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.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
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.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Dax, France
Where to go from Armagnac? It was an interesting dilemma. Sadly, getting to Barcelona or Madrid was nearly impossible. I was without a phone, and without a positive response from my friends of a friend in Madrid as to whether or not they were at home or if they had a place to stay. I tried to arrange some couch surfing and a van ride to barcelona to no avail. So what to do?
Step 1) Open up a big-ass map.
Step 2) Locate yourself
Step 3) Locate all the "resaonably close" places (athens is not reasonably close to gascony)
Step 4) Check Train/plane/bus schedules
Step 5) Go somewhere.
After this short amount of debate (in my head) the decision was clear.
San Sebastian, Spain is next up on my crazy euro tour.
How to I get there? Well, it turns out Dax, France has a car rental return and the train to San Sebastian is not far or expensive. Moreover, the train to San Sebastian runs nearly every 30 minutes. So down to Dax I go. I see that the next train leaves in a few minutes. Go to buy the tickets, success. Off to San Sebastian.
One small problem... The car rental return is not open. I forgot about that whole two hour lunch thing. So I go inquire about using my ticket for a later train. The guy says, no problem. I say excellent. But now I have to wait for several hours to return the car. Well, what should I do? Simple solution: Walk around Dax for a few hours.
What I found: Dax is a charming little town in southwest france. They love rugby and taking long lunch breaks. Beer, wine, and all manner of other french beverages are readily available. In addition, there are several beautiful little grocery stores selling fresh fruits, cheeses, and quality meats. Not realizing that the train was truly only 90 minutes to the border, a store got some business from me. I think the whole purchase was inspired by Jenlain Amber Biere de Garde. I FINALLY found my Biere de Garde. So off with my Biere de Garde, some camembert, some fresh greens, some bread, tomatoes, and some meat. Also had to buy a small knife. My total bill came to something like 15 euros. Not bad at all. The single sandwich + beer lunch at the local pub was about half that. So, I got to eat most of a loaf of bread and double the beer (not available at pub) etc. Had a nice lunch waiting on the car rental to reopen.
I decided I could live in Dax if a job became available. It's really close to Spain, really close to Armagnac, and on the ocean. Beautiful little town, in which life does not seem in any way rushed. My guess is that it's the sleepy little sister town to Bayonne or Biaritz which are just a little further down the coast toward spain.
Step 1) Open up a big-ass map.
Step 2) Locate yourself
Step 3) Locate all the "resaonably close" places (athens is not reasonably close to gascony)
Step 4) Check Train/plane/bus schedules
Step 5) Go somewhere.
After this short amount of debate (in my head) the decision was clear.
San Sebastian, Spain is next up on my crazy euro tour.
How to I get there? Well, it turns out Dax, France has a car rental return and the train to San Sebastian is not far or expensive. Moreover, the train to San Sebastian runs nearly every 30 minutes. So down to Dax I go. I see that the next train leaves in a few minutes. Go to buy the tickets, success. Off to San Sebastian.
One small problem... The car rental return is not open. I forgot about that whole two hour lunch thing. So I go inquire about using my ticket for a later train. The guy says, no problem. I say excellent. But now I have to wait for several hours to return the car. Well, what should I do? Simple solution: Walk around Dax for a few hours.
What I found: Dax is a charming little town in southwest france. They love rugby and taking long lunch breaks. Beer, wine, and all manner of other french beverages are readily available. In addition, there are several beautiful little grocery stores selling fresh fruits, cheeses, and quality meats. Not realizing that the train was truly only 90 minutes to the border, a store got some business from me. I think the whole purchase was inspired by Jenlain Amber Biere de Garde. I FINALLY found my Biere de Garde. So off with my Biere de Garde, some camembert, some fresh greens, some bread, tomatoes, and some meat. Also had to buy a small knife. My total bill came to something like 15 euros. Not bad at all. The single sandwich + beer lunch at the local pub was about half that. So, I got to eat most of a loaf of bread and double the beer (not available at pub) etc. Had a nice lunch waiting on the car rental to reopen.
I decided I could live in Dax if a job became available. It's really close to Spain, really close to Armagnac, and on the ocean. Beautiful little town, in which life does not seem in any way rushed. My guess is that it's the sleepy little sister town to Bayonne or Biaritz which are just a little further down the coast toward spain.
A night with the kids
It is possible that God was amused with my timing for my vacation. It seems that everywhere I went, the local place was on holiday. While it is certainly true that Europeans take vacations more liberally than Americans (which is a good thing), I didn't realize that everyone staggered their vacations in such a way. I have no way of knowing for certain (other than intuition, and mine is very bad) that Europe scheduled their vacations just to spite me. So it is. France has holiday until May 1. When was I in France? Until April 29... Labastide D'Armagnac was already quiet and sleepy, but I went when no one was there. No visitors, no locals, no one. Luckily, the Bouglons WERE there so I had a place to sleep. The single fortunate thing about being at Chateau du Prada during those days was the fact that the children (early 20 somethings) were there doing some maintenance on the estate along with several of their friends. So, on the second night in Armagnac I found all the kids sitting in the parlor directly adjacent to the room in which I was sleeping, listening to music, smoking, and generally having a gay time. So I joined them.
What ensued was an excellent evening. The oldest son speaks a touch of english. More than I speak French, so we got on just fine. He asked me, "Do you like Armagnac?" I wasn't sure if he meant the geographical place or the drink of the same moniker produced therein. So I asked which he meant, and he said, "the drink, of course." I told him, my whole reason for showing up was to drink some brandy. So he went and fetched a couple bottles that were "just sitting around." When he returned he was carrying two bottles, one a 1992 Colombard and a 1994 Folle Blanche. I was amazed at these bottles that were just sitting around. I'd already consumed way too many armagnacs that day, and here he was with two more amazing bottles. So, what to do? That's right, drink up. In the meantime, I'd collected on my travels, some brandy from Lebanon, and was also carrying around some of my own moonshine. So I made a paltry offer in return. What struck me as extremely odd was the fact that the kids living in a chateau famous for its distilled product were shocked that I knew how to distill on my own. So I let them taste and smell my 70%+ concoction. The consensus, "It's too strong." Well I KNEW that...
After we all got a little more tipsy and they kids all smoked a pack more of cigarettes the piano playing began. That's when I think I impressed them the most. Again, strangely, in a house with several beautiful old pianos, no one had taken much time to learn beyond that of a novice. Well, it was fine. In one sense I wish I'd stayed an extra night so I could hang with the kids once more, but alas, they were working, and returning back to school and other duties on May 1, and I was on vacation enjoying their hospitality.
Final, interesting thought. The eldest son of Baron Phillipe Bouglon does NOT speak his native Gascogne. I figured in a family as prominent as such that the language tradition would actually be carried down. But no. In Labastide D'Armagnac, Gascogne is a dying language. Therefore, I didn't get to learn any gascogne words or funny phrases involving drinking.
What ensued was an excellent evening. The oldest son speaks a touch of english. More than I speak French, so we got on just fine. He asked me, "Do you like Armagnac?" I wasn't sure if he meant the geographical place or the drink of the same moniker produced therein. So I asked which he meant, and he said, "the drink, of course." I told him, my whole reason for showing up was to drink some brandy. So he went and fetched a couple bottles that were "just sitting around." When he returned he was carrying two bottles, one a 1992 Colombard and a 1994 Folle Blanche. I was amazed at these bottles that were just sitting around. I'd already consumed way too many armagnacs that day, and here he was with two more amazing bottles. So, what to do? That's right, drink up. In the meantime, I'd collected on my travels, some brandy from Lebanon, and was also carrying around some of my own moonshine. So I made a paltry offer in return. What struck me as extremely odd was the fact that the kids living in a chateau famous for its distilled product were shocked that I knew how to distill on my own. So I let them taste and smell my 70%+ concoction. The consensus, "It's too strong." Well I KNEW that...
After we all got a little more tipsy and they kids all smoked a pack more of cigarettes the piano playing began. That's when I think I impressed them the most. Again, strangely, in a house with several beautiful old pianos, no one had taken much time to learn beyond that of a novice. Well, it was fine. In one sense I wish I'd stayed an extra night so I could hang with the kids once more, but alas, they were working, and returning back to school and other duties on May 1, and I was on vacation enjoying their hospitality.
Final, interesting thought. The eldest son of Baron Phillipe Bouglon does NOT speak his native Gascogne. I figured in a family as prominent as such that the language tradition would actually be carried down. But no. In Labastide D'Armagnac, Gascogne is a dying language. Therefore, I didn't get to learn any gascogne words or funny phrases involving drinking.
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