Monday, December 31, 2007

12.31 A NEW YEAR

Holidays are meant to be spent with friends and families. They're said to be amongst the most memorable occasions.

When you're travelling solo, the random people you meet replace those people who are closest to you. In a peculiar way you bond, relinquishing prejudgements and any inhibitions that would otherwise make you reluctant to grow friends.

It's an accelerated, ephemeral development of relationships.

Put yourself in the situation where you're travelling solo AND you are spending holidays together, and it strengthens that strange bond. Even if you don't really like the people, you are sharing something special and acquiesce as you would your least favourite cousin. You're stuck with them.

This evening I was lucky enough to get stuck with a band of like-minded travellers set on having a remarkable new years. (Among them, Joe and Louise, a couple from Melbourne who I've spent most of my time here with). After dinner and a bottle or two of wine, we battled the crowds in the city centre to make our way to the riverside where the fireworks show was best viewed.

The mutual urge to veer off the beaten track carried us over a bridge and onto a small island in the middle of Prague's Vltava River where we joined a few dozen others - mostly locals - firing sparklers and crackers and toasting left, right, and centre.

A glass of rum and hot chocolate in hand I did a slow but still dizzying 360 to enjoy the panorama of fire in the sky.

It was amazing.

We were all pretty mesmerized and infatuated with the realization that we had landed the best seat in the Praguish house.

Midnight had come and gone. Without traditions to uphold, without the familiar countdown - Dick Clark muttering something on TV amidst a crowd of fanatical New Yorkers - there was little longing.

In the absence of any familiarity, amidst the void of any tradition, and without the company of old friends or close family it was truly novel. A proper New Year.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

12.30 BANDITOS

...Or so I thought.

I find myself even farther removed from Prague among a crowd of Canadian hockey fan(atic)s drinking beer in a mexican restaurant.

They happen to be staying at the same place I am and have put a dent in the chair seats across the street at Banditos.

I find myself spending more and more time here as the week carries on. I am a tourist by day but find comfort in Canadian company by night.

No place like home...or the closest thing to it. Click those ruby heels.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

12.29 NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE

Not in Prague that is.

After an extraordinariliy touristy day touring the Prague Castle, snacking on pickled cheese and rye and attending a live Marionnette theatre production of Don Giovanni (the Opera Mozart created in Prague for Prague), I found myself here.

I am in an Italian-style cafe enjoying stone-oven pizza and merlot with a bunch of Aussies. It is a welcomed break from Pilsner, pork stew and variations of potato dumplings.

Kate and Natasha, both from Sydney, are registered medical technicians working in London and bring me back to my days at the Vascular Lab. It was a year ago that I resumed my staff position there for the purpose of funding this very holiday. My mind wanders to pulsing waveforms and the gangrenous toes.

The reverie is nice, nonetheless and after more than two weeks of touring and travel I need to take a moment away from Eastern Europe. I can't imagine feeling any farther away than this...

Friday, December 28, 2007

12.28 PETRIN TOWER

When Gustave Eiffel made his mark on paris it was innovation and engineering he had in mind moreso than aesthetics.

Despite controversial receipt by the general public, it was accepted as a remarkable structure in design and complexity, yet it was (and still is)undeniably an eyesore.

Two years later, in 1891, the Czechosolvakian Republic constructed a miniature replica of the Parisian peak. It towers the city in plain view from any angle, marring the landscape of one of Europe's most beautiful cities.

The Petrin Tower is due some recognition, however, for its historical role in Czech(-osolvakian)telecommunications. (A journalism student myself, I have come to appreciate these sorts of feats although I cease to understand communications technology beyond the age of the printing press...). The steel structure was originally used as an observations and transmissions tower. I'm not sure what they were observing then, but it now offers a 360 view of the city scape. Lovely.

In the 1950s it was used for regular television broadcasting through a system of antennas mounted on the tower top. For 40 years it distributed all sorts of Czech programming including who-knows-what sort of Stalinist propaganda and neo-Stalinist numbo-jumbo in its earlier years. That tidbit wasn't included in the brief 'Tower History' flyer I was handed before my ascent.

That brings me to the climb.

In 1998 the Spojprojekt Praha Company embarked on a renovation and restoration of the Petrin Tower making it accessible to the public and most notably an unmistakable tourist trap - er, attraction.

I'm not a sucker for these sorts of things, but once you've strapped your quads and strained your calves scaling the Petrin Hill to find yourself at the tower's base, you may as well gird your loins and go for it.

Besides, It's only 60kc which is peanuts of the quality you might feed to a Bohemian circus elephant.

I embarked on the first of 299 steps, not without first asking the lady at the ticketbooth why they didn't just engineer one last step into the design. She replied with a confused and still contemplative shrug of the shoulders.

I tried counting just to make sure it wasn't actually 300 but lost it at around 42 steps, the increasing rhythm of each breath confusing the count of my steps, not to mention I was chewing a piece of gum. Far too much going on at once.

I was indeed distracted by my breathlessness, a consequence of my lack of general fitness coupled with the breath-taking views at each plateau. I paused at one of these for a rest and to have my photo taken by a good-looking Spaniard before continuing to the top of the tower.

The view wasn't spectacular as such, but aided my orientation of the city and the winding path of the Vltava River which cuts through its centre. I noticed small structures amidst remarkable monuments and a river of people - tourists - running through them.

My attention was struck and stuck, however, on a single clothesline spanning the sunlit breadth of a tall residential building. Panties and pairs of socks were neatly pegged between a few t-shirts along its length. I recalled the upheaval in Aurora last summer where it was made illegal to hang clothes to dry - a breach of property regulations. Residents faced prosecution and were left to resort to the unenvironmental and uneconomical method of their Maytag. As recently as November municipalities the Ontario town was calling on provincial government to initiate legislation overriding subdivision property agreements and making the 'humble' clothesline a regular siting once again.

It is a passionate cause. There is even a "Right to Dry" movement.

The argument, at its core, is one of aesthetics. The property owners believe a string-line of socks and underwear is an eyesore. Residents argue there is some intrinsic beauty here, nostalgic in a sense, not to mention hanging clothes to dry is less costly and more environmentally sound.

I stood atop the Petrin Tower - this eyesore that offers such eye-pleasing views.
I thought about the Eiffel Tower, equally reviled for its cold appearance.
Yet both are beautiful in their symbolism and remarkable in their historical relevance.
Both are necessary as the clothesline.

Behold. Breathe. Breath deeply.
And descend.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

12.27 PRAGUE

A train carried me and my overloaded luggage from Bavaria to Bohemia.

Crossing the border by night I noticed little in the change of landscape. But when I finally arrived in Prague I knew this wasn't Deutschland anymore.


The station was bustling - bumping in the late evening hours. A stark contrast to the ghost town I had departed 6 hours earlier. Notices in Czech were indecipherable, bearing no resemblance to my native English tongue or my more recently acquired German lingo. The currency - 1000 Koruny to 30 British Pounds to roughly 60 Canadian dollars - is only mildly confusing. Still, forking out 300Kc for a coffee makes me feel like a high roller.


I walked circles for a bit before I orienteered my way into the city, my trusty map in hand. Lost, but not abandoned to my own navigational devices (i.e., lick my finger and follow the wind, which is reliably westerly where I come from...).


I love this sort of travel - taking on a big city, getting lost in winding streets. Bookstores, cafes, galleries, and markets. Certainly enough to keep me occupied for a week.

Indeed, you will see that I end up staying local the entire week.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

12.26 GHOST TOWN

This is not the Boxing Day that I'm used to.

By the afternoon of Chistmas Eve the bustling market stalls throughout Germany start closing shop. Shoppers evacuate the city centre and head home only to surface breifly from their abodes to attend church service.

I went to a Lutheran service at St. Lawrence's, a Gothic church. The stone-cold stone I stood on left my feet frozen. I never did warm up despite the cozy crowd I nestled myself in between to listen to the organ music. Standing room only that night.

The crowds quickly dissipate after mass. I headed back to the hostel for a quiet night, followed by an equally quiet Christmas (on which I ate 5 - yes 5! - leibkuchen), followed by an equally quiet "boxing day."

On this day (a monumental day for gross sales where I come from) I took a walk through town and was astounded by the echo of my footsteps on the cobblestone. Like a bat, I could have closed my eyes and relied on echolocation to navigate the winding streets. But then I trip on the cobblestone with my eyes open...

(If I were a bat on Boxing Day in Canada I would hide from daylight and creep reluctantly into the shadows only when the deluge of shoppers have retreated to their dinner tables for leftover turkey.)

It was nice to go for a peaceful stroll. I was prompted by slight boredom and an equal curiosity about who/what might also brave the awkward silence of the city street. I crossed paths with a handful of presumably like minded tourists and a few German families marking the moment with photos in front of fountains and church steps.

I walked briskly to stay warm, but slowly enough to browse the shop windows as I passed. It was a subtle urge to fulfill the 'boxing day' tradition that means consuming: consuming reduced items amidst crowds of shoppers along with mountains of mashed potatoes and re-heated stuffing. It took little to satisfy this urge. I would rather deny it.

I hate to shop.
Right now I feel very far from home, but very far from homesick.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

12.25 FROHE WEIHNACHTEN!

FROHE WEIHNACHTEN!
(night watchmen?....)

Monday, December 24, 2007

12.24 A CHRISTMAS MESSAGE

This man stood, quietly, amidst the hustle and bustle of shoppers and tourists making their last rounds of the Christmas markets.

His good news, scribbled sideways, in largish text on a whiteboard: "Jesus Christus ist fur dich geboren."

He stood in front of St. Lawrence's Lutheran Church, and with the steadiness of a a palace guard, didn't flinch while I stole his photo.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

12.23 KIRSCHMANNLE

Flying solo again.
At the first sign of distress, I lean to my trusty novel and find a sweet cafe where I can relax with a forkful in my mouth and my nose in a book.

I happened to land a forkful of Kirschmannle.

It is a cherry-chocolate-almond pastry that is deemed a specialty of Nurenburg. Hit the spot. Sitting at a long-time family owned place called Cafe Beer, I delved into my book, my attention interrupted only at chapter ends when I breaked to bite into dessert.

The book was engaging enough to keep me distracted from the couples, the families, the groups of friends coming and going from the cafe. But the slice of pastry was fit for two and I would have like to have someone, anyone...Casey...to share with.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

12.22 CHESS ANYONE?

Casey will be leaving for Munich tonight, then departing to Canada tommorow. We had a relaxing day, just enjoying the city scene, staying warm, and eating good food.

We found a quaint cafe alongside the city castle where we ate pretzels and tea and challenged ourselves to a game of checkers. We couldn't sort out the rules of the game, figuring we'd be better off playing chess if we had the set.

Its a good thing we're pretty.
Cause we're apparantly too smart for this game.

I think Casey smoked me in the end though I'm not sure. We were both pretty confused by the end of it and made up rules along the way. I was distracted anyhow by the fact that she was taking off soon and I'd be playing solitaire for the next little while.

It has been amazing travelling with Casey, sharing the bitter burn of frostbite, sampling together the bittersweet bite of gluewein, and sharing woes and worries about school over a soothing plate of knoodle and goulash. All the while, it has been loads of fun.

Friday, December 21, 2007

12.21 TOURING A LOCAL

Casey's friend Stephen joined us from Erfurt for his first visit to the town of Nuremberg. This well travelled bloke had never been to this historic city, despite living only a few hours away by train.

It speaks to the notion that we percieve what is farther away or outside our nation's bounds as being more exotic and therefore having more appeal.
So how do you show a German around an old German town? Both Casey and I were stumped and so meandered the streets alongside Stephan exchanging information about our hometowns instead. I learned a lot about Erfurt, while Stephan got plenty of detail about my life in the UK.
Casey provided a more suitable tourguide, showing him to the gourmet Lebkuchen stalls and insisting he turn the legendary Nurenburg Ring, an ironwork of intricate piercing inserted withing latticed grills by the renaissance locksmith Andreus Kuhn. It is said that turning the ring once will bring good fortune and make your wish come true.
We toured the Nuremberg tower with Stephan and tried to explore some of the history, but realized we knew very little about the town, its history, or its art. At the end of the day, he said we had seen what Nurermberg wants us to see. I was disappointed that we had only skimmed the surface but then wondered if I really want to see what Nuremberg doesn't want me to.
We ended the day at a local brewery where we dined on traditional food local to this town and bid Stephan adeiu as he hopped on his return to Erfurt.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

12.20 SANTA SPOTTING

Casey and I travelled from Munchen to Nurnburg today. This city boasts a reputation for being the Number 1 Christmas Town. It certainly hosts plenty of markets to make its name and is home to the best ever Lebkuchen, or traditional ginger bread cookies.

And there certainly is no shortage of Santa Claus posers.
I spotted him here today with his pup.

Later in the day I found he was also musically inclide, with accordian in hand and puppy in tow. I'm not sure if it was Santa's merry making or the adorable sidekick that had me, along with most passersby, throwing our money at the man.

Anyhow we made our way through this beautiful town, on either side of its Pegnitz river, through several of its ornate gothic churches, and up and down the christmas market stalls for treats and souvenirs. I browsed a couple of bookshops as well and landed an golden find: A copy of "Rotkappchen" by the Bruder Grimm. It is the original german text of the story of Red Riding Hood, only the illustrations have been done by a contemporary artist in a wild and abstract juxtaposition to the text.

Merry Christmas to me.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

12.19 DACHAU

A trip to Dachau made for an interesting history lesson today.

Instead of touring the place on audio or just reading the posts on monuments and sites, Casey and I booked a tour with an independent guide working for the concentration camp. His name is Gordon.

Gordon is a fine artist and provides tours of Dachau on the side. He does it because he is passionate about the history of Bavaria during WWII. Born in Ireland, Gordon has lived in Germany for 8 years, has learned the language, and had some fascinating insights into the culture and its history to share.

The tour was certainly flavoured by Gordon's opinion on the implications of what happened here during the war, what it meant then and how it remains significant in our world today. It was an enlightening experience as I knew little about the development and running of a concentration camp.

Dachau was the central camp, where high profile prisoners were originally held. It eventually became a training ground for S.A. members and a starting point where all prisoners were filtered through.

Gordon is pleased that the camp has become somewhat of a cemetery and a place where families of those who died here are able to visit and mourn. At the same time, the grounds have been imposed on by several religious memorials, each bestowed upon the camp as a reconciliatory gift by different religious denominations.

Here I have captured the peak of the Russian Orthodox monument. This church decided against erecting its memorial on the site of the camp in a motion to keep the location neutral of religious or cultural divisions. I am looking at the monument from across the ditch and beyond the electric barbed wire fence where prisoners were once tempted to cross the line and commit to their execution.

The camp was cold and eerie but not in a way that is spooked. Instead I felt empty here and at the same time fascinated by some of the stories Gordon told. I was less moved by facts and figures than I was by circumstances and opportunities which made the atrocities of WWII possible. The role of the Dachau concentration camp is a piece of this monstrous and materminded puzzle which.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

12.18 SALZBURG

On a bit of a whim, Casey and I hopped on a train from Munich to Salzburg today. We expected to be amongst a bunch of other like-minded tourists, heading out for a day trip to see some sights. In fact, the train was loaded with local Germans, mostly pensioners, who set out annually to visit the market stalls in this neighbouring Austrian city and get some good deals on Leivchuken and crafts.

We diverted from the typical tourist paths which follow the monumental spots where the "Sound of Music" was filmed, despite desperately wanting to know where we could find a relic of one of our favorite old films. We found a cow, a tacky green colour, painted with scenes depicting Julie Andrews and the rest of the von Trapps twirling in the Alps.

Speaking of Alps, I got my first glimpse of those great peaks today. It was at the top of the (exhausting) climb up to Salzburg's tower where we got a gorgeous view of the city and landscape. You can barely see Casey in this pic - she is tiny compared to the gigantic tower entrance.

After the trek we made our way to a cafe to enjoy a piece of Sukretorte - a traditional chocolate pie. Absolutely scrumptious.

Monday, December 17, 2007

12.17 GLUHWEIN

We spent the day roaming the city and the market stalls then headed to the Tollwood Christmas Marketplace where we met Bowerman for some traditional gluvein.

The Tollwood markets are an ecclectic arrangement of artisan work and food. Its has a Bohemian flare to it and is held in a wide open space just outside the city centre.

The gluhwein is a mulled red wine spiced and spiked with whiskey or rum. This one was fired up with a flaming piece of sugar on the lip of the mug, it simultaneously warms and sweetens the drink.

Bottoms up...once it cools off the gluvein loses is sweet flavour and the sharp alcoholic taste becomes almost unbearable.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

12.16 BRATWURST

Finally, Casey and I got our mitted hands on some german sausage. A bratwurst bun was on the to-do list for the day and it was worth scouring the Christmas markets for the best looking bite.

Typically, I only do street meet at 3 in the morning on a hangover. But the cold air forces the senses to yield to the smoking smell coming from market stalls and the steamy spiced sausage on a bun.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

12.15 HOFBRAUHAUS

I am in the historic Hofbrauhaus in Munich with Bowerman and Casey. On the upper level of this old beer hall, Hitler held meetings with his political supporters, establishing the Nazi party and SA troops.
The place has a dark past, but the night was merry. Today it remains a popular place for gathering with friends, for pork and beef and wheat beer to wash it all down.
And I am in the good company of friends indeed. Bowerman has offered Casey and I a place at his apartment for the next few nights. He has been living in Germany for a few years now, teaching and loving life with knoodle and bratwurst. Who could complain, really?

Friday, December 14, 2007

12.14 LADIES NIGHT

We are the women who have infiltrated the man's world that is journalism at NTU. We only comprise one third of the head count in the program but we are a strong and willing force, collected tonight to celebrate a semester's end.

We started out at a local pub where we met the boys for a few drinks before heading to our dinner reservation, leaving the boys is a disarray. How will they organise themselves without us? Where will they go on one of the busiest nights of the year without reservation?

They followed close and parked it at a pub around the corner from our dinner reservation where they remained until we enjoyed an exclusive dinner which we absolutely did not spend talking about boys.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

12.13 FLEECE

School's nearly out and thing's are winding down. Papers are handed in, deadlines are passed and we're all just a bit more cheerful.

Lunch at the fleece found a group of nearly 20 slowly diminish until only four of us (die-hards?) remained. Simon, Paul, Jenny and I had one last well-deserved pint before departing.

With no stories to chase, no reports to write, no library books to check in, what's the hurry?

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

12.12 MEMSAAB

The lineup: Sean, Maddy, Dion, myself and Jake.

We shared Indian curry before going our own ways for the holidays. Sometimes it's nice to get out of the house.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

12.11 CHERRY PICKER

Paul is another spring fever baby. He is turning 25 and has never before tasted a cherry.

At his ripe old age, I figured what better time to break the spell and have him sample a ripe old cherry. They're out of season in most parts of the world, but the market had a crate of imports that I dug into.

We all watched while Paul maneuvered the pitted fruit clumsily as any cherry virgin would. He seemed impartial to the taste and after a few pieces conceded that they were, "alright."

I beg to differ.

Monday, December 10, 2007

12.10 FROST

This is frost. It is quite possibly the closest I'll come to seeing snow in Nottingham and therefore worth documenting.

Actually, the thin layer of opaque ice on the forest ground this morning was beautiful. Knowing it would melt by mid day brought me to a halt on my bike ride to school to capture the icing on the foliage cake.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

12.09 BURGER QUEENS

For five long years I fasted from fast food. It started as a short-term resolution to detox over a season of cross country training, in the hopes that a nutritious turn would mean a faster turnover. I was 15.

It turned into a long-term abstinence. It wasn't so much an active effort to avoid fast food. I just stopped craving burgers alltogether.

It took until the end of my teenage years, before I was old enough to sense a nostalgia for fast food. It might have been a fleeting sniff of a whopper, an advertisement for a juicy char grilled burger that triggered the sentiment. Whatever it was, it brought me to my senses enough to realize that it was time to break the spell.

I would ring in my 20th birthday as the Burger Queen.

Since then, a birthday lunch at Burger King has become ritual. Every year I am joined by a different group of friends or family for a hit of greasy burger and fries - and a wash of coke.

It has been eight years running. I haven't missed a beat. Every year it has been a different BK to boot. Once I even celebrated in Kaukura, New Zealand at an obscure BK joint. This year, Maddy and I made our way to Nottingham's city centre for a bite. It was enough that Maddy had never seen the menu at burger king and neither of us really new where to place and pick up the order. But we stood out even more wearing plastic star-shaped shades my sister had sent just for the occassion.

They were a nice disguise in case anybody we knew saw us mawing down Whoppers in the city centre. Not that I have anything to hide - it's a shameless ritual....one that I take pride in for sticking to for so long...

At the end of the ordeal our digestive systems had taken a hit. But my birthday tradition had been satisfied. And the tradition will continue - so save the date for next year.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

12.08 BRICKLAYER'S BACK

It was the ultimate birthday splurge. I treated myself to an Indian Head and Neck Massage. I was long due for some therapy as my spine has felt the crunch of hours spent day after day hovering over my computer desk in a demonstration of the most unergonomic spread.

My massage therapist, Emma, took one look at my neck and head, but started with a firm grip at the rolled-in shoulders. She then treaded slowly up my vertebrae with her knuckles, kneading through knots here and there until she hit my traps.

Here she dug. She dug until I had tears in my eyes, was clenching my fists and yelping in excrutiating pain.

"You will thank me for this later."
A line you never want to hear. Ever.

My confidence rested in her strong hold, however. I certainly wasn't going to argue with a woman who's pinky finger could put a dent in my sternum.

Emma had never worked on a back as tight as mine.

She asked if I was a bricklayer by day. There was only a faint hint of sarcasm in her voice.
The emotional and physical pain was excrutiating.

I made a resolution today - an early New Year's vow - to take care of my back come January. I plan to see an osteopath and check in with Emma every 6-8 weeks. I bought a new back pack for cycling into school and plan to start weight training and doing pilates once a week with a friend from uni. In the meantime, I will take careful consideration of the hand-made bricks in and around Nottingham. Wouldn't have wanted to be the one laying those down.

Friday, December 7, 2007

12.07 BIRTHDAY

We are the spring-fever babies. It's Friday night and Clare, Dan and I are celebrating our upcoming birthdays collectively and in advance with a bunch of friends from uni. I have always been accustomed to sharing the spotlight around and on my birthday because there seems to have been a boom of births around the month of December.

At my (young and spritey) age I have no problem drawing attention away - it is becoming a burden to explain my age...to explain how I came to look so young for a 27 year old (and no, I don't feel old at all...). Physically, I am ageing at a slower rate than most but have realized that I am emotionally old enough to appreciate the astonishment when someone learns I am 10 years older than they think.

I still get asked for ID here and there, and always have it on hand. Actually, once this fall I was carded in line at a Wilco's for a purchase of scissors. In the UK you have to be 16 to buy the common kitchen utensil. The woman working cash was stupefied when I kindly told her I was 10 years older than she had assumed. Mouth agape with awe, she asked to see a second piece of picture ID.


Can't wait till I'm forty and I look 29.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

12.06 CLIFTON CAMPUS

I took a bus to NTU's Clifton Campus today for 5 hours of intensive training for a new job I am taking on. In the new year I will begin tutoring primary students in literacy and numeracy.

Clifton is about 20 minutes outside the city centre by bus. It is quite a small campus and remote and houses the Department of Education, Sciences, Medicine, and Technology. It is generally the university's science base, whereas the city centre site hosts the arts and humanities.

It made me feel a world away from where I began, academically. With a background in sciences I feel somehow more at home around this centre - although a departure from my norm has served me better. I think the matter that I am focused now on a discipline that requires that I get out into the community, make contacts daily, and engage in my social environment is a needed break from the path toward the sometimes isolated and independent work-style of academic research.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

12.05 NIGHT LIGHTS

This is the Old Market Square dressed up for Christmas.
Just in front of the council house the German Markets add to the seasonal effect.
A fountain at the far end of the square reflects the lights on the municipal building.
Seems like only yesterday I was here in the city square, a copy of The Guardian in hand, enjoying the last few days of warm weather and sunshine before the school semester set in and daylight savings stole my nightlife. The night lights help.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

12.04 CHRISTMAS BALL

The CBJ hosted its department Christmas party this evening. Organized by undergrads, the shin-dig was more a display of fashion and flare as the HK formals of my undergard years (although it was there that I once wore a home-made dress that barely departed from a poorly wrapped toga except that the material was a pattern of shimmery green.)

Anyhow, the food was scarce but the wine was plenty and my clothes were buttoned and stitched by a proper manufacturer. I was safe to dance the night away.

But the spotlight was already had by Shanks - the international student from India who managed a few hard-core break dance moves which left me on the sidelines having not yet mastered my 'freze.'

Alternatively, there were always folk to hang with at the bar. Here I am with radio students Jenny and Simon, our hair neatly swept to the same size after at least three attempts at a satisfying portrait. I say for only three attempts, we've done pretty good given none of us are TV journalists...

That's besides the point. There is little time to waste taking photos, when there is break dancing to be done. Back to the dance floor.


Monday, December 3, 2007

12.03 A LANGUAGE LESSON


There is a traditional butcher in Mapperley where I frequently pick up random and sometimes exotic cuts of meat. Venison from the Queen's plot in Scotland, ostrich farmed in Lancashire, and Lorne sausage among the varieties I've sampled.

This afternoon, I tried a fagot. It was less a force of appetite than a whim of curiosity that landed one of these traditional English meatballs in my grocery bag.

The first thing that comes to mind upon hearing the term is obviously not a meatball - or bundle of meat - although the etymology of the term does trace back to its 13th century definition of a bundle of sticks, often used to kindle a fire.

Instead, our generation would more readily associate the term, spelled with a double-'G', as a derogatory reference to a person who is homosexual.

For myself, one of Dion's home rolled cigarettes immediately sprung to mind. When I asked him whether he could quit smoking by replacing one fagot with the edible other he kindly reminded me that a ciggy is not a fagot, but a 'fag.'

This was my brief language lesson for the day - and I have one encouter with a foreign phrase or word nearly every day. It's a constant reminder that English - UK-English that is - is not my first language after all...

Sunday, December 2, 2007

12.02 POPCORN

"Once you pop...you can't stop." We all know it as the catchline for Pringles. For Maddy the phrase applies doubly to popcorn.

I have mixed feelings about the toasted maize. It is bland without butter, boring without salt, and far too healthy to gain any sense of indulgence - even after bottoming a pot of freshly popped corn. And there's nothing worse than the lodging of a kernel between a freshly flossed set of pearly whites.

On the topic of my dental works, sugary variations, like caramel corn, satisfy my sweet tooth enough that it's not bothered by an extra sweep with the waxed wire. In addition to this, a visit to the theatre isn't the same without a bucket of popped corn of by your side.

And beyond its crave-curbin functions, popcorn has other varied uses. For instance, this time of year it reminds me of my role in the mass production of endless lengths of strung popcorn for the classroom Christmas tree in primary school. On a cloudless day it also provides an alternative to hunting for vague shapes in the sky - most popcorn pieces, I have found, bear some resemblance either to a zoo animal or a character from The Simpsons.

For Maddy none of this matters. There is no need to dissect the popular popped snack. A sprinkle of salt and a near-bottomless pot of popcorn is good enough. It's appeal is rubbing off on me - but then my appetite succumbs to peer pressure quite easily...

Saturday, December 1, 2007

12.01 CONFUSED CHRISTMAS


It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

But not much like the Christmas I'm used to.

The German markets in the city centre are enough to confuse my seasonal spirit. My own traditions include stringing tin foil ornaments on a two-foot tree, attempts at baking cookies amidst a dust-storm of flour and a tornado of candied fruit; potlucks and Chris Kringle's; and the occasional forage into a turkey's ass with a fist full of stuffing; and late-night treks through a neighbourhood aglow with Christmas bulbs.

None of these traditions will hold this year. I'm trying to make the best of enjoying the novelty, of breaking free of these so-called customs before they become ingraine in my habit like a Whopper on my birthday (more to come).

But for a Canadian girl at a German market in the UK, it can all be a little confusing.


Friday, November 30, 2007

11.30 ITS A JOLLY HOLIDAY


Salma's one of those people who has trouble supressing her holiday glee. Adam's one of those guys who loves the spotlight.

Hence the goofy picture.

I tried to capture the mounting Christmas spirit - Salma with her gingerbread latte; Adam, with his shortbread biscuits, and always looking jolly for the camera.

We warmed up this afternoon with some hot drinks and festive treats. It was a warm-up to the holiday season, the day before the calendar turns and we can all stop containing ourselves. We barely can.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

11.29 BOILING POINT

Even Jake is impressed.

I've mastered the method,
the impeccible boil of an egg, producing for my dinner a gooey golden pond, for my multigrain soldiers to dunk their toasted toes in.

I nailed the sweet potato "chips," to boot.

I am expecting a colour for my courage, having braved the bubbling broth without even an egg timer to guide the execution.

For now, I'll enjoy the just reward of dipping in.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

11.28 PRELUDE TO MUNICH

December is around the corner and the German Markets have long been open in the city centre.

Bratwurst is piled high in the market stalls where keepers keep warm with their hands over grills, their mitts folded over their hands, exposing their figer tips like sausages hanging out the end of a bun.

My mouth waters, but my mind wanders to my upcoming holiday in Munich where I'll be meeting casey. It wanders long enough to hold me from buying a pretzel or a slice of marzipan. I'm saving my appetite for the real thing.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

11.27 SOMERSET CIDER


It looks like a tank of gasoline - then again it could be transmission fluid, the colour of a murky red concoction.

It won't make the car run - but it keeps my housemates going into the late hours.

It's Somerset Cider. A draught notable for its sharp flavour and its tingle on the tongue. Jake brought it back from his hometown near Bristol where the best of this intoxicating apple juice is made.

A sample of both the dry and sweet versions left a not-so-bad taste in my mouth. The gasoline jug makes me think you can guzzle it like gasoline - but I was wise enough to sip slowly.

Monday, November 26, 2007

11.26 MONDAY MORNING

The morning sky was remarkable. This picture doesn't do it justice - the clouds reflected the rising sun against dim indigo sky beyond a horizon of trees transitioning in colour and red brick houses illuminated by the reflection.

Rises like this make it a lot easier to roll out of bed on a Monday morning.

Sunday, November 25, 2007

11.25 MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS


One man’s privacy is another man’s press. In other words, you never know when somebody might be digging through your trash, stealing your photo, or scanning your hard drive for intimate details. In the UK, there is not law protecting privacy and as a result this basic human right is never guaranteed. While the law itself is not sufficient to protect privacy, a consensus that privacy is a fundamental right has caused the courts to seek its protection through alternate means. A degree of privacy protection has been achieved outside of the courts by self-regulatory bodies, and within the judicial system via the Human Rights Act 1998 (HRA) and the common law of confidence. Nevertheless, there are limitations to the extent of protection and redress offered by these means which could be addressed by a tort on privacy.

Spent the entire day - a rainy day - writing this essay. The choice 138 words above are the intro to the 3000 word assignment. Now that I read back, I can't believe I squeezed the word "nevertheless" in there. Those sorts of weary exhalations often emerge in my writing when I'm working on a gloomy day...however, nonetheless, moreover, additionally, furthermore...

I'd better get back to work...

Saturday, November 24, 2007

11.24 CLONEY-CLONE?

Rarely do I watch TV. But tonight it was homework. My housemates endured a science documentary on medical sciene while I reviewed. Here it is:

VISIONS OF THE FUTURE: THE BIOTECH REVOLUTIONAired on BBC Four
Wednesday, November 14, 2007

A clone of a clone. A cloney-clone, in the words of Texan longhorn cattle rancher Ron Marquess. It’s a chromosomal replica of his prize heifer and it’s coming to a farm near you – a genetic farm, that is.
Scientists can breed the perfect cow. Why not engineer the ideal human being?

We’ll start with the bladder.

Dr Michio Kaku, New York’s popular science author and futurist, explores the possibilities of biotechnology and genetics in the eerie but enlightening programme.

Test tube organs and stem cell marrow are among the medical advancements already prolonging human life. A genetically-farmed bladder is nourished under ultra violet light until it is needed to replace a worn and torn original. The same can be done for a heart, a lung, a liver.

The possibilities are as long as the large intestine, but how far will we go?
The question was brought to light as Dr Kaku among a host of scientists, ethicists and one radical trans-humanist debated the future of medical science.

The topic is profound and the programme was heavily scientific, but it centred on a number of thought provoking issues. Still, the gist of the drama is in the Pietre dish and Dr Kaku is no performer – unruffled by the gravity of his DNA forecast and barely moved at the mention of designer babies, the subdued researcher followed the script like the scientific method.

Friday, November 23, 2007

11.23 DISORDER IN THE COURT


Its Friday. But not the typical newsday Friday. Today we made our way to Nottingham's Crown Court to practice our shorthand while various yobs and chavs pleaded guilty or defended their innocence.
I'm not going to elaborate - I still don't trust my understanding of media law enough to definitely avoid contempt of court. Next thing you know I'll be writing out my own sentencing in shorthand while I stand in front of the Queens Bench...
I admit, I am an amateur. Indeed, this was my first visit to the courts - to any court - ever. There was an uncanny juxtaposition in the behaviours of the regulars at the bar: the judges, the solicitors, the reporters, and recorders - and the public in attendance. While there was a somewhat disciplined formality in the tone among the professionals, the lay persons were all quite raucous and seemed oblivious to any general conventions in conduct of the courtroom.
The attempt at orderly conduct lead to a sort of forced disorder. Confused friends and family wandered in and out of courtrooms. Doors banged shut while people tried to close them softly. Whispers were augmented within an attempt at silence.
But the greatest disorder was on my own piece of note paper. There, scribbled in illegible symbol, was my shorthanded court report.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

11.21 OSMOSIS

We're still at Bar 11.

The Black Russian has had a bit of time to circulate. It has improved my photograpy.

That's one theory. Perhaps I have gained better skills through some sort of trans-cranial osmosis as I am surrounded by a room saturated with eagle-eyed creative minds.


Otherwise, it must be the few tips Sean has imparted after watching me fiddle and fumble with my digital cam.

For insteance, he promises that this angle will reveal our double chins - I should take from above if I want to disguise chin flab. But I am determined that I have none.

Look closely? One chin is all I've got. Pictures don't lie. At least not the one's that I take...

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

11.20 BAR 11

This is the line up at Bar 11.
I joined my housemates and their friends here for a few drinks. It is The place to be on a Tuesday night if you are a camera-toting NTU student.

I thought I'd try and swing some fancy photographics myself with this one. Nice try, yeah.
What you can barely see along the frontline is a bottle of Khalua. Not far along I spotted the Grey Goose. Its there on the right in the shadows.
I asked the bartender to make my Russian water black - with a cherry on top.
The orange lighting gave a lovely glow to my favorite drink. An amateurish picture wouldn't do it justice.

11.20 BOX OF LOVE

I walked in the front door and nearly fell head over heels in love.
Not that kind of love.

The kind of love your mother imparts by post over land and sea just to make sure you're okay. The sorta love your sister sends from across the Atlantic just to remind you that you're not too old to celebrate your birthday with colourful plastic shades on.

I opened the door to nearly trip over two parcels - special deliveries from overseas. I was expecting the package from my parents but the post from Clair was a surprise. The contents of both were beyond me. When I tore through the tape I found all sorts of goodies including a combined total of 14 chocolate bars.

Enough to keep this egg soldier fed for a while.

The unwrapping and unravelling was like a cross between an early birthday party and Chrstimas morning. I shamelessly tore open the packages. Gleeful, Elated. Loved.


Monday, November 19, 2007

11.19 BANANA PANCAKES

Banana pancakes. Just because.
Just because its not very often I have them anymore.
They were good.
But they're better with molasses.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

11.18 A MAN'S WORLD?

Some say journalism is a man's world - but I've encountered both women and men in high places in this industry.

Still, the UK is plagued by workplace inequalities among men and women - and its a priortiy for worker's unions - the NUJ included - to put an end to this.

Yet I find myself at the NUJ conference having dinner among a gander of guys - the gaggle of girls poised and powdered across the dining area at a separate table. I felt more than welcomed and perfectly at ease among the men - and indeed blame the circulating testosterone for my near miss at an order of blood pudding with liver and onions for dinner. I settled for the chicken roast, despite the urge to show these boys how to eat like a woMan.

It was a lovely evening and by the end of it both sexes emalgamated in the lounge for a few drinks and an impromptu song and dance. But I got to thinking where the naturally tendency to segregate emerges and where it ceases to exist.

I also got to wondering whether any of the girls had braved the blood and liver.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

11.17 NUJ WORKSHOP

A FLEET of enthusiastic students are poised to establish NUJ chapels at their own academic institutions following a weekend workshop in Bournville...

read more at: http://www.nujtraining.org.uk/page.phtml?id=7580&category=advice&finds=0&string=&strand=

Friday, November 16, 2007

11.16 HOT POT

The house managed to organize enough to get together for dinner and a movie tonight. Well, a movie then dinner.

We saw the "epic" Elizabeth: The Golden Years. It's the sequel to the original film about the virg queen starring Cate Blanchet. I thought it was remarkable in that it stirred some emotion - besides the feeling of hunger stirring in my stomach.

After the film, we made our way the a place called the Hot Pot. Its an international buffet near the Lace Market area of Notts with a lineup of Indian, Thai, Mexican, Italian and British style food - among others.

I've always been partial to buffets, for three specific reasons:

1) Buffets are antisocial. At any given time, there seems to always be at least one dinner guest missing at the table. They can usually be retrieved at the dessert bar, deciding between chocolate torte and blackcurrent pie;

2) Buffets are unhygenic. More hands have been on that chocolate torte than you can imagine. More germs have been expired over that blackcurrent pie than you want to know. I say stick with the fruit salad for some antioxidants. You might need a boost. And finally;

3) Buffets encourage gluttony. You always have the third option of digging into the chocolate tort, taking off with a slice of blackcurrent pie, and topping it off with a heaping helping of fruit salad. Andy why not take a dip at the fondue while you're at it.

Before tonight it had been over a year since I last ate at a buffet-style restaurant. I have to admit, the atmosphere here was great and the food was good enough that I tipped over the gluttonous edge. It satisfied the grumbling growl in my stomach - a meal fit for a queen, or an entire Queendom if you will.

I'm sure Elizabeth wasn't partial to buffets so who am I to complain.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

11.15 BINGHAM

It's been a while since I left the city. Every now and then I need a bit of travel - even if it isn't very far and wide. Sometimes a hop, skip and jump is satisfying enough.

Consider the day in the county I spent with Casey and Jen this summer. Never would have supposed that a day spent in Leamington and Essex would satisfy my exploratory needs.

This afternoon, I made my way through the countryside to Bingham. It's a small town just east of Notts. The visit was more work than lesiure - I was there for a story interview. At the same time, it was nice to see this quaint place, to remind myself that there is more to Nottinghamshire than Notts itself.

When I arrived, the sun was setting on Bingham. The red sky burned brightly off the Mapperley made bricks of old buildings. Mongers in the sqaure were taking down their market stalls and I caught the last glimpse of what seemed to be a true farmer's market - one where the clientele are the farmers! They were selling rakes and garden tools (gardening - farming...close enough), birding equipment and mechanical tools. No vegetables in sight - but seeds and fertilizers galore.

I passed through Bingham, took a breath of fresh farmers air, and made my way back to the city after an afternoon's work.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

11.14 ROYAL THEATRE

Running errands in the city, I zipped passed the Royal Centre, stopping briefly to snap this photo.

I pass the pillared structure nearly every day but this afternoon, something about the theatre caught my eye. It deserves mention as a landmark arts venue in the UK. The historic building dates back to 1865, was remodelled just before the turn of the twentieth century and is currently undergoing review for further refurbishment.

I have yet to sit snug in its one of its cushy chairs amidst its Victorian green and gilt interior. When the annual pantomime tours through Notts I'll be there. I was hoping to see a Christmas performance - the Nutcracker or a symphony but a visit will have to wait. For now I'll continue to admire the dramatic outer shell.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

11.13 LA BEAUX

JULIE SANDS is starving for her artists. “The other day, my accountant said I must be insane,” she declares. “I don’t have any more savings left.” But a dire financial outlook hasn’t suspended this determined entrepreneur from her plan to expand La Beaux Art, a gallery which she established to support local talent.

The quaint building on Woodborough Road in Mapperley just barely houses the work of over a dozen independent artists. Corner to corner, the walls are covered with paintings and drawings, photography and sculpture. Shelves are adorned with hand-made jewellery, woodwork and glass.

Behind the cash counter is a stack of work – idle, unseen. There is no room left to display these. Julie explains: “I won’t survive in this tiny, tiny place. There is too much art that I have to turn away, which I really don’t want to do. And I vowed never to put anything on the floor.”

Since the summer, Julie has been negotiating a lease with the owner of the residential flat above her shop. It is due to be signed this week.
Once she takes over the space, Julie’s blueprints will finally come to life. A photography studio and classroom are among her plans, along with a garden. But above all, additional wall space will allow her artists’ larger pieces to reach the eye of potential beholders.
Julie was 40 when she discovered her own artistic eye.

“My mother-in-law bought me a set of pencils and a notepad,” she recalls. I sat and drew little pictures of a wall in the garden and hung them in my toilet. Everyone said ‘Wow! Who did that?’
…and I said it was me.”

A friend encouraged her to take lessons and develop her skill. For just £1 – a cup of tea included in the fee – Julie attended a community centre art group in Mapperley once a week. At these weekly meetings, Julie was quick to identify an inconspicuous gathering of skill. “I just realised how many talented people were there,” she said. “But none of them had ever sold their work.”

“It seemed so sad that despite all of the galleries in Nottinghamshire none supported local artists. I thought it was about time someone did.” In 2005, Julie gave up work as an administrative assistant and opened La Beaux Art.

Alan Wilson is a framer and photographer from Sherwood. He stumbled upon Julie’s gallery a few months after it was opened. “It was by chance that I walked over and introduced myself.” Prior to meeting Julie, Alan had worked for another framer for 10years. He began mounting work for other artists and regular customers at La Beaux Art, and eventually branched out on his own. Today, Julie’s gallery is his main outlet.

“Locally, Julie has given a lifeline to not only a number of experienced artists, but to beginners and those who have never sold anything in their life,” says Alan. “On the other hand, established artists are more than happy to sell their work through her as well as through other sources.”

Still, Alan believes the project is in its infancy in terms of developing the market for local artwork. With plans for a bigger gallery, he expects it will have an even greater impact. “I think it’s a fantastic idea she’s come up with,” he added. “It’s been two years of hard work to get going and I’m extremely hopeful that it will now take off.”

But trying to sell art isn’t the easiest thing to do. Just ask John and Maeve Wright. The self-taught couple from Mapperley have mastered the use of various mediums – including acrylic, watercolour, and oil. It is John’s dream to practice artwork full time, but instead he works at Sainsbury’s. Maeve was a schoolteacher until 2001, but is now painting full time.

“Julie’s really interested in our art, and in me,” she says. “It’s helped to have someone promoting our work instead of just ourselves. We’ve got a good relationship with her – but not just in a business way. She’s just a friendly person trying to help others. It’s what the area needs – it’s what everyone needs. Without Julie there wouldn’t be an art dimension in our lives.”

Ten years after Julie sketched the wall in her garden, she is drawing up blueprints for a bigger art project. The task does not come without a challenge. “My idea, apart from helping local artists, is to make art affordable,” she explains. To achieve this, she must keep the costs of her business down to a minimum.

“I really struggle to survive, but I’m so determined to make it work,” she adds. I have emptied all my savings, I have sold my house. It isn’t about the money. It’s about the people involved and the fact that I can help them. It’s a chance I can give them. I can’t change their lives, but I can give them hope.”

Julie has a hopeful plea of her own. Once the contract for her lease is completed, she will be able to apply to the Nottingham Art Council for funding. Still, she believes that more resources should be available. “The government needs to help people like me – small businesses. It is hard to survive with so many big bills. What I am doing isn’t just about me, it’s about everyone in this gallery, isn’t it?”

I look around. There are a few people peeking inside the gallery through the window. Otherwise, it is just Julie and I. Yet it’s a full house with a lot of hungry mouths to be fed. Is that Julie’s stomach I hear growling?

Monday, November 12, 2007

11.12 EGG SOLDIERS

You are what you eat. I feel safe in knowing my house is guarded by a troop of Egg Soldiers.

The rate at which soft boild eggs and sliced toast is consumed in our house is reinforced by the fact that EggSoliders has been adopted as the name of our wireness network server, that Maddy has picked up an egg shell shearer from a kitchenware store, and that we don't bother to store our egg holders in a cupboard but leave them within easy reach in the frontline along our countertop.

Spoons in hand, butter shielding bread - the breakfast battlefield is waiting.