Four weeks of traveling, condensed.

Italy was beautiful, although I’m not overly fond of Rome or of Florence.  They were just too big and/or too… hmmm, too city-like.  I’m starting to think that I may be more of a “town” type of person.  I definitely liked Lake Como the best for scenery, although the day that we spent driving around Tuscany was beautiful as well.  I had a lot of fun traveling with Aunt Suse and Bob and Steve, her (and now, my) wonderful friends.  They are indefatigable, especially when it comes to shopping!  ::grin:: And especially when that shopping involves Italian ceramics or wine. 

I had a great time going around England and Scotland with my mom.  We went all over the place - Rye, Hay-on-Wye, the Lake District, Edinburgh and Glasgow.  All in just a week and a half.  Whew!  I think that Edinburgh remains my favorite foreign city after Sydney, Australia - everyone is so nice, the city is pretty, etc.  We went on a tour of Mary King’s Close, an entire series of streets that were roofed over and had the Royal Exchange (now the City Chambers) built on it.  The tour was a lot of fun - a nice balance between historical fact and silliness.  Hay-on-Wye was probably Mom’s favorite - the used-bookstore-to-everything-else ratio was about 3:1. 

Directly after Glasgow, Mom flew back to the US and I flew to Limerick.  I took the bus to Galway city, rented a bicycle, and headed off into Connemara.  It was pretty, but I wasn’t in NEARLY good enough shape to do a full week.  I gave up after four days, but not before making it to a little island called Inishbofin which is simply beautiful, and much less touristy than the Aran Islands.  I also made it to Clifden, Roundstone, and Spiddal; some days I went as few as seven miles by bike, others more than thirty.  After I returned my bike, I took the bus to Dublin, spent one afternoon there (that was enough - I didn’t like Dublin), spent the night at the airport and caught a very early plane to Brighton the next morning. 

I then spent ten wonderful days with Angus, traveling all over the south of England.  We spent the first weekend with his parents, both of whom are very sweet and kind, and who own two adorable Golden Retrievers.  For the rest of the time, we travelled around, staying with various friends of his - all of whom were extremely nice - and just seeing the countryside.  We went to the Eden Project, to Stonehenge, and to myriad other places.  I lost a lens cap in a pond in the field that Angus owns, got to see some of the places in Kent that played key roles in his childhood, and met a mad (as in insane) German Shepherd owned by his friend Richard.  All in all, it was a lot of fun.

Oh, and I got introduced to The Fast Show.  Brilliant, either for comedy or simply for those wishing to study particularly incomprehensible English accents.  Oh - suit you, sir!

Deja vu all over again

So, I’m back in Portland, and between moving into the same apartment that I had last summer, having the same job that I had last summer, having the majority of my friends still in town, and ending up at Paul’s with some regularity to use the internet (thanks, Paul!), I’m feeling rather like the last seven months didn’t happen.

It’s a very odd feeling.  Between the overwhelming deja vu and the state of limbo that I’m in at the moment (not knowing what I will be doing in three months), I’m left feeling rather lost.

I’m a type-A personality in many ways.  ::pauses to let the chorus of all her friends saying, “No kidding!” die down::  So not knowing what I will be doing or where I will be in three months really bothers me, especially since I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life, either.

That’s not entirely true; I have made a list of what I really want out of life, at a most basic level. 

1.) I want to have a positive impact on people’s lives.
2.) I want to find true love.
3.) I want to be able to pursue my passions, most specifically music.

Three things.  That’s it.  Who would have thought that it would be so difficult to figure out how to accomplish three things in the span of sixty-odd years? 

Hello all!

I’m back in the US, and will be heading back to Portland on the 10th of this month.  I know that I’ve been bad about posting for the past, oh, month or so, but I claim inability due to lack of internet access.  Hopefully I will be able to start posting more regularly this summer, and can tell you some about my travels of the past month.  ::smile::

Rollin’, rollin’...

Just to give you a rough estimate of the massive mileage Mom and I have covered in the last week:

It’s a little off, as I just used the AA website’s trip planner and told it to go via various cities.  The main differences are that between Rye and Winchester we traveled along the coast, and that between Kendal and Edinburgh we stopped by Hadrian’s Wall and went fairly far east.  Still and all, it’s a good rough estimate!  We be travellin’...

Buon Giorno!

Hello from Italy!  I just wanted to post a brief note letting y’all know that I am safe, have had a great week in Italy with Aunt Suse and her two friends, and am headed off to England today, to meet up with Mom on Tuesday!  I hope that everyone is doing well, and I look forward to seeing a lot of you when I get back to Portland in June!

Texas!

If you don’t have one of the free online memberships, you won’t be able to view this New York Times article about the beauty of the Texas Hill Country during the spring.  But you really ought to take a look!

Heigh ho, heigh ho, to Italy I go…

ALE (Apology for the Lack of Entries)

Sorry about the low entry-frequency of late; I’ve had a lot going on.  Sadly, the frequency is not likely to rise until early June.  I’m leaving for Italy this weekend and will be on the road constantly from then until the first week of June.  I will try to update occasionally, to let you know that I’m alive, but it won’t happen often.

Just to give an overview:

April 17-26: in Italy with Aunt Suse
April 27- May 6: in England and Scotland with Mom
May 6-18: in Ireland by myself
May 18-24: in England visiting friends
May 24-?: travelling in US with Mom & Graham
June 10: back to Portland
June 11-13: sleeping

::laughter::

Courtesy of http://www.atbash.net/blog/”>atbash.net, via an email forward.

“A special sense of humour
 

I had to share this find. I recently purchased a high-quality computer sleeve from a small boutique manufacturer. I was checking if it could be washed. The photo is the attached tag with the washing instructions in both English and French. The English is exactly what you would expect and so is the French, for the first 6 lines. The last three lines of French are most interesting. “We are sorry that our President is an idiot. We didn’t vote for him.” Given recent strained relations between our two countries, it’s good to see that not all Americans agree with the current administration.” 

Marvelous, non?

Prague Photos!

The reason that I went to Prague…

I came, I saw, I got snowed on.

The view across the river to St. Vitus’ Cathedral in Prague Castle.

Karlov Most (Charles Bridge)

A stained glass window in St. Vitus’ by one of my favorite artists, Alphonse Mucha!

I took about five photos of this scene - they all turned out blurry, as I just couldn’t hold still enough.  In frustration, I handed my camera to my friend Angus, and he took just one picture - this one.

In the Old Town Square, on the way back to the hostel from nighttime wanderings through Prague Castle.

Either I have a wider readership than I thought…

... or I have a very sweet friend.  Check it out…

Warm fuzzies

Thank you so much for everyone who made opening my inbox this morning - for the first time since Friday - such a wonderful experience.  Of the 27 new messages in my inbox, 26 were not junk mail, and about 20 contained birthday wishes!  I feel so loved!

I had a wonderful birthday, although there was a slight hitch with getting the friend who came to visit on the train back to her city - we forgot about the time switch.  Other than that, it was marvelous.  The weather has been beautiful, I’ve been able to celebrate with friends, and have heard from so many other friends.  Thank you all again!

Photos!

  My first view across to Venice from the hostel (on the island of Giudecca)

  And my view on the second day… Venice is there, really!

Carnivale!

This guy had waaaayyyy too much fun hamming for all of the cameras.  I have several shots of him snarling at mine.

  The last costumes I saw on Tuesday evening.

  Ah, Venice.

It was kind of that person to hang their laundry in such a picturesque manner!

  The last photo I took in Venice, the night before I left for Prague.

Thanks, WebBits!

Whilst perusing one of the most entertaining websites in existence , I happened upon a link to this webpage.  I am very tempted to try some of the moves, since although my current living space lacks stairs, bannisters and the other accoutrements of bi-level living, it has the benefit of being small enough in total area to make some of the moves entirely feasible using the four walls as my supports!

(Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.  But not much.)

Yet again…

... the computer I’m using won’t let me upload my photos.  I’ll try again tomorrow at school (where I normall update my weblog and upload photos), and we’ll hope that works!  I have some great photos to show you!  In the meantime, read on for the second chapter of my “winter travels” tale!

Winter travels, vol. 2

I could bore you senseless with drawling about the wanderings I did for three days, with how I made a point of crossing each of the three bridges over the Grand Canal at least once, with how much identical junk there is for sale in all of the shops and yet how much the price varies from one area of town to another, with how you are almost better off, financially, paying the price of a trip to the hospital from malnutrition than paying for three days’ worth of meals in Venetian restaurants, etc.  But instead, I shall pick a few, isolated anecdotes that you might find amusing or astounding, depending on your mental bent.

February 25th - I caught a waterbus at the Piazza San Marco to the island of Murano, just for the heck of it.  For the reference of future visitors to Venice who might be trying to save as much time as possible, the trip from Piazza San Marco to Murano takes about 45 minutes by waterbus.  It would be much quicker to walk to the Nuova Fondamenta on the north side of Venice and catch the same waterbus there.  But, going the long route does give you some beautiful views of the eastern point of Venice, which is mostly untouristed. 

Once I got to Murano, I headed straight to the main glass “factory,” which consisted of a single room of four tired-looking glass workers and one tired- and bored-looking “tour guide.”  I had my camera out and my big zoom lens locked onto it, in the hopes of getting some sort of cool closeup, which drew some very strange looks from everyone, the tour guide especially.  In hopes that I wouldn’t somehow annoy him by being such a blatant tourist, I gave him my “yeah, I know it’s ridiculous, but hey, when a tourist, act like a tourist” look, which I reserve for just such occasions.  As usual, it worked a treat, as did my pithy comments.  ::chuckle::  Whatever it was that did the charm, it worked, and he started talking with me.  From him, I found that the beautiful scraps of glass that were swept off the ground and into a large container are sent to industrial glass factories elsewhere and that there is no hospital on the island of Murano so everyone on the island is, perforce, born in Venice.  I also learned that I had slipped in just under the wire for the day’s tours - they were closing up after they had gotten rid of the group that I had wandered in with.
While he and I were talking, another info guy came up and joined in the conversation as well.  I had wandered into the overpriced showroom (the relative prices in the showroom versus in Venice proper being one of the comments I had made to the tour guide which had made him laugh), but the second info guy asked me if I would like to see some really nice stuff.  Of course I would!  So he led me through a door in the workroom that was marked ‘private,’ which I had assumed led to a break room of some sort.  No such thing.  Rather, it led to a series of rooms normally only seen by very wealthy individuals who come to Murano to pick up a six-digit-price piece of sculpture or chandelier for their sumptuous mansions who-knows-where.  Each room - I saw six, but apparently there were quite a few more - was devoted to the work of a single artist, and while the range of styles was quite wide, the range of quality was not.  I think the piece that I saw that I coveted the most was a four-foot-tall statue of Pegasus taking off, wings spread and two feet off the ground, made of clear and frosted glass.  It was breathtaking - as were most things.  I would have dearly loved to ask several of the artists how it was that they achieved certain effects.
We left the sparkling showrooms and went back into the tourist area, where I said goodbye to the two guides.  The one who had shown me the showrooms merely shook my hand, but the tour guide first shook my hand, then pulled me forcibly towards him.  There was a brief second where I wondered if he was going to kiss me full-on - I have heard many tales about the forwardness of Italian men - but he merely gave me the “two-cheek salute,” as Iím starting to think of it: the pair of kisses, one per cheek.  Whew!

February 26th - I was wandering around a less-touristy area of Venice called the Tre Archi, and had paused to take a picture of an interesting bridge.  (What an unusual picture subject in Venice, Julia!)  I heard a male voice speaking a very cultured - almost affected - version of British English behind me.  As I tend to do, even when I have no desire to be counted amongst tourists, I turned around to see what the speaker looked like.  The guy I saw (average height, late twenties, blonde hair, long coat draped around his shoulders in a way that upheld the affectedness of his speech) seemed vaguely familiar, as had his voice, but I simply put it down to déja vu and an increasing desire to see someone I knew and turned away.  He and his friend walked on down along the canal.  After a few more minutes fiddling with my camera, something clicked in my mind.  I set off after the Englishman and his friend, fully knowing that I was about to make a huge fool of myself and not really caring, since I would never see either of them again afterwards.
Either they habitually walk very quickly or I had stood around for longer than I thought, because it took me several minutes at my fastest walking speed to catch up with them.  I didnít want to break into a full run; my pride could only take making a fool of myself once in five minutes, so I had to save that for when I caught up to them.  Which I finally did, completely out of breath and, I dare guess, extremely red in the face.
- ::gasping::“Excuse me, sir, but I was just wondering what area of England you are from.”
-“Why, from London.”
-::disappointedly:: “Oh.  Iím sorry to have bothered you.  You just reminded me very much of a guy I met in Shropshire.”
-“Of course!  You’re that girl from Oregon, aren’t you?  You do get around a bit, don’t you?”
Thus followed a brief but pleasant conversation about the respective climates of Venice, England and Borneo and the great need for more orangutans in England. 

When I was in Newport over Christmas, I had stopped into the sole used book store in the town one afternoon, and had had a very pleasant chat with the fellow behind the counter.  He had been somewhat abashed that they didn’t have anything that I was looking for - Bill Bryson books, Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, or an English translation of Cyrano de Bergerac - and had laughingly worked very hard to try to convince me that a book on the economics of England would be a suitable substitute.  We chatted about where we were from - me, from Oregon, he, from London but living in Italy (he was merely running the store for the afternoon as a favor to his parents, whom he was visiting for Christmas) - and I promptly forgot all about him.  He didn’t even merit a note in my little purple notebook.
I wandered back towards the Grand Canal, humming ‘It’s a Small World.’

February 27th - At the airport, getting onto the same flight as I was to Prague, was one of the most humorous-looking women that I have seen in a long time.  She must have been a representative of the “more is better” school of animal-pelt clothing.  Her pants were velvet giraffe-print, her shirt was of glitter-bedecked snow-leopard-print and her mid-calf-length fur coat looked vaguely like the hide of a black panther and had a ruff along all the hems of four-inch-diameter fur.  To top this all off she was wearing a Dolly Parton wig under which she hadn’t quite managed to tuck all of her own dark brown hair, and her lipstick was fluorescent pink.  She was about 65, I would guess, and about 5’3” in two-inch heels.  Her two traveling companions - her daughters, perhaps - looked like they will follow in her tasteful footsteps.
Her appearance prompts a comment about Venetian women in general.  I have heard so much about the style-consciousness of the Italians that I expected to feel very much like an old scuffed sneaker tossed in amongst a closet full of shiny new stilettos.  What I instead felt like was a normal young woman tossed in amongst human-sized, walking brown pillows.  The majority of the Venetian women I saw were wearing that particular style of fur coat-slash-muumuu that isn’t flattering to anyone, even those of supermodel proportions.  It didn’t help that Venetian women are generally on the petite side.  I felt gratifyingly tall during those few days in Venice, and I’m only 5’6”. I simply can’t understand it, even if it is the fashion!  ::shrug::  Then again, I’ve often noticed that “fashionable” doesn’t necessarily mean “flattering.”