Hey, Whaddya Know? A New Post!

It seems my posts come in spurts. I don't do a post for a week, then I do five. Well, the trend will continue because next week is going to hold probably at least three posts, possibly four just on my four day trip to the Three Capitals (Bratislava, Budapest and Vienna) as I like to call them, and each capital will get a post. I seriously can't wait to go. I found a great website called 43 Places that has tons of tips and reviews of places all over the world, and I think they're up to over 100,000 different cities. It's pretty neat, and I've got my itinerary for Bratislava and some of Budapest from there at least, so I hope it works out!

As for tonight! Well! I had the night off from work so I decided to partake in some more Oxford culture by getting a ticket for the Oxford Millenium Orchestra's performance of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake and Nutcracker suites, as well as selections from Borodin's Prince Igor opera, which contained a very special song to my heart, the Polovtsian Dance. Oh, bans, that was great. The night began with a nap after work, and was SUPPOSED to start with a nice dinner, probably at The Mitre, but ended up with a couple cheese sandwiches from Marcs & Spencer (hey, it's only £2, so I'll live!), then a pint at a poorly chosen establishment. Here is why it was poorly chosen:

The location was good because I only had about 20 minutes before the performance started, so I picked The White Horse, which is right across from the Sheldonian Theatre, the venue of my evening's entertainment. I walked in, and didn't know what to get because I've been wanting a porter for about a month now, since it's porter season. I don't get to enjoy too many ales since I don't want to spend money in Oxford that I could spend in other countries, so a porter would have been a good way to start the night. Well, they didn't have any so I just stood there trying to pick one. The bartender decided to wash some glasses while I decided, and I didn't mind because he was just being efficient. When he "efficient"ly didn't come back to me for about three minutes, I wasn't thrilled, but I ordered anyway. Here's how the order went down.

"I'll have a go at the Smithy."
A blank stare from the tender, maybe he didn't hear me.
"Just a pint... Of the Smithy."
Continued blank stare. Does this guy speak English?
"Just a pint..."
"Please?? Can we have some manners?" said the tender.
"Oh, sorry, please?"

So yeah, my first encounter with a rude Englishman, and I decided to take the high road and just accept MY unnoticed rudeness and pay for the drink once he pulled it. I would have loved to let him pull it, then tell him to shove it and leave. But I didn't. I tried to get my revenge at the end by saying "Thanks!" and waiting for him to ignore me, but he said thanks and cheers and I just left. We'll leave it at a simple conclusion to not go there again and not recommend it to anybody.

My night wasn't ruined though because I then headed across the street to the performance. I found a seat, then a girl who was friends with the people I was sitting next to came in and I moved to another seat so we wouldn't all be squished during the two hours of music to come.

The first piece was the Overture to Prince Igor. I want to see the opera because it has the Polovtsian Dance in it, which was the first song after the interval, and I LOVE that piece. I enjoyed the Valse of the Swan Lake Suite, and it made me want to waltz, obviously! From there, the next songs were intriguing, but the Mazurka to finish off the Suite was a very energetic and festive piece. After the interval, the Nutcracker Suite took hardly any time at all because I enjoyed it so much. I've always loved the Nutcracker, saw it as a kid with an amateur ballet company, and I would LOVE to see it done properly in it's full glory. To a lot of Americans, and probably Russians too, I guess, The Nutcracker and many of its themes represent the heart of Christmas. And as Christmas is being rolled out all over the world, what better way to kick it all off then to hear some real Nutcracker!?

So that's my post for today, and until next Sunday when I will post about my GREAT trip to eastern Europe, Cheers!

My First Production

The Royal Shakespeare Company's tour of King Lear landed at the New London Theatre last night, and I was fortunate enough to score some £5 tickets. Well, I wasn't, but my friend Chris was. So after work yesterday, I headed over to London to enjoy an evening of the theatre. The bus, of course, that's supposed to - and constantly boasts about it - stop every 10 minutes didn't come for a half an hour. Because of that, every stop took 15 minutes so people could buy tickets and hop on. So two and a half hours later (what should have been an hour and a half), I arrived in Covent Garden and Chris and I made it to the show.

Ian McKellan, you know him as Gandalf from Lord of the Rings, played the part of King Lear and was fantastic. Every other line sounded like he was going to yell at Peregrin Took or Samwise Gamgee, but he stuck to the script and played an amazing crazy person. I haven't seen, or been in, a production for so long that I forgot how pulling it is. How incredibly intoxicating. I really enjoyed it, mainly because there was so much heart and fullness, and also because it was REAL Shakespeare. This was no high school play. At least six of the characters were ones I could recognize by face and name the films they'd acted in, and of course, having the caliber of Sir Ian McKellan 100 feet from you was always exciting as well. I'm ready to come home and try to get into the Beef'n'Boards productions. Man, that would be fun. So, we'll see. Till then, I'll try to keep getting £5 tickets and watching the classics. Cheers!

The Welsh Are from Wales

And they have a killer coast. It's all rocks on the beach of Aberystwyth , but at least they're round and smooth and fun to throw. As for the town itself, it boasts a small population of 10,000, which nearly doubles to 18,000 when the University of Aberystwyth is in session. The life in a small town is rather quiet, especially when you step into a corner pub and find only the bartender and three older gents jawing and laughing at one man's anecdotes about his wife drinking a bottle of port each night before they retire to bed. I found it to be something out of a storybook, and my storybook became one of old assumptions come true when a few men and a woman came in for some whisky's and were all missing nearly all half of their teeth.

On the day I arrived, I hadn't slept save a few hours of stolen and frequently interrupted REM cycles on the train over. Even so, I got off the train and found that where there were no hills, there was the coast, and where there was the coast, there was my hotel. I walked through the town square and past plenty of little shops to the coast where the morning rain was just letting up and the waves were splashing gently against the rocks and the cliffs that guarded the town's northern and southern borders. I found the Gwest'y Marine Hotel and checked in. The lady on the phone was speaking Welsh, and though the language itself was written alongside the English version on every sign in town, I only heard it a couple more times. Apparently only 160,000 still speak it, and that number is dropping. Very similar to the Gaelic language, where only 80,000 still speak that (if I remember correctly) within it's old realm of the Scottish and Irish countrysides. I dropped a few things off in my room and headed of for some food and to explore. I walked along the "Promenade" which is the mile and a half coastline and one of the main attractions of Aberystwyth. It lead me to the old castle that now only has bits and pieces of its former glory, dashed to rubble from over 900 years of the sea and her fury and storms. I decided to go back to town before I explored the castle, which really did turn out to be a small exploration of a few old towers, some gravestones, and remnants of several staircases, and had a pint and some fish pie. Not bad at all, only I had the smell of fish from the sea to keep the taste of the pie in my mouth for the rest of the day.

I went to the castle and the sun was going to set in a few hours, so I decided to find a hill to watch in on. To the direct south, there was a rather massive climb that I didn't think I wanted to try, but a smaller hill to the east a bit that I might try. Well, wouldn't you know it, I got to the east hill after going through the marine part of the town, and realized that the southern hill would be blocking my view. So I found my way to the coast again (after much toil and going this way and that) and walked up the hill. I didn't want to miss any of the sunset, and it had taken me about an hour and a half to get to the hillside, so I tried to jog up it. Good luck. I stopped every few steps because I'm a pansy and I'm out of shape, but finally I reached the top and the wind was blowing so hard that I could do the whole lean-out-over-the-edge-with-arms-outstretched-and-let-the-wind-hold-me-up deal. Don't worry, it wasn't a cliff or anything and I wasn't going to tumble to the sea and certain death, although I would have had a fun roll trying to stop myself if I had fallen. The sun began to set and here was my view:



Yeah. I was reminded more this trip, probably because of my solitude, about how great God's creation really is. And again, I was inspired to travel more and more, to see as much as I can before I die. Strangely enough, the Disney song "Circle of Life" came on as I was heading to the hill, and the words "more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than can ever be done..." hit me smack in the face. There is more than can ever be seen, but I intend to see as much as I can.

I headed down the hill because the wind was picking up and I wanted a brew. I wanted a nap first, and the nap turned into an all-night sleep-a-thon, and I woke up for breakfast the next morning. I love the English breakfasts, but this was came with the room fee and was a buffet, so I was stoked. Sausages, bacon, eggs, hash browns, mushrooms, tomatoes, beans, yogurt, tea and orange juice was a nice way to start a day that ended up full of food. I checked out of my room and headed out, my feet killing me because of the width, or lack thereof, of my shoes. I wanted to find The Devil's Bridge and the surrounding waterfalls, but that was too far of a walk, plus I didn't know how to get there. So, you remember the eastern hill that I wanted to go on? Well, it turns out that it's a nature reserve and there's a footpath that leads all the way around it and all the way to the top, where there is a monument. Not a big one, per se, but one nonetheless. So I bought a loaf of brown bread, a couple apples, an orange and what was called a custard slide - which was custard in between wafered shortbread with icing... mmmmmmmm!!! - and headed up. The rain started, but at least it wasn't too cold, and I made it to the top to enjoy my little meal. I wasn't really hungry by the time I got up there because it only took me about an hour to scale the smallish hill, but I ate anyway and enjoyed the view. A rainy day by the ocean isn't like a rainy day in the country or in the city. It's perfectly appealing and not in any way an inconvenience, unless you're trying to stay dry, that is. I didn't really care, so I walked about halfway around the hill admiring all of central Wales' hills and valleys, and of course, sheep. It was a nice walk, and although my feet made it feel like it was a few hours time, only another hour or so had passed and I had at least five left before my train was due to head out. So I headed down to town to find a pub, journal some thoughts and read. I found the pub, had a couple of Guinness while I wrote and read, then headed across the street to the train station. I still had three hours, at least. So I went to the connected pub and had another pint, my first Abbot Ale, which is popular here and I can see why. I was very impressed! I started dozing at my table while reading my book, The Brothers Karamozov, and I know the people that were eating near me were watching and snickering as my head bobbed up and down. I let another half hour go by, then got up to get a coffee and a treacle sponge. A Treacle Sponge is basically a piece of naked, rich fluffy cake and it's served in small pool of hot custard. Absolutely amazing piece of dessert, and I've enjoyed it twice immensely now. Actually, the first time I had it, I had it while waiting for my bus to Scotland, so I guess this Treacle treat could be considered my "waiting food."



I finally left the pub and went to wait outside the station for my train. A boring train ride and a Whopper Meal from the Burger King in Birmingham New Street Station later, I'm home, giving you my last two days. I hope you enjoyed them as much as my sore feet and I did. I hope your feet aren't sore, and check out the pictures . I'm sorry there's so many coastlines and rocks and such, but I didn't want to weed all of the bad ones out. The ones of the sun on the sea are the best, and a few of the castle pictures are cool too. Cheers!

A Litte More on Scotland

Sorry the last post wasn't infused with feelings and insights and such. I wanted to get an update to you all, but I had to rush off to see Walter Hooper in the city centre. I'll post about that next. As for more Scotland... mmmmm...

So, when I got there the sun had just risen and the sky was cloudy. Go figure. From there I just assumed that I would have to get lucky to not get rained on, although my umbrella provided some assurance that I wouldn't get too wet. We went to Liturgy, Chris and I, under a cloud-covered sky, feeling a couple drops of drizzle. After the gallery, we walked to the near M&S (Marc Spencer) to grab some dinner. The cold was beginning to bite. We sat outside with our makeshift dinner, a smoked ham and mustard for Chris and a seafood mix sandwich for me, sharing a block of Davidstowe Cheddar and two kinds of crisps; Sour Cream and Red Onion was Chris' pick and mine was Roguefort and Bacon. All I can say is that I will never have a favorite crisp (chip) other than Roguefort and Cheddar. Wow. Holy goodness of life those were the best chips I've ever had and I am going to find the nearest store that has them and load up. Wow. The other crisps were good as well, but really, I could eat bags and bags of the other and never get tired of it. Wow.

The next day we woke to a cloudy sky as well.

"Please, just let us get through today without a downpour..."

Wow. This is the day we ended up with.



When we stepped off the train at Stirling, the remnants of the early morning rain still hung in the smell of the air and the puddles on the ground. We expected more. As we walked up to Stirling Castle, we saw some blue coming in from the west. Soon, the blue was all we could see, and I don't think I will ever see such a day in Scotland again. Hopefully, I will, but I have to be Bilbo Baggins, Luckwearer, in order to be granted such a day again. This blue sky provided us with mile upon mile views. From the north, south and west we saw Highlands. The east provided the industrial smokestacks of Falkirk. Green, orange, yellow, red and blue were the choice colours that the landscape decided to wear that day. Now I want to see Maine in the fall. People say that nowhere greater is there to see the trees in the fall than in Maine. I want to compare Maine to here, because truly, these colours were absolutely magnificent. And yes, I'm trying to spell like a Britishman because I'm here.

The bus ride today from the airport provided the excellent scenery it always does, and I am going to be sad to see the trees go bare soon. The English countryside is all that it is cracked up to be, I must say. I'm getting more and more impressed with England as the days progress. The beer is outstanding, the people don't smell, their teeth is as good as ours, the food is flipping amazing (especially the cheese), the countryside is fantastic and history, of course, is deep enough to keep the most intense history buffs elated. I'm elated. I'm glad this weekend finally came. I came upon what I knew I would, which is my love of traveling. I can't wait to get out and see more. Wales, Ireland, France, Northern England, more of Scotland, Belgium, Italy... And when I get home, I most certainly won't be sitting at home during the weekends and the days off. Something Chris said makes a lot of sense:

"We have the same quality of landscapes available in the States as anywhere in the world. Here, the history is much older and the roots run deeper. So if you don't have time to see everything here, see the things you can't see at home. Go to the castles, monuments, museums and do things you can't in America. If you have time to enjoy the scenery, fine, but if you don't have the time, do that at home."

I'm paraphrasing, yes, but the matter is that while I'm here, I need to enjoy all that I can't when I'm home. However, it also says that I need to enjoy things at home. So now, I want to do things that people here can't. I want to go to the Indy 500. I want to see Mt. Rushmore. I want to see the Grand Canyon and climb some Rockies. I want to walk the Appalachian trail and see the Liberty Bell. I want to go to Gettysburgh (yeah, Mom and Dad, I actually want to go now!) and see Graceland. I don't do any of these things that I have so close to me at home, but I'm over here doing things that we can't do at home. It's strange; here, people don't do the things I'm over here to do. They would, however, love to go to the Indy 500. They want to see the Rockies. My travel bug has bitten. The lust has begun.

Sorry for the rambling, but hey, you're the one checking on my life, so here's what you get! Hahaha... Cheers...

The First of Many!

This was the weekend of my first outing. Scotland was the destination, beginning in Edinburgh, making a day trip to Stirling and the Wallace Monument, then home for a C.S. Lewis Literary Society meeting. The account is as follows:

I was to leave Oxford by bus to Victoria Station in London to catch the 9:00 bus, and I didn't wake up. I left Oxford at 7:50, arriving in London at 9:45. This required me to buy a new ticket and wait until 11:00pm before the next bus left. The trip didn't start well. Getting to Edinburgh at 7:30 on Sunday morning, I was dead tired from minimal sleep on the way up, but still met with my friend Chris Kies, who is over here for four weeks touring the Isles. We made our way to the Greek church there for Matins and Liturgy, and I must say, it was very nice to venerate an icon and receive a blessing from a priest again. After Liturgy we were introduced to a guy named Chris who is from Alabama and getting his PhD at Edinburgh University in Religious Studies, more specifically Orthodox Prayer. That was nice meeting somebody from home and getting contact for when I go again. We then proceeded to the Scottish National Gallery and enjoyed some William Blake prints, as well as Monet, Degas, Van Gogh and Raphael works. I'm not a lover of art and only certain works will do something to me, but I did enjoy the series of prints by Blake: The Story of Job, which is based on the account of Job and his time of desolation. Neat interpretations.

From there we found the pub Greyfriar's Bobby, which happens to be one of the most famous in Scotland, and had a Scotch. Oddly enough, everybody in the room we were sitting in was from America, mostly west coast. From there we found another pub and enjoyed some ales. The next morning we headed to Stirling. Stirling Castle provided amazing scenery and an extremely interesting history, which I'm afraid, you'll have to look up for yourself. The Wallace Monument followed. The Wallace Statue in front is based on Mel Gibson in Braveheart, but still a good remembrance. In the monument itself was Wallace's Sword and a good history of how Wallace grew up, got involved with the resistance of Edward the I, defeated armies, was tortured and killed and became the country of Scotland's greatest hero.

This is the view atop the Wallace Monument in Stirling, Scotland. From this perch, with the wind clapping your face, you can see a great deal of central Scotland. The War for Scottish Independence and the rule of William Wallace took place here. The foothills of the Highlands are behind me in the photo. To my right - where you can't see - is Stirling University. A little further west of the University is the actual town of Stirling, where Stirling Castle sits on a hill, overlooking the city. Between the Monument and Stirling Castle is the field where the Battle of Stirling Bridge took place, where the blood of a few Scots and many an Englishman seeped into the soil. I walked up Abbey Craig, where the Monument is, which happens to be the same crag where Sir William his partner Sir Robert Moray watched the English cross the plains, and from whence the Scottish guerrillas ran down to crush the oncoming army of Edward the Longshanks. From my spot on top of the mountain I could see where the Battle of Bannockburn, Falkirk, and Stirling Bridge all took place, and just knowing that 700 years ago, men fought and won their freedom here... really neat...

As for Edinburgh, I kind of wish I was living there. Granted, I would like to live everywhere and I'll say that after every trip, but Scotland really is a great place. The city itself is clean, and the fact that there's a castle and a nice crag that holds it like bookends as well as the Scottish accent coming from most lips, well, all the better! I enjoyed my first real Scotch, Craggenmore, and it certainly tasted like Scotch. I don't have the palate for Scotch, and I won't become a lover or connoisseur, but I'm sure I will have more in my lifetime. The ale, however was a much different story. I tried six different kinds in the pub of choice, The Bow Bar, and each of them was better than your average beer. Now, don't think me a lush, this was over two nights and four of those were half pints. I didn't get to see all I wanted, like Edinburgh Castle for example, but that just means that now I HAVE to go back to Edinburgh. So, all in all, the trip to Edinburgh was a success in all ways but one: NOBODY had Scotch eggs. For those of you who don't know what that is, a Scotch Egg is basically a hardboiled egg wrapped in sausage and deep fried. Chris and I asked several store owners, bartenders and patrons of the pubs if they knew where we could find them. Some people hadn't even heard of them let alone where to find them. So apparently, I will have to wait until I get home to have a good Scotch egg. Hmph.

I'll upload the pictures onto Flickr later, and perhaps give some more elaborative insights. Until then, cheers!