So I’ve finally been released from the onerous task of writing two large academic essays per week, and I find myself here in Dublin…and what do I do? Write an essay, of course! …I think I have a problem…
Highlights: train rides? See previous train-themed France entry, I believe. And lowlights: the last three hours. Also, today was flipping expensive, but hopefully future days will be less so, as I have paid in advance for such items as transport and lodging. But still. Puuuke.
Yes. After an evil and theft-ridden taxi ride (one of two today – how is it allowed for them just not to give you back correct change? What is with this rounding up business? Also, I lost my LMH badge ☹), I left Oxford and managed to hit all of my connections (Yayyy! I am so stupid when it comes to public transportation it is not even funny.) and got to Holyhead in time to do nothing. I guess I could have explored the town a bit, but I was feeling sleepy and it was getting dark-ish and I decided that I would like to keep things in order and do all of Wales after all of Ireland. Still, from what I saw out my window, Wales is pretty amazing…as I think I’ve mentioned, I can never stay long in a flat country, so I love the way the craggy yet weathered mountains and hills slope sharply down to the sea. Also, everything is so green…and sheep-filled! Sheep are actually really weird. It was sunny out today, too, which seems to be a rarity…hopefully it will be bright out when I come back through the North, and I will take some photos. In the past, I have been turned off by grimy windowpanes, but with Constance’s hipster embracing of Lomography, I am coming to appreciate the dreamy quality of imperfect photos and so I will give it a shot (pun intended). This is fine country you have here, Owen.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Wales is in the future; currently I’m in Ireland, which I reached after an uneventful ferry ride across blue-grey water while reading Genesis. The description of the flood was somewhat creepy. My plan is to work through the Bible during these six weeks…maybe a bit ambitious (and maybe I shouldn’t have brought Bleak House and We Need To Talk About Kevin, etc.) but so far so good. It was brought to my attention that if one is going to base one’s life on a book (and the truth it contains), then maybe one should get down to reading it. I would actually highly recommend reading Genesis simply for its literary merit? Even if you’re not religious, the version I have – the Revised English Bible – is quite poetic and almost mythological. And if you are religious…well it gave me chills. I’m quite looking forward to my silly little project.
Again with the sidetrackedness (sidetraction?)…but we’ve almost arrived in Dublin. When we do, we get – or I get – propositioned by this Redbeard type in the customs line who has clearly been heavily drinking at the ferry bar. Gross. Although I can see his type existing in these parts for thousands of years. My baggage came through in one piece, and I managed to get return tickets back to the UK while still making the single bus to Dublin town centre. Hurrah! Sadly, this is where it all went to heck, as getting various tickets and withdrawing various Euros and Poundage had caused my debit card to exist in a state of depletion, while my credit card took this opportunity to take a little vacation of its own…“The pin number is invalid” (No it’s not!!!) and “The card number is unauthorized” (Um. What???). Which is an exciting change from last week’s “The post code does not correspond” (Yes it does?!?). I definitely need to get that sorted. Somehow. Meh. Still, after a tearful breakdown in front of my hotel manager (Martin), I got on the internet and got to an ATM and paid debit. Too much nitty-gritty detail…suffice it to say I am back on track (if rather poorer than before). But rich in memories. While I was sipping a steadying half-pint of Bulmers (is this sacrilegious in Dublin? I don’t know…but I did refrain from the J2O…), Martin gave me a lucky four-leaf clover charm to protect me against further chaos, and I have learned that people in unexpected situations can be genuinely good, like men in clicky shoes when your credit card is rejected, or like portly and greying gentlemen when you feel like you (or at least your bags) appear to be exploding at the seams. In Ireland, at least, “chivalry is not dead.” Or that’s what they say.
Hmm and my hotel room is lovely – it’s the only thing I have taken photos of thus far – and the shower is amazing. I would happily die Psycho-style in it. Or perhaps not. Anyway, I’m safe and sound and off to the countryside to meet Maeriad (!!!) tomorrow! Wish me luck, and I’ll hopefully get the chance to tell you about Exodus – the original, the Dublin, and the Ireland varieties.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
On Drinking
Flipping heck, I’ve been bad about this whole journalism thing. I’m considering next term taking up photoblogging, because at least then you’d get a glimpse into what I’m glimpsing. I’m not convinced that my photographs are worth a thousand words, but…better than what we’ve got here, right? Four entries in half as many months – shameful!
So. Today we’ll be discussing that time-honored and unmistakably British tradition of tea. With a capital TEA. Oh goodness…
First, the term is confusing for those of you who haven’t been fully exposed to the cultural experience. Even I, having inherited tea-drinking from my father, a man who drinks several cups a day, and having lived in England as a child, did not accurately grasp just what I was getting into. As I was setting up my room last term, I purchased a cup and a tea kettle for the imbibing of the British beverage, but I only got one (rather large) mug, and one (really very small) kettle, thinking that tea would be drunk in a similar manner to coffee – quickly, over several textbooks, and as a stimulant or substitute for food. Not so. If I had to do it over again, I would invest in a cute little tea set, and a large electric kettle. Tea, in some parts of this country, is actually a meal, one that replaces dinner (or well actually it replaces supper, and dinner is served for lunch…but I won’t get into that). In Devon, there are Devonshire cream teas, involving tea and cakes and scones and, obviously, Devonshire clotted cream. Which is delicious. Tea is more than a simple drink. As a student, tea is essentially an opportunity for socializing. Okay, some kids do use it as a sleep-substitute, stopping just short of getting it intravenously, but generally taking tea is all about taking a break from the books, sitting down with friends, and having a cuppa (I actually have never heard anyone talk about ‘cuppas’) with some cakes.
Cakes and puddings: the perfect accessories to teatime. In the UK, the term ‘cake’ has a somewhat broader definition. And certainly ‘pudding’ does. If you’re looking for a place to get something tasty to accompany a good cup of tea, Marks and Spencer's would be it. Here is a list of some of the things I’ve sampled: a Victoria spongecake, some chocolate mousse cups, various assorted cupcakes, a lemon cheesecake, (of course) molten chocolate molleux, profiteroles. I’ve also made a pavlova and tried some of Owen’s lemon tart and Constance’s cream and honey sandwiches (NOT technically British, Owen would add) over the course of six months of drinking tea in the British manner. Interestingly, I feel less gross and fat about myself here than I did at Richmond. Maybe it has to do with all the cycling. And coxing. Riiight.
While the tea ceremony is certainly relaxed in the dormitory rooms of university students, some people still have particular rituals or standards that need to be fulfilled so that the integrity of teatime is preserved. I’m not sure. I’ll submit certain Welsh individuals as the pickiest of tea-drinkers, with the rest of my legal friends at the other end of the spectrum, and the Russians – well Russian – somewhere in the middle. No one will keep a teabag in the cup as they’re drinking, for instance, and few will leave the spoon in. That's all pretty logical, I suppose. Issues that cause more angst concern the components of the cup of tea. Some, for instance, like fruit or flower teas, while others are very strict that normal, English tea is the only tea worth consuming. (This is striking a chord with my father, I bet.) And of course, the milk and sugar debate continues to rage: white with two? One thing I had half-expected to see was a confrontation of teabags in general, but fascinatingly, loose tea seems to be a thing of the past, at least for the Brits I drink with. Fascinating. I have, on the other hand, had a discussion about what gets poured first, milk or tea – there was actually a very unofficial and unscientific study done about this back in the day – but apparently there’s no longer any contest; pouring milk first is not posh, it’s absurd. “Uncouth,” I think was the exact word used.
Yes…I am not completely so far gone that I don’t see the bizarreness in all this. I guess it’s something like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Americans, though: we just want what we want, and there’ll be hell to pay if, say, someone tries to foist strawberry jelly on us instead of grape, cut the thing vertically and not diagonally, or (heaven forefend!) try and sneak some nasty chunky peanuts in there. Ickkk. I think people here are also aware of teatime as a funny tradition, and are not above poking fun of it in true British fashion. I was at an art film screening the other week, and I think the piece that was most well-received was the “Posh Monday Society,” a mockumentary about a fraternity of upper class Oxford tea-drinkers. I think it’s on youtube if you’re that interested, though it may not appeal if you don’t fully embrace the tea-drinking lifestyle (or if you do, but don’t like being made fun of). Anyway, I am working on setting a little informal experiment of my own in which I offer tea to Brits at inopportune moments and see whether they ever actually refuse. My guess is no, unless they’ve literally just come from drinking a cup of tea in their own rooms. First though, I have to get a larger kettle and some attractive cups…and I think Owen has a Victoria cake somewhere…
So. Today we’ll be discussing that time-honored and unmistakably British tradition of tea. With a capital TEA. Oh goodness…
First, the term is confusing for those of you who haven’t been fully exposed to the cultural experience. Even I, having inherited tea-drinking from my father, a man who drinks several cups a day, and having lived in England as a child, did not accurately grasp just what I was getting into. As I was setting up my room last term, I purchased a cup and a tea kettle for the imbibing of the British beverage, but I only got one (rather large) mug, and one (really very small) kettle, thinking that tea would be drunk in a similar manner to coffee – quickly, over several textbooks, and as a stimulant or substitute for food. Not so. If I had to do it over again, I would invest in a cute little tea set, and a large electric kettle. Tea, in some parts of this country, is actually a meal, one that replaces dinner (or well actually it replaces supper, and dinner is served for lunch…but I won’t get into that). In Devon, there are Devonshire cream teas, involving tea and cakes and scones and, obviously, Devonshire clotted cream. Which is delicious. Tea is more than a simple drink. As a student, tea is essentially an opportunity for socializing. Okay, some kids do use it as a sleep-substitute, stopping just short of getting it intravenously, but generally taking tea is all about taking a break from the books, sitting down with friends, and having a cuppa (I actually have never heard anyone talk about ‘cuppas’) with some cakes.
Cakes and puddings: the perfect accessories to teatime. In the UK, the term ‘cake’ has a somewhat broader definition. And certainly ‘pudding’ does. If you’re looking for a place to get something tasty to accompany a good cup of tea, Marks and Spencer's would be it. Here is a list of some of the things I’ve sampled: a Victoria spongecake, some chocolate mousse cups, various assorted cupcakes, a lemon cheesecake, (of course) molten chocolate molleux, profiteroles. I’ve also made a pavlova and tried some of Owen’s lemon tart and Constance’s cream and honey sandwiches (NOT technically British, Owen would add) over the course of six months of drinking tea in the British manner. Interestingly, I feel less gross and fat about myself here than I did at Richmond. Maybe it has to do with all the cycling. And coxing. Riiight.
While the tea ceremony is certainly relaxed in the dormitory rooms of university students, some people still have particular rituals or standards that need to be fulfilled so that the integrity of teatime is preserved. I’m not sure. I’ll submit certain Welsh individuals as the pickiest of tea-drinkers, with the rest of my legal friends at the other end of the spectrum, and the Russians – well Russian – somewhere in the middle. No one will keep a teabag in the cup as they’re drinking, for instance, and few will leave the spoon in. That's all pretty logical, I suppose. Issues that cause more angst concern the components of the cup of tea. Some, for instance, like fruit or flower teas, while others are very strict that normal, English tea is the only tea worth consuming. (This is striking a chord with my father, I bet.) And of course, the milk and sugar debate continues to rage: white with two? One thing I had half-expected to see was a confrontation of teabags in general, but fascinatingly, loose tea seems to be a thing of the past, at least for the Brits I drink with. Fascinating. I have, on the other hand, had a discussion about what gets poured first, milk or tea – there was actually a very unofficial and unscientific study done about this back in the day – but apparently there’s no longer any contest; pouring milk first is not posh, it’s absurd. “Uncouth,” I think was the exact word used.
Yes…I am not completely so far gone that I don’t see the bizarreness in all this. I guess it’s something like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Americans, though: we just want what we want, and there’ll be hell to pay if, say, someone tries to foist strawberry jelly on us instead of grape, cut the thing vertically and not diagonally, or (heaven forefend!) try and sneak some nasty chunky peanuts in there. Ickkk. I think people here are also aware of teatime as a funny tradition, and are not above poking fun of it in true British fashion. I was at an art film screening the other week, and I think the piece that was most well-received was the “Posh Monday Society,” a mockumentary about a fraternity of upper class Oxford tea-drinkers. I think it’s on youtube if you’re that interested, though it may not appeal if you don’t fully embrace the tea-drinking lifestyle (or if you do, but don’t like being made fun of). Anyway, I am working on setting a little informal experiment of my own in which I offer tea to Brits at inopportune moments and see whether they ever actually refuse. My guess is no, unless they’ve literally just come from drinking a cup of tea in their own rooms. First though, I have to get a larger kettle and some attractive cups…and I think Owen has a Victoria cake somewhere…
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