After my awesome night at the Delirium bar in Brussels, where they claim to have 2004 available beers (this number is terribly over inflated, but they still have more than you can imagine) it was back to the hotel. Luckily I'd met an awesome couple from San Francisco who were also enjoying the fruits of belgian farmers and laborers in fermented form. They were staying in a hotel close to my own and so we three set off back toward our respective hotels. Along the way I saw some guys running around actin' a fool, but it was 3 AM, so I decided to join in. These guys were from DRC (not republic of the congo which is the home of at least one of cologne's lesbians) but the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I wondered what they were doing in Belgium, given Belgium's less than spectacular recent history with that region of the world, but nonetheless, they were running around like idiots, and at least half a dozen brilliantly good, highly alcoholic beers, and a pari of new friends later, I decided that it was a good idea for me to also join in the fun! So I made a joke about the one guy who tripped and allowed his pursuers to catch him. I think I said something to the effect of "He's not ethiopian, he's slow." Although it's possible I said "he's retarded." They thought that was funny. Maybe it's because I called the guy who could clearly kick my ass retarded, or maybe because they were all drunk too, or maybe because I'm retarded. Any way you look at it, fun is sure to happen next!
So they saw a nice american girl who was clearly not afraid of them and they flirted with her a bit, she smacked their asses and made more jokes about them, although in english, so I'm not sure they were understood. We 8 walked and talked for a bit and then alas we all parted ways. The Congolese to the right, the couple to the left, and myself straight ahead. I got to the hotel around 3:30 AM and there was a guy standing outside saying "it's blocked." He was saying this in French, and my french is extremely limited, so I asked him what was happening. His English is extremely limited and he told he "it's no possible. Blocked." He was the hotel night attendant and had managed to lock himself out. I asked where he was from and he said algeria, so I had to fumble badly through arabic and french to procure what had happened. In the meantime a couple from Spain came along, and while they claim to speak english, I think they only understand english. Basically their english is about twice as good as the normal chicagoan's spanish. They were, of course, really upset by the situation. I had to hear about how in Spain this situation would have been rectified quickly, etc.
It was not very fun.
Basically what had happened was that the night attendant was careless, took out some garbage and the sliding doors shut behind him. Of course, from the hours of 10PM-6AM those doors lock automatically. This dude is a total newb. Anyway, I got tired of hearing him trying to call people in the middle of the night and the spaniards (rightly) complaining. I was not really in the mood for conversation as I wanted water and sleep. I couldn't get water, as everything was closed, and I had no bathroom access, so the best I could do was sleep. So I found a nice little spot between two cars parked in the closest parking lot, put my jacket down on the concrete and drifted off to "paradise." I slept about an hour, which is how long I was told it would take for someone to show up. Of course, having dealt with middle easterners and arabs a lot during my life, I knew that was just a number given to us to placate us and assuage us. And so it was, 5:30 in the morning, still locked out. The sun was already coming up and so I took a gander at the nice quiet streets of brussels near my hotel. Finally at 5:55AM I got into the hotel, someone inside had awoken and came downstairs and so we four were let in. I got to bed at 6. Woke up at noon. I got no apology and compensation at all, just an explanation in french that the night attendant had locked himself out. Lame. But, for what it's worth, the hotel was cheap, in a great location, and I'd probably stay there again, but would be a bit more cautious when returning.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
A short trip to Belgium
Being in southwest Germany, it is in fact a moral obligation to go to beer mecca. No, I don't mean Oregon, California, Washington, or Colorado. I mean Belgium. Basically, everyone (except Germans) know that Belgium makes the world's best and most unique (native) styles and beers. For goodness sake, I named one of my cats after a brewery in Belgium. I have not been to Belgium since I was able to drink or liked beer. So, if I didn't make it this time, I would be more than remiss. In fact, I would be a bad person, and in need of seeking absolution from the beer gods.
So I went. From Cologne it's really not very far. About 1.5 hour train ride including crossing a border. I got to Brussels, with only one day to spend and didn't even have a hotel booked. So I stepped off the train, with no map, no hotel, and no knowledge of brussels except a few travel articles I'd read and a fervid love of all things ale. First of all, however, I decided a little sightseeing would be in order. I got into Brussels central train station and walked out acting as if I knew what the hell I was doing and found the main cathedral. So I walked about 250m to the cathedral and checked it out. I love stepping into cathedrals. They are always beautiful, impressive, and usually well temperature controlled, as well as quiet. If you need a break from wherever you are, step into one. They are nice. Sadly for me, before I had enough time to orient myself, it was 6PM and I had to leave the cathedral. It was hot outside. Brussels, is known for being cold and rainy, and for the two days I was there, wouldn't you know it... It was upper 80s and sunny! The beer gods had smiled on me. I set out to look for a place to sleep. Before that, however, I decided to get a crepe and a beer. Orval at the little creperie. This must be heaven! I sat down in a park and picked up someone's unlocked internet connection long enough to search out a couple small B&B places and set out to stay in one of them. Some of them no longer exist, don't rent in the summer season (because the owners are elsewhere I suspect), or are full. Finally I found one. It was a nice cheap €45/night and I took it. I had my own private bathroom and was conveniently located for walking anywhere in central brussels.
I went to my room long enough to shower and look at a map. Enough time there, I have some beer to drink, and mussels to eat! A quick stop by the Mannekin Pis (little pissing boy) and then toward the Delirium Bar! I found the Delirium bar and saw that it is open until 4AM everyday and decided eating a huge pot of mussels would be a good idea before indulging in what would promise to be a very long night. In Central brussels, there is a small district replete with seafood restuarants, each serving shellfish towers, mussels, frites, and lots of beer.
A quick aside, I was shocked that every little kiosk and convenience store in Brussels sells nearly 100 varieties of beer. Brussels only has two functional breweries left. In the greater area, of course there are more, but every little shop in brussels sells as many as they can possibly stock on their shelves.
I went to one of the closer food stalls (restaurants if you like) and ordered burgundy snails and a pot of mussels in white wine. The snails were slightly overcooked and a touch rubbery, but that butter sauce was to die for! The pot of mussels was like ordering mussels for 3. I couldn't even finish the mussels themselves, forget the frites. I did eat some of the frites because they are delicious, but only a couple. I had to save room for the beer! Finally I made my way to the delirium bar, which was utterly overrun with foreign tourists smoking and having a grand old time out in the alley, but I waited it out. I found my niche and was able to mostly disguise the fact that I'm an american by ordering beers that the bartenders had trouble finding. I was proud of that. The rest of the night, that a story for another entry...
So I went. From Cologne it's really not very far. About 1.5 hour train ride including crossing a border. I got to Brussels, with only one day to spend and didn't even have a hotel booked. So I stepped off the train, with no map, no hotel, and no knowledge of brussels except a few travel articles I'd read and a fervid love of all things ale. First of all, however, I decided a little sightseeing would be in order. I got into Brussels central train station and walked out acting as if I knew what the hell I was doing and found the main cathedral. So I walked about 250m to the cathedral and checked it out. I love stepping into cathedrals. They are always beautiful, impressive, and usually well temperature controlled, as well as quiet. If you need a break from wherever you are, step into one. They are nice. Sadly for me, before I had enough time to orient myself, it was 6PM and I had to leave the cathedral. It was hot outside. Brussels, is known for being cold and rainy, and for the two days I was there, wouldn't you know it... It was upper 80s and sunny! The beer gods had smiled on me. I set out to look for a place to sleep. Before that, however, I decided to get a crepe and a beer. Orval at the little creperie. This must be heaven! I sat down in a park and picked up someone's unlocked internet connection long enough to search out a couple small B&B places and set out to stay in one of them. Some of them no longer exist, don't rent in the summer season (because the owners are elsewhere I suspect), or are full. Finally I found one. It was a nice cheap €45/night and I took it. I had my own private bathroom and was conveniently located for walking anywhere in central brussels.
I went to my room long enough to shower and look at a map. Enough time there, I have some beer to drink, and mussels to eat! A quick stop by the Mannekin Pis (little pissing boy) and then toward the Delirium Bar! I found the Delirium bar and saw that it is open until 4AM everyday and decided eating a huge pot of mussels would be a good idea before indulging in what would promise to be a very long night. In Central brussels, there is a small district replete with seafood restuarants, each serving shellfish towers, mussels, frites, and lots of beer.
A quick aside, I was shocked that every little kiosk and convenience store in Brussels sells nearly 100 varieties of beer. Brussels only has two functional breweries left. In the greater area, of course there are more, but every little shop in brussels sells as many as they can possibly stock on their shelves.
I went to one of the closer food stalls (restaurants if you like) and ordered burgundy snails and a pot of mussels in white wine. The snails were slightly overcooked and a touch rubbery, but that butter sauce was to die for! The pot of mussels was like ordering mussels for 3. I couldn't even finish the mussels themselves, forget the frites. I did eat some of the frites because they are delicious, but only a couple. I had to save room for the beer! Finally I made my way to the delirium bar, which was utterly overrun with foreign tourists smoking and having a grand old time out in the alley, but I waited it out. I found my niche and was able to mostly disguise the fact that I'm an american by ordering beers that the bartenders had trouble finding. I was proud of that. The rest of the night, that a story for another entry...
Hilden
After just a little over a week in Köln, Nasim's apartment lease was up and she'd rented an apartment in a town named Hilden. It's just outside Düsseldorf, but on the Köln side on things. Quite convenient if you ask me. First of all, it will force me to learn a bit more German as people in Hilden are far less likely to speak English than those in the major cities. Second, the trains to either major city are frequent and relatively cheap. I should also mention, the trains are fast and efficient. I quite like it so far, but it seems a bit isolated. Things do close early, and there isn't a large culinary selection, but everything is within walking distance, and the apartment is on the "far south" side of town, meaning city center is 15 minutes by foot. I wish I could find a brewery that serves a big bold beer that pairs well with indian or turkish food. I think I'm going to have a hard time with that in Hilden. But I just need to keep reminding myself that two major cities are less than an hour away by train.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Leg two of Beer Pilgrimage: Complete
As I may have mentioned a few (hundred) times before, I don't really love Kölsch beers. However, learning a few interesting facts about them recently, has allowed me not to be so harsh. Asking around I had heard or several brauhuas operations that produce and sell Kölsch on tap in Cologne. Being a beer with a PDO I had to find one. After catching up on my missed episode of Masterchef (USA) (it's totally a guilty pleasure) and seeing all the delicious pork dishes Nasim and I had a hankerin' for some (how can I say anything in this line that isn't an obvious "that's what she said" joke or completely unapologetic sex euphemism?) pork.
We had met up earlier that evening with some of Nasim's friends in Cologne and some of their visitors as well. They were traveling the next morning, and so they left us to our own devices early on.
After wandering around a bit we magically stumbled upon Päffgen. This is supposedly the best Kölsch beer brewed in Cologne. Lucky for us, the kitchen was still open
(Ist der Köche offen? - best I could muster) and the beer was flowing.
Pork, Potatoes, and fresh Kölsch from the tap at the brewery, yes please! It was awesome. I drank 4 (little glasses) which is more than I can say I've ever drunk any beer that I "don't like." After all was said and done I'd had slightly less than two pints, a good warm-up, but alas the night was over. I enjoyed that beer greatly. The brauhaus, however, really made the experience wonderful (of course I had nice company too). The main hall is how the vikings described heaven. A huge old wooden room, with long tables and gentile folk happily eating large plates of delicious heavy food, and sipping endlessly from glasses of beer. And, of course, if you're in Cologne and you don't cover your glass with your coaster, you're surely getting another!
We had met up earlier that evening with some of Nasim's friends in Cologne and some of their visitors as well. They were traveling the next morning, and so they left us to our own devices early on.
After wandering around a bit we magically stumbled upon Päffgen. This is supposedly the best Kölsch beer brewed in Cologne. Lucky for us, the kitchen was still open
(Ist der Köche offen? - best I could muster) and the beer was flowing.
Pork, Potatoes, and fresh Kölsch from the tap at the brewery, yes please! It was awesome. I drank 4 (little glasses) which is more than I can say I've ever drunk any beer that I "don't like." After all was said and done I'd had slightly less than two pints, a good warm-up, but alas the night was over. I enjoyed that beer greatly. The brauhaus, however, really made the experience wonderful (of course I had nice company too). The main hall is how the vikings described heaven. A huge old wooden room, with long tables and gentile folk happily eating large plates of delicious heavy food, and sipping endlessly from glasses of beer. And, of course, if you're in Cologne and you don't cover your glass with your coaster, you're surely getting another!
Party at the JunkYard
I haven't partied with 18-21 year-olds that hard since I was about 18 myself. While in Cologne, Nasim had made a few friends. Most of them international, but a few Germans as well. One friend called up on a Wednesday and said there is a party tonight. I said "great, let's go." As the hour came closer and closer, things got murkier and murkier. I didn't know where the party was. The guy who'd invited us, didn't exactly know where it was, who hosted it, the time, or anything that you might expect from someone who'd invited you to a party. This had trouble written all over it.
Our initial plan was to meet at 8. We ended up meeting up around 9 and I still wasn't told where we were going. Unlike India, Germany is not exactly a place where you simply go when someone says, let's go. Germans are far too organized for that. I was eventually told that we needed to take a train from the main train station. What the hell was the point of meeting at the main train station at 8 then? Argh! I was getting irritated. After we took the train, I heard we were going to Pascha. In case this word is unfamiliar to you, Pascha is the name of the big disco in Ibiza. The european party capital. It appears that many European cities in fact have a place called Pascha. Even in Chennai, there is an embarrassing attempt to replicate a Pascha. In Germany, of course it's a three-story strip club and disco and restaurant. Whatever...
So the party wasn't at Pascha. Although, I guess it was nice to walk by and see pictures of topless women on the way. The party, it turns out, was a "public" party. I have no idea what that means still, but that night it meant paying an entrance fee. I'm generally opposed to going places that charge covers, but this seemed a bit different. If nothing else it would be a good story!
The "party" was completely bizarre. I'm not certain, but my guess is that I was the oldest person in attendance, including security, DJs, bartenders, and attendees. We ended up in an enormous junkyard across the road from Pascha with about 1200 teenagers and early 20 somethings. Everywhere we turned was some "trash-sculpture." I don't mean that the art itself was bad, but rather made from trash. The toilets were an interesting situation. They were up on a platform and paid entrance. Additionally, we had to buy tickets to buy beer or shots of the ubiquitous and ever-popular jagermeister... Teenagers and early twenty somethings are a bunch of lightweights. Rather, they know NOTHING about pacing or hydrating. I also think early twenty-somethings expect to act drunk if in fact they are drunk. Whereas, I know that if you really want to get drunk, make sure nobody thinks it's time to cut you off!
In any case, we did some dancing, and heard some euro-techno and some bad hip-hop and some goth-rock. It was unusual to say the least. Come to find out this place is a gallery or something for a sculptor named Odo Rumpf.
Our initial plan was to meet at 8. We ended up meeting up around 9 and I still wasn't told where we were going. Unlike India, Germany is not exactly a place where you simply go when someone says, let's go. Germans are far too organized for that. I was eventually told that we needed to take a train from the main train station. What the hell was the point of meeting at the main train station at 8 then? Argh! I was getting irritated. After we took the train, I heard we were going to Pascha. In case this word is unfamiliar to you, Pascha is the name of the big disco in Ibiza. The european party capital. It appears that many European cities in fact have a place called Pascha. Even in Chennai, there is an embarrassing attempt to replicate a Pascha. In Germany, of course it's a three-story strip club and disco and restaurant. Whatever...
So the party wasn't at Pascha. Although, I guess it was nice to walk by and see pictures of topless women on the way. The party, it turns out, was a "public" party. I have no idea what that means still, but that night it meant paying an entrance fee. I'm generally opposed to going places that charge covers, but this seemed a bit different. If nothing else it would be a good story!
The "party" was completely bizarre. I'm not certain, but my guess is that I was the oldest person in attendance, including security, DJs, bartenders, and attendees. We ended up in an enormous junkyard across the road from Pascha with about 1200 teenagers and early 20 somethings. Everywhere we turned was some "trash-sculpture." I don't mean that the art itself was bad, but rather made from trash. The toilets were an interesting situation. They were up on a platform and paid entrance. Additionally, we had to buy tickets to buy beer or shots of the ubiquitous and ever-popular jagermeister... Teenagers and early twenty somethings are a bunch of lightweights. Rather, they know NOTHING about pacing or hydrating. I also think early twenty-somethings expect to act drunk if in fact they are drunk. Whereas, I know that if you really want to get drunk, make sure nobody thinks it's time to cut you off!
In any case, we did some dancing, and heard some euro-techno and some bad hip-hop and some goth-rock. It was unusual to say the least. Come to find out this place is a gallery or something for a sculptor named Odo Rumpf.
Black Swan v. Old Brown Dog
While staying in Velbert with more family I found a new friend. His name is Milo and he's an enormous brown dog. His owner/keeper told me he "weighs" 58 kilos. Which "translates" to 128 pounds. Sadly, since his family had a baby, he hasn't been able to get as much attention as he wants. He sits with his frowny puppy face at the window looking in on the children playing. From what I'm told, he gets along really well with the children, but he's enormous and the baby is small. The family rightly understands that this dog could eat their child. Anyway, Milo stays outside and doesn't get as much attention as he probably should. I should note, that he is fact a well cared for dog. He's very healthy and the family loves him, but he COULD eat their baby.
Anyway, as I get bored a little hanging out with middle eastern folks for hours and hours on end waiting for nothing to happen and not being able to converse because I don't speak any middle eastern langauges (except enough arabic to get myself into trouble). So I asked if I could take Milo for a walk. Of course, he went nuts, he started jumping on me. Nearly 130 pounds is heavy when a dog is fast and can jump really high. Anyway, I calmed him down for 3 second, enough to get his leash on, so he wouldn't run off, or if so at least he'd simply be dragging me.
As we started down the road, it was drizzling, but Milo was so excited; he was smelling stuff and peeing on things. Good dag activities. Of course, he was nearly dragging me. Forget that I significantly outweigh him; in every other athletic category he's a lot stronger. So I went along for a walk. Had I had roller skates, it would have been a dandy morning jaunt. Just a few hundred meters (or yards is you prefer) down the road there was a little fenced in area where ostensibly birds come to bathe in a man made pond, and have a quiet area where people and dogs won't bother them. Sitting in the pen was a large black swan. At first Milo saw the bird and walked away. He made a little detour to the other side of the road so as to not have a confrontation. This bird I should mention was probably only 20 to 30 pounds. Yes, Huge for a bird, but not very big compared to the dog. I thought it was rather amusing, but Milo seemed to think less of it.
So we went for a little stroll further, beautiful community gardens with a very German feel. In fact, it looked more like a series of cottages with lawns, except that the cottages were small storage spaces and the lawns were flower and vegetable gardens. Velbert, it bears mentioning, is an extraordinarily wealthy little community. Think Winnetka to Chicago is like Velbert to Düsseldorf.
As we turned around to head back toward the house the mood of the walk changed from Milo dragging me to me dragging Milo. I discovered for a third time that day how strong a 130-pound dog can be. Surely enough we passed the swan again. This time as Milo was lagging behind he saw the swan take an interest in me and so Milo thought he'd check out the bird. Luckily, the two were separated by a fence, which I believe was high enough that Milo couldn't jump over it without a dog trampoline. As soon as Milo came close, the swan quickly turned its attention to the dog. A showdown began!
They stared each other down for nearly half a minute. When Milo finally moved, he approached the bird (probably to make sense of the bizarre smell of this bizarre creature) the swan responded by perching up, sending his neck straight and head high, puffed his chest, opened his wings slightly, and angled his head down directly at Milo. I have to say, it was intimidating. Intimidating enough, indeed, to make Milo put his tail between his legs and walk away without a nice goose dinner. Now that's what I call excitement!
Anyway, as I get bored a little hanging out with middle eastern folks for hours and hours on end waiting for nothing to happen and not being able to converse because I don't speak any middle eastern langauges (except enough arabic to get myself into trouble). So I asked if I could take Milo for a walk. Of course, he went nuts, he started jumping on me. Nearly 130 pounds is heavy when a dog is fast and can jump really high. Anyway, I calmed him down for 3 second, enough to get his leash on, so he wouldn't run off, or if so at least he'd simply be dragging me.
As we started down the road, it was drizzling, but Milo was so excited; he was smelling stuff and peeing on things. Good dag activities. Of course, he was nearly dragging me. Forget that I significantly outweigh him; in every other athletic category he's a lot stronger. So I went along for a walk. Had I had roller skates, it would have been a dandy morning jaunt. Just a few hundred meters (or yards is you prefer) down the road there was a little fenced in area where ostensibly birds come to bathe in a man made pond, and have a quiet area where people and dogs won't bother them. Sitting in the pen was a large black swan. At first Milo saw the bird and walked away. He made a little detour to the other side of the road so as to not have a confrontation. This bird I should mention was probably only 20 to 30 pounds. Yes, Huge for a bird, but not very big compared to the dog. I thought it was rather amusing, but Milo seemed to think less of it.
So we went for a little stroll further, beautiful community gardens with a very German feel. In fact, it looked more like a series of cottages with lawns, except that the cottages were small storage spaces and the lawns were flower and vegetable gardens. Velbert, it bears mentioning, is an extraordinarily wealthy little community. Think Winnetka to Chicago is like Velbert to Düsseldorf.
As we turned around to head back toward the house the mood of the walk changed from Milo dragging me to me dragging Milo. I discovered for a third time that day how strong a 130-pound dog can be. Surely enough we passed the swan again. This time as Milo was lagging behind he saw the swan take an interest in me and so Milo thought he'd check out the bird. Luckily, the two were separated by a fence, which I believe was high enough that Milo couldn't jump over it without a dog trampoline. As soon as Milo came close, the swan quickly turned its attention to the dog. A showdown began!
They stared each other down for nearly half a minute. When Milo finally moved, he approached the bird (probably to make sense of the bizarre smell of this bizarre creature) the swan responded by perching up, sending his neck straight and head high, puffed his chest, opened his wings slightly, and angled his head down directly at Milo. I have to say, it was intimidating. Intimidating enough, indeed, to make Milo put his tail between his legs and walk away without a nice goose dinner. Now that's what I call excitement!
Gay City Cologne
I had heard before setting foot in Cologne that it is Germany's "gay capital." I haven't seen it too much, perhaps it's because it doesn't phase me like it used to. Although, it's also possible that I'm not looking for it or that the distinction might be a bit overblown, or that all the gays have gone on a magical vacation for summer to some much nicer warmed place, while Germany is cold like October (and no Oktoberfest beers either).
Over the last few days, however, I have been noticing some "activity." I think what has happened is that I got out of the hipster neighborhoods and went to old city and a few parks, and nicer areas slightly off the tourist path(s). I have also noticed that in comparison with lesbians there are very few gay male couples. Sure I've seen a half dozen or so (3 in the same park on the same day), but not as many as lesbians.
Sadly, my German language skills are not quite up to snuff enough to ask about being a homosexual in Europe. I think it's entirely a good thing when a society is open enough to have "deviants" (more on that later) accepted in its masses. The statistics in the United States show overwhelmingly that gay male couples do far more for their communities at large than their straight counterparts. (Pardon me for not citing exact references, but I can look them up for the interested reader, of which I think there might be one.) Nonetheless, I find the people in Cologne to be overall very friendly and I think this is related to two things:
1) Dom is awesome
2) It gained the reputation of gay capital for being a tolerant city.
I find Kölners don't begrudge me for not speaking German, and are usually happy to volunteer info about their city. They are also happy to volunteer their opinion that Düsseldorf sucks. I respectfully disagree, but it seems to be more like a Portland-Seattle rivalry. I'm not picking sides just yet.
The people of Cologne love their city, and I think they have a lot to love. I'm at least that happy with Chicago, but I know I'd be even happier if gay couples were just an accepted part of normal society. I will save the Republicans for gay marriage and adoption rant for later as well as most of my political musings which essentially interest only a handful of unfortunate souls.
Over the last few days, however, I have been noticing some "activity." I think what has happened is that I got out of the hipster neighborhoods and went to old city and a few parks, and nicer areas slightly off the tourist path(s). I have also noticed that in comparison with lesbians there are very few gay male couples. Sure I've seen a half dozen or so (3 in the same park on the same day), but not as many as lesbians.
Sadly, my German language skills are not quite up to snuff enough to ask about being a homosexual in Europe. I think it's entirely a good thing when a society is open enough to have "deviants" (more on that later) accepted in its masses. The statistics in the United States show overwhelmingly that gay male couples do far more for their communities at large than their straight counterparts. (Pardon me for not citing exact references, but I can look them up for the interested reader, of which I think there might be one.) Nonetheless, I find the people in Cologne to be overall very friendly and I think this is related to two things:
1) Dom is awesome
2) It gained the reputation of gay capital for being a tolerant city.
I find Kölners don't begrudge me for not speaking German, and are usually happy to volunteer info about their city. They are also happy to volunteer their opinion that Düsseldorf sucks. I respectfully disagree, but it seems to be more like a Portland-Seattle rivalry. I'm not picking sides just yet.
The people of Cologne love their city, and I think they have a lot to love. I'm at least that happy with Chicago, but I know I'd be even happier if gay couples were just an accepted part of normal society. I will save the Republicans for gay marriage and adoption rant for later as well as most of my political musings which essentially interest only a handful of unfortunate souls.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Kölner Dom
Cologne's Cathedral is impressive. It's super-duper impressive. I was just in New York a few weeks ago and had the chance to visit the Cathedral of St. John the Divine up near Harlem, which is supposedly the largest (physical) church in the United States.*
That is, a church that was built as a church and not the monstrosity that is Joel Osteen's Houston Rockets former arena.
St. John the Divine is big, enormous, huge. It's far larger than the better known St. Patrick's cathedral, which of course belongs to the Catholic church. None of that matters. Dom is much larger. It reaches nearly 230ft in height, but what's far more impressive is that its construction was begun in the year A.D. 1248. Note, that is not a typo. As frequent as typos are in this blog, that year is not.
A.D. 1248
In the year of Our Lord Twelve Hundred and Forty Eight.
It wasn't fully completed until the 1800s. Wow!
I stepped inside just to have a gander. It is really something phenomenal. Honestly the most beautiful Gothic Cathedral I've ever seen. Just have a look at it's Wikipedia page Kölner Dom.
While this reveals some interesting history and facts and figures, the real thing is impressive. I want to climb up (inside) one of the spires soon. We were supposed to the other day, but got sidetracked by needing to return to meet the landlady mid afternoon.
Dom is such an important landmark and such a piece of the identity in Cologne that it is truly ubiquitous in this city. The zoo has worked it into its logo. There is a brand of beer called Dom Kölsch (a little sweet, but very pleasant, especially sitting in the grandeur of its namesake). The big musical theater/amphitheater is called the Cologne Dome. It's the site of the HauptBahnHof (main train station). Dom is everywhere in this city. It is used for all kinds of advertisements and having spoken to several Kölners now, it is apparent that they strongly identify with this landmark as part of their city. What's more, I've met a handful of people who have moved from other countries to Cologne in part because the cathedral this city such an identity.
Definitely worth seeing at least once!
That is, a church that was built as a church and not the monstrosity that is Joel Osteen's Houston Rockets former arena.
St. John the Divine is big, enormous, huge. It's far larger than the better known St. Patrick's cathedral, which of course belongs to the Catholic church. None of that matters. Dom is much larger. It reaches nearly 230ft in height, but what's far more impressive is that its construction was begun in the year A.D. 1248. Note, that is not a typo. As frequent as typos are in this blog, that year is not.
A.D. 1248
In the year of Our Lord Twelve Hundred and Forty Eight.
It wasn't fully completed until the 1800s. Wow!
I stepped inside just to have a gander. It is really something phenomenal. Honestly the most beautiful Gothic Cathedral I've ever seen. Just have a look at it's Wikipedia page Kölner Dom.
While this reveals some interesting history and facts and figures, the real thing is impressive. I want to climb up (inside) one of the spires soon. We were supposed to the other day, but got sidetracked by needing to return to meet the landlady mid afternoon.
Dom is such an important landmark and such a piece of the identity in Cologne that it is truly ubiquitous in this city. The zoo has worked it into its logo. There is a brand of beer called Dom Kölsch (a little sweet, but very pleasant, especially sitting in the grandeur of its namesake). The big musical theater/amphitheater is called the Cologne Dome. It's the site of the HauptBahnHof (main train station). Dom is everywhere in this city. It is used for all kinds of advertisements and having spoken to several Kölners now, it is apparent that they strongly identify with this landmark as part of their city. What's more, I've met a handful of people who have moved from other countries to Cologne in part because the cathedral this city such an identity.
Definitely worth seeing at least once!
Getting Setup in Germany
I need a phone and regular internet access. The phone is less crucial, but helpful since I have a handful of people here I'd like to contact; most of them from my time in India, and of course, my hostess.
I am, I admit it, far too fond of the interwebs. I love my email, writing this absurd blog, and playing kakuro. The phone thing is easy. Nasim had already bought me a SIM card. I just have to recharge it. As it it, I've only received one phone call, and no texts. The internet thing is slightly trickier. I suppose the US has these surf sticks, but I think more homes simply have internet access. It is apparently very common in Germany to have a surf-stick with a SIM card that gives internet access through the cell phone towers. It's kind of brilliant actually, especially for a traveler spending any significant time in one country. I only paid €19 for the stick, and I got 5 days free access. After that, it's just buying data. I think there is a monthly plan for something like €25. That's great, because I can surf on the trains now, go to coffee shop, wherever. If I need to look up something while traveling, I don't need to find someone with a smart phone, I've got my actual computer.
The rub comes in getting the Surf Stick. As you may be well aware, Germany is extremely organized and most people are either no nonsense or low nonsense when it comes to money or property or any sort of economic or security matter. In order to get a surf stick, this poor sale's guy had to fill out an inordinate amount of red tape which included filling out at least two pages worth of info on my passport, visa (luckily I don't need one in Germany), who sold me the device, the contract, etc... It took quite a while, in fact nearly half an hour just to hand me a surf stick and send me to the cashier. Yeesh. That's ok, I got it, and I'm online now.
I don't have a railpass or even a eurail pass, but I think it might be a good idea to get one for the month of august. It seems several big trips are coming up.
I am, I admit it, far too fond of the interwebs. I love my email, writing this absurd blog, and playing kakuro. The phone thing is easy. Nasim had already bought me a SIM card. I just have to recharge it. As it it, I've only received one phone call, and no texts. The internet thing is slightly trickier. I suppose the US has these surf sticks, but I think more homes simply have internet access. It is apparently very common in Germany to have a surf-stick with a SIM card that gives internet access through the cell phone towers. It's kind of brilliant actually, especially for a traveler spending any significant time in one country. I only paid €19 for the stick, and I got 5 days free access. After that, it's just buying data. I think there is a monthly plan for something like €25. That's great, because I can surf on the trains now, go to coffee shop, wherever. If I need to look up something while traveling, I don't need to find someone with a smart phone, I've got my actual computer.
The rub comes in getting the Surf Stick. As you may be well aware, Germany is extremely organized and most people are either no nonsense or low nonsense when it comes to money or property or any sort of economic or security matter. In order to get a surf stick, this poor sale's guy had to fill out an inordinate amount of red tape which included filling out at least two pages worth of info on my passport, visa (luckily I don't need one in Germany), who sold me the device, the contract, etc... It took quite a while, in fact nearly half an hour just to hand me a surf stick and send me to the cashier. Yeesh. That's ok, I got it, and I'm online now.
I don't have a railpass or even a eurail pass, but I think it might be a good idea to get one for the month of august. It seems several big trips are coming up.
First Kölsch Beers
First, a note about what Kölsch beers are exactly.
In order to properly be called a Kölsch beer in Europe, a beer must be made in the metropolitan area of Cologne. That is to say, this is a protected denomination beer, at least as far as Europe is concerned. It's quite light, a bit effervescent, pale in color, and top fermented.
I thought I knew a lot about beer, but the PDO bit and the top fermented bit surprised me. Basically, every beer made in Cologne is 4.8% alcohol. That's the way they do things here. Another fun thing here is that most Kölsch beers are served in little 0.2L glasses. If you want another, do nothing. If you want to stop, simply put you coaster on top of your glass. If you get another, the waitstaff will simply make a mark on your coaster. At the end of the night, they pick up your coaster, count the marks and multiply by €1.50.
As far as the beers go... I have to admit, Kölsch is probably my least favorite style of beer, whereas I really like Alt beer. Alt beer, it should be noted is from Düsseldorf, and the two cities really hate each other, despite being only 40 km apart.
Quick aside, Düsseldorf plays in the second league of Bundesliga, and Köln in the premier division. For a few years Köln was relegated and Düsseldorf was on their schedule. For the first match, the stadium completely sold out (a paltry 55,000 fans) and Köln had to hire 10,000 police on for the match specifically. Yoinks!
Anyway, back to the beer. I've only had a few true Kölsch beers in the states and they are all kind of bland. So I found that in Cologne there are over 50 different Kölsch beers brewed. I've been making my way through them kind of slowly. After less than a week, I'm kind of tired of them again, but I have found a few surprises.
Sion, is a bit sweet, but goes down nice and easy. I suppose on a hot day it would be even better. Mühlen is really shocking. It has light hints of tobacco and earthy flavors despite being as purely golden as the rest. Päffgen, is only served at the brewery, to my knowledge, and it the most highly rated Kölsch beer. I liked it, but it tastes a touch sour. Früh is too sweet, Reissdorf is too boring, Gilden is rather plain as well. There are several more and I will try them slowly but surely. At least they are light and served in small portions. If I don't really like it, I don't have much suffering and I also don't spend much money.
I will admit, however, that Kölsch beer is far better on tap, and I really want a hot day, so I can knock a couple back and experience them properly.
Other interesting Kölsch beer facts:
As I mentioned before Kölsch is top-fermented, technically making it an ale. It is then lagered for a short time to clean it up. So it's a bit of a hybrid style. Knowing that, it's exciting since it clearly predates the lager style brewing that has completely dominated germany for a couple hundred years. Also, a few Kölschs are brewed with wheat. This has only been allowed in Germany since 1913 when the Reinheitsgebot was revised (unmalted barley no longer allowed, yeast officially added to list of ingredients, cane sugar, and wheat are also allowed additives).
If a good hot day comes, I'll come on down to the brewing area and enjoy a few cold ones I hope.
In order to properly be called a Kölsch beer in Europe, a beer must be made in the metropolitan area of Cologne. That is to say, this is a protected denomination beer, at least as far as Europe is concerned. It's quite light, a bit effervescent, pale in color, and top fermented.
I thought I knew a lot about beer, but the PDO bit and the top fermented bit surprised me. Basically, every beer made in Cologne is 4.8% alcohol. That's the way they do things here. Another fun thing here is that most Kölsch beers are served in little 0.2L glasses. If you want another, do nothing. If you want to stop, simply put you coaster on top of your glass. If you get another, the waitstaff will simply make a mark on your coaster. At the end of the night, they pick up your coaster, count the marks and multiply by €1.50.
As far as the beers go... I have to admit, Kölsch is probably my least favorite style of beer, whereas I really like Alt beer. Alt beer, it should be noted is from Düsseldorf, and the two cities really hate each other, despite being only 40 km apart.
Quick aside, Düsseldorf plays in the second league of Bundesliga, and Köln in the premier division. For a few years Köln was relegated and Düsseldorf was on their schedule. For the first match, the stadium completely sold out (a paltry 55,000 fans) and Köln had to hire 10,000 police on for the match specifically. Yoinks!
Anyway, back to the beer. I've only had a few true Kölsch beers in the states and they are all kind of bland. So I found that in Cologne there are over 50 different Kölsch beers brewed. I've been making my way through them kind of slowly. After less than a week, I'm kind of tired of them again, but I have found a few surprises.
Sion, is a bit sweet, but goes down nice and easy. I suppose on a hot day it would be even better. Mühlen is really shocking. It has light hints of tobacco and earthy flavors despite being as purely golden as the rest. Päffgen, is only served at the brewery, to my knowledge, and it the most highly rated Kölsch beer. I liked it, but it tastes a touch sour. Früh is too sweet, Reissdorf is too boring, Gilden is rather plain as well. There are several more and I will try them slowly but surely. At least they are light and served in small portions. If I don't really like it, I don't have much suffering and I also don't spend much money.
I will admit, however, that Kölsch beer is far better on tap, and I really want a hot day, so I can knock a couple back and experience them properly.
Other interesting Kölsch beer facts:
As I mentioned before Kölsch is top-fermented, technically making it an ale. It is then lagered for a short time to clean it up. So it's a bit of a hybrid style. Knowing that, it's exciting since it clearly predates the lager style brewing that has completely dominated germany for a couple hundred years. Also, a few Kölschs are brewed with wheat. This has only been allowed in Germany since 1913 when the Reinheitsgebot was revised (unmalted barley no longer allowed, yeast officially added to list of ingredients, cane sugar, and wheat are also allowed additives).
If a good hot day comes, I'll come on down to the brewing area and enjoy a few cold ones I hope.
Getting to Cologne
After our one-day Frankfurt adventure we wanted to get back to Nasim's apartment in Cologne, but if you've ever spent time with anyone from the middle-east you'll know that leaving isn't as easy as, "Thanks for the great time, see you later." You have to stay, and chat, and stay some more, and chat some more, and go through the pleasantries of trying to leave for a while. We had decided that after picking up from a party that we'd like to take the 4PM train back to Cologne. No such luck. Our host had decided that 4:30 PM was a good time for shisha (arguilleh, gheylan, hookah; as you like). So we stuck around for a bit, more rain, smoking a pipe that our host had so carefully prepared for his guests. Finally, we all agreed that the 7pm train was the right one. So our hosts drove us to the train station at 6:55pm. Yeesh. Very middle eastern.
We made the train and set off for Cologne. About 90 minutes later we'd arrived and Nasim showed me the apartment she only has for a few more days before moving to another one. She lives in a nice part of the city, just outside the main central district, close to the university, so there is plenty going on. She also had bought a few Kölsch beers for me to try and they were patiently waiting in the fridge for me when I arrived. That was pretty great. We set off for the local bar (literally down the street) and tried a couple beers, got harassed by an extremely drunk, extremely regular local who I suppose didn't like us intruding on his bar. The other people in the bar came to our rescue and pulled him outside while a few others gave us loads of suggestions about what to see and do in Cologne. Off to a propitious start methinks!
We made the train and set off for Cologne. About 90 minutes later we'd arrived and Nasim showed me the apartment she only has for a few more days before moving to another one. She lives in a nice part of the city, just outside the main central district, close to the university, so there is plenty going on. She also had bought a few Kölsch beers for me to try and they were patiently waiting in the fridge for me when I arrived. That was pretty great. We set off for the local bar (literally down the street) and tried a couple beers, got harassed by an extremely drunk, extremely regular local who I suppose didn't like us intruding on his bar. The other people in the bar came to our rescue and pulled him outside while a few others gave us loads of suggestions about what to see and do in Cologne. Off to a propitious start methinks!
First Activities in Frankfurt
We flew to Frankfurt and I was informed that we were attending a 30th birthday party. I thought, AWESOME! A German Party my first night in Germany! I came to find out, that this was not a German party at all, but a party of foreigners, mostly Iranians in Germany. There were, of course, a few Germans there, but they explained to me the differences in the party. First of all, at a German party, there is no Persian pop music. Second, German parties often have a much higher proportion of men. Third, a German party will NEVER run out of beer (this is capitol offense number one). Fourth, you will rarely see a party where most of the people don't drink.
Another rough spot for the evening was the presence of rain. It had rained everyday I was in England, and my first night in Germany it rained, hard. In fact, it got really cold as well. It was July 25, and I could see my breath in the air. It was cold rain in the dog days of summer. Apparently, I'm experiencing unusual weather in Europe. Mind you, I'm not at all shocked by this. Somehow I have the good (mis)fortune of experiencing strange weather while traveling. I think I even wrote two other entries about it.
Well, the party was fun. It was an interesting first day in germany. I was at an iranian 30th birthday party with iranian food, girly drinks, cold summer, and finding myself completely lacking in any German language tools. The police came beause someone else had called it in. Apparently, the area in which we were, is a foreigners area. Very few actual Germans live in the area where we were in Frankfurt. But the Polizei showed up. One was a guy who had a shaved head and was wearing a long braided ponytail in the back. He looked really disturbing, so I stayed out of that action. We all went inside to continue the party of dancing and drinking "Tequila" and smoking "cuban" cigars. I eventually smoked my first cigar. I have to say, I didn't really enjoy it. I was told that it was a Cuban cigar, and the lure of something so exotic and illegal as an American excited me. It turned out it was some shit cigar made in the EU. I don't even know where the tobacco came from. It tasted like someone had added a spice mixture to the tobacco. I couldn't taste anything after that for a while. Not exactly what I'd envisioned for a "cuban" cigar. However, I guess I'm still in the clear with the US government. I apparently didn't even come close to a cuban. It is my understanding, that I'm a lot closer (in physical proximity) to cuban cigars when I'm in major cities in America than I was that night.
After a short night's sleep we got up and began the process of recovering from a party. It was raining again and we had to pack up a party tent, picnic tables, and chairs. Collect all the bottles, glass and plastic, make sure all the trash was in its correct bin, and eat the leftovers which were soon to go bad. All in a Sunday afternoon post-party recovery. What a interesting introduction to Germany!
Another rough spot for the evening was the presence of rain. It had rained everyday I was in England, and my first night in Germany it rained, hard. In fact, it got really cold as well. It was July 25, and I could see my breath in the air. It was cold rain in the dog days of summer. Apparently, I'm experiencing unusual weather in Europe. Mind you, I'm not at all shocked by this. Somehow I have the good (mis)fortune of experiencing strange weather while traveling. I think I even wrote two other entries about it.
Well, the party was fun. It was an interesting first day in germany. I was at an iranian 30th birthday party with iranian food, girly drinks, cold summer, and finding myself completely lacking in any German language tools. The police came beause someone else had called it in. Apparently, the area in which we were, is a foreigners area. Very few actual Germans live in the area where we were in Frankfurt. But the Polizei showed up. One was a guy who had a shaved head and was wearing a long braided ponytail in the back. He looked really disturbing, so I stayed out of that action. We all went inside to continue the party of dancing and drinking "Tequila" and smoking "cuban" cigars. I eventually smoked my first cigar. I have to say, I didn't really enjoy it. I was told that it was a Cuban cigar, and the lure of something so exotic and illegal as an American excited me. It turned out it was some shit cigar made in the EU. I don't even know where the tobacco came from. It tasted like someone had added a spice mixture to the tobacco. I couldn't taste anything after that for a while. Not exactly what I'd envisioned for a "cuban" cigar. However, I guess I'm still in the clear with the US government. I apparently didn't even come close to a cuban. It is my understanding, that I'm a lot closer (in physical proximity) to cuban cigars when I'm in major cities in America than I was that night.
After a short night's sleep we got up and began the process of recovering from a party. It was raining again and we had to pack up a party tent, picnic tables, and chairs. Collect all the bottles, glass and plastic, make sure all the trash was in its correct bin, and eat the leftovers which were soon to go bad. All in a Sunday afternoon post-party recovery. What a interesting introduction to Germany!
The US Foreign Service
Finally it was time to leave the old country and make our way down to Continental Europe. We had to do another day of traveling by, car ride, catch a train, catch another train, catch a third train, walk a lot, wait on a plane, catch another train, walk some more and finally arrive at our evening's destination. We made it from Duxford to Heathrow in splendid time. By that I mean enough time to check in, have a mooch, grab a couple of drinks, eat lunch, and try to blow our last few pounds left over.
As most of you know, airport food is usually dreadful, or terribly overpriced. We were lucky enough to find an airport restaurant that had Fuller's on cask, and good food. The price was not even terribly inflated. We lucked out. After we'd ordered food, I set out to have my last cask conditioned ale of my English trip, and as usual started chatting with the fellow next to me. He sounded American and so I asked him where he lived. To my surprise he said, "Moscow." After a short while we each returned to spend another pound or two, and we chatted a bit more. I invited him to our table as our gate hadn't been announced. He was on the same flight as we to Frankfurt and so we had time for a good ol' chin wag.
He told me his reason for living in Moscow was that he is in the US foreign service. He's a low-level diplomat. So I got into asking him how he got into that. His reasoning was basically that his wife had been a diplomat's daughter and wanted to travel more, as well as having her children grow up around the world. Pretty simple I suppose. Then he waxed on about the advantages and disadvantages of being in the foreign service. Apparently he loves Indonesia, but when you love a place, they are sure to move you. Moscow is roughly a two-year assignment and he has no idea where they'll send him next. I got to thinking, maybe I could be in the foreign service too.
So I went to the site "Is the foreign service right for you? I took the quiz, and apparently the foreign service is right for me. Nevertheless, I think I'm too much of an educator, mathematician, brewer, and straight-talker to join the foreign service. But perhaps one's mind is changed by signing up for it and working for the dept of state. I still think I'd like to brew professionally and take beer all over the world as an ambassador rather than having to (at times) stick up for policies with which I wholeheartedly disagree. But, as with many things I find while traveling abroad, the wheels have been set in motion...
As most of you know, airport food is usually dreadful, or terribly overpriced. We were lucky enough to find an airport restaurant that had Fuller's on cask, and good food. The price was not even terribly inflated. We lucked out. After we'd ordered food, I set out to have my last cask conditioned ale of my English trip, and as usual started chatting with the fellow next to me. He sounded American and so I asked him where he lived. To my surprise he said, "Moscow." After a short while we each returned to spend another pound or two, and we chatted a bit more. I invited him to our table as our gate hadn't been announced. He was on the same flight as we to Frankfurt and so we had time for a good ol' chin wag.
He told me his reason for living in Moscow was that he is in the US foreign service. He's a low-level diplomat. So I got into asking him how he got into that. His reasoning was basically that his wife had been a diplomat's daughter and wanted to travel more, as well as having her children grow up around the world. Pretty simple I suppose. Then he waxed on about the advantages and disadvantages of being in the foreign service. Apparently he loves Indonesia, but when you love a place, they are sure to move you. Moscow is roughly a two-year assignment and he has no idea where they'll send him next. I got to thinking, maybe I could be in the foreign service too.
So I went to the site "Is the foreign service right for you? I took the quiz, and apparently the foreign service is right for me. Nevertheless, I think I'm too much of an educator, mathematician, brewer, and straight-talker to join the foreign service. But perhaps one's mind is changed by signing up for it and working for the dept of state. I still think I'd like to brew professionally and take beer all over the world as an ambassador rather than having to (at times) stick up for policies with which I wholeheartedly disagree. But, as with many things I find while traveling abroad, the wheels have been set in motion...
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Queen's English
Those of you who've had the (mis)fortune of hanging out with me at parties in the last couple of years know that I'm obsessed with languages (not as much as brewing, mind you, but languages nevertheless). Even listening to the radio I have a habit (good or bad depending on your stance) of repeating words that sound funny to me, and trying to nail the accent. I have had a particularly difficult time with what I call "the Australian 'o'." I suppose it's more of the 'o' that people in eastern Australia say, rather than something that is said out in the bushes, but I still can't say it correctly. British English, on the other hand, I've got a decent grasp on. I suppose listening to Chicago's relay of the BBC world service nearly every day has helped that along. While in Stourport and Bewdley my hosts said that they have strong regional accents there. To me they weren't that strong. It's not the London accent, but the english is fairly clear. I was informed, however, that my host in Duxford speaks the Queen's English, and is proper. This was good information. I had been working on a subtle British accent for the 8 days in England, and was told a few times that it sounded convincing. I even managed to pick up a few idioms that I hadn't remembered.
Here's a quick list of things Brits say and how they translate into American English.
Most of these, I suppose you'll all already know, but some are fun.
lift = elevator
flat = apartment
puncture = flat tire
chips = french fries
crisps = potato chips
bin = trash can
rubbish = trash
Can you make heads or tails of it? = Does it make sense?
chin wag = chat
loads = lots
mooch = mooch (if you're talking about a free loader)
mooch = look around (if you're browsing a store)
"We're just having a bit of a mooch"
mate = friend
jumper = sweatshirt
trainers = sneakers
pants = underwear
trousers = pants
It's fun to try to work those things into normal daily speech and keep your accent as American as possible. It begs funny looks, and often an explanation, but a funny one.
Anyway, back to the Queen's English. My host owns a wine store in Cornwall, is multilingual, and speaks perfect (Queen's) English. It was an interesting experience being in the birthplace of my mother tongue, and having learned it far better than the last time I visited. I can't quite decide whether or not the pacing of American English or British English is faster, and I can't decide which would be more difficult to learn for a non-native speaker. What I've landed on for the time being is that a non-native speaker of English who moves to the southeastern USA, or the far northern UK, will essentially have an impossible time learning proper English. Past that, I can't quite tell. I find the Queen's English imminently understandable, much in the way I find the quintessential "midwestern" accent understandable.
Perhaps while teaching next year I'll try and use only british idioms while using my "american" accent. Should be interesting.
Here's a quick list of things Brits say and how they translate into American English.
Most of these, I suppose you'll all already know, but some are fun.
lift = elevator
flat = apartment
puncture = flat tire
chips = french fries
crisps = potato chips
bin = trash can
rubbish = trash
Can you make heads or tails of it? = Does it make sense?
chin wag = chat
loads = lots
mooch = mooch (if you're talking about a free loader)
mooch = look around (if you're browsing a store)
"We're just having a bit of a mooch"
mate = friend
jumper = sweatshirt
trainers = sneakers
pants = underwear
trousers = pants
It's fun to try to work those things into normal daily speech and keep your accent as American as possible. It begs funny looks, and often an explanation, but a funny one.
Anyway, back to the Queen's English. My host owns a wine store in Cornwall, is multilingual, and speaks perfect (Queen's) English. It was an interesting experience being in the birthplace of my mother tongue, and having learned it far better than the last time I visited. I can't quite decide whether or not the pacing of American English or British English is faster, and I can't decide which would be more difficult to learn for a non-native speaker. What I've landed on for the time being is that a non-native speaker of English who moves to the southeastern USA, or the far northern UK, will essentially have an impossible time learning proper English. Past that, I can't quite tell. I find the Queen's English imminently understandable, much in the way I find the quintessential "midwestern" accent understandable.
Perhaps while teaching next year I'll try and use only british idioms while using my "american" accent. Should be interesting.
Ale is the True and Proper Drink of an Englishman
My last night in England for a while...
I was staying in Duxford with Nasim at one of her aunt's houses and just around the corner, we'd been informed, exists a very traditional english pub. That's right, the kind that closes at 11PM on Friday night. A bunch of cask ales on tap, English grub, low ceilings, and the works. This is a locals-only joint. Anyway, we trotted down there in the rain and sat for the last couple rounds of the evening. I had to get in my last,last,last fill of english ales before getting to continental europe where I'm having a much harder time finding ales. Kölsch bier is a slightly different story, but I'll get to that in good time. English ales, on the other hand are all very weak. Apparently, IPA to them means 3.8% alcohol. If you go to a microbrewery in the United States and you get a beer with less than 4% alcohol, chances are you're drinking "light" beer. The food is heavy, the beer is thin, I guess that's why they say the english drink so much. In order to get drunk off of english beer, you really have to exert yourself. I also suppose they've kept it that way since ale did save england from the plague. I guess I have no room for complaint.
As we were stepping out of the place at the late hour of 10:55 PM (I should rather say, "ducking out") I saw a cross beam at eye level with the words "Ale is the true and proper drink of an Englishman" painted in fading yellow letters. This made me very happy. I greatly enjoyed traveling around the British Midlands drinking lots of weak ales pulled from the cask. I shall return to England again and again. It is a wonderul thing that the beer renaissance has come back to europe. It's no longer American brewers who are looking toward the future and the past to make good beers.
If ale is in fact the true and proper drink of an englishman, then you might as well sign me up for being an englishman!
I was staying in Duxford with Nasim at one of her aunt's houses and just around the corner, we'd been informed, exists a very traditional english pub. That's right, the kind that closes at 11PM on Friday night. A bunch of cask ales on tap, English grub, low ceilings, and the works. This is a locals-only joint. Anyway, we trotted down there in the rain and sat for the last couple rounds of the evening. I had to get in my last,last,last fill of english ales before getting to continental europe where I'm having a much harder time finding ales. Kölsch bier is a slightly different story, but I'll get to that in good time. English ales, on the other hand are all very weak. Apparently, IPA to them means 3.8% alcohol. If you go to a microbrewery in the United States and you get a beer with less than 4% alcohol, chances are you're drinking "light" beer. The food is heavy, the beer is thin, I guess that's why they say the english drink so much. In order to get drunk off of english beer, you really have to exert yourself. I also suppose they've kept it that way since ale did save england from the plague. I guess I have no room for complaint.
As we were stepping out of the place at the late hour of 10:55 PM (I should rather say, "ducking out") I saw a cross beam at eye level with the words "Ale is the true and proper drink of an Englishman" painted in fading yellow letters. This made me very happy. I greatly enjoyed traveling around the British Midlands drinking lots of weak ales pulled from the cask. I shall return to England again and again. It is a wonderul thing that the beer renaissance has come back to europe. It's no longer American brewers who are looking toward the future and the past to make good beers.
If ale is in fact the true and proper drink of an englishman, then you might as well sign me up for being an englishman!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
San Antonio United, an update
So I followed the Gothia Cup from England where I had run into the U14 girls competing in the youth world cup. Proudly, they finished first in their group which was Girls' 14 Group 3 (of 21 groups!) and sadly lost in the first elimination round. I hope these young women learned a lot about traveling and will continue to be good sports ambassadors for the United States. If not, then I will not cheer for them (high stakes here).
Cambridge, England
I didn't realize Cambridge was such a tourists' town. While spending a scant two nights in Duxford, England we had a day in between to go see Cambridge. I figured it was worth my while to see a university as old and prestigious as Cambridge. Furthermore, I wanted to look at it and feel no remorse for having shunned the opportunity to go there for a year before graduate school in the states. I feel mildly vindicated.
First things first...
We nearly got on the bus going the wrong way from Duxford as there was only one side with a proper bus stop. Luckily the bloke across the way pointed us in the right direction. We had a lovely hour-long bus ride on the top of a two-decker bus. About half the journey was through countryside, and the other half through small villages and cities. Upon arriving in Cambridge, we did our normal thing of setting out on foot to see what the hell is going on in town. Immediately I was drawn toward some strange, yet familiar sounding music. I saw a guy with a long lock of hair, wearing some bizarre "ancient" clothing and a group of similarly dressed (and apparently like-minded) folk playing strange old instruments. The aforementioned first guy, ostensibly the leader of the band, was playing what I can best describe as a two-neck guitar wherein one neck had 6 strings and the other 8. It had a higher pitch and terribly different timbre than a guitar, but he played it as if he were playing rhythm guitar for The Who. I think the band was called PenKelt. I'll check back in with you on that one. We sauntered on into town a little further and stopped in to see the Great St. Mary's. Honestly, while it was beautiful, it really was just another grandiose church in Europe. There are so many big ass churches everywhere on this continent. I really wanted to see King's college, but it was six pounds fifty just to enter the chapel. I know John Rutter and Stephen Cleobury have been there, but honestly... 6.50 to go into another chapel which is literally across the street from the free one I just stepped into? Then I realized I couldn't go see anything at all without first going through the chapel, so I walked around the outside to ascertain whether anything interesting was happening inside or not. Apparently, it was a normal summer friday in king's college. We tried Clare College to, but to enter the lawn area was three pounds. Yeesh. All the meantime we were walking around getting harassed by poor university students trying to sell us punting tours. The punts by the way, are not dissimilar from the gondolas of venice. They looked ok, but in the end there are multiple walkways up and down the river running through cambridge, and they are FAR easier to navigate. In addition to all that, you don't have to wear a life jacket. So we walked around for a bit. Luckily we had nice weather for a few hours whilst still in jolly ol' england.
We sat down for a quick lunch across the way from King's which turned into a 90 minute ordeal where we had "traditional" english food served to us by Turks. In the meantime we met a retired parliamentarian and his wife. They were lovely, but I had a hard time hearing them over the clammer of the turkish waiters running around frenetically.
Later on the walk, some jackass with two pitbulls asked me for some change to help feed his dogs. So I begrudgingly gave him 20p which he promptly told me was not enough. We had a 5 second back and forth of me saying "I didn't have to give you anything" and him retorting "That's an insult brov" and throwing the coin back at me. I've never had someone throw money at me after asking for it moments before.
My overall impression of Cambridge was that it is a lot like New York or Paris with a fetish for music from the middle ages and japan. Also, all the street performers are erudite hippies who had some bizarre specialized skill possessed by only a handful of living people and perform for a few quid a day.
When we returned to Duxford, our host told me that this is called "the silly season" at Cambridge. It's filled to the brim with Asian tourists trying to make sure their sons and daughters are good enough to get into Cambridge. I wondered why I had seen so many Korean kids in identical track suits...
First things first...
We nearly got on the bus going the wrong way from Duxford as there was only one side with a proper bus stop. Luckily the bloke across the way pointed us in the right direction. We had a lovely hour-long bus ride on the top of a two-decker bus. About half the journey was through countryside, and the other half through small villages and cities. Upon arriving in Cambridge, we did our normal thing of setting out on foot to see what the hell is going on in town. Immediately I was drawn toward some strange, yet familiar sounding music. I saw a guy with a long lock of hair, wearing some bizarre "ancient" clothing and a group of similarly dressed (and apparently like-minded) folk playing strange old instruments. The aforementioned first guy, ostensibly the leader of the band, was playing what I can best describe as a two-neck guitar wherein one neck had 6 strings and the other 8. It had a higher pitch and terribly different timbre than a guitar, but he played it as if he were playing rhythm guitar for The Who. I think the band was called PenKelt. I'll check back in with you on that one. We sauntered on into town a little further and stopped in to see the Great St. Mary's. Honestly, while it was beautiful, it really was just another grandiose church in Europe. There are so many big ass churches everywhere on this continent. I really wanted to see King's college, but it was six pounds fifty just to enter the chapel. I know John Rutter and Stephen Cleobury have been there, but honestly... 6.50 to go into another chapel which is literally across the street from the free one I just stepped into? Then I realized I couldn't go see anything at all without first going through the chapel, so I walked around the outside to ascertain whether anything interesting was happening inside or not. Apparently, it was a normal summer friday in king's college. We tried Clare College to, but to enter the lawn area was three pounds. Yeesh. All the meantime we were walking around getting harassed by poor university students trying to sell us punting tours. The punts by the way, are not dissimilar from the gondolas of venice. They looked ok, but in the end there are multiple walkways up and down the river running through cambridge, and they are FAR easier to navigate. In addition to all that, you don't have to wear a life jacket. So we walked around for a bit. Luckily we had nice weather for a few hours whilst still in jolly ol' england.
We sat down for a quick lunch across the way from King's which turned into a 90 minute ordeal where we had "traditional" english food served to us by Turks. In the meantime we met a retired parliamentarian and his wife. They were lovely, but I had a hard time hearing them over the clammer of the turkish waiters running around frenetically.
Later on the walk, some jackass with two pitbulls asked me for some change to help feed his dogs. So I begrudgingly gave him 20p which he promptly told me was not enough. We had a 5 second back and forth of me saying "I didn't have to give you anything" and him retorting "That's an insult brov" and throwing the coin back at me. I've never had someone throw money at me after asking for it moments before.
My overall impression of Cambridge was that it is a lot like New York or Paris with a fetish for music from the middle ages and japan. Also, all the street performers are erudite hippies who had some bizarre specialized skill possessed by only a handful of living people and perform for a few quid a day.
When we returned to Duxford, our host told me that this is called "the silly season" at Cambridge. It's filled to the brim with Asian tourists trying to make sure their sons and daughters are good enough to get into Cambridge. I wondered why I had seen so many Korean kids in identical track suits...
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Beer Pilgrimage Leg One: Complete!
Last night, being our last night in the Stourport area, our hosts wanted to take us out for a nice meal. If you know anything about England and its history as a dyeing empire then you know they have marvelous Indian food. So even though my hosts are Persian, they asked if I liked Indian food, not really remembering that I lived in Chennai at least for a bit. After a few months away from India, I got over my aversion to Indian food. I think the 3x a day curry got to me after 6 months straight. Luckily, that has passed, and I'm more than happy to indulge in ethnic delights from all over the world. We drove nearly an hour to a very tiny town named Lye (honestly). It reminded me of Devon Avenue in Chicago. Everything on this one stretch of road was Indian, Pakistani, Bengali, and some restaurants were even BYOB. Apparently, we'd been directed to the best restaurant on the strip. Even at 9PM on a Wednesday, they were packed and a party of 6 had a long wait (over half an hour). So they told us (and I'm not even kidding) "There is a great pub just down the way." So we set off for predinner drinks. Upon seeing the cask ale selection (10) I got very excited, but more exciting was the Goose Island IPA bottle in the fridge! I lost it, I got so excited and started exclaiming how I could actually give a demonstration to my hosts about how hoppy american beer really is. To those of you who actually drink American beers, and IPAs in particular you might know that Goose Island wins a lot of awards as an "english style ipa." Anyway, before I got ahead of myself, I saw a selection of 10 cask ales. They were all from a brewery name Sadler's. On the left was a stout, and down the line, malty, malty, malty, malty, and blammo! Right in the middle, a beer called "Hop Bomb." I seriously lost it. I ordered that straight away, and then took care of ordering the rest of the drinks for my hosts. It was the holy grail of english beer for me. Hoppy like and american ipa, cask conditioned, and served cold. Cask ales here in england are served a lot colder than they are in the states. I understand why americans THINK that brits serve their beers warm and flat, but that's just a mistake in the way we serve them in the states. My beer was frothy and cold and full of hops on the tongue and nose. Stupendous! I freakin' loved it. I passed it around for all my hosts to smell, and they all agreed it smelled "lovely" and "like flowers." I took a brief moment (I tried to contain my excitement) and explained why, in fact, it did smell like flowers. Then I had to do it, I went and bought the Goose Island IPA in england. The bartender told me that it was her brother's and her favorite beer. I was absolutely chuffed to bits. I passed that one around as well, and everyone agreed again that it was a beautiful beer. Thank you Goose Island for making an "English style" beer that the brits understand.
So there you have it, leg one of beer pilgrimage complete! I found cold, hoppy, cask conditioned english ipa in england.
By the way, the Indian food was also excellent and Nasim managed to smuggle the bottle of IPA to the restaurant. Wouldn't you know it, India Pale Ale, pairs well with Indian food.
So there you have it, leg one of beer pilgrimage complete! I found cold, hoppy, cask conditioned english ipa in england.
By the way, the Indian food was also excellent and Nasim managed to smuggle the bottle of IPA to the restaurant. Wouldn't you know it, India Pale Ale, pairs well with Indian food.
Malvern Hills
On our last day in Stourport-on-Severn our hosts asked whether we'd like to go see Birmingham or "hike" up Malvern Hills. My decision basically boiled down to the fact that I think of Birmingham, England like I think of Houston, Texas. They are both big cities with all the big city things, but nothing particularly special about either of them. Sure, Birmingham has shopping malls (no interest to me), sports teams, big confusing motorways, restaurants, pubs, theater, etc... But so too does Manchester, Newcastle, and every other big city in England. I voted for going to "hike." It should noted that our hosts commented on the fact that Malvern Hills are essentially that, hills. They are not really mountains and it only takes about an hour or so to climb up. There are, however, five peaks and so one could spend several hours bopping around from peak to peak catching some gorgeous views. It should also be noted, that this, being England, has a restaurant and pub at the top of the initial walkway just a few hundred feet from one of the summits. This place is called St. Anne's well. Supposedly it is holy, but I'm not sure to whom. It doesn't seem like a very Anglican thing to have holy water coming from a spring out of the side of a mountain, but it seems overtly catholic. Nonetheless, we got there about 4:30PM and the restaurant closes at 4PM, so we hiked onward and upward. Our views were damped significantly by clouds, but I repeat myself. This is, of course, England. Rain is expected everyday for the next 30 years until further notice. The weather forecast had said Wednesday was supposed to be sunny, but I knew better than to believe that. I take a much more Markovian view of the weather.
We started up one direction and some fellow "hikers" with guitars headed another direction. While we were taking a short break a discussion broke out as to how far Edinburgh, Scotland is from Birmingham, England. I guessed 200 miles, my host told me much further than that, probably 300 or 350. The "hikers" sitting near us ventured guesses each of 400 miles and 500 miles. Honestly people... The United Kingdom is not THAT big. I realized that I had completely underestimated the size of the UK. Much in the same way that many Europeans underestimate the size of the United States. Anyway, I looked it up and it's 246.02 miles give or take a few. Go figure, I was the winner (at least by price is right rules).
As we parted ways, one the hikers who'd been sitting next to us lit up a cigarette. I thought it was a bit odd, but after a moments whiff, I realized it wasn't tobacco, and things came much more into perspective. England seems to be much more relaxed about marijuana and much more uptight about driving.
We made it up to one peak and it was gorgeous. Forget the clouds, it really was a beautiful sight. We sat up at the top, had some snacks and it was actually cold at the top. The wind was relatively unobstructed and thus greatly affected the temperature gradient where we were. I can't name all the towns we saw from the top, but it reminded me once again of East Tennessee. There are certainly fewer hills here, but off in the distance you can make out a blue hue to the ground and rolling hills. I tried explaining briefly to my hosts what the blue ridge parkway is, but we were interrupted by some lamb and sheep in view on the next hill over. We finished our snacks and made our way over the the next hill to meet and greet (not meat) the animals only to find they were encapsulated by a very large electric fence (on which one should not whiz). Luckily, there is a gate with a posting saying, you are more than welcome to enter and hike up to the top, talk to the animals, etc. so long as you shut the gate behind you. We entered and attempted to pet the "cute little animals." They were having none of it. Every time any of us approached, they just scooted further along up the hill, leaving behind a patch of grass and another pile of lamb droppings. It was honestly like a mine field up there, but the consequences were much less severe. More like a shit storm. Anyway, after snapping a few record photos we were all cold and decided to head back down to the closest pub. Did I mention I love this country?
Heading down, was a lot more difficult than going up because of the stress on the knees. The views were still phenomenal, and coming down we were met by thousands upon thousands of ferns and bright purple flowers. Funny the only colors I can remember are green (really bright green), blue, brown, and purple. I suppose there were a few berry trees with a scant amount of red, but it was a somewhat unusual color combination, at least to my mind.
I'm glad we took the route of "hiking" rather than seeing Birmingham. I'm sure I'll make another trip back this way in the future, and hang out in Birmingham a bit more, but for now, I'm more pleased to have seen the scenery.
We started up one direction and some fellow "hikers" with guitars headed another direction. While we were taking a short break a discussion broke out as to how far Edinburgh, Scotland is from Birmingham, England. I guessed 200 miles, my host told me much further than that, probably 300 or 350. The "hikers" sitting near us ventured guesses each of 400 miles and 500 miles. Honestly people... The United Kingdom is not THAT big. I realized that I had completely underestimated the size of the UK. Much in the same way that many Europeans underestimate the size of the United States. Anyway, I looked it up and it's 246.02 miles give or take a few. Go figure, I was the winner (at least by price is right rules).
As we parted ways, one the hikers who'd been sitting next to us lit up a cigarette. I thought it was a bit odd, but after a moments whiff, I realized it wasn't tobacco, and things came much more into perspective. England seems to be much more relaxed about marijuana and much more uptight about driving.
We made it up to one peak and it was gorgeous. Forget the clouds, it really was a beautiful sight. We sat up at the top, had some snacks and it was actually cold at the top. The wind was relatively unobstructed and thus greatly affected the temperature gradient where we were. I can't name all the towns we saw from the top, but it reminded me once again of East Tennessee. There are certainly fewer hills here, but off in the distance you can make out a blue hue to the ground and rolling hills. I tried explaining briefly to my hosts what the blue ridge parkway is, but we were interrupted by some lamb and sheep in view on the next hill over. We finished our snacks and made our way over the the next hill to meet and greet (not meat) the animals only to find they were encapsulated by a very large electric fence (on which one should not whiz). Luckily, there is a gate with a posting saying, you are more than welcome to enter and hike up to the top, talk to the animals, etc. so long as you shut the gate behind you. We entered and attempted to pet the "cute little animals." They were having none of it. Every time any of us approached, they just scooted further along up the hill, leaving behind a patch of grass and another pile of lamb droppings. It was honestly like a mine field up there, but the consequences were much less severe. More like a shit storm. Anyway, after snapping a few record photos we were all cold and decided to head back down to the closest pub. Did I mention I love this country?
Heading down, was a lot more difficult than going up because of the stress on the knees. The views were still phenomenal, and coming down we were met by thousands upon thousands of ferns and bright purple flowers. Funny the only colors I can remember are green (really bright green), blue, brown, and purple. I suppose there were a few berry trees with a scant amount of red, but it was a somewhat unusual color combination, at least to my mind.
I'm glad we took the route of "hiking" rather than seeing Birmingham. I'm sure I'll make another trip back this way in the future, and hang out in Birmingham a bit more, but for now, I'm more pleased to have seen the scenery.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Stourport-on-Severn Part 2
I have been enjoying the scenery here in Stourport greatly. From my hosts' home looking out the back window I see some lovely rolling hills full of trees. Of course, it's cloudy and grey, but never mind that. It really reminds me of home with the exception of the clouds. I remember being in Ireland in 2001 and thinking the same thing. I guess the original european settlers who had come to east tennessee recognized the geography was similar and decided it felt "enough" like home and settled there. I also imagine they soon realized that the weather was drastically better and decided they had made a good decision. Since arriving in England, the weather forecast has included clouds and rain everyday of our visit. Today is supposed to be sunny, but of course, it's mostly cloudy. At least no rain as of yet. I understand now why English people travel by magical umbrellas (brumbershoots here). It appears the king's singers' anglican chant of the weather forecast is pretty much accurate.
England: Rain is expected everyday for the next 30 years until further notice.
England: Rain is expected everyday for the next 30 years until further notice.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Stourport-on-Severn Part 1
After a mostly restless night in the hotel with hilariously jet-lagged slumber we set off for Stourport-on-Severn. This is an area just southwest of Birmingham which is a short walk,train,train,train,walk,car ride away. In order to get here we walked about a mile to the nearest rail station. This was not the Underground, but part of the national railway service operating in the London suburbs. We took that to the underground, then the underground to London Euston station, then the national rail service to Birmingham New St. The whole ordeal didn't take that long, but it felt like a lot of effort and a lot of money to get to Birmingham. After that, we got a bit lost and couldn't get ahold of Nasim's aunt and cousin who were picking us up.
Another short drive and we had arrived. On the way we learned that Sunday night is the night to go out in Bewdley. Apparently Saturday night is only a suitable night to go out for the townies. Strangely enough, Monday night is also a night to go out. After going over an absurd amount of minor cultural differences and regional accents we arrived and had a bite to eat. I was hanging with Nasim's cousins who are 18 and 20 respectively, but are quite well known around Bewdley as it is a very small town. We showed up for SND (Sunday Night Drinks) at one bar and I found yet another wonderful selection of cask ales and asked the bar tender which was his favorite, to which he replied, "I don't know, I hate all ales." I felt punched in the gut a little. So I simply said, "give me this one, and went on my way." In the meantime I met another of the locals who told me he is heading to Columbus, Ohio. I asked him why he'd ever go there, and he told me for a job interview. Good Luck mate!
We decided to hit up another pub where there was pool. It was like miniature pool. The pool balls to so small, the bounced off the table half the time, so it made for some hilarious and awkward shots. After a few minutes (read, an hour or two), Karaoke started up! I haven't sung karaoke in a while, but at some point was told that I was required to sing. I asked if they had any Tommy Tutone, thinking it was a 50% chance that I'd be able to get out of it. Sadly, no. Within a matter of seconds the KJ had queued it up and I was handed a mic. Luckily for me, it's one of the few songs I actually know all the way through. I remembered something that my best friend had taught me at a house party several years back. When playing rock band or singing karaoke, YOU are the entertainment for that song. I had noticed some pretty good singers, so I decided I was going to be the entertainment instead of the words scrolling across the screen. So I did some crazy dancing (read, terribly bad dancing), air guitar solo, etc... Apparently I made a lot of friends last night! When I got set to leave, the bloke behind me insisted that I stay for another song. I noticed that all the singers were pretty good, but no one took it upon him/herself to dance. I don't quite understand why those willingly choose to participate in karaoke are unwilling to make themselves look like complete asses. Anyway, because of my apparent willingness to be publicly humiliated, I spared myself any criticism and made a few friends. Sadly though, when you make friends in Bewdley you are not immediately offered pints by new "friends." Last call, for alcohol, when left with a terrible ringing in our ears and I was stupid with exhaustion (having only slept 8 total hours in two nights). I crashed out and awoke with no glory, but no additional shame. All in all, a very successful first day in a little country town in England.
Another short drive and we had arrived. On the way we learned that Sunday night is the night to go out in Bewdley. Apparently Saturday night is only a suitable night to go out for the townies. Strangely enough, Monday night is also a night to go out. After going over an absurd amount of minor cultural differences and regional accents we arrived and had a bite to eat. I was hanging with Nasim's cousins who are 18 and 20 respectively, but are quite well known around Bewdley as it is a very small town. We showed up for SND (Sunday Night Drinks) at one bar and I found yet another wonderful selection of cask ales and asked the bar tender which was his favorite, to which he replied, "I don't know, I hate all ales." I felt punched in the gut a little. So I simply said, "give me this one, and went on my way." In the meantime I met another of the locals who told me he is heading to Columbus, Ohio. I asked him why he'd ever go there, and he told me for a job interview. Good Luck mate!
We decided to hit up another pub where there was pool. It was like miniature pool. The pool balls to so small, the bounced off the table half the time, so it made for some hilarious and awkward shots. After a few minutes (read, an hour or two), Karaoke started up! I haven't sung karaoke in a while, but at some point was told that I was required to sing. I asked if they had any Tommy Tutone, thinking it was a 50% chance that I'd be able to get out of it. Sadly, no. Within a matter of seconds the KJ had queued it up and I was handed a mic. Luckily for me, it's one of the few songs I actually know all the way through. I remembered something that my best friend had taught me at a house party several years back. When playing rock band or singing karaoke, YOU are the entertainment for that song. I had noticed some pretty good singers, so I decided I was going to be the entertainment instead of the words scrolling across the screen. So I did some crazy dancing (read, terribly bad dancing), air guitar solo, etc... Apparently I made a lot of friends last night! When I got set to leave, the bloke behind me insisted that I stay for another song. I noticed that all the singers were pretty good, but no one took it upon him/herself to dance. I don't quite understand why those willingly choose to participate in karaoke are unwilling to make themselves look like complete asses. Anyway, because of my apparent willingness to be publicly humiliated, I spared myself any criticism and made a few friends. Sadly though, when you make friends in Bewdley you are not immediately offered pints by new "friends." Last call, for alcohol, when left with a terrible ringing in our ears and I was stupid with exhaustion (having only slept 8 total hours in two nights). I crashed out and awoke with no glory, but no additional shame. All in all, a very successful first day in a little country town in England.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
First Pints in England
I had a few hours before needing to return to the airport to meet Nasim and so I decided it was about time for beer. The first bit of my beer pilgrimage is getting proper cask conditioned ales in the UK. The last time I was here was 2006 and had a relatively difficult time finding hand pulled ales. Luckily now, everything has changed. The Beer Renaissance in the United States has started affecting (or infecting) Europe! Wonderful news if you ask me! I decided upon traveling that I should try to go somewhere and see where it takes me. Where else? Warren St! I set out to take the tube that way. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on your stance, the tube was shut down on the picadilly line from Boston Manor all the way until Hammersmith. So there was bus service to Hammersmith or Ealing Broadway. I just followed the swaths of people heading in a single direction happily herded along like sheep. I ended up at Ealing Broadway, and just hopped on the nearest underground station toward Warren St. After another two hour trip (noticing a trend here) I got to Warren St. I felt at home (sort of). I saw that Warren St was quite short and had a pub. Sold! Moreoever, the pub had a sign for Cask Ales in the window. My beer pilgrimage had begun! So I sat, ate a bit, drank several pints of cask ale and chatted up a fellow from Quebec City who'd just bought a town house near Tampa. He discussed with me his observation about how stupid American Politics and politicians are.
Notice to Americans... Our healthcare system is horrible. Even with the reforms set in place, it still pretty much stinks. What I've learned is that many other developed countries pay more in taxes, but the citizens don't think of taxes the same way we do. They tend to believe in the fact that their taxes are investments in their country. In the end, that buys them, free education (and much cheaper through university level), good roads, and healthcare which is orders of magnitude cheaper.
Nonetheless, I shall not wax further on about the intricacies and faults of America. I love it, with all its faults.
I got set for my 2 hour commute back to Heathrow to pick up Nasim. Eventually got back, but later than anticipated. Then we set out for traditional British pub dinner. Had proper fish and chips, shepherd's pie (with LAMB, not beef) and more cask ales. Set off back for another trip back out southwest and eventually made it to the hotel. A lot of traveling and moving around for one day, but I learned a lot about the London underground.
Notice to Americans... Our healthcare system is horrible. Even with the reforms set in place, it still pretty much stinks. What I've learned is that many other developed countries pay more in taxes, but the citizens don't think of taxes the same way we do. They tend to believe in the fact that their taxes are investments in their country. In the end, that buys them, free education (and much cheaper through university level), good roads, and healthcare which is orders of magnitude cheaper.
Nonetheless, I shall not wax further on about the intricacies and faults of America. I love it, with all its faults.
I got set for my 2 hour commute back to Heathrow to pick up Nasim. Eventually got back, but later than anticipated. Then we set out for traditional British pub dinner. Had proper fish and chips, shepherd's pie (with LAMB, not beef) and more cask ales. Set off back for another trip back out southwest and eventually made it to the hotel. A lot of traveling and moving around for one day, but I learned a lot about the London underground.
Just across the border
After my slow process toward the UK border, I collected my luggage and set out to buy a SIM card and get some cash monies. I get to the SIM card vending machine and see a tall slim indian girl whom I recognize. I look at her for a moment, and she looks back. I, being completely exhausted from failure to sleep and over two hours of continual standing, I thought that I was just seeing things. So I simply asked, "Is your name Tanvi?" She said, "Are you Clark?" It turns out she was a student of mine 8 years ago at Northwestern during my first year of graduate school. I met her ma and pa, and discussed India for a few mintues. Found out they are going on a cruise of the Norwegian Fjords and made mention of a my beer pilgrimage and seeing a lady.
That was probably one of the most random traveling experiences I've had yet. In the end, we were both impressed with each other for remembering the other's name.
After a little confusion, I finally made my way to the hotel near the airport and checked in and took a nap. All you need to know about England, is that you should expect to spend a lot of money here if you expect to have any fun at all (said in england "a tall").
That was probably one of the most random traveling experiences I've had yet. In the end, we were both impressed with each other for remembering the other's name.
After a little confusion, I finally made my way to the hotel near the airport and checked in and took a nap. All you need to know about England, is that you should expect to spend a lot of money here if you expect to have any fun at all (said in england "a tall").
On the way to England.
Alright folks, it appears my blog is back up for a few weeks by popular demand. That means a lot to me, really!
I took a direct flight from Chicago to London which was mostly uneventful except that I was sitting near an irish girl who'd been staying in chicago for 7 weeks. Usually, as most Americans know, Chicago is a sort of second rate destination city for travelers, so I was extremely happy to hear she'd chosen to spend her summer there. In the end, she told me she'd spent her time in Lincoln Park (an area I essentially avoid) and told me she missed out on all the things that I actually like in Chicago, and only partook of the things which I mostly dislike. Oh well, at least we had a few europeans enjoying chicago, I guess I can't complain too much.
In the meantime I spent a great deal of time waxing on about the many ways english speakers from different cultures say things. It was interesting for me, and me next seat friend told me repeatedly, "you spend way too much time thinking about that." Although, I did manage to procure a lot of information from her about several things she found bizarre about the United States. Principally, and this is no surprise to anyone who likes going out for drinks, is that 21 is the legal drinking age. She highly disapproved of this. She also seemed to dislike the fact that we don't say "bin" for "trash can." You know, the bin, where you put the rubbish?
Once in Heathrow Airport, I stood in the longest customs line I've ever been in. It literally (pronounced here, litrally) took me 2 hours to get my passport stamped. And that's just to get into the UK, hell really just England. But, while waiting I got to do some interesting exhaustion based people watching. There were two groups that stood out. First, a man with three wives who had them all wearing niqab. I kept wanting to see what happened when they actually got to the immigration desk to see if they had to show their faces. I missed it, but later after baggage claim, the man looked fairly calm. I can't imagine anything particularly exciting happened. But, I'm always a bit amused when muslim women have to show their faces. It's well known that niqab is not required, I can't help being slightly amused at it's principal according to islam. Nonetheless, that was the less interesting group of people. There more interesting group of people was a group of young girls all wearing matching soccer shirts and their parents. Apparently they are San Antonio United and they were passing through the old country on the way to Sweden for the Gothia Cup which is the youth world cup in Sweden. 84 teams, all the players very, very young. I was taken aback a little. Anyway, I wish them luck. They're first game is monday, and I'll try to keep up with it and update you, dear readers, here from the blog (back by popular request).
Finally made it through, almost lost my luggage, because all our luggage had been unloaded and sorted, and placed in a neat pile. My luggage, however, is really small. I've packed EXTREMELY lightly for 6 weeks travel. In any case, I recovered it and got set to get to the hotel to take a nap after my one hour of sleep on the place with seats too small for me to properly sit in.
I took a direct flight from Chicago to London which was mostly uneventful except that I was sitting near an irish girl who'd been staying in chicago for 7 weeks. Usually, as most Americans know, Chicago is a sort of second rate destination city for travelers, so I was extremely happy to hear she'd chosen to spend her summer there. In the end, she told me she'd spent her time in Lincoln Park (an area I essentially avoid) and told me she missed out on all the things that I actually like in Chicago, and only partook of the things which I mostly dislike. Oh well, at least we had a few europeans enjoying chicago, I guess I can't complain too much.
In the meantime I spent a great deal of time waxing on about the many ways english speakers from different cultures say things. It was interesting for me, and me next seat friend told me repeatedly, "you spend way too much time thinking about that." Although, I did manage to procure a lot of information from her about several things she found bizarre about the United States. Principally, and this is no surprise to anyone who likes going out for drinks, is that 21 is the legal drinking age. She highly disapproved of this. She also seemed to dislike the fact that we don't say "bin" for "trash can." You know, the bin, where you put the rubbish?
Once in Heathrow Airport, I stood in the longest customs line I've ever been in. It literally (pronounced here, litrally) took me 2 hours to get my passport stamped. And that's just to get into the UK, hell really just England. But, while waiting I got to do some interesting exhaustion based people watching. There were two groups that stood out. First, a man with three wives who had them all wearing niqab. I kept wanting to see what happened when they actually got to the immigration desk to see if they had to show their faces. I missed it, but later after baggage claim, the man looked fairly calm. I can't imagine anything particularly exciting happened. But, I'm always a bit amused when muslim women have to show their faces. It's well known that niqab is not required, I can't help being slightly amused at it's principal according to islam. Nonetheless, that was the less interesting group of people. There more interesting group of people was a group of young girls all wearing matching soccer shirts and their parents. Apparently they are San Antonio United and they were passing through the old country on the way to Sweden for the Gothia Cup which is the youth world cup in Sweden. 84 teams, all the players very, very young. I was taken aback a little. Anyway, I wish them luck. They're first game is monday, and I'll try to keep up with it and update you, dear readers, here from the blog (back by popular request).
Finally made it through, almost lost my luggage, because all our luggage had been unloaded and sorted, and placed in a neat pile. My luggage, however, is really small. I've packed EXTREMELY lightly for 6 weeks travel. In any case, I recovered it and got set to get to the hotel to take a nap after my one hour of sleep on the place with seats too small for me to properly sit in.
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