When I woke up this morning, I had the same words enter my mind as the day I left Louisville: "Get busy livin', or get busy dyin'." These words from Andy Dufresne of The Shawshank Redemption have rung true to me for the past 18 months. I was so far down in life, with so many things stacked against me, and then this wonderful thing called Phil happened. I've never quite been so much of a risk taker, but I just told myself that if I didn't do something to change my life, then I would be stuck in that rut for a very long time. I decided to get busy livin'. That was the best decision I have ever made.
Whether for love, money, hobby, or whatever, everyone should travel abroad. One time is all you need. Never will you be more enlightened than when you immerse yourself in a completely different culture, even for a short time. You will gain a new perspective on the world, understand people in a brand new way, and enrich yourself with a unique sense of character. You need not limit yourself to your little box; take some initiative and go learn something about someone. Sometimes we have to step away from what we know in order to become more grounded in it.
I've been amazed at the inundating support Phil and I have received from our family and friends. Personally, I have really come to know who my true friends are, and I am ever so grateful for all of you. Never have I ever experienced such a warm reception, and it has been truly heartwarming to watch everyone take Phil under their wing.
It's funny, earlier today, I had a lot of things rolling around in my head that I wanted to say tonight, but now, I can't think of a single one of them (obviously with the exception of the above.) I just want you all to know that this experience has changed my life 180-degrees, and I am testament that following your gut is the best way to achieve the best life for you. Not everything will be easy, because nothing worth having is easy to obtain, but with a little dedication and a lot of gusto, you can do anything.
I've been so blessed to have witnessed two major historical events since my tenure here, as well as see landmarks that, in the scope of things, not many people get to see. I'm very excited to take the next steps forward and come back. I have a lot more livin' to do.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Reflections
I have so much to say, but I'm having trouble finding the words to describe how I feel today. Maybe just some stream of consciousness will help.
Today begins my last week in England, for now. The past 5 months have been the absolute best months of my entire life. When I first came here, I was a little scared, but eager to start a new life in a new place with the love of my life. It hasn't been completely perfect; we've had our difficulties, but we've been able to make the best of everything and every situation. There are no regrets.
Each day with Phil has only gotten better. Being with him has allowed me to rediscover myself and my purpose in life. I have never seen with such clarity. Never. I wish I could adequately dictate the feeling of clarity. I no longer live in fear of rejection or ridicule, I no longer walk on eggshells in my own home, I no longer worry about making decisions. I am 100% free to be 100% myself, and I have not ever been able to do that. He loves me, he fully supports me, he helps me, he laughs with me, he cries with me...he never leaves me to do anything alone. That, my friends, is the foundation of unconditional love. A lot of people say that love means you'll do anything for someone. I say love means you'll do anything with someone.
I've seen parts of the world that some of you may never see, and I've experienced life in a whole new culture -- I've learned to adjust, to be more tolerant and flexible, and I've been able to live in a completely different way. It is very bittersweet to leave here, I must be honest about that. It is sweet in that I will reattain some of the luxuries I've missed (Mexican food, my clothes dryer, etc.) The bitter part is that I have to leave Phil behind. No matter what I've had to give up, no matter how much we have financially struggled, no matter how many noisy Romanians we've endured, living here with him has made all of that worth the hassle. Nothing is unbearable when we're together. Despite the negatives, the positives heavily outweigh them.
My heart is in such a good place. I dread yet another separation, but I know that we will make it through and we will eventually be together, as I believe we are meant to be. I think it's safe to say that most people never find their true soulmate, but I'm lucky enough to have found mine. Without him, part of me is missing, and there is a void within.
Some of you may want to know what I'll miss the most. That's very simple: his touch. Not being able to feel him will be the most empty feeling in the universe.
The only solace I have is holding on to the day when we can be together forever: no more separations, no more flights, no more technology. Just us. Sometimes I wonder if my staying here for so long was a blessing or a curse, because I knew it would be so difficult to leave. But I have decided that has been a huge blessing. I have to get it in my head that leaving next Tuesday is not a goodbye. It is taking the next step toward us having a forever home together. I need to rely on my inner strength, and on the support of all of my friends and family to help me move forward. I cannot discredit you guys -- all of you. Your support has been insurmountable. To have a man like Phil, and family and friends like you, I consider myself one of the luckiest women around.
Today begins my last week in England, for now. The past 5 months have been the absolute best months of my entire life. When I first came here, I was a little scared, but eager to start a new life in a new place with the love of my life. It hasn't been completely perfect; we've had our difficulties, but we've been able to make the best of everything and every situation. There are no regrets.
Each day with Phil has only gotten better. Being with him has allowed me to rediscover myself and my purpose in life. I have never seen with such clarity. Never. I wish I could adequately dictate the feeling of clarity. I no longer live in fear of rejection or ridicule, I no longer walk on eggshells in my own home, I no longer worry about making decisions. I am 100% free to be 100% myself, and I have not ever been able to do that. He loves me, he fully supports me, he helps me, he laughs with me, he cries with me...he never leaves me to do anything alone. That, my friends, is the foundation of unconditional love. A lot of people say that love means you'll do anything for someone. I say love means you'll do anything with someone.
I've seen parts of the world that some of you may never see, and I've experienced life in a whole new culture -- I've learned to adjust, to be more tolerant and flexible, and I've been able to live in a completely different way. It is very bittersweet to leave here, I must be honest about that. It is sweet in that I will reattain some of the luxuries I've missed (Mexican food, my clothes dryer, etc.) The bitter part is that I have to leave Phil behind. No matter what I've had to give up, no matter how much we have financially struggled, no matter how many noisy Romanians we've endured, living here with him has made all of that worth the hassle. Nothing is unbearable when we're together. Despite the negatives, the positives heavily outweigh them.
My heart is in such a good place. I dread yet another separation, but I know that we will make it through and we will eventually be together, as I believe we are meant to be. I think it's safe to say that most people never find their true soulmate, but I'm lucky enough to have found mine. Without him, part of me is missing, and there is a void within.
Some of you may want to know what I'll miss the most. That's very simple: his touch. Not being able to feel him will be the most empty feeling in the universe.
The only solace I have is holding on to the day when we can be together forever: no more separations, no more flights, no more technology. Just us. Sometimes I wonder if my staying here for so long was a blessing or a curse, because I knew it would be so difficult to leave. But I have decided that has been a huge blessing. I have to get it in my head that leaving next Tuesday is not a goodbye. It is taking the next step toward us having a forever home together. I need to rely on my inner strength, and on the support of all of my friends and family to help me move forward. I cannot discredit you guys -- all of you. Your support has been insurmountable. To have a man like Phil, and family and friends like you, I consider myself one of the luckiest women around.
Monday, June 25, 2012
All Caught Up
I know you all have already forgiven me for not writing in 2 months and 10 days. Okay, maybe not, but you will. I just know it. This will be kind of a random bit of hodge podge, but you're probably used to my random tendencies anyway. I hope.
Since Paris, we've had lots of things happen. Most of you know from my Facebook rants that Phil and I were evicted from our place of residence for a very unusual reason: we complained too much. The other tenants were loud, obnoxious drunks who smoked weed in the house despite our numerous requests to smoke it outside. The boiler rarely worked, so we spend many-a-mornings taking cold showers or boiling the kettle to have hot water. The ultimate showdown happened when I discovered some of my teabags missing from the pantry. We had also had some cans of Coke disappear not long before. Of course, I confronted the people in the house about the missing items, and of course, NO ONE knew ANYTHING about it. I decided to take matters into my own hands and write up some (not-so) nice flyers and post them on our cupboard doors. The "house captain" from next door spotted them and became offended, and confronted me. We had words. Well, I had words. Anyway, long story short, he came back with the landlord later that night after Phil got home from work, and we got evicted for complaining about people stealing our food. The landlord admitted that...we have it recorded on Phil's phone. So we had to move -- quick. We found a place about a mile away from there, and it's a little better. The next door neighbors are a bunch of loud mouth Poles, but we're in cahoots with the Po-Po about that. And I'm the only girl in the house, and the boys (excluding Phil) are all dirty, nasty, icky bachelors who can't work a freaking washing machine and who make the bathroom smell like pee when they miss the toilet and hit the bath rug. But enough of that.
We took a 2-day trip to Phil's sister's place up in Northampton. We had a nice little mini-vacay with Paula, her boyfriend, Scott, Phil's mom, and his godfather, Jimmy. We had a cookout, I was introduced to Malibu and Coke, and topped that off with some vodka & cranberry juice. Yeah, you all saw the picture....
In my increasing boredom sitting at home all day every day, I have developed a new hobby. Pinterest is 100% to blame -- I'm upcycling furniture and household items. I've done a jewelry box...here's the finished product:
Before, it was just natural pine color. I'm currently working on a pedestal table and a really cool bowl. I have rekindled my interest in interior design, and am considering design school of some sort when I get back to the states. Like, seriously. Some of you all might question my decision to change my career at this point in my life, and I totally understand why you would. I just want to do something creative and hands-on, and design allows me to utilize both of those skills. So stay tuned...
FOOD is a big issue here. Let me just tell you what I have had to live without:
1. Ranch dressing
2. Chili Sauce
3. Knorr Taco Rice
4. Cherry Pie Filling
5. Authentic Mexican food (I'm almost dead because of this one.)
6. KFC Mashed Potatoes
7. Biscuits
8. A-1
9. Big Red
10. Mountain Dew
11. Dill Pickles
12. Pork Butt
13. All those fantastic McCormick spice mixes for things like chili, beef stew, etc. (Disclaimer: My friend Nik brought me some of those when she came to stay with us for a week.)
14. Longhorn steak (it's all angus here. Meh.)
15. Brunswick Stew and Honey Cornbread. (I've been craving it for weeks!)
16. Any decent candy and cereal you can think of.
I'm sure there is more to add to this list, but I don't even know what else. I found an American Sweets shop about 8 miles away, where I got a can of Mountain Dew, Vanilla Coke, a box of Nerds, and some Blow Pops. I also ordered some Funyuns, Cheetos, Strawberry cake mix, and pickles from an American foods website....I was desperate, okay?! I've already decided that the first thing I'm doing when I get home (provided I have an appetite) is chow down on some Mexican grub. I need a forreal margarita.
I'll top this blog off with Jubilee Celebration highlights. The first weekend of June, the entire UK celebrated Queen Elizabeth II's 60th anniversary of her reign on the throne of the British Monarchy. She is only the 2nd monarch to ever reach 60 years on the throne, so it's kind of a big deal. She seems in good enough health to exceed Queen Victoria's reign of 61 years, so time will tell what happens next.
There was a 4-day weekend for everyone, and there was plenty to do. Sunday, we made our way down to the Thames to try and get a spot riverside for the flotilla and Royal Barge viewing. Uhhh yeah right. We overslept and got there about 12:30 p.m....and we realized in hindsight that there was no point in even going that late. The sidewalks along the river were 20-30 people deep, and just chock-full-o-Brits. They weren't letting people on the bridges to view (we still haven't figured out why), so we eventually gave up and went back home to watch it on TV. It's truly a shame because I had on a really cute outfit. I was proud of my fashion that day. The good news is I can wear the same thing for my 4th of July party since our country's colors are the same!
We stayed home on Monday night and watched the Jubilee Concert on TV. There was absolutely no point in trying to get a spot on the Mall (short 'a' sound) to see it live, so we had our own little picnic right here on the bed. The concert was interesting. I'll just leave it at that.
Tuesday was the big day. It's the day the Royal Family traveled to St. Paul's Cathedral for a Service of Thanksgiving, and from there, went to Westminster, then came back down the Mall to Buckingham Palace in their carriages. We had a great spot -- right off the Mall on the corner of a side street..had a great view. Until they marched the Irish Guards Band right there. Before that, I managed to get a great picture of the Queen in her Rolls Royce on the way to church.
Throughout the rest of the day, I got some pretty good shots of people all decked out in their Union Jack clothes and paraphernalia. I'll make an album on Facebook for you all to have a gander at. We stuck around for them to come back so we could see the cool airplanes fly over our heads and make lots of noise. That was disappointing...only two groups of planes flew over; we nearly missed them, but I got a decent shot of the last group, the Red Arrows.
Yep, that's red, white, & blue smoke.
I think that's about it for now. I won't be a stranger. I fly back exactly 5 weeks from tomorrow, and Phil and I have lots planned to do between now and then. Next time: I'll write about having a 4th of July party in England. Should be a doozy!
Since Paris, we've had lots of things happen. Most of you know from my Facebook rants that Phil and I were evicted from our place of residence for a very unusual reason: we complained too much. The other tenants were loud, obnoxious drunks who smoked weed in the house despite our numerous requests to smoke it outside. The boiler rarely worked, so we spend many-a-mornings taking cold showers or boiling the kettle to have hot water. The ultimate showdown happened when I discovered some of my teabags missing from the pantry. We had also had some cans of Coke disappear not long before. Of course, I confronted the people in the house about the missing items, and of course, NO ONE knew ANYTHING about it. I decided to take matters into my own hands and write up some (not-so) nice flyers and post them on our cupboard doors. The "house captain" from next door spotted them and became offended, and confronted me. We had words. Well, I had words. Anyway, long story short, he came back with the landlord later that night after Phil got home from work, and we got evicted for complaining about people stealing our food. The landlord admitted that...we have it recorded on Phil's phone. So we had to move -- quick. We found a place about a mile away from there, and it's a little better. The next door neighbors are a bunch of loud mouth Poles, but we're in cahoots with the Po-Po about that. And I'm the only girl in the house, and the boys (excluding Phil) are all dirty, nasty, icky bachelors who can't work a freaking washing machine and who make the bathroom smell like pee when they miss the toilet and hit the bath rug. But enough of that.
We took a 2-day trip to Phil's sister's place up in Northampton. We had a nice little mini-vacay with Paula, her boyfriend, Scott, Phil's mom, and his godfather, Jimmy. We had a cookout, I was introduced to Malibu and Coke, and topped that off with some vodka & cranberry juice. Yeah, you all saw the picture....
In my increasing boredom sitting at home all day every day, I have developed a new hobby. Pinterest is 100% to blame -- I'm upcycling furniture and household items. I've done a jewelry box...here's the finished product:
FOOD is a big issue here. Let me just tell you what I have had to live without:
1. Ranch dressing
2. Chili Sauce
3. Knorr Taco Rice
4. Cherry Pie Filling
5. Authentic Mexican food (I'm almost dead because of this one.)
6. KFC Mashed Potatoes
7. Biscuits
8. A-1
9. Big Red
10. Mountain Dew
11. Dill Pickles
12. Pork Butt
13. All those fantastic McCormick spice mixes for things like chili, beef stew, etc. (Disclaimer: My friend Nik brought me some of those when she came to stay with us for a week.)
14. Longhorn steak (it's all angus here. Meh.)
15. Brunswick Stew and Honey Cornbread. (I've been craving it for weeks!)
16. Any decent candy and cereal you can think of.
I'm sure there is more to add to this list, but I don't even know what else. I found an American Sweets shop about 8 miles away, where I got a can of Mountain Dew, Vanilla Coke, a box of Nerds, and some Blow Pops. I also ordered some Funyuns, Cheetos, Strawberry cake mix, and pickles from an American foods website....I was desperate, okay?! I've already decided that the first thing I'm doing when I get home (provided I have an appetite) is chow down on some Mexican grub. I need a forreal margarita.
I'll top this blog off with Jubilee Celebration highlights. The first weekend of June, the entire UK celebrated Queen Elizabeth II's 60th anniversary of her reign on the throne of the British Monarchy. She is only the 2nd monarch to ever reach 60 years on the throne, so it's kind of a big deal. She seems in good enough health to exceed Queen Victoria's reign of 61 years, so time will tell what happens next.
There was a 4-day weekend for everyone, and there was plenty to do. Sunday, we made our way down to the Thames to try and get a spot riverside for the flotilla and Royal Barge viewing. Uhhh yeah right. We overslept and got there about 12:30 p.m....and we realized in hindsight that there was no point in even going that late. The sidewalks along the river were 20-30 people deep, and just chock-full-o-Brits. They weren't letting people on the bridges to view (we still haven't figured out why), so we eventually gave up and went back home to watch it on TV. It's truly a shame because I had on a really cute outfit. I was proud of my fashion that day. The good news is I can wear the same thing for my 4th of July party since our country's colors are the same!
We stayed home on Monday night and watched the Jubilee Concert on TV. There was absolutely no point in trying to get a spot on the Mall (short 'a' sound) to see it live, so we had our own little picnic right here on the bed. The concert was interesting. I'll just leave it at that.
Tuesday was the big day. It's the day the Royal Family traveled to St. Paul's Cathedral for a Service of Thanksgiving, and from there, went to Westminster, then came back down the Mall to Buckingham Palace in their carriages. We had a great spot -- right off the Mall on the corner of a side street..had a great view. Until they marched the Irish Guards Band right there. Before that, I managed to get a great picture of the Queen in her Rolls Royce on the way to church.
Throughout the rest of the day, I got some pretty good shots of people all decked out in their Union Jack clothes and paraphernalia. I'll make an album on Facebook for you all to have a gander at. We stuck around for them to come back so we could see the cool airplanes fly over our heads and make lots of noise. That was disappointing...only two groups of planes flew over; we nearly missed them, but I got a decent shot of the last group, the Red Arrows.
I think that's about it for now. I won't be a stranger. I fly back exactly 5 weeks from tomorrow, and Phil and I have lots planned to do between now and then. Next time: I'll write about having a 4th of July party in England. Should be a doozy!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Le Blog de Paris
I thought that I could handle waking up at 3 a.m. if it meant I'd be spending the day in Paris, France -- one of my lifelong dreams. Our train was due out at 5:40 a.m., and with 3 of us to get ready, it meant an early wake-up call, and an extremely long day ahead. Our cab showed up on time -- early, in fact -- and we were rearin' and ready to go. Sleepiness curbed our excitement a little bit, but not enough to put a damper on our readiness.
The weather called for a rainy day, so Nik and I had spent the day before securing appropriate footwear, which turned out to be worthless. Don't get me wrong, I'm so thankful that it was a beautiful spring day, but I would have really dressed differently.
Our ride on the Eurostar was just over 2 1/2 hours. In the time it would normally take me to get from Louisville to Nashville, I made it to a whole different country. Pretty wild, eh? Anyway, our first mistake was that we had absolutely no plan after setting foot in France. I speak very basic French, and the reality of the language barrier hit me in the face as soon as we stepped off the train and ventured into the station. I became overwhelmed with anxiety and nerves as we made our way downstairs to the information and ticket desks.
I cannot even begin to estimate how many people were scurrying around: some locals, some transients, others just like us. As we made it to the back of the line, I could feel every hair on my body stand up and every nerve ending start to tremble. My frustration reached a boiling point, and I finally just turned around and yelled, "Hey! Do any of y'all speak English? Is there a tour bus or somethin' anywhere?"
Yes, I said "y'all." Nik burst out in laughter, and she nearly peed her pants.
We discussed various routes of navigating through the city, and since we had a pretty limited cash reserve, we ultimately decided to go balls to the wall and buy Metro Day Passes. Phil is a GENIUS when it comes to reading tube maps, so between his map-puzzle-solving skills and my basic French, we concluded that we could eventually make our way back around to the station for our 9:13 p.m. departure.
Our first stop: The Eiffel Tower. We got there, we saw the long, long, long line to go up, and we went past it. There was construction on the tower, so one whole side was out of service, forcing the queue to a 2 1/2-hour wait. Eff that. We made our way along the park, took some pictures, and sat down to make a plan. It was pretty uneventful. We also got a whiff of some yummy food, but we couldn't figure out where it came from, so we kept going. At the edge of the park, there was a glass structure with "Peace" inscribed on it in different languages...unfortunately, it had suffered some vandalism, so appreciating that was out of the question, too. Just past the fountain was "a nice building," according to Phil. It turned out to be some kind of barracks or cavalry building...but at least it was nice. And pretty.
We made our way down some random streets, circled a few blocks, and ended up down a back alley of small shops. This actually worked out for us because it allowed us to save loads of money on food since it was off the tourist strip. We found a cafe that served kebabs, burgers, and pizza, so we went in and grubbed for a bit. Just a few doors down was a shop that sold all American food stuff...Big Red, A&W Cream Soda and Root Beer, Nerds, Wonka candy...LOADS of stuff I was dying to get my mitts on, but paying 2.50 Euros for a can of Big Red seemed a little extreme.
Our next visit was to L'Arc de Triomphe and Champs des Elysses. We began to notice that finding landmarks in Paris was easy because all you have to do is follow the crowds. This is where things started to turn for me. By this point, my feet were so swollen and in such excruciating pain that we had to sit for 30 minutes for the symptoms to subside so I could walk back to the Metro. I felt like a whiny little turd, but I cannot describe the pain I was in. We also never really got a decent view of anything because there were so many tourists...there were people everywhere. More people than a Black Friday line at Wal-Mart. But, we were trying to make the best of it because we were in Paris. THE Paris. We kept saying it over and over to convince ourselves that the trip was worth it.
Next stop: The Louvre. OH.MY.GAWD. Seriously, I thought this would be an event of a lifetime. I was really excited to see some of the most famous works of art of all time. So, we get there, and we stand in line. And we stood in line, and we stood in line, and we moved a little, and a little more, and got to the front, then we're stopped to let people in a priority line go ahead. This line was for people with Museum Passes...nothing anywhere said we needed any kind of pass to get in, and nobody said anything about there being a fee for anything. We finally got through security, and made it to the main lobby of the museum. We took our maps and pinpoint the highlights of what we wanted to see, and made our way upstairs. Well. Whaddya know. There's a fee. We sulked for a moment before ultimately deciding that Nik and I would pay the 10 Euros each while Phil sat in the lobby and waited. We went back downstairs, waited in line again, got our tickets and started our venture. Our main objective was to see Mona Lisa...it was also everyone else's. We had to walk up 7 stories, to the top of the building, to what seemed like HADES from the heat and overcrowding...actually, there are probably fewer people in Hell.
Obviously, there were signs everywhere that said "No Flash Photography," but obviously, there were also idiots everywhere that ignored those signs. They weren't in English; they were picture signs with a big red X over a camera flash. Universal. Anyway, the blatant disrespect immediately pissed me off, so this was already going badly. We followed signs and lines and stairs and corridors, and finally made it to the room where Mona Lisa was hung...in the middle of the room behind a thick double glass frame (for obvious reasons). I was hoping for some sort of spiritual awakening, or some sort of awe to overtake my body as I neared the centuries-old masterpiece. Instead, I was overtaken by rude, brash tourists who reeked of sweaty armpits and had no tact or sense of order. It was seriously like a mosh pit at a Nirvana concert. Seriously. I stepped to the side and let Nik take the pics she wanted to take, and was just hoping to God I didn't go ballistic on some of the douche bags in that room. She emerged from the pit of doom, and we made our way -- quickly -- around some more rooms of paintings...lots of paintings of Jesus and boobies and Napoleon, all in same room.
We decided we'd go to the Greek Sculptures and visit Venus de Milo before GTFO there. I have never seen so many Asians in all my life. I'm not really sure why this is..maybe it's vacation season for them, I have no idea. They were everywhere. And not only were they crowding around each sculpture, but they were taking pictures of each other in front of the sculptures, like they were hanging out with Aphrodite in the museum. It was the most dumbfounding thing I'd ever seen.
Finally, we left. I was so aggravated because I really wanted to be able to appreciate everything in there, but it was so devalued by the tourism and commercialism that I wanted to vomit on that pretty little glass pyramid out front so everyone could see. Of all the places in the world, I never expected the Louvre to be such a miserable place.
We carried on to our last stop: Notre Dame Cathedral. Again, I had a much more enlightening experience in London at Westminster Abbey. There were lines out the wazoo to get to the viewing area of the church. It was completely underwhelming because there was absolutely no spirituality there at all. I wasn't looking for God to come down and open the doors for me, but I was expecting to absorb the history of the place. Psh. Yeah right.
After we spent all of 10 minutes there, it was still about 4 hours before our train departed. We went to a cafe across from the station and ordered crepes and coffee. The waiter spoke little English, so it was up to me to order in French. I pulled it off! I placed our entire order in French, and even managed to impress him a little bit. We spent the rest of the day in Paris at the train station, waiting to leave. We sat in a pub for a while, then checked in at the earliest possible time. Oh yeah, UK Border Patrol gave me a hard time (again) coming back into the country. As if my day wasn't shitty enough. I was interrogated again, warned about not working again, told that I have come to Immigration's attention again...for heaven's sake, just LET ME IN. I can say that this woman was a lot more polite than the woman at my first encounter, but I was over it. Seriously.
We couldn't get on the train soon enough. Thankfully, we made it home at a reasonable hour, and we were safe. We plopped that Wednesday night, and we didn't move until Friday morning. That's right...36 hours of immobility.
Paris: been there, done that, ain't doin' it again. Au revoir.
The weather called for a rainy day, so Nik and I had spent the day before securing appropriate footwear, which turned out to be worthless. Don't get me wrong, I'm so thankful that it was a beautiful spring day, but I would have really dressed differently.
Our ride on the Eurostar was just over 2 1/2 hours. In the time it would normally take me to get from Louisville to Nashville, I made it to a whole different country. Pretty wild, eh? Anyway, our first mistake was that we had absolutely no plan after setting foot in France. I speak very basic French, and the reality of the language barrier hit me in the face as soon as we stepped off the train and ventured into the station. I became overwhelmed with anxiety and nerves as we made our way downstairs to the information and ticket desks.
I cannot even begin to estimate how many people were scurrying around: some locals, some transients, others just like us. As we made it to the back of the line, I could feel every hair on my body stand up and every nerve ending start to tremble. My frustration reached a boiling point, and I finally just turned around and yelled, "Hey! Do any of y'all speak English? Is there a tour bus or somethin' anywhere?"
Yes, I said "y'all." Nik burst out in laughter, and she nearly peed her pants.
We discussed various routes of navigating through the city, and since we had a pretty limited cash reserve, we ultimately decided to go balls to the wall and buy Metro Day Passes. Phil is a GENIUS when it comes to reading tube maps, so between his map-puzzle-solving skills and my basic French, we concluded that we could eventually make our way back around to the station for our 9:13 p.m. departure.
Our first stop: The Eiffel Tower. We got there, we saw the long, long, long line to go up, and we went past it. There was construction on the tower, so one whole side was out of service, forcing the queue to a 2 1/2-hour wait. Eff that. We made our way along the park, took some pictures, and sat down to make a plan. It was pretty uneventful. We also got a whiff of some yummy food, but we couldn't figure out where it came from, so we kept going. At the edge of the park, there was a glass structure with "Peace" inscribed on it in different languages...unfortunately, it had suffered some vandalism, so appreciating that was out of the question, too. Just past the fountain was "a nice building," according to Phil. It turned out to be some kind of barracks or cavalry building...but at least it was nice. And pretty.
We made our way down some random streets, circled a few blocks, and ended up down a back alley of small shops. This actually worked out for us because it allowed us to save loads of money on food since it was off the tourist strip. We found a cafe that served kebabs, burgers, and pizza, so we went in and grubbed for a bit. Just a few doors down was a shop that sold all American food stuff...Big Red, A&W Cream Soda and Root Beer, Nerds, Wonka candy...LOADS of stuff I was dying to get my mitts on, but paying 2.50 Euros for a can of Big Red seemed a little extreme.
Our next visit was to L'Arc de Triomphe and Champs des Elysses. We began to notice that finding landmarks in Paris was easy because all you have to do is follow the crowds. This is where things started to turn for me. By this point, my feet were so swollen and in such excruciating pain that we had to sit for 30 minutes for the symptoms to subside so I could walk back to the Metro. I felt like a whiny little turd, but I cannot describe the pain I was in. We also never really got a decent view of anything because there were so many tourists...there were people everywhere. More people than a Black Friday line at Wal-Mart. But, we were trying to make the best of it because we were in Paris. THE Paris. We kept saying it over and over to convince ourselves that the trip was worth it.
Next stop: The Louvre. OH.MY.GAWD. Seriously, I thought this would be an event of a lifetime. I was really excited to see some of the most famous works of art of all time. So, we get there, and we stand in line. And we stood in line, and we stood in line, and we moved a little, and a little more, and got to the front, then we're stopped to let people in a priority line go ahead. This line was for people with Museum Passes...nothing anywhere said we needed any kind of pass to get in, and nobody said anything about there being a fee for anything. We finally got through security, and made it to the main lobby of the museum. We took our maps and pinpoint the highlights of what we wanted to see, and made our way upstairs. Well. Whaddya know. There's a fee. We sulked for a moment before ultimately deciding that Nik and I would pay the 10 Euros each while Phil sat in the lobby and waited. We went back downstairs, waited in line again, got our tickets and started our venture. Our main objective was to see Mona Lisa...it was also everyone else's. We had to walk up 7 stories, to the top of the building, to what seemed like HADES from the heat and overcrowding...actually, there are probably fewer people in Hell.
Obviously, there were signs everywhere that said "No Flash Photography," but obviously, there were also idiots everywhere that ignored those signs. They weren't in English; they were picture signs with a big red X over a camera flash. Universal. Anyway, the blatant disrespect immediately pissed me off, so this was already going badly. We followed signs and lines and stairs and corridors, and finally made it to the room where Mona Lisa was hung...in the middle of the room behind a thick double glass frame (for obvious reasons). I was hoping for some sort of spiritual awakening, or some sort of awe to overtake my body as I neared the centuries-old masterpiece. Instead, I was overtaken by rude, brash tourists who reeked of sweaty armpits and had no tact or sense of order. It was seriously like a mosh pit at a Nirvana concert. Seriously. I stepped to the side and let Nik take the pics she wanted to take, and was just hoping to God I didn't go ballistic on some of the douche bags in that room. She emerged from the pit of doom, and we made our way -- quickly -- around some more rooms of paintings...lots of paintings of Jesus and boobies and Napoleon, all in same room.
We decided we'd go to the Greek Sculptures and visit Venus de Milo before GTFO there. I have never seen so many Asians in all my life. I'm not really sure why this is..maybe it's vacation season for them, I have no idea. They were everywhere. And not only were they crowding around each sculpture, but they were taking pictures of each other in front of the sculptures, like they were hanging out with Aphrodite in the museum. It was the most dumbfounding thing I'd ever seen.
Finally, we left. I was so aggravated because I really wanted to be able to appreciate everything in there, but it was so devalued by the tourism and commercialism that I wanted to vomit on that pretty little glass pyramid out front so everyone could see. Of all the places in the world, I never expected the Louvre to be such a miserable place.
We carried on to our last stop: Notre Dame Cathedral. Again, I had a much more enlightening experience in London at Westminster Abbey. There were lines out the wazoo to get to the viewing area of the church. It was completely underwhelming because there was absolutely no spirituality there at all. I wasn't looking for God to come down and open the doors for me, but I was expecting to absorb the history of the place. Psh. Yeah right.
After we spent all of 10 minutes there, it was still about 4 hours before our train departed. We went to a cafe across from the station and ordered crepes and coffee. The waiter spoke little English, so it was up to me to order in French. I pulled it off! I placed our entire order in French, and even managed to impress him a little bit. We spent the rest of the day in Paris at the train station, waiting to leave. We sat in a pub for a while, then checked in at the earliest possible time. Oh yeah, UK Border Patrol gave me a hard time (again) coming back into the country. As if my day wasn't shitty enough. I was interrogated again, warned about not working again, told that I have come to Immigration's attention again...for heaven's sake, just LET ME IN. I can say that this woman was a lot more polite than the woman at my first encounter, but I was over it. Seriously.
We couldn't get on the train soon enough. Thankfully, we made it home at a reasonable hour, and we were safe. We plopped that Wednesday night, and we didn't move until Friday morning. That's right...36 hours of immobility.
Paris: been there, done that, ain't doin' it again. Au revoir.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Civil Wars -- 3/19/12
Monday night, Phil and I went to see The Civil Wars in concert. Most of you know that I have been awaiting this date for quite a long time, since I bought my tickets in October as a birthday present to myself. I actually bought the concert tickets long before I bought my plane tickets, so I was definitely willing to take the risk that my plans would all work out in the end.
I'll give you a little bit of background info as to how I ultimately learned of this heavenly duo. On a random day last summer, I was channel surfing and landed on VH1's top 20 countdown. The video for the group's debut single, "Barton Hollow," started playing as soon as I put the remote down. It simply piqued my curiosity, so I watched the entire video, and decided to investigate further. I went to Amazon.com (WAY better than iTunes) and searched the album...I listened to the samples and decided to buy the album on a whim. That was one of the best decisions of my entire life (seriously--no hyperbole intended!) I've been hooked ever since. I became an instant stalker fan and checked out the band's website and added them to my list of "likes" on Facebook, and as soon as I saw the pre-sale come up for the UK tour, I jumped on the chance to see them live. Aannyyway...
I had to meet Phil after he finished work at 4:30, and I kind of felt like there would already be a line of people waiting to get in at that point, since the doors opened at 7:00. Fortunately for us, we arrived at the O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire to discover only 4 people sitting on the steps. Yessss! We were right in the front -- and I had floor tickets. Epic win.
We bide our time as the beggars stroll past, asking all of us for spare change, which we denied them. My accent became a conversation starter as one guy in front of us began to ask me where I was from and how I got here. From that point, our time was officially occupied by the four lovely people already waiting on the steps when we arrived. We had some laughs and some fun conversation, and as 7:00 approached, we saw the workers inside the venue prepare the doors for opening. We devised a plan to get to the front as quickly as possible since there was a rather large queue for the Stalls Standing area. I had a very swollen ankle from a clumsy incident the previous morning, so Phil decided he'd run on ahead and would save my spot since I was mildly handicapped. Needless to say, Phil made good on his promise. Our little group was able to snag the spots front and center, right up against the barrier.
The opening group, Matthew and the Atlas (I think) made their way to the stage just after 8:00. They were American, and were seriously invested in their music, but the few songs they managed to sing were sort of monotonous and mundane....and they all kind of sounded alike. I suppose everyone has to start somewhere, and they were a nice, 3-person group with a guitar, banjo, and violin, but they just weren't exciting.
FINALLY, Joy and John Paul emerge on stage. Joy is tiny, 6 months pregnant, and was sporting 4-inch strappy heels. John Paul has a great sense of humor. He kept asking us if we wanted to hear them play Iron Maiden...silly JP.
From the second they started their set, the chemistry was obvious. Their voices melodiously and harmoniously join together to create a sound that can only be described as music. The feeling I got when I heard them live could easily be compared to the feeling I get when I listen to Gregorian chants: complete serenity, like all is right in the world. They have this natural ability to play off each other...they don't even cue one another when they pause; they just KNOW when to start again. It's an insanely beautiful sight.
One of our new friends, Sam, asked if we were going to wait outside after the concert to try and get autographs. I haven't attended enough concerts to really know that was a possibility, and since the event ended just after 10:30, we thought we'd give it a go. Mind you, it was fuh-reezing outside, but it could potentially be worth it. One girl in our group managed to find a couple of discarded tickets on the floor inside, and gave me one so I could have it signed (all I had were my computer print-outs that had the barcodes torn off from entry.) I stopped to buy a t-shirt on the way out, of course.
At first, there were between 20-30 people waiting, but as it got later, and colder, and more beggars came around, that number dwindled to about 11. Public transportation here stops just after midnight, so some people had to leave because they wouldn't have a way home. Around 11:45, the pair finally exited the building, having already endured an after-show Meet & Greet and changed clothes. They were so nice, and signed autographs for us, and actually apologized to us for making us wait. Ultimately, it was worth enduring the dropping temps.
Phil and I were able to catch one of the last trains home, and made it there just after 1 a.m. I was still wound up from the exhilaration of having just watched one of my favorite bands LIVE...IN LONDON, so it was near 2:30 a.m. before I was able to sleep. My ankle was swollen and my legs were in pain from standing for nearly 6 hours straight, but it was a wonderful night. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
I'll give you a little bit of background info as to how I ultimately learned of this heavenly duo. On a random day last summer, I was channel surfing and landed on VH1's top 20 countdown. The video for the group's debut single, "Barton Hollow," started playing as soon as I put the remote down. It simply piqued my curiosity, so I watched the entire video, and decided to investigate further. I went to Amazon.com (WAY better than iTunes) and searched the album...I listened to the samples and decided to buy the album on a whim. That was one of the best decisions of my entire life (seriously--no hyperbole intended!) I've been hooked ever since. I became an instant stalker fan and checked out the band's website and added them to my list of "likes" on Facebook, and as soon as I saw the pre-sale come up for the UK tour, I jumped on the chance to see them live. Aannyyway...
I had to meet Phil after he finished work at 4:30, and I kind of felt like there would already be a line of people waiting to get in at that point, since the doors opened at 7:00. Fortunately for us, we arrived at the O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire to discover only 4 people sitting on the steps. Yessss! We were right in the front -- and I had floor tickets. Epic win.
We bide our time as the beggars stroll past, asking all of us for spare change, which we denied them. My accent became a conversation starter as one guy in front of us began to ask me where I was from and how I got here. From that point, our time was officially occupied by the four lovely people already waiting on the steps when we arrived. We had some laughs and some fun conversation, and as 7:00 approached, we saw the workers inside the venue prepare the doors for opening. We devised a plan to get to the front as quickly as possible since there was a rather large queue for the Stalls Standing area. I had a very swollen ankle from a clumsy incident the previous morning, so Phil decided he'd run on ahead and would save my spot since I was mildly handicapped. Needless to say, Phil made good on his promise. Our little group was able to snag the spots front and center, right up against the barrier.
The opening group, Matthew and the Atlas (I think) made their way to the stage just after 8:00. They were American, and were seriously invested in their music, but the few songs they managed to sing were sort of monotonous and mundane....and they all kind of sounded alike. I suppose everyone has to start somewhere, and they were a nice, 3-person group with a guitar, banjo, and violin, but they just weren't exciting.
FINALLY, Joy and John Paul emerge on stage. Joy is tiny, 6 months pregnant, and was sporting 4-inch strappy heels. John Paul has a great sense of humor. He kept asking us if we wanted to hear them play Iron Maiden...silly JP.
From the second they started their set, the chemistry was obvious. Their voices melodiously and harmoniously join together to create a sound that can only be described as music. The feeling I got when I heard them live could easily be compared to the feeling I get when I listen to Gregorian chants: complete serenity, like all is right in the world. They have this natural ability to play off each other...they don't even cue one another when they pause; they just KNOW when to start again. It's an insanely beautiful sight.
One of our new friends, Sam, asked if we were going to wait outside after the concert to try and get autographs. I haven't attended enough concerts to really know that was a possibility, and since the event ended just after 10:30, we thought we'd give it a go. Mind you, it was fuh-reezing outside, but it could potentially be worth it. One girl in our group managed to find a couple of discarded tickets on the floor inside, and gave me one so I could have it signed (all I had were my computer print-outs that had the barcodes torn off from entry.) I stopped to buy a t-shirt on the way out, of course.
At first, there were between 20-30 people waiting, but as it got later, and colder, and more beggars came around, that number dwindled to about 11. Public transportation here stops just after midnight, so some people had to leave because they wouldn't have a way home. Around 11:45, the pair finally exited the building, having already endured an after-show Meet & Greet and changed clothes. They were so nice, and signed autographs for us, and actually apologized to us for making us wait. Ultimately, it was worth enduring the dropping temps.
Phil and I were able to catch one of the last trains home, and made it there just after 1 a.m. I was still wound up from the exhilaration of having just watched one of my favorite bands LIVE...IN LONDON, so it was near 2:30 a.m. before I was able to sleep. My ankle was swollen and my legs were in pain from standing for nearly 6 hours straight, but it was a wonderful night. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Race Relations
I experienced my first brush with blatant racism today. I grew up in a relatively diverse environment, having attended elementary school and most of 6th grade in a well-mixed area. I've always been generally comfortable around people of different ethnicities, and was raised to be kind and open-minded, because everyone has their own story. I won't sit here and say I've been a saint, because everyone makes the occasional race-charged wisecrack -- or has at least laughed at a racial joke.
Phil and I were waiting at a bus stop to go to a grocery store this afternoon, and there were quite a few other people waiting, as well. London is a very diverse area, equivalent to NYC...there happened to be a Muslim woman and her two girls waiting for the bus, also. As the bus arrived, suddenly, this very dirty, scruffy, middle-aged man pushed his way to the front of the crowd and started talking to the Muslim woman (she was wearing the black headpiece that covered her whole face). I didn't hear what he said at first, but I did hear what he said last: "And I hope you're not a suicide bomber." I became paralyzed with shock, anger, hurt, and disappointment. My jaw dropped, and I muttered to Phil, "Oh my God." As we filed onto the bus, I immediately felt guilty for not speaking up and telling that guy what a piece of racist shit he was, but I was just frozen. I had never witnessed such audacity.
We carried on our journey, and I watched the guy as he stared a hole right through the lady the entire time he was on the bus. It was strange that they ended up sitting across the aisle from one another in the front of the bus, but both in window seats. If looks could kill, she'd have dropped dead before the bus made its first stop. Phil and I were near the back of the bus, but not so far back that I couldn't keep my ears on the scumbag. We finally got to his stop, and as the bus came to a halt, he slowly got up out of his seat, and as he walked toward the exit, started aggressively degrading her again. His speech was a little slurred, but I managed to catch the last of his sentence: "You're a cunt."
I became so angry, almost irate, and before I realized what I did, I yelled, "Hey, buddy! Why don't you FUCK OFF!" He looked at me and flipped me his middle finger as he exited the bus, and it was a good thing I was in a window seat with Phil on the outside, because I'd have been liable to get up and chase after him and give him a good solid earful. Some of the other passengers turned to look at me, to see where this American voice came from. Phil grabbed my leg and turned to me, wide-eyed and in shock, and said, "Robin, calm down, calm down." I was shaking and tearing up, so appalled at the vicious hatred that man was so adamantly feeling. This poor woman was just trying to go to the store with her kids, and this ignorant douche bag had to feel like he was King of the Patriot Castle and openly defame her in public. After I had said what I said, one of the two girls kind of giggled and dropped her jaw, and I heard her ask if anyone heard what I said. Phil jokingly said, "That's the difference between America and England." I just couldn't keep my mouth shut twice. Had I not been so frozen the first time, that moron would have been on the butt-end of a bollocking (as they'd say here in the UK.)
Speaking up instantly alleviated the earlier guilt I felt because I stood up for someone who needed standing up for. I took my first real stand against the racism that is so deadly to the human race. It wasn't a world-changing event, but in a way, I feel like I did my part today.
Phil and I were waiting at a bus stop to go to a grocery store this afternoon, and there were quite a few other people waiting, as well. London is a very diverse area, equivalent to NYC...there happened to be a Muslim woman and her two girls waiting for the bus, also. As the bus arrived, suddenly, this very dirty, scruffy, middle-aged man pushed his way to the front of the crowd and started talking to the Muslim woman (she was wearing the black headpiece that covered her whole face). I didn't hear what he said at first, but I did hear what he said last: "And I hope you're not a suicide bomber." I became paralyzed with shock, anger, hurt, and disappointment. My jaw dropped, and I muttered to Phil, "Oh my God." As we filed onto the bus, I immediately felt guilty for not speaking up and telling that guy what a piece of racist shit he was, but I was just frozen. I had never witnessed such audacity.
We carried on our journey, and I watched the guy as he stared a hole right through the lady the entire time he was on the bus. It was strange that they ended up sitting across the aisle from one another in the front of the bus, but both in window seats. If looks could kill, she'd have dropped dead before the bus made its first stop. Phil and I were near the back of the bus, but not so far back that I couldn't keep my ears on the scumbag. We finally got to his stop, and as the bus came to a halt, he slowly got up out of his seat, and as he walked toward the exit, started aggressively degrading her again. His speech was a little slurred, but I managed to catch the last of his sentence: "You're a cunt."
I became so angry, almost irate, and before I realized what I did, I yelled, "Hey, buddy! Why don't you FUCK OFF!" He looked at me and flipped me his middle finger as he exited the bus, and it was a good thing I was in a window seat with Phil on the outside, because I'd have been liable to get up and chase after him and give him a good solid earful. Some of the other passengers turned to look at me, to see where this American voice came from. Phil grabbed my leg and turned to me, wide-eyed and in shock, and said, "Robin, calm down, calm down." I was shaking and tearing up, so appalled at the vicious hatred that man was so adamantly feeling. This poor woman was just trying to go to the store with her kids, and this ignorant douche bag had to feel like he was King of the Patriot Castle and openly defame her in public. After I had said what I said, one of the two girls kind of giggled and dropped her jaw, and I heard her ask if anyone heard what I said. Phil jokingly said, "That's the difference between America and England." I just couldn't keep my mouth shut twice. Had I not been so frozen the first time, that moron would have been on the butt-end of a bollocking (as they'd say here in the UK.)
Speaking up instantly alleviated the earlier guilt I felt because I stood up for someone who needed standing up for. I took my first real stand against the racism that is so deadly to the human race. It wasn't a world-changing event, but in a way, I feel like I did my part today.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Status Quo
I don't know what's come over me today, but I've become rather introspective about some pretty mundane things: wallets, sugar, and school.
I was out and about today doing some grocery shopping, my mind begins to wander, and the planner in me begins to think of things I can give Phil as a gift for various occasions. I started to think of buying him a new wallet, because his is pretty well used up, and I realized how small in size his wallet is. I don't mean the size of his wad of cash...I literally mean the size of his actual wallet. Then I started thinking of my dad's and brother's wallets, American men's wallets in general, and I realized how much bigger American wallets are. All of a sudden, I heard the light bulb click on. It became apparent to me that wallets, in America, are made as a status symbol. Sort of the mantra that the size of the wallet measures the size of the man; wallets in London are made practically -- they're small so it's more difficult to be pick-pocketed, a definite reality here. That's a pretty interesting notion if you really think about it.
If you've kept up with me, you know that I've gloated a little bit on my recent weight loss and overall great feeling of health and welfare. I bought my first pair of skinny jeans today, because for the first time in a really long time, I don't see a giant mammoth whale when I look in the mirror.
I made myself a fruit salad -- a recipe that my mom used since I was a kid: mandarin orange segments, pineapple chunks, shredded cheddar cheese, marshmallows, and whipped cream. I immediately knew something wasn't right when I took the first bite: the oranges were bitter, not sweet. Then I remembered that the peas I had with last night's dinner weren't sweet, either. Again, I heard the light bulb click. It donned on me that fruit isn't canned in syrup, it's canned in plain juice, so the extra sweetness isn't there. Nothing here has added sugar, except for maybe Coke, and even that's less sugar than the American flavor. I never really examined how much sugar (of any form) is in American food, until I couldn't eat American food anymore. That's when I made the connection of diet to exercise. I'm not really dieting; I'm just not ingesting as much sugar. And I'm not really exercising; I just have no choice other than to walk everywhere. It really gave me a new meaning on the term "lifestyle change."
Phil's oldest son had parent-teacher conferences tonight. I had the pleasure of tagging along since Owen's mom couldn't make it (she works at a different school,) and as a teacher, it was an interesting experience. First of all, the building was so cool...brick walls inside...so rustic. As we walked through the front doors, I noticed a quote on the wall. It was from Henry David Thoreau. Even cooler: an American author quoted in an English school. Later on, I noticed a quote from Mark Twain. Sweet.
Anyway, back to the topic. I did sit in on one conference (appropriately, the English teacher's), and right away noticed a major difference: schools here do not grade for effort or participation. They grade for accuracy. It is actually against the school guidelines for a teacher to increase a grade based on effort -- that's how kids in Kentucky survive school!! The standards here are extremely high throughout. Phil's son is 14 and has already read Frankenstein and Macbeth. It really opened my eyes up as to how much we let our kids get by with. We're scared to push them because we don't like to see them squirm, but in reality, students only excel when they're challenged and given high expectations. The parental involvement blew me away, as well. I saw more parents there than I ever did at any parent-teacher conference I had to endure. Not even just in attendance..but the parents were actually talking with the teachers, not just listening and nodding their heads or defending their kid who is failing, yet "can do no wrong." Teachers are respected and have clout here, which makes me think their job is just a little bit easier because they're allowed to be confident in their position and they're allowed to do their job.
Today, the lifestyle of this city really started to sink in. I knew things would be different, because no two places in the world are the same, but I never understood that reality until now. It's a very cool place to be.
I was out and about today doing some grocery shopping, my mind begins to wander, and the planner in me begins to think of things I can give Phil as a gift for various occasions. I started to think of buying him a new wallet, because his is pretty well used up, and I realized how small in size his wallet is. I don't mean the size of his wad of cash...I literally mean the size of his actual wallet. Then I started thinking of my dad's and brother's wallets, American men's wallets in general, and I realized how much bigger American wallets are. All of a sudden, I heard the light bulb click on. It became apparent to me that wallets, in America, are made as a status symbol. Sort of the mantra that the size of the wallet measures the size of the man; wallets in London are made practically -- they're small so it's more difficult to be pick-pocketed, a definite reality here. That's a pretty interesting notion if you really think about it.
If you've kept up with me, you know that I've gloated a little bit on my recent weight loss and overall great feeling of health and welfare. I bought my first pair of skinny jeans today, because for the first time in a really long time, I don't see a giant mammoth whale when I look in the mirror.
I made myself a fruit salad -- a recipe that my mom used since I was a kid: mandarin orange segments, pineapple chunks, shredded cheddar cheese, marshmallows, and whipped cream. I immediately knew something wasn't right when I took the first bite: the oranges were bitter, not sweet. Then I remembered that the peas I had with last night's dinner weren't sweet, either. Again, I heard the light bulb click. It donned on me that fruit isn't canned in syrup, it's canned in plain juice, so the extra sweetness isn't there. Nothing here has added sugar, except for maybe Coke, and even that's less sugar than the American flavor. I never really examined how much sugar (of any form) is in American food, until I couldn't eat American food anymore. That's when I made the connection of diet to exercise. I'm not really dieting; I'm just not ingesting as much sugar. And I'm not really exercising; I just have no choice other than to walk everywhere. It really gave me a new meaning on the term "lifestyle change."
Phil's oldest son had parent-teacher conferences tonight. I had the pleasure of tagging along since Owen's mom couldn't make it (she works at a different school,) and as a teacher, it was an interesting experience. First of all, the building was so cool...brick walls inside...so rustic. As we walked through the front doors, I noticed a quote on the wall. It was from Henry David Thoreau. Even cooler: an American author quoted in an English school. Later on, I noticed a quote from Mark Twain. Sweet.
Anyway, back to the topic. I did sit in on one conference (appropriately, the English teacher's), and right away noticed a major difference: schools here do not grade for effort or participation. They grade for accuracy. It is actually against the school guidelines for a teacher to increase a grade based on effort -- that's how kids in Kentucky survive school!! The standards here are extremely high throughout. Phil's son is 14 and has already read Frankenstein and Macbeth. It really opened my eyes up as to how much we let our kids get by with. We're scared to push them because we don't like to see them squirm, but in reality, students only excel when they're challenged and given high expectations. The parental involvement blew me away, as well. I saw more parents there than I ever did at any parent-teacher conference I had to endure. Not even just in attendance..but the parents were actually talking with the teachers, not just listening and nodding their heads or defending their kid who is failing, yet "can do no wrong." Teachers are respected and have clout here, which makes me think their job is just a little bit easier because they're allowed to be confident in their position and they're allowed to do their job.
Today, the lifestyle of this city really started to sink in. I knew things would be different, because no two places in the world are the same, but I never understood that reality until now. It's a very cool place to be.
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