I have now been back in the United states for a year. Just how that happened I'm not sure. It is difficult sometimes to differentiate between my lives. I have had a year to process everything and still find myself at a loss at certain moments. I miss England so terribly at times its almost painful. Its important that people understand that my life in the United States isn't so horrible that I need to leave, it is simply that my experience in England was so wonderful, so unique and (brace yourself for a cliche) life-changing. When you are thrust into a completely different culture (I don't care what anyone says, just because they speak English does not make them any less different from Americans) without knowing anyone, without knowing the city or how to get around, it really tests your fortitude. I have never had to navigate anything so completely on my own before. I didn't even know I could read a map!
I think about England all the time, I talk about England all the time. Its never far from my mind. I see things that remind me of England and I start to tear up. I remember the route to The Walkabout and watching rugby matches there and I feel.. forlorn, because I realize I can't just walk down the street and pop in for a pint when a match is on. I think about the people I used to see on a regular basis and feel slightly lost because I haven't seen them in months. Going to the grocery store is boring, I don't have to dodge angry businessmen in the narrow aisles (because the aisles aren't narrow) or snatch the last pot of yogurt from another student, or squeeze my overladen basket past the display of red noses for Comic Relief. I don't get to buy mini savoury eggs anymore, or Sainsbury's Taste the Difference Sea salt and Cider vinegar potato crisps (oh how I miss those) or the Sainsbury's caramel shortbreads (I really liked Sainsbury's). I miss walking down Whiteladies road and past the old methodist church, I miss stopping at Clifton Down Station for cheese and flavored water. I miss eating at Pret A manger, oh how I miss it! I miss the uneven sidewalks that I always tripped over after a night out. I miss riding on the number 54 bus and watching the town go by. I miss seeing the sign for Pen park road and knowing I was almost home. I miss sitting in the Greenhouse with my pint and the girls and Sky Sports News in the background. I miss popping over to Jayne's and sitting with her and the cats watching the British version of Cops. I miss telling Sarah and Louis about my day. I miss Boots and her stupid meow to get out even after her cat door was installed. I miss Gregg's bakery and flapjacks and sausage rolls. I miss arguing with Jack about how to pronounce things. I miss Geraint's crazy Welsh accent, and Paul H's greetings 'Alroight Miss 'enry?!" and Paul G's sarcasm, oh I miss Paul's sarcasm, and watching the 6N at the Rising Sun with Chris and Laurie and Luke and Harry and Jon and George (sometimes). I miss sitting on a bench in Brandon Hill park and watching the pigeons fight over pieces of my pasty. I MISS PASTIES! I miss the smell of England; it was the smell of rain, and baking bread and tea and Sarah's laundry detergent and fresh air, and green, it smelled green. I miss the frantic speed walks to the bus stop because I was running late, and the dodgy god-only-knows-whats in the alley on the way to the bus stop. I miss the friendly North African bus driver that always dropped me off closer to my street than he needed to late at night. I even miss the annoying charity workers that always tried to get me to donate to their charities even though I couldn't because I wasn't a UK citizen. I miss going to Spoons, and Syndicate, and the Roo Bar, and Oceana, and Lab, and Vodka Rev (and seeing Fit Bouncer) and the Elbow Room. I miss the adverts for Comparethemarket.com and that stupid Meerkat. I miss hearing people say "aye that's gurt lush me babbers". I miss the men that worked at Jason Donervan calling me "my darling" in a non-creepy way. I miss the incredible tranquility of Bristol Cathedral. I miss the ancient, creaky doors that led into the lecture hall. I miss Monica's crazy laugh, and Liz's little nuggets of wisdom, and Cara's excited face. I miss the McCooster! I miss wandering around Broadmead and Cabot Circus, and running into Kirk! I miss the weird fashion statements and funny haircuts. I miss people saying things like "I just couldn't be bothered" or "I'm only taking the piss!" (I heard that a lot since people were always taking the piss out of me...) or "Oh aye, its grreat". I miss walking by Banksy's art work every day. I miss going into the museum and art galleries, the tranquility of it calming me instantly. I miss my weekly walks around the city, the buildings, the people, I miss it so much its hard to breathe sometimes. The affection I developed for Bristol is overwhelming when I think about it.
I realize no point in my life is ever going to be the same, even if/when I go back to England, and that just makes me miss it even more.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Friday, June 5, 2009
Ciao bella!
Logging in to my blog account it was in Italian. Thats awesome.
Italia. How on earth do you assign words to something so incredibly indescribable? Everything is different here. The air is different, the people, the food, the buildings. Everything looks warm, and usually is warm, which makes the coolness of the gelato that is inevitably consumed nothing short of blissful. The people are so friendly and charming, wanting to help you, while at the same time usually trying to sell you something, but you can't get annoyed because they are so charming when they do it. The pace of life moves differently, the day can be so hectic in the morning, but then around 2 there is a lull, stands and shops are closed and its so quiet. Surprisingly, many of them open again later in the evening, and walking through the streets with the sun setting and the wind cooling the heat of the day, you can smell strawberries and oranges, and here in Sant Agnello there is always a faint scent of jasmine lingering behind the more prominent smells, as jasmine lines most streets and alleys. Nightfall transforms the place into something entirely new. It looks like a completely different town. The hostel we are staying in is amazing. Its new looking and upon walking in you see that its open and airy, with the perfect balance of light and dark colors, looking entirely mediterranean, of the 21st century. There is of course a bar, and an open courtyard with comfortable couches and tables, with cool stone paving. The winning gem is the roof. Not only is the view spectacularly breathtaking, the roof is beautifully decorated and furnished in a casual fashion that invites one to sit and relax. During the night in the dark, the coast line that is visible is lit up, with various shades of light that glint off the mediterranean. During the day you can see quite far, behind you the mountains, infront of you the sea, of such a deep blue, a blue without the grey tint of the pacific or atlantic, its just blue. Looking at it is mesmerising, and you just think of jumping in, completely submersing yourself in the cool blueness.
We visited Pompei, which was utterly magnificent. So ancient, one can't help but be overwhelmed by it. And always lurking in the background is the reminder of just what happened to this city. Mount Vesuvius sits hulking on the horizon, seemingly harmless, but one can't help but think of the destruction and havoc it wreaked. Amidst the drab stone there are splashes of colour, in the remnants of frescos as yet still attached to a wall here and there, and in the flowers that managed to wriggle their way between cracks and crevices in the stone, as if growing in defiance of the life-stealing force that once raged down the mountainside and left the empty shells of people. As ever friendly and ready to chat to anyone, I befriended two young Mormon men, brothers as it were, who very helpfully and graciously explained to us how to get to the bodies that Pompei is so well known for. Its that morbid curiosity that is generally suppressed but at the opportunity to see some remnant of the ancient deceased, is shamelessly brought to the forefront, and in our case indulged. The evening brought us delicious homemade pasta, consumed on the most adorable outdoor patio, just outside the gates of Pompei, with adorable little pots of almost impossibly bright flowers and colorful tablecloths and friendly Italian men speaking the most adorable english. On our way back to the hostel we stopped for the inevitable and undeniable cone of gelato, that scrumious, delightful, unbelievably pleasing Italian concotion. Once we reached the hostel, we cleaned ourselves up, meandered downstairs and bought a drink, and then made our way to the roof. A bottle of Peroni, a most refreshing and delicious Italian beer, friends, and a beautiful Italian evening. Can't really ask for much more!
The following morning saw a somewhat leisurely start, with a small but pleasing breakfast of croissants and juice and odd tasting cocopuffs. They just weren't quite right. We strolled from Sant Agnello into Sorrento, not a terribly long walk, to a highly recommended pizzaria, that was absolutely heavenly. The most delicious pizza, fresh and just the way pizza should be. Followed, of course by gelato! We then wandered around Sorrento, a bustling city, perched on the coast, backed by large, green hills, rather imposing except for the colorful houses. We decided to head back to Sant Agnello and the hostel to take advantage of the sun and the rooftop terrace. Stretched out on a large chair cushion in my bright blue swimsuit I could practically feel the vitamin D soaking into my skin, it was exquisite, I actually fell asleep for a bit. Another delicious pizza for dinner, in a rather bizarre restaurant who's decor oddly reminded me of the set of Golden Girls, full of tourist families and older English couples. Italian pizza and Italian wine really are a divine combination, and this from a girl who'd choose beer or lager 9 times out of 10! Back to the hostel for a few more drinks and bed, only to be driven from the room by the small asian man's impossibly loud snoring. Several drinks, one misunderstanding and an awkward situation later and I'm finally able to sleep.
The following morning was our trip to Capri! It was an iffy start as we were informed the captain wasn't sure we'd even be able to go as the water was extremely rough and there was a storm hovering off the coast. When I heard that I was inexplicably irritated with the captain, as if he had any control over the weather! Well everyone decided to stay the course and go on the trip despite (or to spite?) the weather, and upon meeting the Captain (one Augustino) I immediately retracted my previously undeserved irritation. He was, quite simply, one of the most fantastic men I've ever met and I fell a little bit in love. He was tall, dark and classicaly handsome in that way that only Italian men seem to manage. He was polite without being stuffy and familiar without being pushy or inappropriate, he almost always had a devastating grin on his face, that perfectly complimented his very apparent and irrepressable sense of adventure, and he was responsible and professional the entire time, occasionally offering tidbits of information about the island such as "Look Becca, from here Capri looks like a woman's breasts!" (which, incidentally, it did!) Even without our amazing captain, the day would still have been lovely, such was the charm of Capri and the beauty of the water, however, he certainly made it more fun!
From the first mention of Capri and this boat trip, everyone was talking about the "Blue Grotto" and how beautiful it is. On Capri there were loads of people willing to take you out there on a little boat for ridiculous sums of money, but luckily we had Captain Augo! First we stopped off at Capri and walked around for a few hours, to see the Island. Then back to the boat for Caprese sandwiches (homemade ciabatta bread with homemade mozzarella, the most amazing tomatoes and some olive oil) they were delicious! Washed down with a Peroni, my new favourite beer :) it was the perfect meal. After everyone ate we took the boat around the island to find an area with calm waters to go swimming. We found a lovely area not too far from shore, and though a little windy, the sun was out and it was pleasantly warm. I changed from my dress into my swimsuit and a colourful wrap and stood debating on the deck. The water was extremely enticing, but such is my modesty I don't really like being in my swimsuit infront of people (especially males) that I don't know. So I debated; it doesn't take long to whip off the wrap and jump in the water, but that's still seconds that my bits are exposed! While I stared, unconvinced at the very very blue water, our beloved captain walked up to me, took off my big black retro sunglasses and said "get in" with a little nudge. Who am I to argue with a beautiful Italian man?! So I first made sure my wrap wouldn't blow away and then tried my best to gracefully dive off the platform near the motor, but as its Rebecca Henry we're talking about here, it was somewhat lacking in grace, and more concerned with making sure my swimsuit stayed on, as diving can have some embarrassing recriminations when it comes to swimsuits. The water was lovely, and I just kind of puttered around, floating, swimming, accidentally swallowing seawater, some more floating. Then the ball several of the guys from the boat were playing with got blown into the water, and since I was the only person still in the water, I swam after it, but of course every time I got close it got blown further away. Now I can swim to keep myself from drowning, and I can dog paddle with the best of them, but my endurance sucks. I finally got the stupid ball but not only was I completely knackered, I was now ages away from the boat! So I just nestled the ball against my chest and used it to float on, while furiously kicking my legs. It took forever, but I did make it back to the boat. One of the guys that had been playing with the ball when it got blown off the boat, I believe his name was Kevin, had gotten in the water to help me get the ball when it looked as though I wouldn't make it (I'm only being slightly dramatic) and met me part way, floating in the little intertube I had been frolicking in before my heroics with the ball. He just grinned at me a I came puffing up to him, legs pumping furiously. He was rather attractive, especilly when he smiled, but in the state I was in his disarming grin had very little effect on me, I was too busy concentrating on staying alive! His friend Vincent, even more adorable, with a grin rivalling Captain Augo's, says from the boat "just toss it here" but I knew if I didn't have it to float on I'd probably drown, well I felt as though I would! I crawled my way back onto the boat only to discover that Dan, who had been dubbed Sexy Dan by the girls (only to have that title revoked when they realized he was a drunken creeper, they should have listened to me) had broken my big black retro sunglasses! Some boys just can't handle their beer! Not the end of the world, they were only 4 quid!
We finally made it to the Blue Grotto. I'd heard so much about it, I really wanted to see it. So when Captain Augo yet again said "get in" with a little nudge and pointed to a cave entrance, I didn't think, I just handed him my towel and leapt in,without any pretenses of grace, and swam into the Gratta Azurra. I don't really know what I was expecting but.... honestly words cannot do justice. I can but attempt, which seems insufficient but its all I have. There are just certain sights and experiences that cannot be fully appreciated via oral or literary relation, but I will do my best. To get to the Gratta Azurra you swim through a decent sized opening in the rockface that 2 or 3 people could comfortably swim through at a time. It opens up into a large cavern, but the first thing you notice is that the water that the light from the opening hits glows a bright, clear blue, almost like something from a sci-fi film. The water is fairly calm, and where it isn't glowing its such a dark blue as to almost be black. But no hint of grey, just the deepest of blues. As it does in indoor pools, the water reflects off the roof of the cavern, dancing crazily, completely at random so that the whole place has a blue glow about it. The boys are shouting just to hear the echo, and splashing about as though they're 10 and not 20-something. I hung back, and waited for everyone else to leave, until it was eventually just Kevin and I. We both just stayed there, treading water, in complete understanding and awe, simply appreciating the uniqueness of such an experience. It was indescribably beautiful, and the perfect note upon which to end our time in Italy. Leaving the Blue Grotto, everyone seemed subdued, even our indefatigueable Captain Augustino. He perked up when we got out onto open water and he decided to go just about as fast as we possibly could so that when we hit a wave we practically flew, and everyone on the boat was drenched. I was standing there, clinging to the podium near the helm when he patted it and said "Sit here, you will stay dry" so I climbed up, and remained relatively dry. We spent the rest of the time chatting, about nothing, about lots of things. I honestly have never met a more charming man. Everyone adored him and we all left agreeing that was the best day trip ever and he was the best captain ever.
Italia. How on earth do you assign words to something so incredibly indescribable? Everything is different here. The air is different, the people, the food, the buildings. Everything looks warm, and usually is warm, which makes the coolness of the gelato that is inevitably consumed nothing short of blissful. The people are so friendly and charming, wanting to help you, while at the same time usually trying to sell you something, but you can't get annoyed because they are so charming when they do it. The pace of life moves differently, the day can be so hectic in the morning, but then around 2 there is a lull, stands and shops are closed and its so quiet. Surprisingly, many of them open again later in the evening, and walking through the streets with the sun setting and the wind cooling the heat of the day, you can smell strawberries and oranges, and here in Sant Agnello there is always a faint scent of jasmine lingering behind the more prominent smells, as jasmine lines most streets and alleys. Nightfall transforms the place into something entirely new. It looks like a completely different town. The hostel we are staying in is amazing. Its new looking and upon walking in you see that its open and airy, with the perfect balance of light and dark colors, looking entirely mediterranean, of the 21st century. There is of course a bar, and an open courtyard with comfortable couches and tables, with cool stone paving. The winning gem is the roof. Not only is the view spectacularly breathtaking, the roof is beautifully decorated and furnished in a casual fashion that invites one to sit and relax. During the night in the dark, the coast line that is visible is lit up, with various shades of light that glint off the mediterranean. During the day you can see quite far, behind you the mountains, infront of you the sea, of such a deep blue, a blue without the grey tint of the pacific or atlantic, its just blue. Looking at it is mesmerising, and you just think of jumping in, completely submersing yourself in the cool blueness.
We visited Pompei, which was utterly magnificent. So ancient, one can't help but be overwhelmed by it. And always lurking in the background is the reminder of just what happened to this city. Mount Vesuvius sits hulking on the horizon, seemingly harmless, but one can't help but think of the destruction and havoc it wreaked. Amidst the drab stone there are splashes of colour, in the remnants of frescos as yet still attached to a wall here and there, and in the flowers that managed to wriggle their way between cracks and crevices in the stone, as if growing in defiance of the life-stealing force that once raged down the mountainside and left the empty shells of people. As ever friendly and ready to chat to anyone, I befriended two young Mormon men, brothers as it were, who very helpfully and graciously explained to us how to get to the bodies that Pompei is so well known for. Its that morbid curiosity that is generally suppressed but at the opportunity to see some remnant of the ancient deceased, is shamelessly brought to the forefront, and in our case indulged. The evening brought us delicious homemade pasta, consumed on the most adorable outdoor patio, just outside the gates of Pompei, with adorable little pots of almost impossibly bright flowers and colorful tablecloths and friendly Italian men speaking the most adorable english. On our way back to the hostel we stopped for the inevitable and undeniable cone of gelato, that scrumious, delightful, unbelievably pleasing Italian concotion. Once we reached the hostel, we cleaned ourselves up, meandered downstairs and bought a drink, and then made our way to the roof. A bottle of Peroni, a most refreshing and delicious Italian beer, friends, and a beautiful Italian evening. Can't really ask for much more!
The following morning saw a somewhat leisurely start, with a small but pleasing breakfast of croissants and juice and odd tasting cocopuffs. They just weren't quite right. We strolled from Sant Agnello into Sorrento, not a terribly long walk, to a highly recommended pizzaria, that was absolutely heavenly. The most delicious pizza, fresh and just the way pizza should be. Followed, of course by gelato! We then wandered around Sorrento, a bustling city, perched on the coast, backed by large, green hills, rather imposing except for the colorful houses. We decided to head back to Sant Agnello and the hostel to take advantage of the sun and the rooftop terrace. Stretched out on a large chair cushion in my bright blue swimsuit I could practically feel the vitamin D soaking into my skin, it was exquisite, I actually fell asleep for a bit. Another delicious pizza for dinner, in a rather bizarre restaurant who's decor oddly reminded me of the set of Golden Girls, full of tourist families and older English couples. Italian pizza and Italian wine really are a divine combination, and this from a girl who'd choose beer or lager 9 times out of 10! Back to the hostel for a few more drinks and bed, only to be driven from the room by the small asian man's impossibly loud snoring. Several drinks, one misunderstanding and an awkward situation later and I'm finally able to sleep.
The following morning was our trip to Capri! It was an iffy start as we were informed the captain wasn't sure we'd even be able to go as the water was extremely rough and there was a storm hovering off the coast. When I heard that I was inexplicably irritated with the captain, as if he had any control over the weather! Well everyone decided to stay the course and go on the trip despite (or to spite?) the weather, and upon meeting the Captain (one Augustino) I immediately retracted my previously undeserved irritation. He was, quite simply, one of the most fantastic men I've ever met and I fell a little bit in love. He was tall, dark and classicaly handsome in that way that only Italian men seem to manage. He was polite without being stuffy and familiar without being pushy or inappropriate, he almost always had a devastating grin on his face, that perfectly complimented his very apparent and irrepressable sense of adventure, and he was responsible and professional the entire time, occasionally offering tidbits of information about the island such as "Look Becca, from here Capri looks like a woman's breasts!" (which, incidentally, it did!) Even without our amazing captain, the day would still have been lovely, such was the charm of Capri and the beauty of the water, however, he certainly made it more fun!
From the first mention of Capri and this boat trip, everyone was talking about the "Blue Grotto" and how beautiful it is. On Capri there were loads of people willing to take you out there on a little boat for ridiculous sums of money, but luckily we had Captain Augo! First we stopped off at Capri and walked around for a few hours, to see the Island. Then back to the boat for Caprese sandwiches (homemade ciabatta bread with homemade mozzarella, the most amazing tomatoes and some olive oil) they were delicious! Washed down with a Peroni, my new favourite beer :) it was the perfect meal. After everyone ate we took the boat around the island to find an area with calm waters to go swimming. We found a lovely area not too far from shore, and though a little windy, the sun was out and it was pleasantly warm. I changed from my dress into my swimsuit and a colourful wrap and stood debating on the deck. The water was extremely enticing, but such is my modesty I don't really like being in my swimsuit infront of people (especially males) that I don't know. So I debated; it doesn't take long to whip off the wrap and jump in the water, but that's still seconds that my bits are exposed! While I stared, unconvinced at the very very blue water, our beloved captain walked up to me, took off my big black retro sunglasses and said "get in" with a little nudge. Who am I to argue with a beautiful Italian man?! So I first made sure my wrap wouldn't blow away and then tried my best to gracefully dive off the platform near the motor, but as its Rebecca Henry we're talking about here, it was somewhat lacking in grace, and more concerned with making sure my swimsuit stayed on, as diving can have some embarrassing recriminations when it comes to swimsuits. The water was lovely, and I just kind of puttered around, floating, swimming, accidentally swallowing seawater, some more floating. Then the ball several of the guys from the boat were playing with got blown into the water, and since I was the only person still in the water, I swam after it, but of course every time I got close it got blown further away. Now I can swim to keep myself from drowning, and I can dog paddle with the best of them, but my endurance sucks. I finally got the stupid ball but not only was I completely knackered, I was now ages away from the boat! So I just nestled the ball against my chest and used it to float on, while furiously kicking my legs. It took forever, but I did make it back to the boat. One of the guys that had been playing with the ball when it got blown off the boat, I believe his name was Kevin, had gotten in the water to help me get the ball when it looked as though I wouldn't make it (I'm only being slightly dramatic) and met me part way, floating in the little intertube I had been frolicking in before my heroics with the ball. He just grinned at me a I came puffing up to him, legs pumping furiously. He was rather attractive, especilly when he smiled, but in the state I was in his disarming grin had very little effect on me, I was too busy concentrating on staying alive! His friend Vincent, even more adorable, with a grin rivalling Captain Augo's, says from the boat "just toss it here" but I knew if I didn't have it to float on I'd probably drown, well I felt as though I would! I crawled my way back onto the boat only to discover that Dan, who had been dubbed Sexy Dan by the girls (only to have that title revoked when they realized he was a drunken creeper, they should have listened to me) had broken my big black retro sunglasses! Some boys just can't handle their beer! Not the end of the world, they were only 4 quid!
We finally made it to the Blue Grotto. I'd heard so much about it, I really wanted to see it. So when Captain Augo yet again said "get in" with a little nudge and pointed to a cave entrance, I didn't think, I just handed him my towel and leapt in,without any pretenses of grace, and swam into the Gratta Azurra. I don't really know what I was expecting but.... honestly words cannot do justice. I can but attempt, which seems insufficient but its all I have. There are just certain sights and experiences that cannot be fully appreciated via oral or literary relation, but I will do my best. To get to the Gratta Azurra you swim through a decent sized opening in the rockface that 2 or 3 people could comfortably swim through at a time. It opens up into a large cavern, but the first thing you notice is that the water that the light from the opening hits glows a bright, clear blue, almost like something from a sci-fi film. The water is fairly calm, and where it isn't glowing its such a dark blue as to almost be black. But no hint of grey, just the deepest of blues. As it does in indoor pools, the water reflects off the roof of the cavern, dancing crazily, completely at random so that the whole place has a blue glow about it. The boys are shouting just to hear the echo, and splashing about as though they're 10 and not 20-something. I hung back, and waited for everyone else to leave, until it was eventually just Kevin and I. We both just stayed there, treading water, in complete understanding and awe, simply appreciating the uniqueness of such an experience. It was indescribably beautiful, and the perfect note upon which to end our time in Italy. Leaving the Blue Grotto, everyone seemed subdued, even our indefatigueable Captain Augustino. He perked up when we got out onto open water and he decided to go just about as fast as we possibly could so that when we hit a wave we practically flew, and everyone on the boat was drenched. I was standing there, clinging to the podium near the helm when he patted it and said "Sit here, you will stay dry" so I climbed up, and remained relatively dry. We spent the rest of the time chatting, about nothing, about lots of things. I honestly have never met a more charming man. Everyone adored him and we all left agreeing that was the best day trip ever and he was the best captain ever.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Touch, Pause, Engage
With the commencement of the British and Irish Lions Tour, I have come to realise just how much I love rugby. But why? Why do I love rugby? I've never been a huge sports fan before, sure I played football (soccer you might say) for almost 8 years, dabbled in basketball, and sucked horrendously at softball, but I was never an avid follower of any of these sports. I still do not fully comprehend American Football, and get annoyed with how much they stop and start again. What is it about rugby?!
Is it the athletic young men running about in shockingly (by American standards) short shorts?! Well I won't deny the appeal that certainly has, I am after all, a woman. But that does not explain why I almost started crying during the Lions first match when the Royal XV scored their last try and I thought we might lose, or why I sat pulling out my hair when the Leicester v Cardiff Heineken Cup semifinal went into penalty kicks, the deciding kick made by one of my favorite players . So I shall attempt to explain this thing that has recently become a large fixture in my life here in the UK.
Rugby has always seemed rather exotic as it is not commonly played in the US, so that in itself makes it more appealing, as I tend to love most things foreign. It was also something I saw as creating a connection between me and Bristol, the city I was preparing to live in for several months (and have been living in since January, for those just joining this program...), as they have a rugby team. But that only inspired me to look into it. It was the sport itself that got me hooked. As most people know, I am studying anthropology, and almost everything I do and experience I contemplate in terms of anthropology. Rugby has its own culture, the fans, the players, they're different than in most other sports. I see rugby as a complex mixture of brutality and chivalry. I think its the complexity of this marriage of opposing ideas that really fascinates me. You spend 80+ minutes watching these men trying to out-run, out-manouvre, out-tackle one another, throwing their bodies almost recklessly into the direct path of another, sometimes resulting in a dustup, punches are occasionally thrown. But even after somone like Alesana Tuilagi or Matt Banahan hurtles himself at somone, slamming them mercilessly into the ground, he often comes back, gives them a hand up, they share a laugh and slap eachother companionably on the back, even as they rejoin the battle for the ball. Even when punches are being thrown, so many of the other players are smiling and laughing it off, knowing its just an overflow of aggression, and rarely ever personal. The same men that bloody eachother's noses in the ruck, that knock the wind out of one another with a well made tackle, hug and laugh after the match, congratulating or consoling depending on their position. I see it as a rather timeless thing, and it reminds me of the expectations of masculinity of the days when rugby first started. Chivalry, passion, power, and a strong sense of justice, whether its in regards to a knock on that was or wasn't actually a knock on, or a tackle that was legally or illegally made, there remains a justness about the sport that is reminiscent of earlier days. To me it almost epitomises masculinity, a concept I find particularly fascnitating and attractive, not just as a person or a woman, but as an anthropologist as well.
Romantic notions aside, its also just bloody exciting to watch! Its hard not to get involved in the game. Its fast and hard and exciting. I get a slight adreneline rush just sitting there! Its an environment that tends to be understated, casual, welcoming and the fans (usually the ones that play themselves), though exchanging sharp banter, at the end of the day tend to show just as much repect as the players (there's always the occassional wum). So there you go, the best I can articulate as to why I love this sport so much :)
Is it the athletic young men running about in shockingly (by American standards) short shorts?! Well I won't deny the appeal that certainly has, I am after all, a woman. But that does not explain why I almost started crying during the Lions first match when the Royal XV scored their last try and I thought we might lose, or why I sat pulling out my hair when the Leicester v Cardiff Heineken Cup semifinal went into penalty kicks, the deciding kick made by one of my favorite players . So I shall attempt to explain this thing that has recently become a large fixture in my life here in the UK.
Rugby has always seemed rather exotic as it is not commonly played in the US, so that in itself makes it more appealing, as I tend to love most things foreign. It was also something I saw as creating a connection between me and Bristol, the city I was preparing to live in for several months (and have been living in since January, for those just joining this program...), as they have a rugby team. But that only inspired me to look into it. It was the sport itself that got me hooked. As most people know, I am studying anthropology, and almost everything I do and experience I contemplate in terms of anthropology. Rugby has its own culture, the fans, the players, they're different than in most other sports. I see rugby as a complex mixture of brutality and chivalry. I think its the complexity of this marriage of opposing ideas that really fascinates me. You spend 80+ minutes watching these men trying to out-run, out-manouvre, out-tackle one another, throwing their bodies almost recklessly into the direct path of another, sometimes resulting in a dustup, punches are occasionally thrown. But even after somone like Alesana Tuilagi or Matt Banahan hurtles himself at somone, slamming them mercilessly into the ground, he often comes back, gives them a hand up, they share a laugh and slap eachother companionably on the back, even as they rejoin the battle for the ball. Even when punches are being thrown, so many of the other players are smiling and laughing it off, knowing its just an overflow of aggression, and rarely ever personal. The same men that bloody eachother's noses in the ruck, that knock the wind out of one another with a well made tackle, hug and laugh after the match, congratulating or consoling depending on their position. I see it as a rather timeless thing, and it reminds me of the expectations of masculinity of the days when rugby first started. Chivalry, passion, power, and a strong sense of justice, whether its in regards to a knock on that was or wasn't actually a knock on, or a tackle that was legally or illegally made, there remains a justness about the sport that is reminiscent of earlier days. To me it almost epitomises masculinity, a concept I find particularly fascnitating and attractive, not just as a person or a woman, but as an anthropologist as well.
Romantic notions aside, its also just bloody exciting to watch! Its hard not to get involved in the game. Its fast and hard and exciting. I get a slight adreneline rush just sitting there! Its an environment that tends to be understated, casual, welcoming and the fans (usually the ones that play themselves), though exchanging sharp banter, at the end of the day tend to show just as much repect as the players (there's always the occassional wum). So there you go, the best I can articulate as to why I love this sport so much :)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Ireland- Dublin
Flying into Dublin, even the ludicrously early hour we had to wake up couldn't dim the excitement! I squealed in delight walking through the airport at all the bilingual signs, english and Irish Gaelic! So cool! We knew what bus we needed, and vaguely where the hotel was, so off we went to the bus stop. As luck would have it, waiting at the bus stop was another American, and not only that, he was from San Francisco! Small world eh?! Trying to get on, he didn't have any change, only "bills" (silly American, don't you know they say notes in the U.K. and Ireland?!) and they only take exact change (weird right?) So he was sent off to find some place to get change, but the woman behind him, who was Irish, bought her bus ticket and then realized it was the wrong bus, so she chased after him to give him her ticket, which I thought was very cool of her! Sitting on the bus, we knew, in theory, what stop we needed to get off at, but we didn't know when we would be at that stop, or what it looked like, but luckily, because I talk so bloody loud, the old woman in front of us heard and let us know when we got to that stop, which was literally right around the corner from the hotel we were staying at (for free, thank you Paul and Aunt Isobel!)!
We get into the hotel, which was right in the thick of Dublin, and very charming, and I walk up to the front desk to address the woman sitting there. She was very attractive, blonde, nice smile, indeterminate age. I asked for Isobel Boyle (my friend's aunt who had arranged the rooms) and she just looked at me and said "No one by the name works here" and I just said "What?" and she repeated it and I thought for one horrifying second that we had the wrong hotel, and then she started laughing and I said "You're Isobel aren't you?!" and she just said "You must be Becca" we had a good laugh, and then they showed us to our room, which had 4 beds and a pretty neat view of Dublin. Christabel opted for a quick power nap, while Lauren and I decided to poke around a market we had walked by on our way to the hotel. There was jewelry and brightly colored scarves, odd clothing, old books and records, even a palm reader. My stomach was growling rather ferociously at this point (as it so often does) and the smells from the cafes and bakeries were too much. CHRISTABEL! Wake up lovey! Once Christbel was awake and functioning properly again, we headed back to the market and a little cafe we had scoped out before that had reasonable prices and exceptional smells! Having fortified ourselves with paninis and soup, we were cold and under-dressed! So we headed back to the hotel for heavier coats, and made the mistake of sitting down! I was chomping at the bit to get out and see the city, but after discussing it, we decided a little rest would be appreciated later on, so we napped for about 45 minutes, and then decided to head toward the Guinness Storehouse! What better way to revive the spirits than with a pint of guinness and a gander through the museum (I do love my museums!)! I had a small freak-out in the lobby because I found a flyer for an opportunity to win tickets and airfare to go to the British an Irish Lions rugby tour in South Africa! All you had to do was spend over 50 pounds in the gift store and fill out the form, piece of cake since everything would be hugely over-priced anyway, but once I stopped freaking out and read the fine print that said you had to be a permanent resident of the UK, I was sorely disappointed. The British and Irish Lions tour has the best rugby players in the world playing against one another! Brian O'Driscoll, Richie McCaw, Ronan O'Gara, Ma'a Nonu, Schalk Burger... the list goes on!!!!! I digress though. The Guinness Storehouse continued- There were multiple levels, and you received a little map and leaflet to guide you, but other than that you were on your own, to move at your own pace, and eat the barley from the barley exhibit, should you so desire, as Christabel and Lauren did. I must admit to playing with the barley though. It was like a giant sandbox, but filled with barley. How do you walk past without sticking your hands in?! You don't, you sit on the edge and shove your hand in there, trying to feel the bottom of the display. Moving on, there were TV's for many of the exhibits, with a narrator explaining the various stages of the brewing process, and signs and placards to read. There were also exhibits on the various advertising strategies, a really cool one on how the old casks were made. The music in the background of the video was definitely the Chieftains, or songs the Chieftains play, I'm pretty sure one of them was "Changing your Demeanor", don't remember what the other one was called. We also got to sit in Arthur Guinness's chair! Once you reach the end of the tour, you can go up to a bar at the top that has a 360 degree view of Dublin, and if you hand them your entrance ticket you get a pint of Guinness! Or if you don't actually drink Guinness, a coke or soda of some kind. I, of course, had a pint of Guinness.
After the Guinness Storehouse stomachs were growling again and it was getting towards dinner time, so we headed back toward the hotel and got some food from the store across the street, opting for an impromptue picnic in our room. We then decided to head out on the town in search of live music and crack, as the Irish would say (not the drug of course haha). We went to a few different bars, but my favorite was the last one we went to, in the Temple Bar area. It was literally bursting at the seams! And there was live music! People were dancind and drinking and singing... basically it was a good time! And everyone sang along to one particular song, the only reason I knew it was because one of the Irish rugby players insisted on singing it at the parade celebrating the 6N Grand Slam, I don't know what it was called the line that everyone seemed to know was "Her eyes they shone like diamonds, her hair hung over her shoooooouuulder, tied up with a black velvet band" Then it was off to bed and up not too early to catch the bus to Cork!
We get into the hotel, which was right in the thick of Dublin, and very charming, and I walk up to the front desk to address the woman sitting there. She was very attractive, blonde, nice smile, indeterminate age. I asked for Isobel Boyle (my friend's aunt who had arranged the rooms) and she just looked at me and said "No one by the name works here" and I just said "What?" and she repeated it and I thought for one horrifying second that we had the wrong hotel, and then she started laughing and I said "You're Isobel aren't you?!" and she just said "You must be Becca" we had a good laugh, and then they showed us to our room, which had 4 beds and a pretty neat view of Dublin. Christabel opted for a quick power nap, while Lauren and I decided to poke around a market we had walked by on our way to the hotel. There was jewelry and brightly colored scarves, odd clothing, old books and records, even a palm reader. My stomach was growling rather ferociously at this point (as it so often does) and the smells from the cafes and bakeries were too much. CHRISTABEL! Wake up lovey! Once Christbel was awake and functioning properly again, we headed back to the market and a little cafe we had scoped out before that had reasonable prices and exceptional smells! Having fortified ourselves with paninis and soup, we were cold and under-dressed! So we headed back to the hotel for heavier coats, and made the mistake of sitting down! I was chomping at the bit to get out and see the city, but after discussing it, we decided a little rest would be appreciated later on, so we napped for about 45 minutes, and then decided to head toward the Guinness Storehouse! What better way to revive the spirits than with a pint of guinness and a gander through the museum (I do love my museums!)! I had a small freak-out in the lobby because I found a flyer for an opportunity to win tickets and airfare to go to the British an Irish Lions rugby tour in South Africa! All you had to do was spend over 50 pounds in the gift store and fill out the form, piece of cake since everything would be hugely over-priced anyway, but once I stopped freaking out and read the fine print that said you had to be a permanent resident of the UK, I was sorely disappointed. The British and Irish Lions tour has the best rugby players in the world playing against one another! Brian O'Driscoll, Richie McCaw, Ronan O'Gara, Ma'a Nonu, Schalk Burger... the list goes on!!!!! I digress though. The Guinness Storehouse continued- There were multiple levels, and you received a little map and leaflet to guide you, but other than that you were on your own, to move at your own pace, and eat the barley from the barley exhibit, should you so desire, as Christabel and Lauren did. I must admit to playing with the barley though. It was like a giant sandbox, but filled with barley. How do you walk past without sticking your hands in?! You don't, you sit on the edge and shove your hand in there, trying to feel the bottom of the display. Moving on, there were TV's for many of the exhibits, with a narrator explaining the various stages of the brewing process, and signs and placards to read. There were also exhibits on the various advertising strategies, a really cool one on how the old casks were made. The music in the background of the video was definitely the Chieftains, or songs the Chieftains play, I'm pretty sure one of them was "Changing your Demeanor", don't remember what the other one was called. We also got to sit in Arthur Guinness's chair! Once you reach the end of the tour, you can go up to a bar at the top that has a 360 degree view of Dublin, and if you hand them your entrance ticket you get a pint of Guinness! Or if you don't actually drink Guinness, a coke or soda of some kind. I, of course, had a pint of Guinness.
After the Guinness Storehouse stomachs were growling again and it was getting towards dinner time, so we headed back toward the hotel and got some food from the store across the street, opting for an impromptue picnic in our room. We then decided to head out on the town in search of live music and crack, as the Irish would say (not the drug of course haha). We went to a few different bars, but my favorite was the last one we went to, in the Temple Bar area. It was literally bursting at the seams! And there was live music! People were dancind and drinking and singing... basically it was a good time! And everyone sang along to one particular song, the only reason I knew it was because one of the Irish rugby players insisted on singing it at the parade celebrating the 6N Grand Slam, I don't know what it was called the line that everyone seemed to know was "Her eyes they shone like diamonds, her hair hung over her shoooooouuulder, tied up with a black velvet band" Then it was off to bed and up not too early to catch the bus to Cork!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Bath Abbey
After spending quite some time in the Roman Baths, our group was ineveitably split up, so I waited outside the abbey for everyone to meet me there. The bells started to ring while I sat there waiting. There is a rather ethereal quality to church bells, imagined or not, its a beautiful sound. Not quite cheerful, more promising, or hopeful. The group started to recongregate and while we were waiting for the rest to join us, we spent a few minutes in the Abbey. I am not catholic, nor do I see myself ever converting to catholicism, but they do have the most beautiful churches. I love the gargoyles and the stained glass. From the outside it is so imposing, intimidating rather. With tall spires and dark windows, graceful arches and epic proportions, it sits next to the baths, almost daring you not to be impressed. Upon entering, a small gasp did escape, I must admit. The ceilings swoop up, with large ridges creating an almost dizzying effect. It is dimly lit, to create a dramatic atmosphere, or because it's impossible to light so much space, perhaps a combination of the 2. It is not silent, but there is a hushed quality to the sound. Where on the outside the stained glass is dark and rather dull, inside it is vibrant and glossy. seemingly lit from some ethereal, other source. I chose a wall and walked down it. It was covered in memorials. I love the feel of marble under my hands. Some were so old the writing was barely decipherable. One particular memorial stood out. Most of the memorials were simple, 1 dimensional blocks of a creamy, standard marble set within the wall, providing a name and dates, and perhaps an epitaph or "beloved spouse" but this one was darker marble, and came out from the wall, with cherubs and angels carved around the edges and the most beautiful prose, english that has been lost in common use, eloquently formed sentences and sentiments that would be given quizzical looks were they reproduced today. I couldn't tell you exactly what it said, just that it was beautiful and heartfelt. I almost desperately had to touch it, to make it relevant, to make it real, and not just something beautiful I was seeing. Marble is always so cool, and polishes so smoothly. I love the feel of marble under my hands. Then came the quiet voice asking us to please depart as the Abbey was closing. Knowing perfectly well its a loudspeaker, you can't help but look up... It was only a few minutes that we spent in there, but I felt everything in me relax, there is something about churches, if one is comfortable with one's religion or spirituality, that so invites reflection and tranquility. Leaving was to once again re-enter the real world, of street performers and unicycles, pasty shops and cars, sights, sounds and smells that bombard you so abruptly it takes a moment to find your balance again. It had been so quiet in the Abbey.
The Roman Baths
A group of us went to Bath on sunday (Feb. 15th) and of course had to see the Roman Baths exhibit. You can't go to Bath and not see the baths. I was a little irked that it was 9.50, seems a little steep to me, and that was with the student discount! But they have to get funding somehow, especially as they still have so much to excavate. We were given little cellphone type things to listen to our audio tour guide. There were numbers posted beside each different exhibit, and to hear about that exhibit you just punched that number into your "cellphone" and that way people can go at their own personal pace, which in my case was quite slow as I tried to listen to every single audio clip, and some of them had options for extra information! So needless to say I was in there about an hour longer than the rest of my group... but you just can't put me in a museum and say "Hurry", it just won't happen. There was a certain level of cheesiness that had to be overlooked and I tried not to cringe at the ridiculous audio re-enactments. I was impressed with the information given, enough to educate those that wanted to learn about ancient Roman Britain, but stayed just surface level enough so as not to become tedious. It can be difficult to find a balance sometimes.
There is one thing that I always struggle with when I visit a museum. And that is that a small part of me is a horder, and so even though I know it is important that these artefacts be put on display for the benefit of all, I can't help thinking they would last longer and preserve better in a vault, or some sort of sealed room, without all the cheesy, tourist-pleasing accoutrements. And that these people can't possibly appreciate them for what they are so they should be tucked away somewhere (I know, I really should give the average person the benefit of the doubt, as I myself am one of those average people). I obviously am so very grateful that they aren't, as that means I can see them, but another part of me is always a little bit saddened as well. The Roman Empire was one of the greatest, if not the greatest empire this world has seen, and what is now crumbling rock and rusting metal was once a glorious temple. It is difficult to wrap one's head around that sometimes, and I wonder what would the people who once frequented these baths and this temple think of something that had been so sacred, such an integral part of their society being reduced to glass cases that children smudge with their inevitably dirty hands, that tourists gawk at and take pictures of usually without bothering to read the placards next to them. I can't help but wonder if anyone else is having the same experience as me?
I think one of my favorite artefacts was the gilded head of Minerva. I couldn't help but develop my own theory. At the end of the audio clip they mentioned that her body still hasn't been unearthed, but are without doubt that it eventually will be. There is speculation as to why her head was removed, as there is evidence of intentional removal. I was surprised that they didn't mention the penchant "celtic" peoples had for removing the head of a worth adversary. It was believed that the head was the seat of the human soul, and that by removing the head of an enemy or adversary, it showed them great respect, and represented great power. To take the head of a powerful goddess would be quite something indeed...
To stop and consider the monumental significance of such ancient ruins can be a heady experience. Even more so to consider that they weren't always ruins, that at one point people came there on a regular basis to bathe, to worship. It can be difficult for us to remove ourselves from our own reality, to step out of the present and fully immerse oureslves in the past, but to do so is to better understand the present, to put it in perspective, and to realize there is something bigger than we are. These ruins are bigger than we are (yes, obviously physically, but that isn't what I mean and you know that) they exisited thousands of years ago, before even the advent of christianity, and it is entirely possible they will continue to exist a thousand years from now. To comprehend such an existence is almost impossible. It can really make one think...
The city itself I found quite charming. I was sorely disappointed that the art museum was closed for renovations, perhaps another time. There were quite a few things I would like to return for. We passed a small museum and historical house that I would have LOVED to peruse, but it was 5 pounds, and though I would be willing to fork out 5 quid to wander aimlessly through an old house filled with Georgian architecture and paintings and furniture (oooh I really must go back) I knew not everyone I was with would be quite so keen. And the Abbey... there shall be an entire other post for that. More time really must be spent there. And I'm sure there are other numerous attractions throughout the city. Perhaps I'll just take the bus myself some other sunday afternoon, and then I don't have to worry about taking too long in a museum. Good idea Becca.
I also made everyone stop to watch a street performer. He had a 10 foot unicycle, and I thought he was just going to ride it (who would just walk by that and say "I don't want to see a man ride a 10 foot unicycle"...?) but he of course had to have an entire show, which was quite funny, I really enjoyed his sense of humor and his necessary brazen attitude. I don't suppose one can be shy making one's living performing on the street. He did eventually ride the 10 foot unicycle, and though he didn't get up there on his own, it was, obviously, quite impressive. I love just walking around a new city. Especially with someone who knows it spouting random historical facts. I love random historical facts. It was, all in all, quite a successful trip I would say, particularly the catnap I took in the car on the way back to Bristol! A return trip really is necessary, and since it is so close, it shouldn't be a problem. But perhaps I'll wait until after we've gone to Stonehenge. Oooh now there's a trip to look forward to! I should start planning that...
There is one thing that I always struggle with when I visit a museum. And that is that a small part of me is a horder, and so even though I know it is important that these artefacts be put on display for the benefit of all, I can't help thinking they would last longer and preserve better in a vault, or some sort of sealed room, without all the cheesy, tourist-pleasing accoutrements. And that these people can't possibly appreciate them for what they are so they should be tucked away somewhere (I know, I really should give the average person the benefit of the doubt, as I myself am one of those average people). I obviously am so very grateful that they aren't, as that means I can see them, but another part of me is always a little bit saddened as well. The Roman Empire was one of the greatest, if not the greatest empire this world has seen, and what is now crumbling rock and rusting metal was once a glorious temple. It is difficult to wrap one's head around that sometimes, and I wonder what would the people who once frequented these baths and this temple think of something that had been so sacred, such an integral part of their society being reduced to glass cases that children smudge with their inevitably dirty hands, that tourists gawk at and take pictures of usually without bothering to read the placards next to them. I can't help but wonder if anyone else is having the same experience as me?
I think one of my favorite artefacts was the gilded head of Minerva. I couldn't help but develop my own theory. At the end of the audio clip they mentioned that her body still hasn't been unearthed, but are without doubt that it eventually will be. There is speculation as to why her head was removed, as there is evidence of intentional removal. I was surprised that they didn't mention the penchant "celtic" peoples had for removing the head of a worth adversary. It was believed that the head was the seat of the human soul, and that by removing the head of an enemy or adversary, it showed them great respect, and represented great power. To take the head of a powerful goddess would be quite something indeed...
To stop and consider the monumental significance of such ancient ruins can be a heady experience. Even more so to consider that they weren't always ruins, that at one point people came there on a regular basis to bathe, to worship. It can be difficult for us to remove ourselves from our own reality, to step out of the present and fully immerse oureslves in the past, but to do so is to better understand the present, to put it in perspective, and to realize there is something bigger than we are. These ruins are bigger than we are (yes, obviously physically, but that isn't what I mean and you know that) they exisited thousands of years ago, before even the advent of christianity, and it is entirely possible they will continue to exist a thousand years from now. To comprehend such an existence is almost impossible. It can really make one think...
The city itself I found quite charming. I was sorely disappointed that the art museum was closed for renovations, perhaps another time. There were quite a few things I would like to return for. We passed a small museum and historical house that I would have LOVED to peruse, but it was 5 pounds, and though I would be willing to fork out 5 quid to wander aimlessly through an old house filled with Georgian architecture and paintings and furniture (oooh I really must go back) I knew not everyone I was with would be quite so keen. And the Abbey... there shall be an entire other post for that. More time really must be spent there. And I'm sure there are other numerous attractions throughout the city. Perhaps I'll just take the bus myself some other sunday afternoon, and then I don't have to worry about taking too long in a museum. Good idea Becca.
I also made everyone stop to watch a street performer. He had a 10 foot unicycle, and I thought he was just going to ride it (who would just walk by that and say "I don't want to see a man ride a 10 foot unicycle"...?) but he of course had to have an entire show, which was quite funny, I really enjoyed his sense of humor and his necessary brazen attitude. I don't suppose one can be shy making one's living performing on the street. He did eventually ride the 10 foot unicycle, and though he didn't get up there on his own, it was, obviously, quite impressive. I love just walking around a new city. Especially with someone who knows it spouting random historical facts. I love random historical facts. It was, all in all, quite a successful trip I would say, particularly the catnap I took in the car on the way back to Bristol! A return trip really is necessary, and since it is so close, it shouldn't be a problem. But perhaps I'll wait until after we've gone to Stonehenge. Oooh now there's a trip to look forward to! I should start planning that...
Monday, February 9, 2009
Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery
I went there today, just for about 45 minutes as they close at 5 and I didn't leave my house until late afternoon. It is such an immense building. And perfect for a museum. There are so many random nooks and crannies and alcoves filled with stuff, or just a random bust or vase. I really need to go back when I have a few hours, well if we're being realistic I'll be back on a fairly regular basis. For those of you reading this that don't know me, I love museums, and I don't say love lightly like "Oh my gawd, I like love museums" I have a passionate, unexplainable love of museums. I just described it as unexplainable but I'm going to try to explain it. My biggest interests in life are people, history and the history of people; their legacies, material or immaterial. I want to know whatever I can about people, past and present. Museums for me represent a sanctity of humanity, and whether what's on display is exquisite or in fact quite ordinary, it doesn't matter, its just that some one felt is was important enough to document and share with others. The thing is though, I have to either have an entire day, or be able to return multiple times. The first time I like to just scope things out, see where everything is, do a cursory examination of the exhibits, and then I like to go back through and take my time to appreciate everything. Many exhibits are often extremely overwhelming at first, but when you slow yourself down and focus, it is amazing the little things that you would never have noticed before, like the detailed beading on a Sioux suede belt, or the small carving of Horace on that ceremonial jar. I think being able to see and experience these things allows us to relate to whomever owned them, whether it was only a few hundred years ago, or 5,000. At the foundation of it all, it really doesn't (or shouldn't) matter that you yourself are not Sioux, or Egyptian, because we are all members of humanity, and that should be relation enough to appreciate that culture.
The Bristol City Museum has a pretty decent Egyptian collection, which surprised and impressed me as they are expensive to preserve and restore. With something so old, any change in climate, air pressure, temperature, anything, could contribute to its demise. They also had an impressive Assyrian bas relief, it was quite large, and mounted into the wall. When I entered the room, there was a couple already in there, and the room was dark except for a few lights (too harsh of light, or too much also damages artefacts) and as I stood there, the woman stepped over the little blockade around the relief and TOUCHED IT! She ran her hand up and down it! The antiquarian in me had a mild heart-attack, and I just stood there speechless. She just touched it, like it was a tile sample at Home Depot. I stood there thinking but all I did was stand there gaping incredulously. I'm sure they thought I was simple or something, because i just stared at them with the same expression on my face as they left. Even now, I can't believe she touched it. Do you know how much damage the oils and dirt from your hands could do to an artefact that old?!
After I got over my shock, I continued into the Egyptian exhibit, and as I was looking at different grave goods they had in glass display cases, I could hear screeching and giggling coming from around the corner, and I just cringed and hunched my shoulders, preparing myself for an onslaught of teenage girls, and sure enough they came, like a herd of wild animals, pushing one another, laughing, yelling (in some other language, didn't recognize because I was so irritated) I just stood there waiting until they passed, which they eventually did. I always get so irritated when I encounter people like that in museums. No, its not a library, but why come if you are just going to run amuck, not evening looking at the exhibits, disturbing the people that actually want to learn about ancient Egypt (even if the informational signs don't go very in-depth)? It's just a complete lack of respect, and between that and Grabby, as I've dubbed her, I left with this disappointment slightly overshadowing the euphoria of having visited such a beautiful museum. I will be going back, and I'm going to sequester myself in the back galleries where the shallow, average museum goer rarely ventures and its going to be glorious. Now I know what to do with myself on the days I don't have lecture! If you ever can't locate me or get ahold of me any day between the hours of 10 am and 5 pm, try the museum!
The Bristol City Museum has a pretty decent Egyptian collection, which surprised and impressed me as they are expensive to preserve and restore. With something so old, any change in climate, air pressure, temperature, anything, could contribute to its demise. They also had an impressive Assyrian bas relief, it was quite large, and mounted into the wall. When I entered the room, there was a couple already in there, and the room was dark except for a few lights (too harsh of light, or too much also damages artefacts) and as I stood there, the woman stepped over the little blockade around the relief and TOUCHED IT! She ran her hand up and down it! The antiquarian in me had a mild heart-attack, and I just stood there speechless. She just touched it, like it was a tile sample at Home Depot. I stood there thinking
After I got over my shock, I continued into the Egyptian exhibit, and as I was looking at different grave goods they had in glass display cases, I could hear screeching and giggling coming from around the corner, and I just cringed and hunched my shoulders, preparing myself for an onslaught of teenage girls, and sure enough they came, like a herd of wild animals, pushing one another, laughing, yelling (in some other language, didn't recognize because I was so irritated) I just stood there waiting until they passed, which they eventually did. I always get so irritated when I encounter people like that in museums. No, its not a library, but why come if you are just going to run amuck, not evening looking at the exhibits, disturbing the people that actually want to learn about ancient Egypt (even if the informational signs don't go very in-depth)? It's just a complete lack of respect, and between that and Grabby, as I've dubbed her, I left with this disappointment slightly overshadowing the euphoria of having visited such a beautiful museum. I will be going back, and I'm going to sequester myself in the back galleries where the shallow, average museum goer rarely ventures and its going to be glorious. Now I know what to do with myself on the days I don't have lecture! If you ever can't locate me or get ahold of me any day between the hours of 10 am and 5 pm, try the museum!
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