New pictures, as always.
London
I remember it was raining in London. They say it always rains in London, but that doesn't prepare you to get rained on. My socks were wet, and my pants we wet, one of the girls I was with summed it up with one of comments everyone must be thinking but no one says--"I'm going to remember this day forever." I think we were all very unhappy. We got some coffee, though, Starbucks. There was a long manifestation for the environment, so I saw many demonstrators with posters of Bush, and a target around him. I made sure to speak quietly around there, and pretend English was my second language. I hear the British are typically apathetic, I dunno, it was warming to see so many environmentalists, and I tried to dry myself with enthusiasm. I could not take pictures because it was raining, to capture the spirit of the moment I danced to some of the horn/drum combos in the street.
My original itinerary included I don't recall what. I do know that after two hours looking for Starbucks, it got whittled down to the museum. Tate Museum has one of the finest modern art collections. On the walk there everyone was pokey, maybe tired already. Anyway, it was there fault for having hot chocolate and not coffee, I felt like a drill sergeant telling my troops to hurry to the art museum. By the time we got there, we had seen most of what there is to see as far as London sight-seeing goes. There was the Parliament, Big Ben, and the London Eye. You'll find the photos much more informational, maybe. As I said, it was raining. I got to spend my hour staring at some Picasso, Magritte, Duchamp. I did a fair deal of rubbing my chin and saying, "Yes, I do think I recognize this."
We got lost walking back to the bus. I wish I could attribute it to the simple--short cut turns out to be much longer than the normal route--but I think we were profoundly lost. None of us four expected the bus to be there when we arrived an hour late. I remember jogging through a muddy park and thinking I would have to meet some girl with whom I could spend the night. I was feeling that desperate. The bus was there, and besides from a few ill-wishing glares from those who had been waiting, no one was too upset. I would like to fill in this paragraph by saying that Britain, as the Mother of the U.S., if you will, is, as far as is represented by its capital city, a dignified, respectable, entertaining, and expensive city. Cheers to independence.
Paris
I spent a week with my older sister, Theresa. We went to Paris for Christmas, which was maybe a good idea. I think I enjoyed it more than see did. I, for example, don't think I'm dying if I don't drink 3 gallons of water a day. At any rate, we were pretty good troopers. People ask me what we saw, and I think I just forgot everything. Or it's the too many images trying to get through one question at once syndrome. I saw the Eiffel Tower, covered in flashing lights, and it was majestic, pretty, other adjectives for such simple things that sparkle one's heart with, je ne sais quoi, pride in humanity perhaps. Christmas day we say a kiddy opera. Not much to say about that, but it was a nice place to take a nap, as each of us had our own private miniature balcony. We did try buying tickets to other places, even going last minute to see them, alas, nothing like that happened. We were in Notre Dame for Christmas mass, a little after noon. It was pretty, majestic, a little boring. I think it was Christmas night we stumbled upon an organ concert in Sacre Coeur. It was most exciting because I wanted to brag about it to Aaron S., my only friend who plays organ. Holler?
Musée d'Orsée houses the most renowned collection of impressionist works. Theresa rested her legs halfway through, I tried to retain something about dates, points, names. Impressionism is nice, but really only a period that was meant to change into something else. Of course, there might be a lot to say for an art movement with enough class that it doesn't have to propagate itself, but then again, maybe it did. We saw some big palaces, and took a picture of me with a map, pretending I knew what they were, or why they were. I've never seen so many seemingly superfluous palaces. The food was good, not as expensive as I thought. I tried to be really selective about where we ate, but since I had lost the pages from my guide book about Paris, I based selections on arbitrary criteria, such as the color scheme of the awning. I ate mussels, and talked about government for one dinner, I think that was by favorite. It was sad to see my sister leave the next morning, but Prague was waiting, so I couldn't get too upset.
Prague
The call it the Paris of the East. So I wasted the money on a plane ticket, I guess. My first and lasting impression of Eastern Europe is that I like it. It's cheap, Christian morality seems to take a back seat to a more individual sense of profiting from flocks of tourists who want to see strippers. I actually didn't mean to see strippers, but we went into a bar and there were there. Don't worry mom, I covered my eyes. Aside from that, the beer is cheep. It costs one € for a pint, so I profited, as the French would say. As far as sight-seeing goes, Prague is lovely, dark, and huge. (I barely meant to mimic Frost). The castle which shadows the bustling side of the river is the second largest in Europe. Funny, it didn't seem that big. Anyway, I didn't see the strategic fortifications typical of castles. Maybe it was a luxury castle. I must say that it was pretty majestic.
I took one afternoon to see the Franz Kafka museum. I did not know that he grew up in Prague, and maybe I'm only pretending to be surprised because I don't know if I knew that he wrote in German until a few days ago. At any rate, I enjoyed my walk through, appreciated the long English explanations of the authors childhood, and how the psychological environment affected his writing. Wasn't he an existentialist? Yes, I believe so. I've only read The Trial, an obscure piece of work if there ever was one, or maybe the text was too small and I read it in the hot sun. If I can sum what I saw there into one enlightening idea about Kafka, it's that he was genuine, constructed by his city, overbearing father, and race (Jewish), coming from a dangerous and tense environment, devoted entirely to writing and doing exactly that to reproduce a world that makes no sense.
New Year's Eve was an event of spectacular proportions. The main square, and the Charles Bridge were filled with PSF, pedestrians shooting fireworks.
A night in a jazz club with the beautiful Russian women who I met on the street was the highlight of the vacation. In Eastern Europe, even the middle class can feel posh, sometimes.
The food in Prague was heavy. I had duck, with potatoe dumplings. Goulosh, with potatoe dumplings. Boar, with potatoe dumplings. Always with delicious gravy-like sauche. There was a chinese place next to the hostel that have more than you could eat chinese for about 1 or 2 €, depending on what you ordered. It was a favorite spot for most of the guys I met in the hostel, since we were located far enough from town that finding another restaurant was never easy. I met one guy in the airport, most since I didn't have a place to stay that night (for some reason my friend advised me to sleep in the airport, but my plane got in around 9 pm and the chairs looked uncomfortable). He told me he was staying in a hostel. I was nervous there would be no space, but we went there together, and just before we got there I discovered it was the same hostel I had booked for the week, and they had an open room that night. We hung out all week, and he says I can stay at his place whenever I go to Paris. I also met three other students from Paris, who said the same thing, so anyway I feel like I'm making important contacts. I still haven't gotten into the secret artist's society, but I'm not spending enough time in Paris to find it.
As far as studies go, I'll repeat what I said to my dad: The strike was voted down for a week, so we can have a week of review before exams. We will have to vote again afterwards. Personally, the will of the students is cold enough that it might continue. But really, no one is sure. My translation teacher was talking about high school teachers going on strike, maybe leading to university teachers as well. Alas, maybe I chose a bad year to come. Most of my teachers feel that Sarkozy is destroying French education, seriously, in much the same way Bush affected the U.S.
Well, I don't think I have anything else to say. I quit taking so many pictures, as the French would say, il me fait chier, it's boring. I'd rather see than think of a good frame.
Happy New Year
