a non-conversation (in French) to the station. I could sit in that cab and not talk with him for hours. And still find plenty of things to not talk about.
The train ride: well, again, I splurged a little, in this case getting the first class ticket (really only negligibly more expensive than second class, and such a lovely compartment). Unfortunately, I failed to notice that the seats were assigned, and was forced to relocate. My favorite part of the ride, aside from the lovely countryside: two women sitting across the aisle from me both had cats, which they took out of their carriers for most of the trip. I kept up a bit of a flirtation with the cat nearer to me (shiny and black with big green eyes) and fantasized about getting one just like her when I got back to the US. (More on that later.)
So, a long train ride and a short train ride later, and I arrived in a village (Dieupentale) in the Midi-Pyrenees not too far from my friend's even smaller village. Let me just say that I loved visiting my friend and her family when I came in summer of 2006. She wasn't working at the time, so the only real time limits imposed were for dropping off and picking up her son from school (also for lunch). Granted, this meant that unless her husband took off from work, we couldn't venture far, but there was plenty of time for catching up and sitting around in their lovely old home or the garden. This trip was a little different, as my friend now works. But she likes her job and the people she works with, and the job is pretty flexible, so there was still plenty of time for relaxing.
Highlights of the visit from a tourist perspective: we took a long drive one day, primarily to visit an old castle and some ruins in Bruniquel, where Romy Schneider (aka Princesse Sissi) and Phillippe Noiret filmed in "Le Vieux Fusil" ("The Old Shotgun") [THANK YOU, JUDI], but also just to drive and talk. A lot of the visit centered around talking (with some driving) and it was very satisfying. Judi (the friend I visited) is my oldest friend with whom I'm still in regular contact (we met when we were fourteen), and it's nice to have that kind of history. But I digress. I spent one day of my week there as a real tourist: a nice three-course lunch with wine at a restaurant on the Place du Capitole, a visit to the Basilique St-Sernin, a stroll around town, a stop at the Cathédrale St-Etienne (which, I am ashamed to say, I preferred to the Basilica, possibly because I have never studied architecture and don't properly appreciate these things), and a visit to the Musee des Augustins. A note on the latter: one room is full of nothing but pieces of statuary from the above-mentioned two churches. This may be interesting the first few times, but an entire room? I'd just come from the churches themselves; I felt that it was overkill. Also, I have very little knowledge of fine arts and no knowledge of how to hang art in a museum or gallery, but I am not a fan of the stacking method. The painting galleries at the Musee des Augustins had ridiculously high ceilings which the curators chose to fully utilize by hanging pictures as high as they could, making it impossible to see most of the paintings without craning my neck AND standing on the other side of the room. I suppose it made the experience memorable, but it did not make me long to visit that museum again.
Ankle slightly recovered, I took the train from Paris to Toulouse. Amusing fact: on picking me up (very late), my cab-driver (yes, I know it should have been the Metro, but my backpack was heavy and cumbersome and I didn't feel like dealing with the transfers and the trek) bombarded me with questions and comments and observations. Actually, I have no idea what he bombarded me with, because he spoke in French more quickly than I speak in English. Fortunately, he was very good-natured about my not really speaking French and we managed to have a non-conversation (in French) to the station. I could sit in that cab and not talk with him for hours. And still find plenty of things to not talk about.
The train ride: well, again, I splurged a little, in this case getting the first class ticket (really only negligibly more expensive than second class, and such a lovely compartment). Unfortunately, I failed to notice that the seats were assigned, and was forced to relocate. My favorite part of the ride, aside from the lovely countryside: two women sitting across the aisle from me both had cats, which they took out of their carriers for most of the trip. I kept up a bit of a flirtation with the cat nearer to me (shiny and black with big green eyes) and fantasized about getting one just like her when I got back to the US. (More on that later.)
So, a long train ride and a short train ride later, and I arrived in a village (Dieupentale) in the Midi-Pyrenees not too far from my friend's even smaller village. Let me just say that I loved visiting my friend and her family when I came in summer of 2006. She wasn't working at the time, so the only real time limits imposed were for dropping off and picking up her son from school (also for lunch). Granted, this meant that unless her husband took off from work, we couldn't venture far, but there was plenty of time for catching up and sitting around in their lovely old home or the garden. This trip was a little different, as my friend now works. But she likes her job and the people she works with, and the job is pretty flexible, so there was still plenty of time for relaxing.
Highlights of the visit from a tourist perspective: we took a long drive one day, primarily to visit an old castle and some ruins in Bruniquel, where Romy Schneider (aka Princesse Sissi) and Phillippe Noiret filmed in "Le Vieux Fusil" ("The Old Shotgun") [THANK YOU, JUDI], but also just to drive and talk. A lot of the visit centered around talking (with some driving) and it was very satisfying. Judi (the friend I visited) is my oldest friend with whom I'm still in regular contact (we met when we were fourteen), and it's nice to have that kind of history. But I digress. I spent one day of my week there as a real tourist: a nice three-course lunch with wine at a restaurant on the Place du Capitole, a visit to the Basilique St-Sernin, a stroll around town, a stop at the Cathédrale St-Etienne (which, I am ashamed to say, I preferred to the Basilica, possibly because I have never studied architecture and don't properly appreciate these things), and a visit to the Musee des Augustins. A note on the latter: one room is full of nothing but pieces of statuary from the above-mentioned two churches. This may be interesting the first few times, but an entire room? I'd just come from the churches themselves; I felt that it was overkill. Also, I have very little knowledge of fine arts and no knowledge of how to hang art in a museum or gallery, but I am not a fan of the stacking method. The painting galleries at the Musee des Augustins had ridiculously high ceilings which the curators chose to fully utilize by hanging pictures as high as they could, making it impossible to see most of the paintings without craning my neck AND standing on the other side of the room. I suppose it made the experience memorable, but it did not make me long to visit that museum again.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Travel Reading (Part 2)
With all the exciting travel I've been doing (not to mention the time wasted updating my facebook status), I'm surprised at the amount of time I've had to read. It has been really wonderful. Since I last updated this list in February (when I was still in southeast Asia), I've made quite a dent in the Kindle downloads (I still prefer physical books, but this trip was made possible in part by Kindle, so credit where credit is due). Here we go:
Animal's People (read this in India, and despite the amazing reviews, hated every minute of it)
His Majesty's Dragon, Throne of Jade and Black Powder War, by Naomi Novik (who knew fiction set during the Napeolonic wars featuring aerial squads comprised of dragons, their captains and their crews could be so ridiculously good?)
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (so good, I have no idea why it took me so long to get to this one)
Count of Monte Cristo (which I saved for France and loved every second of, despite -- or perhaps because of -- its length)
Earth Logic, Water Logic and Fire Logic (from the elemental logic series): I'm not normally a sci-fi/fantasy kind of girl, but these were incredibly well-written and awfully good reading
An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination (very sad memoir by author Elizabeth McCracken about her pregnancy with first child, who died in her womb days before she was scheduled to deliver)
Fellow Travelers (why do all of the books I buy have a tendency to make me cry at least once while reading? maybe I should switch to a diet of history and David Sedaris)
Getting Stoned with Savages (saved this for Tonga, although I avoided the kava - this guy is very funny)
Gods Behaving Badly (silly, entertaining enough but not particularly well-written)
Heart Like Water (about New Orleans immediately before Katrina and in the weeks after. This is a subject I care about, written in a way that at times made me not care at all, for which I lay blame at the feet of the author)
In Defense of Food (which has convinced me to join a food co-op, start getting all my vegetables through a CSA, plant a window herb garden, and avoid nearly all packaged foods -- I look forward to getting back to the US and putting these things into practice)
Innocent Traitor (who doesn't love Lady Jane Grey?)
Mistress of the Sun (also a book for France; not great, but historical fiction has its place)
Olive Kitteridge (fine, but nothing special)
Say You're One of Them (more reading for Africa, not one of my favorites)
Shattered Dreams: My Life as a Polygamist's Wife (I don't know if fun is the right word for this, but I learned quite a bit and will never watch Big Love in quite the same way again. Did you know that fundamentalist mormons get to be gods when they die -- provided they get at least 7 wives and 50 kids -- and they each get a planet to populate. Wild stuff.)
Solitaire (sci-fi set in a not too distant future with a weird corporate twist. Interesting.)
Space Between Us (reading for India which definitely helped me understand better what was going on around me, class-wise)
The Sparrow (wow, I really, really loved this book. It's a weird mix of Jesuit politics and sci-fi. The writing was amazing. The story was amazing. Maybe I won't feel this way in a month, but at the moment, I think the book is brilliant.)
Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire (I wish this guy would come teach at the school I'll be starting...)
They Poured Fire on Us from the Sky/What is the What: both about the Sudanese Lost Boys, the first is entirely non-fiction, while the second is called a novel largely because Dave Eggers did the writing and the narrator would have been to young to recall/reconstruct many of the earlier events in the book. The two books are very consistent and totally depressing.
I am currently rereading all of Jane Austen, a fitting way to spend my time in England (especially my visit to Bath, which has forced me to reread Northanger Abbey, something I would not do in other circumstances). I started with Persuasion, went on to Mansfield Park (and was reminded again that Fanny Price is perhaps my least favorite of Jane Austen's heroines), and am now suffering through Northanger Abbey (whose frequent references to Mysteries of Udolpho make me long to be reading that instead).
Animal's People (read this in India, and despite the amazing reviews, hated every minute of it)
His Majesty's Dragon, Throne of Jade and Black Powder War, by Naomi Novik (who knew fiction set during the Napeolonic wars featuring aerial squads comprised of dragons, their captains and their crews could be so ridiculously good?)
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (so good, I have no idea why it took me so long to get to this one)
Count of Monte Cristo (which I saved for France and loved every second of, despite -- or perhaps because of -- its length)
Earth Logic, Water Logic and Fire Logic (from the elemental logic series): I'm not normally a sci-fi/fantasy kind of girl, but these were incredibly well-written and awfully good reading
An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination (very sad memoir by author Elizabeth McCracken about her pregnancy with first child, who died in her womb days before she was scheduled to deliver)
Fellow Travelers (why do all of the books I buy have a tendency to make me cry at least once while reading? maybe I should switch to a diet of history and David Sedaris)
Getting Stoned with Savages (saved this for Tonga, although I avoided the kava - this guy is very funny)
Gods Behaving Badly (silly, entertaining enough but not particularly well-written)
Heart Like Water (about New Orleans immediately before Katrina and in the weeks after. This is a subject I care about, written in a way that at times made me not care at all, for which I lay blame at the feet of the author)
In Defense of Food (which has convinced me to join a food co-op, start getting all my vegetables through a CSA, plant a window herb garden, and avoid nearly all packaged foods -- I look forward to getting back to the US and putting these things into practice)
Innocent Traitor (who doesn't love Lady Jane Grey?)
Mistress of the Sun (also a book for France; not great, but historical fiction has its place)
Olive Kitteridge (fine, but nothing special)
Say You're One of Them (more reading for Africa, not one of my favorites)
Shattered Dreams: My Life as a Polygamist's Wife (I don't know if fun is the right word for this, but I learned quite a bit and will never watch Big Love in quite the same way again. Did you know that fundamentalist mormons get to be gods when they die -- provided they get at least 7 wives and 50 kids -- and they each get a planet to populate. Wild stuff.)
Solitaire (sci-fi set in a not too distant future with a weird corporate twist. Interesting.)
Space Between Us (reading for India which definitely helped me understand better what was going on around me, class-wise)
The Sparrow (wow, I really, really loved this book. It's a weird mix of Jesuit politics and sci-fi. The writing was amazing. The story was amazing. Maybe I won't feel this way in a month, but at the moment, I think the book is brilliant.)
Teach Like Your Hair's On Fire (I wish this guy would come teach at the school I'll be starting...)
They Poured Fire on Us from the Sky/What is the What: both about the Sudanese Lost Boys, the first is entirely non-fiction, while the second is called a novel largely because Dave Eggers did the writing and the narrator would have been to young to recall/reconstruct many of the earlier events in the book. The two books are very consistent and totally depressing.
I am currently rereading all of Jane Austen, a fitting way to spend my time in England (especially my visit to Bath, which has forced me to reread Northanger Abbey, something I would not do in other circumstances). I started with Persuasion, went on to Mansfield Park (and was reminded again that Fanny Price is perhaps my least favorite of Jane Austen's heroines), and am now suffering through Northanger Abbey (whose frequent references to Mysteries of Udolpho make me long to be reading that instead).
Capetown Revisited
The post is so short, I realize that the whole things are still crappy after apartheid thing must have taken a lot out of me. So I'm supplementing.
There were some goof bits. For one thing, I had the chance to hang out with the friend I was staying with (a friend from college I hadn't seen in quite a while and hadn't spent so much time with for 16 years). Being a writer, he spends a lot of time at home, and is fortunate enough to have a lovely apartment with views of Lion's Head and Table Mountain (the two best known mountains in Cape Town). So on the days it wasn't totally misty (and there were quite a few of those days), there were amazing views to be had without ever leaving the apartment.
I think I didn't mention my friend sooner because he has been the first (and so far only) person I've encountered who has thought that my education reform idea (public boarding schools for the poor) is a bad idea. Who knows? Maybe it is a bad idea (I don't think so, but opinions can differ, and I'm sure there are people who think boarding schools in general are a bad idea, or that the poor are simply uneducatable and that the best we can hope is that they will stay out of our neighborhoods and stay out of trouble). But it's a little disheartening to be shot down by a friend, especially about the thing you've decided to dedicate your life to, and it probably made me less likely to love Cape Town. Not that I was faced with any self-doubt, of course: my decision to pursue a doctorate in education and get involved in public education reform is one of the few things in my life of which I've felt completely sure.
So, with the air cleared, I can recall some other highlights of my time in South Africa. The movies: I hadn't been to a movie theatre since March (once, to see Milk), so that was exciting enough on its own. As a bonus, we went to a show I had ridiculously low expectations of (allowing me to be pleasantly surprised): I Love You Man. Really funny.
The aquarium: I should do this more. Looking at random sea creatures is really, really cool. My favorites: the jellyfish, possibly, because they're just so beautiful and creepy. Sadly, because I don't go to the aquarium enough in the US, I have no idea how many of the things I saw don't even exist in North American waters. I see a trip to the aquarium in Boston in my future this summer...
Table Mountain: the ride up (cable car with a rotating floor so that everyone gets a 360 degree view of the ascent and descent) was cool. But the top was totally freezing (at any rate, the outdoor seating area for lunch was). Table Mountain avoided being as amazing as planned for two basic reasons: (1) the cloud cover was so bad (cold front moving in) that the view of the city, the ocean and the surrounding mountains was severely obstructed and (2) it was turning into winter, meaning that all of the amazing flowers were no-shows. There are apparently more varieties of flora on Table Mountain than in all of England. Not that you'd know it, looking around the brush.
Wine touring: amazing. Not only were the wines great, but the wineries and landscape were ridiculously beautiful. And the other people in the group were surprisingly cool. My favorites: two Japanese friends in their 50s (giving me the chance to use my increasingly rusty Japanese) and an older English couple currently living in a tiny mountain town in Spain (the husband is a sculptor). It's funny, this wine tasting thing: I can drink pretty atrocious wine with just a few complaints, but my palate is still managing to become more discerning... which I guess just means that I'm more aware of when I'm drinking really bad stuff.
Cape tour: this had the promise to be the best thing of the trip (better than the wine tour, definitely better than the highly upsetting township tour). Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate, and most of the beauties of the Cape were seen through sheets of really cold rain. Even so, the penguins (although I have to confess that I liked the penguins at the aquarium with their festive head gear better than the penguins in the wild) and the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens were pretty great. Added bonus: I ran into the Japanese women again on a boat (in terribly choppy water) to see the seals. Freakiest people: a Brazilian couple in their 30s who made out and groped each other the entire trip. At one point, I couldn't help myself, and asked if they were newlyweds. It turned out that, while not married, they'd been together for five years and had a three year old kid back home. I guess they're lucky that the magic hasn't gone out of the relationship. Yet. Or maybe she's just anxious to get a ring on that finger...
There were some goof bits. For one thing, I had the chance to hang out with the friend I was staying with (a friend from college I hadn't seen in quite a while and hadn't spent so much time with for 16 years). Being a writer, he spends a lot of time at home, and is fortunate enough to have a lovely apartment with views of Lion's Head and Table Mountain (the two best known mountains in Cape Town). So on the days it wasn't totally misty (and there were quite a few of those days), there were amazing views to be had without ever leaving the apartment.
I think I didn't mention my friend sooner because he has been the first (and so far only) person I've encountered who has thought that my education reform idea (public boarding schools for the poor) is a bad idea. Who knows? Maybe it is a bad idea (I don't think so, but opinions can differ, and I'm sure there are people who think boarding schools in general are a bad idea, or that the poor are simply uneducatable and that the best we can hope is that they will stay out of our neighborhoods and stay out of trouble). But it's a little disheartening to be shot down by a friend, especially about the thing you've decided to dedicate your life to, and it probably made me less likely to love Cape Town. Not that I was faced with any self-doubt, of course: my decision to pursue a doctorate in education and get involved in public education reform is one of the few things in my life of which I've felt completely sure.
So, with the air cleared, I can recall some other highlights of my time in South Africa. The movies: I hadn't been to a movie theatre since March (once, to see Milk), so that was exciting enough on its own. As a bonus, we went to a show I had ridiculously low expectations of (allowing me to be pleasantly surprised): I Love You Man. Really funny.
The aquarium: I should do this more. Looking at random sea creatures is really, really cool. My favorites: the jellyfish, possibly, because they're just so beautiful and creepy. Sadly, because I don't go to the aquarium enough in the US, I have no idea how many of the things I saw don't even exist in North American waters. I see a trip to the aquarium in Boston in my future this summer...
Table Mountain: the ride up (cable car with a rotating floor so that everyone gets a 360 degree view of the ascent and descent) was cool. But the top was totally freezing (at any rate, the outdoor seating area for lunch was). Table Mountain avoided being as amazing as planned for two basic reasons: (1) the cloud cover was so bad (cold front moving in) that the view of the city, the ocean and the surrounding mountains was severely obstructed and (2) it was turning into winter, meaning that all of the amazing flowers were no-shows. There are apparently more varieties of flora on Table Mountain than in all of England. Not that you'd know it, looking around the brush.
Wine touring: amazing. Not only were the wines great, but the wineries and landscape were ridiculously beautiful. And the other people in the group were surprisingly cool. My favorites: two Japanese friends in their 50s (giving me the chance to use my increasingly rusty Japanese) and an older English couple currently living in a tiny mountain town in Spain (the husband is a sculptor). It's funny, this wine tasting thing: I can drink pretty atrocious wine with just a few complaints, but my palate is still managing to become more discerning... which I guess just means that I'm more aware of when I'm drinking really bad stuff.
Cape tour: this had the promise to be the best thing of the trip (better than the wine tour, definitely better than the highly upsetting township tour). Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate, and most of the beauties of the Cape were seen through sheets of really cold rain. Even so, the penguins (although I have to confess that I liked the penguins at the aquarium with their festive head gear better than the penguins in the wild) and the Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens were pretty great. Added bonus: I ran into the Japanese women again on a boat (in terribly choppy water) to see the seals. Freakiest people: a Brazilian couple in their 30s who made out and groped each other the entire trip. At one point, I couldn't help myself, and asked if they were newlyweds. It turned out that, while not married, they'd been together for five years and had a three year old kid back home. I guess they're lucky that the magic hasn't gone out of the relationship. Yet. Or maybe she's just anxious to get a ring on that finger...
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Paris, Chartres and Versailles: I Re-Enter the Developed World
Let me preface this by saying that I started learning French as a little girl, via my aunt's imparting to me some of the knowledge she gained in her French lessons, and ended the summer I turned 13, in an intensive summer language program (10 hours a week, maybe not all that intensive, but still quite a bit). As a child, I was considered quite good. But, this was nearly a quarter of a century ago, and my memory (although impressive) is not perfect.
So, I arrived in Paris in early May, on a very grey day, having been en route for nearly 24 hours (a long wait at the Cape Town airport, a long flight to Dubai, an even longer wait in the Dubai airport, and finally, CDG). As a result, I was too tired and lazy to take the (cheap) Air France shuttle bus into the city and try to figure out where my hotel was. Instead, I opted for an over-priced cab (the shame).
The hotel: small but beautiful. I kind of loved my little room, with its red doors with black trim. It made me very happy, as did the sparkling clean bathroom which I used for daily bubble baths (yes, I feel guilty for not conserving water, but it rained for at least part of every day -- or threatened to, anyway -- so I think it will be okay).
So, Paris was beautiful but a little lonely. My French (as noted above) is not stellar, and my developing world traveling attire made me feel less than confident with that limited French. I think every server in Paris probably hated me, not because I was a non-French speaker, but because I mumbled the French I did speak because I thought they were going to be mad at me (which they were). I also felt slightly bullied into buying aperitifs I may have otherwise skipped, in an anticipatory move to appease their anger. Either that, or I just really wanted kir royales...
Angry French people aside, I managed fairly well (except at the post office, where I had to send something to the US overnight and think there may have been problems, unfortunate given the expense, and even more unfortunate because the package had forms for reimbursement). I made my way through the Metro (not difficult, I know, with the exception of my being very particular about the exit I used at Charles de Gaulle Etoile) and familiarized myself with some of the train stations (although not the random punching holes in your own ticket thing). And I bought stinky cheese from the supermarket and baguettes from the boulangerie near the hotel. I didn't speak with a soul (with the exception of an education professor from Baltimore that I happened to meet on the train platform from Chartres to Paris), but other than that, everything was great.
Chartres: pretty, as expected. I liked, but did not love, the cathedral. I think I just don't know enough about large church-like structures to be a good judge, because the one I liked best (which I visited in Toulouse) is not nearly as well-known, and isn't even the best of its kind in Toulouse. Oh well. Had a very nice lunch (got the menu du jour, had no idea what it was, and ended up with a surprisingly nice warm potato salad with herring on a bed of bitter salad greens). Note to self: translate words you don't know before placing your order.
Versailles: hmmm. I know everyone goes here, and I figure it's important to have checked it off my list. That said, I could have skipped it without any qualms. The gardens are, admittedly, pretty, but by the time I got to the gardens, I was so sick of all the other tourists, and my feet were killing me, so I took a look and decided to get out. Fortunately, I have pictures to remind me of my happy hours there at Versailles. Also, I don't doubt I'll be back some day, because it seems like the kind of thing you do if you're in Paris with time to kill during the day and don't feel like shopping. Wow, I really seem to hate Versailles, don't I? I think I'm just bitter that I didn't have time to visit Marie Antoinette's house and also ever so slightly annoyed with the French for building all of these ridiculously elaborate palaces while there were plenty of people dying of hunger. Of course, I suppose I wasn't the only person who was "slightly annoyed" with the royals for their conspicuous consumption in the face of mounting poverty, so I should probably just shut up and enjoy being a tourist.
Other tourist activities: the Musee D'Orsay, which is good, obviously, but has far too many people. I don't understand why everyone in the world thought that a cold, rainy week in the beginning of May was the perfect time to come to Paris. Don't these people work or go to school or something? I did make an important discovery there, though: I no longer like Monet nearly as much as when I was a kid. I mean, I'm not saying I could do a better job (although maybe. I used to do a lot of water color painting when I was younger). I'm just saying that if someone asked me if I wanted a Monet or ... just about any other impressionist, and I couldn't sell it, I'd probably go with choice B.
This is fortunate, because my last day in Paris, I realized I couldn't actually walk (all the gravel and cobblestones at Versailles had aggravated my sprained ankle, which had already been screwed up at boot camp). And my last day was supposed to consist of a visit to the Louvre (fortunately, I've been before, and have the same comment re wasteful palace spending) and Giverny. Let's just say that if I'd liked Monet as much as I used to, I would have been really sorry to miss Giverny, but as it is, I have to wonder if the flowers would have even been in bloom: Paris was FREEZING.
Anyway, the next day I took off for Toulouse, which will get its own entry, although not right now.
So, I arrived in Paris in early May, on a very grey day, having been en route for nearly 24 hours (a long wait at the Cape Town airport, a long flight to Dubai, an even longer wait in the Dubai airport, and finally, CDG). As a result, I was too tired and lazy to take the (cheap) Air France shuttle bus into the city and try to figure out where my hotel was. Instead, I opted for an over-priced cab (the shame).
The hotel: small but beautiful. I kind of loved my little room, with its red doors with black trim. It made me very happy, as did the sparkling clean bathroom which I used for daily bubble baths (yes, I feel guilty for not conserving water, but it rained for at least part of every day -- or threatened to, anyway -- so I think it will be okay).
So, Paris was beautiful but a little lonely. My French (as noted above) is not stellar, and my developing world traveling attire made me feel less than confident with that limited French. I think every server in Paris probably hated me, not because I was a non-French speaker, but because I mumbled the French I did speak because I thought they were going to be mad at me (which they were). I also felt slightly bullied into buying aperitifs I may have otherwise skipped, in an anticipatory move to appease their anger. Either that, or I just really wanted kir royales...
Angry French people aside, I managed fairly well (except at the post office, where I had to send something to the US overnight and think there may have been problems, unfortunate given the expense, and even more unfortunate because the package had forms for reimbursement). I made my way through the Metro (not difficult, I know, with the exception of my being very particular about the exit I used at Charles de Gaulle Etoile) and familiarized myself with some of the train stations (although not the random punching holes in your own ticket thing). And I bought stinky cheese from the supermarket and baguettes from the boulangerie near the hotel. I didn't speak with a soul (with the exception of an education professor from Baltimore that I happened to meet on the train platform from Chartres to Paris), but other than that, everything was great.
Chartres: pretty, as expected. I liked, but did not love, the cathedral. I think I just don't know enough about large church-like structures to be a good judge, because the one I liked best (which I visited in Toulouse) is not nearly as well-known, and isn't even the best of its kind in Toulouse. Oh well. Had a very nice lunch (got the menu du jour, had no idea what it was, and ended up with a surprisingly nice warm potato salad with herring on a bed of bitter salad greens). Note to self: translate words you don't know before placing your order.
Versailles: hmmm. I know everyone goes here, and I figure it's important to have checked it off my list. That said, I could have skipped it without any qualms. The gardens are, admittedly, pretty, but by the time I got to the gardens, I was so sick of all the other tourists, and my feet were killing me, so I took a look and decided to get out. Fortunately, I have pictures to remind me of my happy hours there at Versailles. Also, I don't doubt I'll be back some day, because it seems like the kind of thing you do if you're in Paris with time to kill during the day and don't feel like shopping. Wow, I really seem to hate Versailles, don't I? I think I'm just bitter that I didn't have time to visit Marie Antoinette's house and also ever so slightly annoyed with the French for building all of these ridiculously elaborate palaces while there were plenty of people dying of hunger. Of course, I suppose I wasn't the only person who was "slightly annoyed" with the royals for their conspicuous consumption in the face of mounting poverty, so I should probably just shut up and enjoy being a tourist.
Other tourist activities: the Musee D'Orsay, which is good, obviously, but has far too many people. I don't understand why everyone in the world thought that a cold, rainy week in the beginning of May was the perfect time to come to Paris. Don't these people work or go to school or something? I did make an important discovery there, though: I no longer like Monet nearly as much as when I was a kid. I mean, I'm not saying I could do a better job (although maybe. I used to do a lot of water color painting when I was younger). I'm just saying that if someone asked me if I wanted a Monet or ... just about any other impressionist, and I couldn't sell it, I'd probably go with choice B.
This is fortunate, because my last day in Paris, I realized I couldn't actually walk (all the gravel and cobblestones at Versailles had aggravated my sprained ankle, which had already been screwed up at boot camp). And my last day was supposed to consist of a visit to the Louvre (fortunately, I've been before, and have the same comment re wasteful palace spending) and Giverny. Let's just say that if I'd liked Monet as much as I used to, I would have been really sorry to miss Giverny, but as it is, I have to wonder if the flowers would have even been in bloom: Paris was FREEZING.
Anyway, the next day I took off for Toulouse, which will get its own entry, although not right now.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Cape Town: Mixed Feelings
It's been a week since I left Cape Town, but I found it difficult to write about for a number of reasons, and hoped for a little perspective.
The unadulterated good: the city (at least where I was staying) felt totally developed. Drink the tap water, toilet paper in public restrooms developed. Also, it's beautiful, in the same way that northern California and New Zealand are beautiful: green, mountainous, lovely ocean views.
But that isn't enough. I'd been warned by a friend of Pakistani extraction that Cape Town was one of the least diverse places he'd ever been, notable in Africa for its absence of people of color. I did notice some people of color in the upper middle class area where I was staying, but most of them were domestics or street vendors. I am told that furing apartheid, it was one of the most diverse, liberal areas in South Africa. Apparently, this is no longer the case.
While in Cape Town, I did four touristy things. The first was visiting Table Mountain (very cold and windy, but great views where the cloud cover hadn't taken over). The next day, I went for something completely different: a township tour, guided by a township dweller. Here were the blacks and colored that were almost entirely absent on the streets of Cape Town. The majority live in substandard housing ranging from two-room structures with outhouses and access to public showers to shanties made of corrugated metal. But because almost no people of color live in the city proper (many were forced out during the 60s), even the middle class live in these townships, although in signficantly larger houses with satellite TV and fancy imported cars in the driveways.
So, a short post for a whole week spent, but it is difficult to praise the positive without acknowledging (and lamenting) the negative. I hope that Cape Town will see better, more integrated days.
The unadulterated good: the city (at least where I was staying) felt totally developed. Drink the tap water, toilet paper in public restrooms developed. Also, it's beautiful, in the same way that northern California and New Zealand are beautiful: green, mountainous, lovely ocean views.
But that isn't enough. I'd been warned by a friend of Pakistani extraction that Cape Town was one of the least diverse places he'd ever been, notable in Africa for its absence of people of color. I did notice some people of color in the upper middle class area where I was staying, but most of them were domestics or street vendors. I am told that furing apartheid, it was one of the most diverse, liberal areas in South Africa. Apparently, this is no longer the case.
While in Cape Town, I did four touristy things. The first was visiting Table Mountain (very cold and windy, but great views where the cloud cover hadn't taken over). The next day, I went for something completely different: a township tour, guided by a township dweller. Here were the blacks and colored that were almost entirely absent on the streets of Cape Town. The majority live in substandard housing ranging from two-room structures with outhouses and access to public showers to shanties made of corrugated metal. But because almost no people of color live in the city proper (many were forced out during the 60s), even the middle class live in these townships, although in signficantly larger houses with satellite TV and fancy imported cars in the driveways.
So, a short post for a whole week spent, but it is difficult to praise the positive without acknowledging (and lamenting) the negative. I hope that Cape Town will see better, more integrated days.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Escape from India
Afer a ridiculously long (4 1/2 hour) flight from Cochin to Goa, with not one but two stops, we finally arrived, and were greeted by an affiliate of the tour company who would only speak to Derek, the person in our group of Indian extraction. The guy is Canadian, and moved there from Trinidad, so he is NOT Indian. But he was Indian enough for the local guide, who ignored the other seven of us. Actually, it was kind of funny, having him ask Derek how many vehicles he needed, and whether he'd like a minibus, and what time he'd like to do the city tour, with Derek vigorously protesting that he couldn't make the decision for the other seven (non-existent, non-Indian) people in the group.
Dinner was fine, although still not spicy (how could I manage to spend 4 weeks in India and not have a single spicy dish?). Afterwards, as (bad) luck would have it, we stumbled upon a karaoke bar full of down and out western tourists, all with skin like leather from too much sun, booze and smoking, belting out crappy songs I'd never heard before. For reasons unknown, the English kids wanted to stay, so we did. For a while. Until it got too awful even for them (although the girls did want to go out clubbing after). Instead, I found myself in my room by around 11, watching a terrible made for TV movie with Annabeth Gish as a nurse at a group home for adults with brain damage (also starred Ethan Embry as a patient and Ed Begley, Jr. as his overbearing, work-obsessed, overbearing father). I watched the entire thing. I can't believe I'm admitting this, because it was seriously awful. Hallmark Channel awful.
The next day, after seeing no more of Goa than the road to the post office, I headed to the airport. Okay, a word about the road to the post office and cab (and tuk tuk) drivers I've encountered in India and southeast Asia. They suck. I find bargaining over the fare in advance seriously annoying. But what I find even more annoying is their insistence on taking you to their friends' shops, even when you tell them that (1) you need to get to the airport or you will miss your flight (Goa, Bangkok) or (2) you need to get back to the hotel to get medicine because you are desperately ill (Cochin, Hanoi). And it could be worse: the people foolish enough to go to these shops never get taken where they're going. Me, I just get a headache having to scream at the driver for ten minutes as I explain that I don't care whether he gets a free t-shirt and that a 40 cent discount on the fare is not a sufficient motivator for me to miss my flight. Also, why can't they think it through on their own: someone who is flying out of the country in a couple of hours has zero incentive to go to a tailor shop. I'm just saying.
I made it to Mumbai in one piece, but was then confronted with 40 -- okay 5 -- guys who wanted to give me a ride, some of whom wanted to take me to a hotel of their choice. Foolishly, I ended up in a tuk tuk (again) because the price was right. It would have been more righ if he'd turned on the meter (about 50 cents), but I settled for the $4 I'd agreed to pay. Problem was, the guy kept trying to get me to change hotels, telling me that mine was too expensive. Shockingly, he didn't understand why I wouldn't go to the significantly cheaper he got a kickback from, despite my telling him that I'd already paid for my "expensive" hotel, and that it would be even more expensive to pay for two. Please let it be years and years (or at least a year) before I'm in a tuk tuk again.
I loved the hotel. Best hotel I'd been in for a month. Hyatt Regency. Sunken bathroom. Hardwood floors and complimentary slippers and a flat screen TV and room service. Just like any other nice western hotel. I deserved it. It was a hard month. I could have stayed there forever. Sadly, I only stayed until 2:45 a.m., because I had a 5:10 a.m. flight out of India.
The airport was its own kind of hell, but I was expecting that. What I wasn't expecting is what happened in Doha. My flight was already boarding by the time I cleared security. I had to motor. And yet, when I got to the gate, I encountered a huge stumbling block: a moron who didn't think I looked enough like my passport photo, and insisted that it wasn't my passport. He sent me to another area on another floor to have someone confirm my identity, telling me only that I needed to be back in five minutes (with identity confirmation) or I'd miss the flight. So, frantic, I go to the designated desk and explain the situation. Which, like any other half sane person, the guy behind the desk thinks is ludicrous. There are three basic reasons I don't look identical to my passport photo: 1) I cut my hair, 2) I have a tan (the natural result of spending 4 months near the equator) and 3) I've lost some weight (and not even that much. Just possibly enough that my cheekbones are slightly better defined). As for the photo, though, it's a no-brainer: I've got the exact same facial features. No one who saw me last in September (when the photo was taken) is going to fail to recognize me. Also, who else would I be? Some American black woman impersonating some slightly lighter, longer haired, chubbier American black woman in order to fly from Doha to Cape Town? Anyway, I made it onto the flight (a good thing, because otherwise I would have had to kill the guy and get stuck in some crappy prison in Doha awaiting execution).
Apparently men in some parts of the world have a real problem with women having short hair. Although the guys at the airport in Delhi knew that I was the person in my passport photo, they both wanted to know why I'd cut my hair (and made me explain the whole hassle of having to get it blown out straight and how no one in their country, or most of the countries I'd visited, knew how to do hair like mine), which is really none of their business.
I'm in Cape Town now, and things are much better (although much colder).
Dinner was fine, although still not spicy (how could I manage to spend 4 weeks in India and not have a single spicy dish?). Afterwards, as (bad) luck would have it, we stumbled upon a karaoke bar full of down and out western tourists, all with skin like leather from too much sun, booze and smoking, belting out crappy songs I'd never heard before. For reasons unknown, the English kids wanted to stay, so we did. For a while. Until it got too awful even for them (although the girls did want to go out clubbing after). Instead, I found myself in my room by around 11, watching a terrible made for TV movie with Annabeth Gish as a nurse at a group home for adults with brain damage (also starred Ethan Embry as a patient and Ed Begley, Jr. as his overbearing, work-obsessed, overbearing father). I watched the entire thing. I can't believe I'm admitting this, because it was seriously awful. Hallmark Channel awful.
The next day, after seeing no more of Goa than the road to the post office, I headed to the airport. Okay, a word about the road to the post office and cab (and tuk tuk) drivers I've encountered in India and southeast Asia. They suck. I find bargaining over the fare in advance seriously annoying. But what I find even more annoying is their insistence on taking you to their friends' shops, even when you tell them that (1) you need to get to the airport or you will miss your flight (Goa, Bangkok) or (2) you need to get back to the hotel to get medicine because you are desperately ill (Cochin, Hanoi). And it could be worse: the people foolish enough to go to these shops never get taken where they're going. Me, I just get a headache having to scream at the driver for ten minutes as I explain that I don't care whether he gets a free t-shirt and that a 40 cent discount on the fare is not a sufficient motivator for me to miss my flight. Also, why can't they think it through on their own: someone who is flying out of the country in a couple of hours has zero incentive to go to a tailor shop. I'm just saying.
I made it to Mumbai in one piece, but was then confronted with 40 -- okay 5 -- guys who wanted to give me a ride, some of whom wanted to take me to a hotel of their choice. Foolishly, I ended up in a tuk tuk (again) because the price was right. It would have been more righ if he'd turned on the meter (about 50 cents), but I settled for the $4 I'd agreed to pay. Problem was, the guy kept trying to get me to change hotels, telling me that mine was too expensive. Shockingly, he didn't understand why I wouldn't go to the significantly cheaper he got a kickback from, despite my telling him that I'd already paid for my "expensive" hotel, and that it would be even more expensive to pay for two. Please let it be years and years (or at least a year) before I'm in a tuk tuk again.
I loved the hotel. Best hotel I'd been in for a month. Hyatt Regency. Sunken bathroom. Hardwood floors and complimentary slippers and a flat screen TV and room service. Just like any other nice western hotel. I deserved it. It was a hard month. I could have stayed there forever. Sadly, I only stayed until 2:45 a.m., because I had a 5:10 a.m. flight out of India.
The airport was its own kind of hell, but I was expecting that. What I wasn't expecting is what happened in Doha. My flight was already boarding by the time I cleared security. I had to motor. And yet, when I got to the gate, I encountered a huge stumbling block: a moron who didn't think I looked enough like my passport photo, and insisted that it wasn't my passport. He sent me to another area on another floor to have someone confirm my identity, telling me only that I needed to be back in five minutes (with identity confirmation) or I'd miss the flight. So, frantic, I go to the designated desk and explain the situation. Which, like any other half sane person, the guy behind the desk thinks is ludicrous. There are three basic reasons I don't look identical to my passport photo: 1) I cut my hair, 2) I have a tan (the natural result of spending 4 months near the equator) and 3) I've lost some weight (and not even that much. Just possibly enough that my cheekbones are slightly better defined). As for the photo, though, it's a no-brainer: I've got the exact same facial features. No one who saw me last in September (when the photo was taken) is going to fail to recognize me. Also, who else would I be? Some American black woman impersonating some slightly lighter, longer haired, chubbier American black woman in order to fly from Doha to Cape Town? Anyway, I made it onto the flight (a good thing, because otherwise I would have had to kill the guy and get stuck in some crappy prison in Doha awaiting execution).
Apparently men in some parts of the world have a real problem with women having short hair. Although the guys at the airport in Delhi knew that I was the person in my passport photo, they both wanted to know why I'd cut my hair (and made me explain the whole hassle of having to get it blown out straight and how no one in their country, or most of the countries I'd visited, knew how to do hair like mine), which is really none of their business.
I'm in Cape Town now, and things are much better (although much colder).
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