Digressions of a Traveling Housewife.

Eureka Cast and Crew New Heroes of Comic Con

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 20:32:00 +0000

Heroes began its run at Comic Con two years ago. The Heroes panelists last year (mostly the cast members) thanked all the bloggers for creating buzz, and asked them to do it again. Measuring by the turnout, they apparently took direction too well. I like Heroes, but am willing to wait until September for the premiere rather than fighting a crowd of 12,000 for one of 6,500 seats.

Later on Saturday, another of my favorite shows hosted a panel of main cast members, and creators. Eureka is an odd little show airing Tuesdays on the Sci Fi Network. The show tends to borrow plots and tropes from famous science fiction and fantasy literature (including movies and shows). These little in-jokes ratchet up the intelligence of the show, already at a high bar.

Essentially, U.S. Marshall Carter (boyishly cute Colin Ferguson) and his errant daughter Zoe (Jordan Hinson) end up stuck in a top-secret town named Eureka, which the writer revealed is in Oregon (not northern California, the Town of Eureka’s actual home). The town is a conglomerate of the best minds solving futuristic problems today; most of Eureka's geniuses work at Global Dynamics (a not-too-sly reference to the major defense contractor General Dynamics). The entire town is filled with geniuses who work on futuristic studies. Only Carter seems exempt from being a triple-nine genius, but his charm, affability, and skillful use of Occam’s razor grant him entrée into the world’s smartest town. He becomes their replacement Sheriff when the former one is injured in the first episode.

One reason I like the show is that it reveals genius in many forms. Aside from the mathematicians, physicists, geneticists, and Henry (a modern-day Michaelangelo who specializes in everything, artfully portrayed by Joe Morton), only a few characters display differential genius: Sherriff Carter (Ferguson), Jo Lupo (Erica Cerra), Café Diem chef Vincent (Chris Gauthier), Beverly Barlowe (Deborah Farentino) the psychologist, and Taggart (Matt Frewer). Sheriff Carter’s genius is tracking the obvious—rather than the obscure—raisons for the cataclysmic events which stymie the GD Directors. Chef Vincent’s culinary genius translates into any food, any time and deliciously rendered. (Fergusson answered the question about Carter’s fave food at the Diem “It’s probably a burger and fries.”) Jo Lupo, Deputy Sheriff, is a genius at warfare, ammo, and maintaining an upright military pose at all times. Taggart’s genius is with animals; not unsurprisingly, he often more resembles the wild lab escapees more than the town’s human inhabitants. One panelist noted that the ducks (in the Duck Duck Goose episode) actually followed him around adoringly, as if he were the animal trainer. Take that, Max Headroom.

The town’s most elusive genius is clearly Lojack, the sometimes-invisible, high-IQ dog. Questioned by a fan why Lojack has effectively disappeared from the show, Ferguson gave a very funny spiel about how difficult it is to work with animals which may (or may not) respond to their trainer’s commands. Also, the expense and time involved in working with live animals is prohibitive; Ferguson noted that trainers were calling the rats in an upcoming scene, which to him seemed silly. He got big laughs from the audience.

The cast and crew of Eureka are my new heroes because the show is still unknown enough that everyone who wanted to see the panel was allowed in to witness these warm, funny, charming actors (who are clearly intelligent in their own right) and creators talk about a show they obviously enjoy producing. Ferguson, particularly, was magnetic and amiable. He’s a dangerously charming man overflowing with energy and snappy retorts, though most of these involved being in a towel for much of one upcoming episode, referred to as the "Groundhog Day" episode. The jokes continued despite the PG warning on the backs of their place cards. One enthusiastic fan asked if Henry would be in a towel in any upcoming episodes. Clearly, the entire cast is becoming wildly popular, and approaching—if not yet reaching—sex-symbol status.

In fact, the cast seemed to have just barely grasped their own popularity among fans after two seasons of the sleeper hit. Before the panel, Jon and I ate at the excellent Masala Indian restaurant. After filling up on their buffet, on the way to the car to drop off our load of swag, we encountered an ice cream truck loaded with cones and the cast of Eureka. They were as happy as the few fans who spotted them, and the cast all appeared as awestruck as those who gathered for free treats and photo ops. I kept getting big smiles from Salli Richardson-Whitfield (Dr. Allison Blake), who is obviously as mulata as I am. (I love a show where mixed heritage folks are represented.) The cast all seemed overawed at the audience response, displaying the innocence and heart-warming gratitude that proves they are not jaded by their popularity—yet.

Unlike the overexposed Heroes of NBC, the stars of this underrated show are still real enough and approachable enough to merit a spot at Comic Con, whose purpose should be to spotlight new shows. Clearly this is the main purpose of Comic Con—to advertise the underground hits—not the mega-stars, but the upstarts.

During the panel, the cast answered the rather banal question of why the show is so named. (It’s titled after Archimedes’ exclamation (“I have found it!”) on discovering water displacement as a measure of mass.) In the show, Archimedes’ statue graces the town fountain; in the first episode, the fountain’s statue is seen rising and lowering itself into the bathtub fountain. According to Ferguson, that is no longer done in the show; apparently, despite the shows fictional advances, the crew itself has to perform many of the technical stunts with muscle rather than technology, including raising and lowering Archimedes on a stick; this became too much to handle in addition to all the other prop movements, such as managing S.A.R.A.H the talking house.

The Panel was the funniest and liveliest I saw this year or last. Funnier even than Groening’s panels. But don’t take my word for it. You can watch the entire panel at Sci Fi’s website.

With 14:30 left in the panel, you can listen to my question (and the response) about the significance of the ice cream.

San Diego's Comic Con Hosts Capacity Crowds... And More

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 16:39:00 +0000

There are lots of reasons to come to San Diego in July. Escaping the Mid Atlantic's torturous heat for one. The best CONUS surfing for another. But for nerds, geeks, and sci fi freaks, July in San Diego means Comic Con has come to town.

In its 39th year, Comic Con has almost outgrown the SD Convention Center; near the bay and Seaport Village, the Convention Center hosted nearly 125,000 attendees daily during its four days. With 400 events over the long weekend, not everyone gets to see their favorite shows' panels. Last year, Jon and I were able to squat in room 20 half the day and see four events in a row, including the preview of the Heroes season premiere. This year, though, organizers clearly oversold the convention to both attendees and events, which created huge problems.

Like most good things, Comic Con has been overrun by corporations. For example, this year's Heroes event was moved to the largest venue, Hall H, which reportedly holds 6,500 people plus SRO. Because attendees camped out overnight for the preview, there was no chance of attending the third installment of Heroes at Comic Con. We got there an hour early; to get in line, I walked around the entire building, around the back by the loading dock, and halfway to Seaport Village before surrendering to the obvious. There was no way I (or most people on the forced hike) would be getting into the screening and panel. (Later on Saturday, I got a recap of the main episode from a nice young man in line ahead of us for BSG, which was also oversold. He had the grace to ask me if I really wanted him to spoil it for me; I pointed out I would have gone had I been able to get in and spoiled it for myself.)

After giving up, I rejoined Jon and went to the Futurama panel instead, which was just as rewarding and not nearly as overcrowded, and which was immediately followed by the Simpsons panel, both good alternatives to Heroes. That's probably why the event coordinators set Futurama against Heroes. Though they didn't show any previews of the next Futurama movie, they did answer questions and give the audience a good time.

Groening and his gangs are always good for a lot of laughs; the panels were a good way to start our visit. The creators did show a clip of why people shouldn't download pirated videos titled Downloading Often is Terrible (D.O.I.T.), a shaky copy of which someone posted here.

The BSG panel and screening was likewise as crowded and oversold, but this too seemed unimportant, as the show is nearly over with only half a season left to air. No great loss to me, but some young folks were crying to get in. Literally.

Sadly, Comic Con also does not offer sign-language interpreters for the hearing impaired, which I only discovered because a Spanish-speaking woman with her kids asked an "Elite" security person for assistance. I interpreted for her, but no one could interpret for her disappointed daughter. Clearly another black mark for Comic Con organizers, and one which might interest the ADA.

I was really bothered by how much they oversold the convention this year. It has grown past the Convention Center's capacity to host it, which may be their evil plan. Rumors abounded this year about moving Comic Con to Vegas or LA, and by overselling the events the coordinators may try to justify moving to a new venue. I'd hate to see that; San Diego and Comic Con are conjoined terms, in most peoples opinion, and have been for almost 4 decades. Certainly, Vegas is a terrible choice; late July in Nevada? It's 110 degrees.

The other limiting factor for Comic Con is how the organizers oversold it to the shows. For example, although Jon and I both adore the painfully funny (emphasis on pain) hit show The Office, the panel starring Rainn Wilson (who plays Dwight Schrute) seemed sorely misplaced. The show has zero connection to comics, science fiction, or fantasy. A clue to the show's presence is found in the deleted scenes of the season 2 episode "Dwight's Speech," in which Dwight blathers about his adoration of Starbuck in BSG (we presume he means Katee Sackoff's Starbuck, not Dirk Benedict's Starbuck). This slim, non-canonical connection is clearly not enough to justify an Office panel, but they were there anyway.

It seems the comics are getting pushed aside for other media, which is a shame. The comic is the thing! It's right there on the convention guide's cover. It's in the title of the convention, and the repeating pattern behind most of the panels, at least in the big rooms. Nonetheless, comic book sales were pushed to three small aisles, while movie and television corporations have taken over half the exhibitor's hall.

I predict that the overblown Comic Con will split in two, that the comics will go one way, the sci fi shows another. The comics are the inspirational source material to many corporate undertakings, but the artists' exhibits are in the back corner of the hall, hidden behind the monstrous, two-story displays of Warner Brothers and the networks.

To me, Comic Con is about finding out what's new in science fiction, fantasy, and comics. When a show is so over-exposed that every fan in the audience has a despondent twin in the parallel universe of the halls, it no longer needs Comic Con to sustain it.

Underwater!

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 00:09:00 +0000

Christina sends this image from the road.

And Again, La Jolla

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Sat, 07 Jul 2007 07:34:00 +0000

Best of the La Jolla Summer.

This summer's living in La Jolla has been all about the work. In between, here and there, I've carved out little bits of time to enjoy all that my favorite neighborhood has to offer. I've decided to summarize them with "Best of" lists. Corny, I know, but I'm only including places I've actually visited.

Top Eateries:

1. Rubios: This chain, built on a bit of industrial espionage by a young entrepreneur, is a staple. Usually the first thing I have is a fish taco, and the last is an order of the same. (One franchise is in the San Diego airport.) Unforgettable, undeniable.

2. Niban: This little sushi place is casual without that fast-food feel, and classy enough for a date with the spouse. Seating is usually limited, and often the line curves around the glass front. Start with edamame, follow with a Bento box, sushi combo, or sashimi platter. Green tea completes my favorite meals.

3. Rock Bottom Cafe: We could walk here, if we didn't drive so much. Rock Bottom serves steaks, fish plates, hearty American bar food. They know how not to overdo a fine steak, though the standard warnings apply. A large selection of beers pleases the spouse.

4. Sunflower Deli: This little gem is a little hard to find. Diagonally across from UTC shopping center on Town Center Drive, this basement-level deli is hidden in a monolithic office building. With views of an enclosed terrace (with outdoor seating), this Deli serves the best sandwiches and homemade soup I've tasted. So far, I've only had the pleasure once, but I tried again on July 5th, and they were closed for the holiday -- for three days straight, which Jon and I surmise is the reason they have held onto the same employees for three summers straight. Not open weekends, and open only for breakfast and lunch during the week, it's usually populated by what in LJ pass for suits: khaki's and a Hawaiian button-down shirt. Be not afraid.

5. Pittorio's: Unbelievable food. Requires stylish casual dress, though we saw folks in their tourist gear, from shorts to cap.

La Jolla... again

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Mon, 14 Aug 2006 22:25:00 +0000

Being in La Jolla is like coming home to a city I don't live in. I want to live here. I've been pestering Jon, unable to keep quiet when the feeling rises up in me.

"I want to live here." Over and over the thought escapes me, even though I know it will always be just a thought. Jon lives and works in Maryland. I live and work with Jon. So the most I can do is enjoy the scenery, the cool breezes, the proximity to Mexico, for a week or three each year.

We've been ensconced in lovely southern Cal for a week now, and are enjoying Rubios' fish tacos, the beach, the weather, the easy atmosphere. It's cool and breezy, and the salty air is knocking the mustiness out of my head. The humidity dulls me too much on the East Coast.

So far, we've been to our favorite Sushi place, bookstore, and game store. Jon and I have also had the pleasure of visiting friends.

First, we shopped.

On my last trip, I was sorely disappointed by the lack of clothing in... ahem... my size at University Town Center. Only two stores, in fact, had my size. Nordstrom's and Talbot's. Sears may have plus sizes, but by the time I got around the rest of the mall, I was too tired to check. In fact, the more I checked, the angrier I became. Most stores carry only up to a misses' 14 or 16. Bebe won the prize for only carrying up to a size 10! Seriously.

So it was with a heavy head that Jon and I went there again this trip to look for a shirt for Jon. It was mostly a bust -- we found one doable short-sleeve shirt that didn't cost $40. Ah, well.

We're much happier at other shops. Mysterious Galaxy never disappointed. I picked up a 1200-page book--three books in one, actually-- called the Black Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop. Set in a completely different world, the book blends fantasy scapes from all the "realms" into a dark underworld of witches, demon-dead, and intelligent, crafty animals. Unicorns, dragons, sabertooth tigers and wolves take sides with queen-witches and warlords in a demonic war that could rip apart every level of heaven and hell. Totally absorbing. Recommended for those who like Anne Rice, but be warned: Rice's grotesqueries are Bishop's fodder, only in much larger doses. Not for those with a weak heart, or stomach. Still, the book is impossible to put down. Her crisp style-- and the ability to gloss over the grosser parts-- will carry you through these books in a week.

When we've been able to put aside our reading, we've spent time among friends. Yesterday, after a skin-searing half-day at the beach, Jon and I relaxed with his colleague's family at their home nearby. We all enjoyed Dan's barbecued chicken hot off the new grill, and his fried bananas with ice cream were better than any I've had at a restaraunt. Last week, we also went to the home of some friends who have five (slightly illegal, at least in CA) ferrets. They're so cute. We played a couple of games over pizza, including my personal favorites -- Carcassonne and San Juan.

So far, though, my favorite day was last Saturday in Tijuana. Jon and I drove the 20 minutes to the border, parked, and walked across the bridge to Mexico. As soon as you step across, the smell is different. The air is different. Certainly the culture bulges against the man-made borderline. The mountains on the US side are barren, while on the Mexico side, they're laden with shanty towns. Meandering through the streets, I'm always impressed with the European style they've applied to the street planning. It's a lovely little walk across Avenida de la Revoluccion, through the open markets.

That is, it's lovely if you like strangers heckling you to come buy from their store. Being an extrovert, I reveled in it a bit. One must draw on their creativity to deal with the various peddlars, hawkers, and beggar kids. One little boy about two years old blocked our path, begging in perfect English. "Give me a dollah!"

We declined. Though I always give money to the old women, the wrinkled women selling chiclets for whatever change you've got.

I did buy a few things, giving some green money into the Mexican economy is like charity these days, though Tijuana is one of Mexico's richest cities; the border towns always are.

I bought a silver necklace from one peddlar on the street, proud of my haggling ability to get him from $15 down to $11 cash. A leather courier's purse priced at $25 was bought for $20, and a lovely $8 quartz windchime is now in our possession, bought for just $5.

I probably could have spent less money for more items if Jon wasn't so obviously a gringo.

They get insulted if you don't haggle, I've been told by my Mexican aunts. As if by accepting their set price you fail to acknowledge their haggling abilities, or their strength at recognizing foreigners. In some ways, I think I confuse them. Certainly, my dark hair and fair skin marks me an easy target. The street vendors and hawkers usually express a little surprise at my easy Spanish. After their mouths work a bit, they settle down to business.

It's easy, really, to haggle. It's harder to get the sellers off you if they've decided you are going to buy from them. We found one easy way to get them off of us; ask them for something they don't have. Over and over, it was easiest to ask for postcards. It stumped them long enough for us to get away.

But haggling's more fun.

Sushi Robot

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Wed, 01 Feb 2006 18:05:00 +0000

My husband thinks this Sushi Robot would be just the right addition to our kitchen.

I disagree. I am NOT making Sushi at home. (Counter space is too precious in my little kitchen to accomodate a robot, and it's a dish that can kill us. I mean, who would we sue?)

My hubby insisted that the robot makes the sushi.

Okay, well, if the robot can drive itself to the store, choose fresh fish that won't kill us, drive back with its load, let itself in, hop up on the counter and make dinner, we should definitely get one.

I'll even take it upon myself to serve the meal, but the little f**ker better be self-cleaning, too.

Plus I don't think we need 3000 rice balls per hour.

Fabulous Friendly Fondue, Forever

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Wed, 01 Feb 2006 17:44:00 +0000

Last night, I met Jon at work with a plan. The San Diego Reader, which I flipped through while eating dinner at Yummy Maki, included a coupon for the new location of Forever Fondue. Either a two-for-one entree deal, or $15 off two complete fondue feasts.

We chose feasting.

First, we enjoyed a very fresh Ceasar salad, during which the waitress warmed the fondue wine. Then, we sampled the traditional swiss cheese fondue, prepared at our table, using breads and apples as well as vegetables. We chose the beef flavor fondue base for the main course, each receiving a plate of raw shrimp, beef, and chicken. Mine also included lobster, while Jon had salmon on his raw plate.

Chicken, it seems to me, is overdoing it for raw food served at table. Obviously I have no problem with raw fish or beef.

Certainly, the piece of least resistance was the dessert, a mix of white and milk chocolate served with a plate of strawberries, cakes, bananas and pineapple. It was without a doubt the highlight of the meal.

Though pricey (figure $100 with a bottle of wine), it was a meal worthy of an anniversary. Not that it was our anniversary. Unless it's the anniversary of our first trip to La Jolla.

The wine really made the meal. San Sebastian's 2001 Merlot was mellow and smooth, lacking harsh tannins and the bitterness that accompanies them. We indulged ourselves, and had a fabulous time laughing and teasing each other over our lengthy meal.

California wins again.

The Jewel

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Wed, 01 Feb 2006 00:21:00 +0000

La Jolla is the jewel I remember from last summer. Although our digs aren't quite as nice -- the Hampton Inn Del Mar hardly measures up to a million-dollar rancher near the shore -- I am happy to be as far from my messy home as I can get while staying in the U.S.

I've already visited some of my favorite haunts. Monday's lunch was provided by Rubio's Fresh Mexican Grill, which is as good as ever. As far as I know, Rubio's only serves fish tacos, although Jon, ever the connoisseur of fine Mexican delis (a trait inherited from his dad), assures me that they do in fact serve a full menu of tacos, burritos, and fabulously small "street tacos" in carnitas, chicken, and beef flavors. I'll probably never find out; it's fish tacos or nothing for me.

Today, I decided to keep the fish but ditch the taco. Yummy Maki Yummy Box, which I blogged about last summer still serves damn fine sushi at unbelievable prices. For $12, I got a soda and a full serving -- an 8-piece California roll and 5 pieces of sushi. This little deli creates some of the best sushi and rolls I've eaten, although we do plan a trip to Nippon sometime this week.

Although I've been eager to get back to La Jolla, I'm afraid those are all the highlights from my first few days. I've been ill with a bad headcold, which made my flight oh-so-much-more enjoyable than usual, what with balancing motion sickness against complete (if temporary) deafness. My ears filled up, and they still don't seem to have fully popped.

Ah, well. At least this trip I got to be the annoying passenger sneezing all over my seatmates (Why suffer alone? I've contemplated licking the elevator buttons, too.), although one seatmate was my honey. Of course, having given me the cold to begin with, he's immune to my germinal advances.

So, sickly, I've been holed up in the room for two days (excepting lunch), playing at the computer and calling it work.

Ah. California.

England Again

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Tue, 08 Nov 2005 15:00:00 +0000

Haven't been to England since 2003, when I last came with Jon. This time, instead of staying in Cheltenham, we opted for the Hilton Puckrup Hall, a golf oasis in "the back end of nowhere."

After one night at the Hilton Heathrow, we stopped by Blenheim Palace, residence of the Eleventh Duke of Malborough and a World Heritage Site for our list. A pleasant and impressively huge palace, it was built for the first Duke, John Churchill, for winning the Battle of Blenheim. Queen Anne built it for him and his wife, Sarah, her friend and confidant. Unfortunately, spiraling costs on the home broke up the friendship, according to a travel show we watched Stateside. According to our tour guide, it was something else entirely, jealousy on the part of Sarah when Anne took a poor relation of Sarah's under her wing, usurping Sarah's place. Hmm. This difference of opinion speaks to England's protection of it's monarchs, even those long deceased, as much as to the States' willingness to reveal every nuance of the monarchy's pecadillos.

One of the most interesting facts I learned on tour was that Queen Anne provided that the duchy pass from the Duke to his heir, male or female. This strikes me as rare, and probably owes to the Queen's own succession to the throne. (I enjoyed the story's feminist overtones.) The second Duke was in fact Duchess Henrietta, John's eldest daughter.

Since then, however, there have been nine additional Dukes, including the fourth Duke who revived the Churchill name, and the Ninth Duke. Charles Spencer-Churchill, first cousin to Winston Churchill, married Consuelo Vanderbilt for a much-needed influx of cash. She brought $15Million with her, and refurbished the castle, providing "an heir and a spare" before divorcing Charles after 11 years of marriage. The John Singer-Sargeant painting is a masterpiece of deception; Consuelo towered over her husband (she was nearly 6', he was 5'6"). Note the step added to the picture, to help disguise the disparity. Also, note the two Blenheim Spaniels in the painting.

After touring the grounds (really, we were looking for the open exit), we sped up the M-5 to Tewkesbury and the Hilton Puckrup (two syllables, not three) Hall and Golf Resort. Too bad we don't play golf -- it's quite lovely here, except for the rain. Today I plan to enjoy the swimming pool, take advantage of the health club, and head into the tiny town for lunch.

I'm using my two weeks here as a private little writing retreat, working on my current project, and reading heavily. Tewkesbury has at least one second-hand bookstore, where I purchased The Lawless Road by Graham Greene, and several pubs. I've eaten twice at the Black Bear, not because it was so good, but because our first night in town it was the only pub still serving, and on Monday it was... the only pub serving lunch.

Ah, jolly old England. They roll up the sidewalks at 8 pm.

The DaVinci Mode

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Thu, 24 Feb 2005 02:00:00 +0000

Christina has asked me to post this picture for her. I haven't read The DaVinci Code, but she assures me that this will have meaning for those of you who have.

Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Sun, 28 Nov 2004 21:56:00 +0000

Had a great time in NC with Jon, who blogged it well.

One thing we noticed on the drive back was how many serious Christmas tree hunters go out the Saturday after Thanksgiving, apparently traveling into the NC mountains to get the best of the best in trees.

But seriously, how many trees do you need?

This traveler had three:

But our favorite was Tony Soprano's tree:

Waypoints and Wanderlust

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Tue, 01 Jun 2004 18:18:00 +0000

One of the things I just adore about frequent travel is the benefit it affords, especially in the form of Internet access in United´s Red Carpet Club, where I am commfortably sitting in front of a modern Dell computer, pausing at this waypoint to consider and recount my travels once again.

Mexico City´s airport, one of the continent´s largest, is a surprisingly easy airport to maneuver. They´ve improved it greatly since I was a kid, apparently, because the crowds and dirt are no more than a childhood recollection. Duty Free´s not bad either....

Now that I´m here, I have the time to digress, go back to the beginning, and find my way to here again.

Puebla is the town where I grew a little, from ages 1 to 3.

Sunday, too, we got up early, and opened our hotel room curtains onto the cityscape and (pardon me while I figure out how to accent an 'o') the Zócalo, or Puebla´s Centro Historico. Don´t let the name Holiday Inn fool you -- our hotel was safe, elegant, clean, even lovely. Our 8th-floor room was accessible only by taking the elevator to the 7th floor, then climbing stairs. As a result, our view was of the Zócalo´s cathedrals. Jon hypothesized that their inability to give us a non-smoking room with a king bed prompted this extra-special room. The window was wider than the wall, and turned the corner before its terminus -- an actual working window, though small, let in fresh air. Not that we wanted fresh Mexican air -- it was too hot and smoggy for anything but airconditioning.

I recently read an Italian´s view of the U.S., Ciao America, by Beppe Severgnini. One thought of his -- that United Statesians (Unidenses) prefer to be ice cold in the heat of summer to the more luke warm normalcy of Europe. We would live in refrigerators if we could. In Puebla, where there is any AC, it is luke warm -- on the Estrella Roja bus ride from Mexico City, in the hotel lobby, in restaraunts. Jon and I initially pumped our AC down to 67 or 70 degrees in our room, and the first night I kicked off the covers (sleeping in a full bed with another person gets really warm). Proving that adaptation happens whether you want it to or not, after three days wandering the 80-degree streets and sweating in our relatives homes with no AC, we cranked the AC up to 75 last night, and still I was freezing under the blanket and coverlet.

Sunday morning.

Jon and I breakfasted at VIPs, a national favorite which, sadly, has recently been aquired by MegaloMart. Still, the food was as good as I remember, and the family atmosphere as pleasant. I´m fascniated by their children´s menu, which includes alphabet fries, but my favorite has to be the milanesas, which I could eat at every meal (and managed to eat three times in three days, though only once at VIPs). [While milanesas can be veal; personally, I prefer the sirloin.]

After sharing a croissant sandwhich and downing a bottled water each (total cost: US$3.50), we purchased postcards before meeting our uncle Gus and his wife, Tia Adelina for a sightseeing tour of Cholula. Uncle Gus (like all my uncles, but none of my aunts) was educated in the U.S. and speaks perfect English. Adelina, too, speaks English extremely well, and I assure you her English is better than my Spanish. Unlike my Grandmother, who dislikes her accent, Adelina said her accent "is cute." It´s adorable.

They are also extremely interested in (and knowledgeable about) the history of Puebla and the surrounding neighborhoods. Uncle Gus pointed out many sights of interest, including the Euro-French architecture of downtown; wrought-iron balustrades and flower boxes dot the colorful buildings. Indeed, Mexicans love color, especially natural shades from greens to muted blues to coral washes. The paint on their homes and businesses rivals nature, but seems totally organic. We also visited La Paz, the neighborhood at the top of the hill in what used to be the outskirts of town. My father moved to the "pink house" when he was 10, in 1957; my grandparents raised the family and continued to live there for 30 years, until a home invasion robbery drove them to build on GECAS. GECAS is a plot of land that my Abuelito divided into 8 lots, one for himself and each child. My aunt Maribel lived there until recently, and Uncles Carlos and Eduardo still do. The plot, completely enclosed by cement walls topped in broken glass, used to be on the outskirts of town, too, actually quite rural, but Puebla, as Gus pointed out, has grown exponentially.

In DC there is a rule of building height that is proportional to the width of the streets (the rumor that no building in the District can be taller than the Capitol is a myth). In Puebla, only church spires tower into the sky; buildings are only 7 ot 8 stories high. The city, however, has grown from 200,000 people 30 years ago to over 2 million now; it has nowehere to go but out. It has spread without cease, encompassing most of the valley and absorbing incorporated Cholula as well.

In Cholula, visitors find one of the oldest and largest pyramids of any ancient American civilization, the Tenapa Pyramid by the Cholultecas. Originally a small pyramid, the Cholultecas built a second, much larger pyramid over it, showing the Aztec influence. When the Spaniards came, they built the gorgeous Nuestra Señora de los Remedios church. Frommer's claims it is the world's largest pyramid by volume. It is without a doubt the largest pyramid in America. I loved our visit. It's so easy to see the Spaniard's history of influence here, in a snapshot.

From there it was off to the Church of Tonanazintla, the first church completely built by the natives, under the direction of the Jesuits who "converted" them. Looking at the profusion of images growing out of the very walls, and noticing that most have darker than European skin, one wonders how much influence the Jesuits really had. It's no secret that the Indios are suprisingly adaptable and fiercely independent -- they incorporated the idea of one supreme god made ludicrous by the abundant numbers of angels and saints. The Indios adapted by giving new faces to their gods, which in other parts of latin america resulted in blended religions, such as Voodoo (in the Caribe) and Macumba (in Brazil).

After witnessing the end of the service, we made our way to my Tia Salme's new house. The US knows next to nothing about gated communities. My aunt lives in a walled community with no less than six guards at the gate. Inside is a very different Mexico, the Puebla of the comparatively wealthy. My Tia has been a director for Mary Kay cosmetics for many years. She got her pink car, though Caddie's are prohibitively huge on Mexican roads, so I believe she got a Taurus. That was years ago.

Things occur in Mexico as they do only in novels. My aunt's former home, a lovely home, was sold furniture and all to a wealthy landowner looking for a residence for his son. He liked my aunt's house so much, he even bought her dishes, a story confirmed by my Uncle Gus. She took only her piano, clothing, and family heirlooms. And, of course, the dog.

My Tia is certainly expert when it comes to lebanese food. My abuelita, who should not be forgotten as the point of all this visiting, her parents were from Lebanon. She raised all her kids on it, and the older nietos remember huge feasts of stuffed grape leaves, Kibe naye and kibe crudo (cooked or raw ground lamb), hummus, babaganoush, and shishbarak (yogurt soup with kibe-stuffed ravioli). My aunt outdid herself for us, serving kibe crudo (yeah, don't freak out -- I ate raw meat -- in MEXICO), baba, hummus, fried kibe, and grape leaves. I haven't had such fabulous grape leaves in years. The secret, she told me, is to use fresh leaves, rather than canned. She picked hers from my grandfathers grape vine, in his small garden at his house. I'd forgotten how much he loved to garden.

After our leisurely lunch, we sprang back to the hotel to freshen up before heading up to my Abuelita's house once more, to see her and everyone else. Tia Maribel, with her husband Dr. Miguel (a cardiologist-cum-opthamologist who retrained to spend more time with hsi family, their two kids (Maribelita and Miguelito), my uncle Carlos and Aunt Yolanda, and their son, my father's namesake, Carlos Armando, and Uncle Yayo's three: Alejandra (replete with a neckbrace from a recent fender bender which she was loathe to tell her dad about, despite the fact that it wasn't her fault), Lorena, who couldn't stay because she was studying for her Calculus exam (!), and Gerardito, arm in a cast from a football injury (that's soccer, to you Unidenses). It was great to see everyone, and we spoke to my Abuelita again before and after her dinner. She seemed more tired, but it was late by the time we left, close to 10.

Monday we were on our own to explore the Zocalo, the town square with its ancient cathedrals, where I played on Sunday's as a child. My father would take us to church, then to a light meal at one of the Zocalo's many indoor/outdoor eateries or VIPs, then get his shoes shined by the square's ample shoe shine experts. The experts are still there, young boys too young to be apprentices earn their families' keep, compete with old men who shoo them with a terse click and hiss when a customer approaches. Jon didn't want to get his new shoes refurbished, but he was very excited to see the Cathedral where I was confirmed, and the places I played as little Christina. It is, after all, a UNESCO World Heritage site to add to his list.

We also wandered around El Parian, an old colonial marketplace that reminded me of Old Town San Diego's historic district. There you can buy Puebla's best -- from camotes (sweet potato candy) to handcrafts to Talavera (pottery like Majolica). Puebla is famous for its pottery from its clay-rich soils, although the best handmade talavera is found at Uriarte Talavera, a brisk walk from Puebla's Zocalo, about 9 blocks, which allowed us to dive into the local culture a little more.

A few blocks back from the Zocalo, Puebla changes from a tourist center to a lively downtown for locals. Shops with intricate bridal wear and children's fashions occupy stores next to electrical boutiques -- although calling them boutiques is a stretch. Some of these little stores are barely more than storefronts with counters inside. Most of the downtown is built around courtyards; peering in, you can see lovely Spanish colonial architectures with wrought iron railings that remind you of New Orleans. It's appropriate, I think, that Puebla reminds you of so many other European cities; it is after all such a mishmash of culture.

Uriarte's talavera artisan shop is a courtyard entire, with rooms and rooms that must once have been residential converted into stock- and showrooms through which you can wander. The courtyard looks up into open air, or rain that day. Talavera pots planted with local vegitation (bouganvillea) adorn the railings on the second story, where the artisans' workshops occupy the rooms.

Walking back to the Zocalo, I considered buying a pupusa fresh off the griddle in front of a taqueria, but decided to heed my Uncle's warnings. They smelled so delicious, I still regret it, but can't much since I made it home without untoward digestive incidents.

We also stopped to buy lottery tickets. The Mexican National Lottery is very different from the State's many options. Although they now let you choose your own numbers in Lotto, the original lottery is more like a raffle. Tickets are sold in twenty-page sets of five-digit numbers. We bought five tickets for 33733. You can buy one or all of the available tickets, increasing the amount of money you'll win. If your number is selected, and you have all the tickets, you win the big prize -- 75 million pesos; at current exchange rates, about 6.6 million US$.

Our last evening.
Cousin Tita, Salme's daughter, picked us up and took us to a great local favorite, a Mexican restaraunt on the Avenida Benito Juárez, a main street converted into Puebla's own restaurant row. We ate with her and my cousin Eduardo, and his fiancee, Marta. The food was good, the music mediocre and too loud! But the company was fabulous.

Tuesday, we got up early and retraced our way to the Estrella Roja bus station, which we'd ridden to Puebla on Saturday, which I've yet to write about despite reaching the end of my trip.

All in all, Puebla is a great place to live, a lovely place to visit. If my father hadn't been born there, I wonder if I'd ever have seen it. Probably not. It's a waypoint between Mexico City and Veracruz, and for me, it's the waypoint. If my father hadn't been born there, hadn't moved back there after marrying in the States, hadn't dragged us back and forth between countries, I doubt I would have revived my nomadic nature and become a wanderer. No matter. No I've got the wanderlust, I'm going to be traveling a lot.

Puebla, Puebla, Mexico

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Mon, 31 May 2004 22:57:00 +0000

I feel at home in the Centro Historico, and I feel very, very... Tall.

Seriously, I´ve seen several people of various ages who don´t come up to my elbow.

You think I´m kidding? The waitress who served us (a very tasty) breakfast this morning was no taller than I was sitting down.

The indios, they´re just adorable.

I spent the weekend touring around with family. Uncle Gus had us over on Saturday, where we got to see two of his sons, their wives, and one baby. The baby was so cute... right up until he pooped on me and my favorite dress. Poor kid has had very bad stomach ailments.

I´m going to stop adoring other people´s babies. It gets me nothing but trouble.

Sunday, Gus took us touring Cholula, which has been absorbed by Puebla. We saw the Cholula Pyramid, which has been partially excavated, and the Cathedral de Nuestra Señora de los Remedios, which the Spaniards built right on top of the ancient Choluteca pyramid.

Then it was off to Tia Salme`s new house for a lunch of Lebanese food. Mmmm.

Today we toured around the Centro Historico, and did our shopping.

Tomorrow, home, and more details then!

There and Back Again

noreply@blogger.com (christina) — Wed, 19 May 2004 03:58:00 +0000

First stop: Switzerland.

Traveloguette

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sat, 18 Oct 2003 01:18:00 +0000

Here's the quick word from Cancun.

Our Chichen Itza trip, the first exercise in seeing how our freebies panned out, panned out beautifully.

The trip was sponsored by a tour company attached to, but independent of, the Palace Resort people. As such, it was a regular tour on an airconditioned bus with a nice tour guide and two stops: shopping beforehand, a nice lunch after.

Chichen Itza is HOT, HUMID, and OLD. It's great, and I highly recommend it.

Today, we bummed around the beach.

More soon! This short note whets your appetite, and lets you know we're still kicking. Tomorrow, we'll be kicking around in flippers on Isla Mujeres.

¡HOLA!

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Thu, 16 Oct 2003 03:57:00 +0000

I'd forgotten how much fun a real beach resort can be. Cancun is, as Jon and I keep reminding ourselves, as much Mexico as Vegas is the States. Though not truly representative of the Mexican mindset or culture, at least not on the island strip, it is "real Mexico."

We arrived yesterday morning, and it feels as if we've spent a few days already. The knots in my shoulders are gone.

What can I tell you about Cancun that you won't read in a guidebook? Almost everything. All the books contradict each other, and not one mentions anything about very officious airport 'officials' who waylay you between luggage pickup and Customs. They have airport badges and ask if you have a hotel and a prearranged ride, which of course makes you think that they are concerned for your safety. Then they lead you to their station, a row of podia, and take out a map.
That our personal representative began showing us where our hotel was, and the major sites, and how long it should take to get there, made me think 'ah, and he's telling us the basics on how to get around.'

Ah, no.

He represented Mexico's travel industry all right, and quickly talked us into a visit to a 'new resort's celebration.' In exchange for a brief (90 minute) visit, we would receive two tickets to two sites of our choice (including the historic ruins at Chichen Itza and Tulum). Jon and I, naturally curious and inquisitive, pestered him with so many questions that we delayed him from getting another fish. I didn't realize at the time, but he was trying to rope us in, and our delaying questions resulted in extra offers to entice us: an extra pair of tickets to another destination (Isla Mujeres) and a free day at an all-inclusive resort, food included.

Of course, he said, we needed to give a small downpayment of $20. Per trip.

Now, normally Jon and I are too smart to be waylaid by this type of 'scam', and far too intelligent to fall prey to a time share presentation. The short of it is, I wasted so much time acting the deferential wife, and Jon kept waiting for a signal from me (being the Mexican) to tell him which way to go, that finally it began to sound like a good idea.

And you know, it was.

Seriously. We visited the Moon Palace resort at 8:30 this morning for a free breakfast, a facilities tour, and a two-hour hard sell. At the end, we had tickets to three sites including food and drink (two of which we were planning to visit anyway, and the third was very similar to our third choice), and a pass for two to a spa hotel for the day (which we were able to use at a hotel two doors down from ours). We spent today sipping free drinks and eating by their pool, readjusting the little green paper wristband and dissecting the whole Time Share industry.

For us, a really fun day.

And we figure between food and tours, we're saving about US$375. That'll show 'em to waylay *us*. We figure we 'worked' for three hours and got $375 value, at least. I remember reading once (I think in Budget Travel Mag.) that being willing to sit through a time share presentation was one way to get a darn cheap or free vacation. It's true. We've spent yesterday and today sunning ourselves at the beach and by the pools. Our hotel, Casa Magna, doesn't compare to the Moon Palace hotels we saw this morning, but is far finer than the Cancun Palace at which we spent today. We also discovered that we aren't really resort people. We enjoy planning every detail and exploring on our own to fall into the resort mentality. Our travel style is somewhere between youth hostel backpacker and resort member. Jon calls us 'independent travelers.'

So far, my favorite part of the trip has been the bus rides up and down the strip. for 50 cents US, you can ride all the way up the strip and to Downtown. Frequently, mariachi guitarists with fine voices get onboard to play for tips. Last night we heard one play our song: Stand by Me.

Jon's not so fond of these entrepreneurial 'sidewalk' songsters, but it reminded me how integral music is to Mexican daily life. It's the only country I know where, in any city, you can walk to a Zocalo (town square) and hire mariachi bands off the street. It's probably the framework for day laborer centers that are cropping up across the US, when you think about it.

Tomorrow: Chichen Itza and other abandoned houses.

Chau.

Banff this week

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Thu, 29 May 2003 18:31:00 +0000

Hello!

I've been so busy tooling around town and enjoying the fresh mountain air that I've lost track of my journaling, at least online.

So, to catch up you interested parties, I'll tell you what we've been doing since Monday.

Let's see. Hot Springs are common in this neighborhood. There are several in the national park, which, BTW, encompasses four distinct areas: Jasper, Banff, Lake Louise, and the Columbia Icefields. One Hot spring here in Banff proper was the site for the world's Third National Park (the first two are Yellowstone and Royal Park, Sydney, respectively). The Hot Springs here is like a public pool, modern and accessible, though Jon and I were horrified they RENT bathing suits. Eeew. Also towels. Granted, some of the rentals are antique, period costumes really. Still.... it's like borrowing someone's undies. I don't care HOW clean they are... Eeeeew.

Luckily, Jon and I both brought our own suits, and lounged in the pool fed by the Springs for almost an hour. Ahhh.

Tuesday was Jon's Free half-day, and we took it easy, eating a leisurely lunch and drive to Lake Louise, where we arrived just in time to take a "Gondola" ride up the mountain. Actually, it's an off-season Chair lift for skiers. For the price, ($22 Canadian), it was very disappointing. Couldn't even see the Lake from the summit, and we got to the top after 15 minutes on the lift only to be turned around and sent back down. We'd been told the last ride was at 4:15; thinking we had 45 minutes, we plunked down the plastic and got on the lift, following a brief introduction by our Aussie guide. Seems a great many Aussies work here in the off-season.

Being warned that Bears aren't supposed to be in the park, and that an electric fence was set up to keep them out, didn't way me from wanting to see one. I haven't seen one yet, though I've been told to follow the train tracks if I REALLY want to see one -- they eat the grain that falls off the feed cars.

The views were stunning, yada yada ya. It's also cold, and one mountain to me looks pretty much like another. I'm glad, though, that we've had nice, sunny weather, and can SEE the mountains in the distance.

The day picked up when we went to Lake Louise. The fabulous Chateau overlooking the lake is stunning. Nice to see briefly how the other 10% lives.

Lake Louise, named for Victoria's Daughter Princess Louise Caroline Alberta, is famous for it's jade blue/green water. The natives called it the Lake of Little Fishes. It has also been called Emerald Lake. Coming here in the off-season restricts the color to the lake's edges, where the ice has melted back. Most of the lake, in fact, is covered in ice.

We took an easy 45 minute walk to the lake's other edge, and again, my wish to see wildlife, WILD wildlife, that is, was frustrated. Two Chipmunks crossed our path, really close enough to touch, proving that the Chateau's well-heeled guests must feed them crumbs from their picnic lunches.

I'd have to say Lake Louise is the prettiest spot I've seen yet. The mountains hem it in on three sides, and rise up flat and sheer. The shale is sheared off in places, revealing varying shades of color from pink to blue. Around the corner toward the end of the trail, a sign warned to keep moving to avoid falling ice. A look up and right showed a vertical sheet of ice clinging to a crevasse, melting slowly into a small stream. I think we got some nice pictures.

On we went to dinner at The Mountain Restaurant. I've noticed the store names here aren't very creative. "Mountain" figures in a lot of them, from gear boutiques to inns. The decor was... unique. Carved entirely of pine, the chairs, tables, wall art, and low "cubicle" walls so common to family restaurants are ALL carved of pine by the same artist. The monochromatic decor does not detract from the, you guessed it, lovely mountain views seen through the large windows. The food was unremarkable. Most of the food has been solid, good, wholesome, but not very flavorful. I'm used to dishes with more Kick. Then again, I also come from an area where the biodiversity means we have a great many more herbs to chuck in the stew. Never thought I'd say this, but the food was much better in Britain.

In fact, the best food we've had was definitely the Sushi bar we visited Monday night. I've never had Sushi, though I've heard of dim sum served on a belt so the food drifts past you. Here, instead of a conveyor belt, they used a large-gauge model train pulling flatbeds. It was cute.

Yesterday, Wednesday, Jon and I attempted to go to Lake Minnewanka together, but were frustrated because the wilderness loop was closed. Apparently, park rangers were watching a controlled burn, nature's way of plowing away the old. Instead, we went to see the Bow Falls, more of a whitewater rapid, really, and overlooks along Tunnel Mountain Road. We ate at Brunos' Pub, where Jon had a buffalo burger. Tasted like beef to me.

Today, I'm off to the Cave and Basin site, followed by the conference banquet. Tomorrow, Columbia Icefields! Then home.

Enjoy your warm weather!

Banff so far

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sun, 25 May 2003 19:50:00 +0000

Hello all from the chilly Canadian Rockies. Jon and I arrived safely yesterday evening after a heavy day's travel. Yesterday, on the drive up from Calgary to Banff, we saw an elk and a moose.

Jon's Number Theory conference started today (yes, Sunday), so I'm on my own. Banff is a very small town, and it didn't take me long to walk around most of it this morning. I drove up to Lake Minnewakka, and Two Jakes Lake, where I saw some mountain goats (man, they're huge), and some chipmunk-sized squirrels that tourists have overfed. They'll come right up and eat out of your hand. Illegal, but fun. They in fact did sit on my foot begging.

This afternoon, I think I'll relax, perhaps go to the indoor pool at our "hotel", the Banff Center for Continuing ed., whose raison d'etre seems to be hosting conferences. I've counted at least two others at breakfast this morning. The Banff Center consists of several buildings with gorgeous Rocky Mountain views.There's a natural hot spring where I can soak my tired muscles, too. I think I've got Jon convinced to go horseback riding on Tuesday afternoon!

Day 8, England (Going Native)

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sun, 06 Apr 2003 11:16:00 +0000

Hello luvs!

Well, we made it both to Stonehenge and Back to Londres, where we've been having a raucous good time. With Jon's frequent travel, we scored a couple of nights at the Excellent Hilton Metropole, near Paddington Station tube stop. Part of the hotel's excellence is the Executive floor, which includes... you guessed it... a computer with free Internet service.

Despite this convenience, I've not found the time to write a travelogue for a while. And now, we're about to check out, so this installment will be necessarily brief (or as brief as I can manage).

Stonehenge:
Wow. Need I say more? No. But again, Wow. You know what it's like to see a famous monument rise on the horizon, looking at it for a moment as if your windshield were a movie screen before realizing the REALITY of it all. At first, of course, it seems surreal. It's very Descartian; I see it with my own eyes, therefore I know, not just believe, it exists.

Stonehenge is a fabulous enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in hurricane fencing. It's huge stones and careful planning can be examined from all angles, using a path that encircles it and keeps you ten paces back. The truly sad part of various exhibits we've seen is that conservation (in the curator's sense) was lacking until recent centuries, and many of Britain's best sites have been damaged or destroyed by pilgrims seeking to take home a souvenir piece of rock from Stonehenge or a tile from Westminster's mosaics. Thank heavens now we have free brochures and audio tours to slake our thirst for "a piece of history."

Jon and I have noticed the prevalence of self-guided digital audio tours at museums and major sites. You know, the little handheld recorders into which you plug the appropriate numbers, and out streams a short history and interesting factoids about whatever it is you're standing in front of. So far, we've rented one at the Roman Baths, Stonehenge, and Westminster Abbey. Jon thinks the Dali Universe museum suffered for not offering it. The point is, I love being married to a man who doesn't even question whether we should get these, but just heads over and plunks down some quid for them. The only drawback, as far as I can see, is the inability to chitchat about the articles with your partner.

After the "hanging stones," we popped off to a service island for a quick Burger King burger, and some petrol. Yes, we ate Burger King. It was bad. 'Nough said.

Then off to London to return the car. Jon's driving on the "wrong" side of the road has improved dramatically since his first effort back in Oz last July. In fact, he always did better than he expected. He noticed this too, saying, "I think the reason I don't have much trouble driving on this side of the road is that I don't have a great sense of left and right to begin with."

Tis true, tis pity, and pity tis, tis true.

Speaking of Shakespeare...

One of my favorite bits has been the trip to Westminster Abbey, burial place of royalty and those who most faithfully serve the British Crown. Chaucer's buried here. Shakespeare, Burns, Austen, Auden, and many other poets and writers have memorials here in one arm of the cross-shaped building, called "Poet's Corner." The church is 800 years old (the newer bits). Initially built by Edward the Confessor, and added onto by Henry 7th (following his devastating defeat of Duke of Lancaster in the War of the Roses), the Abbey is phenomenally huge, with the most intricate stonework, famous Rose window, and two truly moving memorials to British forces lost in WWII.

Interesting bits:
Mad Queen Mary and Elizabeth I, at war during their lives are buried in the same tomb.

Astronomer James Herschel, discoverer of Uranus (insert obvious joke) is buried in the Nave.
harles Darwin, is buried next to Herschel.

More soon! (Dali, London Eye, excellent dinner).
****
A Dialogue with an Antique Dealer in Cheltenham,
verbatim:

I meandered into an antiques shop on my last morning in Cheltenham, braving the front door which was masked by scaffolding an ladders. The proprietor was sipping tea behind the counter, and startled at my cheerful "Hi! How are you?" accompanied by a large smile. (In America, this is considered extremely polite.)

His surprise prompted a small outburst: "How am I? I'm fine! You're an American, aren't you?" (In Britain, this may be considered polite.)

I replied, smile faltering, "ah, yes, I am. How did you know?" (Still polite.)

"Well, Firs' there's the accent, idn't there? Then there's the cheery 'Hi and how are you. And you know you're not going to buy anything, you're just going to browse, and now's not a good time for that cuz I've got ta move all this out front, haven't I?" Gesticulating toward several small pieces of furniture. (I'm not sure at all if this was polite, but it was progressively louder.)

Chastised by the truth of this, I ventured "How do the British do it?" (Grinning impolitely at his vehemence and little-old-man bluster).

"They come in and say a quiet 'good morning' don't they? (I didn't know), if they say anything at all." He did not elaborate on their purchasing power.

By now having surpassed the hope of polite, if dishonest, traditional retailer-shopper chit chat, and deeply amused, I considered several retort tactics while perusing his wares.

Scare Tactic: "Yes, you're right, I'm just browsing while my husband's working over at the ministry of Defence."

Nyah Nyah Tactic: "Yes, well, I don't suppose I should buy anything else, my luggage is full to overflowing with everything I've already bought."

Propaganda Tactic: Go ahead and buy something.

French Tactic: Avoid conflict by leaving quickly, but set up a protest on the sidewalk.

Beatitude Tactic: Leave meekly and inherit the world.

In the end, I opted to look around (I didn't want to disappoint his expectations) and leave with an over-loud "Have a nice day, I'll come back when you're not so busy" and laughing all the way home.

The truth is, I window shop a LOT. In the US, if they suspect it, they'd never call you on it, because they are not yet jaded enough, still believing that anyone's a potential sale. But, you know, I feel a grudging respect for his honesty.

Is it wrong to window shop?

Writing Home Day 6, England

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Fri, 04 Apr 2003 13:30:00 +0000

Cheerio!

Have been bustling about Cheltenham and the surrounding area for the last few days. Now I've plenty to write home about, including shopping, fish and chips, and DID Jon let me use the car? All in this issue of Writing Home.

After visiting the information center and checking out the Promenade, I spent the afternoon at the Suffolks, a crossroads (both named Suffolk) of antique shops and boutiques (lots of places to have your dog groomed), and two or three restaurants, as well as a launderette which I would visit later in the week.

Cheltenham is definitely a leisure spot, streets of stores and boutiques that cater to rich tourists from London and other places. They have definitely built a Spa Town here, complete with festivals of every sort from Jazz to Lit., sports of all sorts (no Rachel, I haven't forgotten) from races to relaxation. There's even a Christie's branch here for those with ready cash. Pricey little boutiques forbid me from doing more than winshowshopping that first day (and onward).

Tuesday and Wednesday, I braved the rain and went out. My visit to the Art Gallery and Museum was very informative. Apparently, the Director of 20 years was forced out, ushered by much hullabaloo within the local council, who has set up a triumvirate directorship of curators, with themselves at the helm. What is sad about this move is that George Breeze (the director) had spent his tenure gathering a fantastic collection of furniture and collectibles from the Arts and Crafts era, for which this area is famous. The council took over once the museum became a huge draw.

There is also a large exhibit chronicling the eras of life in Gloucestershire county, from the pre-Roman era through the modern age. I found many items of interest, including the Iron Age "toilet set" (complete with tweezers, nail cleaner, and ear scoop). Ubiquitous pottery shards, bone needles, and bronze swords prove the existence of an advanced pre-Roman civilization of which I was densely unaware. All my knowledge consisted of a vague sense of Celtic priests in long robes rolling stones around to different fields. So, I actually learned things from this museum, despite its being (in the words of a Canadian traveler) "really tiny."

Those of you with toddlers or kids will be interested to hear of one innovation that I've never seen before (though maybe I wasn't looking), which seemed very bright to me. Every so often, near each new Era display, the museum placed a tot-sized table and chairs, along with coloring sheets relating to the display and some coloring pencils (wise of them to understand the destructive power of crayon). American museums take note! Occupying children for a minute gives parents a welcome chance to learn something, too. Such as...

What types of Home Comforts did ladies of quality enjoy throughout the ages? At each interval, the museum had placed little displays noting the changes in standard household items, including cutlery, plates, and haircombs. It really helped put the whole eon in perspective, to see the bone hairpins become tiaras, the bronze knives become guns.

After my visit, I freaked out a Fish N Chips deli counter employee by offering him a tip. I ate then napped, and wrote, and had dinner with Jon and his friend at the excellent Montpelier Wine Bar (asparagus-stuffed chicken breast wrapped in prosciutto with a light cream sauce...mmm).

Thursday was a blast. After a quick trip to the laundrette where I cleaned clothes and got to know the little old lady population (who apparently have a laundry club on Thursdays, judging by their numbers and the sheer volume of support hose hanging 'round), I approached my husbands' bosses' wife (Anna) to ask her (gulp) if she'd like to take a drive to Hay-On-Wye with me. I felt as nervous as if I were asking someone out on a date. But she agreed, and is a lovely, intelligent woman and lively conversationalist whose company I enjoyed all afternoon.

A mere hour's drive from Cheltenham, over the border in Wales, is a "Book Town" begun by Richard Booth in the 1970's. He set up several specialty and second-hand bookshops. Now, it is the lead buyer of second-hand books in the world, and has more than 30 bookstores, plus antiques, collectibles, and pubs.

We feasted at the Blue Boar, she on Guinea Fowl and I on smoked haddock. Walking the narrow cobblestone streets, popping into shops (my favorite was "Everything's £1", though I'm ambivalent about remaindered books for which the authors receive nothing), and having an ice-cream teatime. Books, I maintain, are good for the soul. Book shopping is equally as nice when there are so many shops whose proprietors knowledgeably and excellently pick out fine books. Bibliophiles know what I mean; usually, the selection at second-hand stores is so poor or messy it's hardly worth driving by.

Ah, but driving through the backcountry of Gloucetershire, past the sheep farms and drywall fences (stone fence without mortar), punctuated by the occasional village or massive country estate-cum-B&B. Ah, lovely. Ah, England.

So, the answer is yes, Jon did let me use the car, and I drove very well, too. Only hit the curb twice, though Anna warned me many more times that I was getting close. On getting back to the Lypiatt House, we found our hubbies gathered in the drawing room, and we sat talking and looking through the books and feeling very British.

Jon's finished with his work, and the plan for today is lunch followed by a visit to Stonehenge, then off to London for the weekend.

England, Day Three

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Tue, 01 Apr 2003 09:53:00 +0000

Cheerio all!

Ah. Felt much better after sleeping 14 hours Sunday night on into Monday morning, and having a spot o' breakfast.

We spent Monday touring Bath. First, we went to the Roman Baths which were excavated by the 17th C. builders who rediscovered them after people complained that their basements flooded with hot water. The houses were bought up and knocked down, the area excavated, and voila! The fully functional bath and spring was still there. Even the lead linings of the main bath (as big as you community pool) are still watertight. The water, however, is green with algae from exposure to the elements. There used to be a huge, heavy Roman roof, but it's now open.

The museum provides a lengthy audio tour which took us through the remains. A pagan temple, Sacred Spring temple to Sulis (Celtic goddess), and the courtyard around the bath, as well as several chambers for sweat baths (steam rooms) kept us occupied for several hours.

A bit of History: The Romans funneled the marshy area and natural hot spring into the baths and constructed a run-off into the River Avon. Working in concert with the Celts, they dedicated this amazing natural resource to both Minerva, Roman goddess of Wisdom, *and* Sulis, Celtic goddess of the spring. Brilliant bit of acculturation for which the Romans are famous. Though Roman baths were an important part of daily life, only a few baths had a religious component, and of those, Aquae Sulis (Bath) is the best surviving example.

The Baths were covered over by many layers of silt following the Roman departure, then by houses and roads before being rediscovered in the 17th C. In fact, the current road level is about 15 feet above the bath, which would have been at street level during its heyday. Excavations in the 17th c. and on up until the 1980's unearthed many antiquities, including Minerva's head (from her statue-- a rare gilded statuary), the Gorgon's Head Pediment, and lots and lots of roman coins. Apparently, the practice of throwing coins into fountains and wells originated very early, with these offerings and prayers of the faithful. It also helps date the use of the Baths, from the beginning of Roman Briton until the fall of the Empire.

I enjoyed my visit to Bath, which focused on the two most prominent periods of the town -- the Roman era and 18th C. British, when the waters of Bath were physician-prescribed to treat everything from fatigue to gout. Of course, in that time, Bath was more for social interactions than strictly healthful ones.

Tourists (who one can argue support Bath's third most prominent era) still drink the waters fresh from the hot spring. Containing 43 dissolved minerals and iron, the water is... not tasty. Yes, I tried it. It was ok. It smells of sulfur. Jon didn't like it. See more here.

Next, we were off to Arabesque for a bite of lunch. This excellent Lebanese restaurant features a tasty buffet for just 6 pounds per person.

Following this was a visit to the Jane Austen Centre on Gay Street, just a block from her old address at No. 25. (They couldn't get No. 25 because the dental surgeon wouldn't vacate.)

A quick introduction followed by a small museum and short film, all chock full of information and emphasizing that Ms. Austen did NOT like living in Bath. She wrote very little here, beginning a novel (the Watsons) which she never finished. The most interesting tidbit I came away with was the fact that there is NO accurate picture of Jane. She never sat for a portrait, and the one which was drawn from life was by her sister Cassandra, who was not very talented, and which does not resemble her (according to family members). Several variations of her portrait exist, some of which you have undoubtedly seen. They range from very unflattering to comically adorable. A forensic artist has looked over all of these, and letters that mention her looks, and compiled a painting of what she may have looked like.

Although Jane didn't like Bath, and didn't write there, two of her novels (Persuasion, Northanger Abbey) are set there. Our guide pointed out that, in typical Austen style, only her least likable, petty, vain, and shallow characters enjoy Bath. After these outings, Jon and I made our way to Cheltenham, a mere hour's drive north on the M46. We're currently ensconced in the front room of the Lypiatt House, directly across from the drawing room. The high ceilings are dizzying at around 14 feet. Apparently, fire code during the era of gaslight required this. Our huge window overlooks the garden/parking lot, but boasts some truly awful floral print drapes in dark green. Backlit by the streetlamps, the ghastly flowers *glowed* in the night, startling me when I woke. Truly scary.

The B&B provides "full English" breakfast, including Canadian bacon, sausage, an egg, toast, a soggy blanched half-tomato, and tea or coffee. Not bad. Though Sunny warned me to bring peanut butter or starve on British food, the only bad experience I've had has been at the Kingsmeade Fish n' Chips place. This morning Jon went off to work. He still won't let me drive the car, company's paying and all that. Not sure if I'm covered. Hmm. I'm working on it, because I'd like to drive to Gloucester. So I walked into town to find the tourist Information store, which was closed and doesn't open til 10. It's started raining again, English drizzle, and I've bought the cutest umbrella with cartoon cats chasing little mice around the edge. Since it's almost 11 here now, I'll pop off to the Information Store and see where the day will take me.

First day in England

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sun, 30 Mar 2003 17:10:00 +0000

Hullo all!

Cheerio and all that. Tata. Oh, something should come in between. I'm that tired, I am.

Arrived this morning in Heathrow, a crowded little airport with lots of smokers anxious to get out. Grabbed our bags, hopped on the shuttle to Avis and our waiting... Peugeot. Hmm. Don't like the French just now, but it's a nice car. I'm so conflicted.

But it's what we got, so off we trotted through the jaunty little London streets. Emphasis on Little. Narrow. Driving on the wrong side of the road. I wanna try it, but Jon won't let me, because well, we're not paying for the rental and he's the only official driver listed, so "nyah" (I'm paraphrasing his words here).

It turned out to be ok, because I slept most of the two-hour drive to Bath. Lack of sleep, plus dramamine, with a dash of jet lag and I'm seriously whipped.
Just beaten like an egg.

We found a cute B&B in Bath to give us shelter, the Marlborough House on Marlborough Lane (we're staying in the Georgian Room, to which you may follow the links), operated by the Dunlaps. She appears to be... American. Haven't spoken to him yet, but she's definitely not what I thought a B&B hostess would be. i was expecting a sonsy grey-haired lady who'd tut tut if we were out late. No. She's all business, true, but spared time to sit with us discussing the most pertinent nearby sites which we could cram in today and tomorrow, outlining them on a map.

After a (too) brief nap, we were off to the Royal Crescent Museum, to view how 18th-century people would have lived here in Bath. The half-moon of townhomes housed the rich and famous during their treatments at the pump house, where drinking the local water at the hot spring's natural temp purportedly had curative effects. Normally, I enjoy these trips to see how "they used to manage," but this restoration is a bit pompous. Bath, of course, was a spa for the rich even way back then, and these townhomes were usually rented out. No. 1, reconstructed as the museum, often housed the Duke and Duchess of York (1767-ish).

The kitchen was my favorite room. Before wire whisks, they used... give up? Straw and twigs tied together like a little broom; and my pastry cutter hasn't changed design in over 200 years. Cool.

Then we were off to enjoy our first meal of Fish 'n' Chips, which either wasn't very good, or I was too tired to enjoy. After this, I wanted to go back to the hotel. Jon pushed for Internet access (is there such a thing as Net addiction?). We compromised on 30 minutes, which I've mostly used up writing to you good people.

More soon, as soon as I can keep my eyes open.

And now, Goodnight

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Mon, 15 Jul 2002 13:49:00 +0000

This will be the last of my letters from Oz. Tomorrow, Jon and I head back to Sydney, to our outgoing flight. After our 13.5 hours to LA, and 4.5 hours to DC, we'll land at about 8 pm... the same day.

That Date Line thing makes no sense to me still.

Anyhow, as Jon and I will be busy packing, sleeping, and driving between now and then, we won't have time to visit our email until Wednesday evening.

Today was our last full day, and our last chance to squeeze in some sightseeing. Still in the Blue Mountains, Jon and I planned a full day last night, over dinner at Papa Dino's. We had to nix my horseback riding plans, as the only locales were too far away to sensibly fit into any one-day plan.

Oh, well. I sacrificed riding provided a. we actually got to do *all* the other things on our list (we did), and b. we go horseback riding within the next 12 months, Stateside. Jon figured that was fair.

We began our day with breakfast at Lurline House, our lovely B&B base of operations. Check it out here. The Indian couple who owns it does a great job. I heartily recommend it to anyone headed this way.

Then, it was off early to the spot farthest from our base, Mount Tomah Botanic Gardens. Originally an extension of the Sydney Botanic Gardens, Mt. Tomah now stands on its own feet (roots?) as a fantastic collection of gardens covering 28 hectares of the Blue Mountains. Home to both imported and native plants, the Garden emphasizes cold-weather plants, such as pines; european imports including french and english roses, heather(!) and weeping mulberry; and the omnipresent Eucalypt varieties, (at least two dozen).

Did you know ash is a eucalypt? Check out more about this garden here.

The truly amazing thing about Mt. Tomah's Botanic Garden, however, is the Wollemi Pine. A "living fossil," the Wollemi Pine is found in the fossil record, dating back to the time of the dinosaurs, at least 65 million years ago. In 1994, a stand of the living trees were found in a narrow gorge in Wollemi National Park by some bushwalkers (adventure-seeking hikers). It is amazing to think that there are parts of wild Australia as yet untouched by humans.

A second stand was discovered shortly thereafter. Most exciting, at least to botanists. A THIRD stand was found in 2000, in a different location in Wollemi park, in a different gorge, and appears to be much younger than the others. All three locales are kept secret.

Very exciting. At least if you like trees.

Jon wanted to see this Wollemi pine, some of which have been transplanted to the Botanic Garden. You may recall that I saw one in the Sydney Royal Botanic Garden. Protected by a barbed wire fence, the pines are hard to find at first. Then you spot a tiny one. Then another. The tallest we saw was about 11 feet tall. In the wild, they grow much taller, over 100 feet.

It looks like a cross between a pine tree and a fern. See truly great images here.

If you've no plans to see Oz soon, and want to see a Wollemi, a couple were gifted to the UK's Royal Garden in 1998. I couldn't find if they planted them or not. Apparently, however, you can also buy them. (Anyone interested in getting me a Birthday gift, please note.)

Next, we were off to some hiking and overlooks at Govett's leap. We took the short hike, from the first overlook to the Bridal Veil Falls. It wore me out.
Though the NP service has graciously provided steps, there are a LOT of steps to get down, not to mention back up. I've attached a picture from the web.

Then it was off to lunch at Echo Point, next to our third destination, The Three Sisters. Unfortunately, we were frustrated in our attempts to get "bush food." The cafe no longer served Kangaroo filets, nor crocodile burgers, and hasn't for the last few years. Our information was out-of date. We settled for fish-and-chips, and breaded chicken. Awful, really, but we were too hungry to care after our morning of walking.

Lastly, we went to the final day's showing of The Edge movie. A giant-screen (IMAX-type) film of wild Australia, this film features... the Wollemi Pine. Hmm. It was very interesting to see and hear the whole story, and see the original stand of pines on screen. As I mentioned, the location is secret, and therefore you probably couldn't find it. Even if you could, the film warns that four rock climbers died trying to get to this particular gorge. (Perhaps, however, that is just a method of warning people off.) I'm not sure how it is protected, other than by its natural position in a deep gorge between two sheer mountain faces.

Unfortunately, I won't have time to find out.

So, after some relaxation and a last letter home, Jon and I are heading for a late dinner before packing up. I've missed all of you, and look forward to seeing you soon.

On the road again...

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Sun, 14 Jul 2002 11:31:00 +0000

reetings once more from Australia. Sorry to disappoint, but I didn't make it to Bondi on Friday. I made it on Saturday, with Jon, but after discovering that the roundtrip by bus, which only goes in a loop, takes two hours, I canned it.

Deciding instead to stay closer to "home," I opted for a visit to the AMP tower, which I could literally see from the hotel room. The tallest "public" building in the southern hemisphere, the AMP tower reminded me a good bit of Toronto's space needle, complete with revolving restaurant level. The view was magnificent, as all the views in and around Sydney.

I was getting tired of the monotonous beauty. In fact, I was glad of rain this morning, to sort of break things up, but then had to watch the mist burn off the Blue Mountains... beautifully.

Also included in the price of admission to AMP's Sky tower was a Themepark-style "ride" giving the history and sights in Oz, including those you might not get a chance to see. First, an audio tour, followed by what can only be described as a revolving multimedia film. (What Multimedia means to Sydneysiders obviously differs from the rest of the world.)

Picture if you will... a donut-shaped room, with separating walls in an X shape, cutting the room into four. Now, put some chair in, facing out of the donut. Glaze the outer donut with screens, fill with people. Now, show each group of people a short film projected onto a diorama (cityscape, desert landscape, etc.). As the films finish, rotate the people counter clockwise, keeping the "screens" set. Now show the film again.

In this way, we all saw the same four 5-minute films, but not in the same order. Truly weird was the diorama, into which was projected a miniature figure of our host ("Hi, I'm Troy McClure. You may remember me from such thinly disguised travel ads as 'Virginia is for Lovers,' or 'Maryland is for Crabs'"). Think Star Wars' R2D2 projecting mini versions of people into blank space. Seriously odd.

But fun.

Next, and last, we were ushered into a large room with spaceship-like seats, four to a set, in front of a large screen. The screen showed us all the lovely sites in Oz, from historical times through the present, all from a bird's eye (or fish-eye) view, including underwater. Meanwhile, our seats jerked, glided, or dipped along, making you feel as if you are right there. At least, the experience would let you pass for sending a postcard from the different sites and not feel guilty about it.

I'd bought two tickets to the symphony that day, and made reservations at Lillipilli (a restaurant in The Rocks). I dragged Jon to his first symphony performance ever, and was very glad to know the conductor was a guest host, Sir William Southgate, from New Zealand, and that rather than playing a whole symphony the Sydney SO was playing a sampler of British songs, including "The Three Elizabeth's", written in WWII for the late Queen Mother (as well as the first two), and Rule Britannia. I felt that this was a good introduction to symphonic experience for Jon, in that it was shorter, the short pieces broke up the potential monotony of a full-length symphony, and it was far less formal, more playful. At the end of Rule Britannia, many pro-Britain fans threw red, white, or blue streamers right at the soprano, Rachelle Durkin.

My personal favorite was either Three Elizabeths, or Fantasia on Greensleves, or Elgar's Enigma Variations. I'm having trouble narrowing it down because I enjoyed myself so much.

Jon, asked for a quote for this piece, volunteers that this was the "Best Symphony I've been to all year." Humph. You TRY to broaden somebody's horizons, and what do you get? Sarcasm....

Oh, well. He did seem to enjoy the pre-symphony dinner at Lillipilli. Named for a native peach, Lillipilli is the ONLY restaurant in Sydney to have native, aboriginal food. The owner host, a lovely if bossy lady, was nonetheless proud of her year-old establishment, and offered information on the poetry readings and native dance shows held there. We were there too early for even a crowd, unfortunately.

Still, the food was good. A carafe of local wine (Shiraz) was presented with our chosen appetizer, Emu triangles: ground Emu wrapped in phyllo-like pastry dough and lightly browned. Tastes like turkey.

Next, a salad and our main courses. I had Kangaroo roast. Tough, tasty, not too gamey. Jon had Barramundi fish baked in a Eucalyptus bark, served complete. Side salad included. The fish was flaky, and served with a lemon garlic sauce. Jon says "Tasty."

Finally, since we had plenty of time to kill before walking round the Quay to the Opera House, we indulged in desert. I had Riberry Cheesecake. Jon, Lillipilli ice cream. Riberry is a small, tart berry reminiscent of ... nothing I can think of. It's totally original. The Lillipilli is a soft, peachy vanilla flavor, which came with riberry sauce. Truly the best meal I had in Sydney. Jon agrees.

Saturday was time to check out of the excellent Hilton, which, BTW, is being refurbished, and may be under construction for the next few years. They've kicked out almost all the vendors in the lower floors. The remaining three have "Must Go" sale signs, though one is a 24-hour pharmacy and may stay a long while yet.

Next, it was off to Bondi with Jonny, which we enjoyed, but wondered at. As beaches go, it's small, no longer than two city blocks.

Back through the city, with me behind the wheel, and it was off to the city of Parramatta. First used as a farm, the township provided most of old Sydney's food. Once called Rose Hill, the town took it's former aboriginal name back in 1791. Of course, it was an anglicized corruption of "Barramatta Gal", or "Place where eels lie down." No joke. The river used to be a haven for spawning eels.

First stopping at the ubiquitous information centre, Jon and I found an interesting museum-quality display in the basement, in addition to the usual gift shop and brochure stand. It was informative and somewhat fun, particularly to discover that John MacArthur and his self-sufficient wife Elizabeth were some of the first to begin breeding Merino wool, and the first to push others to do so. (Note: Merino Wool now provides A$4billion of Aussie's GNP.)

Elizabeth, after whom the main attraction, Elizabeth Farm is named, was self-sufficient because she had to be. Her husband was once exiled from Oz to England for several years (a neat trick -- for most, it worked the other way). Another time, he got into a heated political debate that may have ended in a duel, I don't clearly recall, but he imposed another several year-long exile on himself. On returning, he found his farm in better shape than he left it.

I've really enjoyed learning about these excellent Aussie women.

Once larger than Sydney, it was a nice small town by now. Reminds me a bit of Annapolis. We stopped by a Kebab shop and bought some very flavourful "take away" food, which we took away to the town square. A small semi-circle of sunken steps serve as the town's amphitheater, where three guitarists were coordinating, playing their own special songs. A bright blue sky, good eats, nice music, and seated next to my Jonny. A perfect afternoon.

On to Oberon, and the Big Trout Motor Inn. Yes, in Oz they make everything bigger. So far, we've photographed this big trout, a big Banana, and a big prawn. The Big Fish got away from us, as did the big Pineapple. Large as a house, these tacky tourist attractions grab your attention, at least.

We spent a restful night, and ate brunch/lunch at Rumors Cafe in Oberon proper. I remember the name clearly because I accidentally stole their bathroom key. Jon keeps making fun of me for it, promising to stop only when I put it in the Post tomorrow. Next, we drove to Jenolan Caves, on the western part of the Blue Mountains. The Blue Mountains, BTW, really are blue. The Eucalyptus trees emit oils that turn the mist blue. Really.

The Jenolan caves are interesting for being the FIRST caves, worldwide, to be lit by electricity. In fact, some of the original lightbulbs are still in service there (they don't make them like they used to). Also the first spot on Oz to be electrified, so to speak, the simple lightbulbs and hydro-electric plant drew Sydneysiders from town. Lovely caves. Interesting tour. Bitter cold. We only had time to tour one cave, which is fine because they charge by the cave.

ext, onto our ultimate, literally final, stop in Oz. Katoomba, in the center of the Blue Mountains, and Lurline house (that's Lur - Line, rhymes with Whine, not lurleene, a la southern speak). It's a lovely, historic federation home (dating from the time of federated Australia, about 1901), built in 1910. Rooms come complete with spa baths (Jacuzzi), and antique furniture. Very comfy. Tres toasty. Here, it's sub-freezing at night, and they put electric blankets
UNDER the sheets.

Dinner was at the excellent Papa Dino's Pizza, run by a real Italian and his several overworked daughters. Good pizza, though Jon opted to get his own small personal pizza when he heard of my preference for a topping: tuna. You know, every country I've ever been in, and I've been to several, has tuna pizza except the US. Brazil. Mexico. Canada. England. Now Australia. I admit to strange tastes.

I realize a large portion of my postings have concerned where we ate. But hey, when you're traveling, and have no home base from which to cook, foraging for food is a big concern.

:)

Now we're at the only Internet cafe in the place. Funny how we've a knack for finding them. (OK, we asked our hostess). Still, I've an idea for a new guidebook: The I-Cafe Guide.

You know, I'll miss driving on the wrong side of the road; I'll miss the "Kangaroo crossing" and "Koala Crossing," and, heaven help us, "Wombat Crossing" signs. But not the very large roadkill.

I'm looking forward to a long hot bath and a toasty bed.

More soon, I hope, but probably not until Tuesday/Wednesday. Possibly not until I get home.

Take care to all, and thanks for reading.

Greetings from Down Under!

noreply@blogger.com (Jon) — Fri, 12 Jul 2002 02:34:00 +0000

I know I've been remiss in posting letters this week, but I've been bustling around Sydney, getting lots of material for a nice, long letter (if you know me, you know what to expect).

Let's see if I can distill it for you. Last post was Monday, so I'll start from there.

Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax
I've almost completely destroyed a pair of Keds I bought the day we left. They've seen sand, wind, and city streets during my stay, mountain passes and National Parks. The inner linings are tearing away from the soles.

We've also killed one camera, purchased another at a pawn shop. A nice little Olympus autofocus, for less than half what we'd pay for a new one. Granted this is one model older than current, but it takes nicer photos than disposables.

Mostly, I've been bumming around Sydney's harbour. Though usually referred to as one harbour, it's actually a large inlet from the Pacific, with several bays and small natural harbours flanking the shores. Sydneysiders' lives revolve around the harbour, and have since before Captain Cook landed at the heads in 1770. Aboriginal life began here far before that, up to 50,000 years earlier, when aborigines were thought to have settled the north shores of Australia.

Today, however, aboriginal life in Sydney proper is restricted to several art galleries and "official" shops where Aboriginals sell their paintings, didgeridoo, and hand-crafted boomerangs. There are also some examples of cave paintings and rock paintings, mostly on the outskirts of town, and in odd locations, such as Sydney's golf course. Another proof of the Aboriginal life here in the dreamtime is found in large shell middens, mounds of bivalve shells discarded after feasts, or perhaps representing a tribes total oyster and mussel consumption during one of their stays before heading off again, nomadic, into the outlying country.

I've found myself drawn again and again to the same harbours, the Circular Quay (which was once semi-circular, but was deeply gouged out of the land to make way for a long, skinny port for ferries), and Darling Harbour, where the Aquarium, Maritime Museum, and other amusements draw tourists from their quarters. But the Quay draws us more often.

Three days out of three, Jon and I ended up at Circular Quay seeking dinner. Monday, We went to the Italian Place for dinner, a lovely shop on the wharf with an outdoor seating area and view of both the Opera House and the moored HMAS Bounty, a reproduction ship built for the Mel Gibson feature in 1984. The ship now runs two-hour cruises around the harbour.

Tuesday drew me back to Darling harbour, and the Aquarium. I've as much a fascination for aquariums as Rachel does zoos, or Janie does open markets. To date, I've visited several, including the excellent ones in New Orleans and Baltimore, and the small but fervently kept mini aquarium in DC. I've always enjoyed Baltimore's best. Until now.

Yes, Sydney's aquarium has supplanted my favorite. In terms of size, biodiversity, design, and flow, it's simply put the very best. Aquarium celebrities include the playful platypus, a surprisingly small animal about the size of a cat; I'd always pictured them larger. Sharks of every size and description live here. Long, pauses or breathing spaces between exhibits keep the sights from overwhelming you. Two well-placed petting tanks allow you a breath between the excellent main exhibit and the Seal tank, or the shark tanks and Great Barrier Reef exhibit. A long, boring walk down winding gangplanks leads you to the underwater tunnels where you can view nurse sharks, hammerheads, tigers, and my personal favorite: the Port Jackson Shark. The PJ looks like a cross between a Stingray and a catfish, with a shark's head. Truly amazing are the PJ's spiral egg casings. Very Weird. Pictures below.

Other stars include the seals, seen via a bridge completely submersed in water, completely made of Plexiglas. Seals to the right of you. Seals to the left of you. Seals under your feet. Very disorienting, but fun.

The aquarium also features: an albino eel "Banana Peel"; Penguins; giant crabs; cuttlefish; and other fish from the Pacific and Antarctic.

Next, I was off to the Maritime Museum, which has both indoor exhibits and several moored ships, including the HMAS Vampire submarine, which I toured briefly. I also visited the HMAS James Craig, one of only four 19th century barques still in service, and the only one in the southern hemisphere. They take it out twice a month for 8-hour cruises. I just toured the ship and learned a lot about 19th century barques. This one's first trip from England, 1874, hosted only one passenger on the two-year trip down under, but two on the way back. The captain brought his new wife onboard, and she had a son on the trip! The kid was two before they got back to England. It always strikes my fancy to hear of these adventuring women, relegated to such a small role, but still out there, still exploring right alongside men, even if it was "only" as a wife.

Though the ship is a fully functioning sailing ship, it also received many "Mod Cons" to conform to present maritime law. Two 400-HP engines run the propellers, hidden belowship, and which help guide it in and out of port. Apparently, it's very hard to guide a ship to port under sails alone. It also has a satellite positioning system, so they can't get lost. Such niceties are required of ships taking passengers out to sea.

Do The Loop-de-loop
After lunch, I wandered the harbourside shops, and ended up buying a Monorail ticket to save my aching feet. I swear they hurt clear up to my waist. For A$8, I got an all-day pass and several coupons. I rode the short rail around the city center a couple of times. It only takes 20 minutes. The funny thing about the monorail is its specificity to tourists. It's not really useful to commuters, as it has such a small boundary and only goes in one direction. It also has a funny jingle which they play every few minutes: "Do the loop-de-loop, Do the loop-de-loop, it's a grand way to go..." and so on. Sounds like it belongs on Barney. (Note: I don't like Barney). Jon overheard one Aussie say of the song, "it's a national embarrassment".

After a brief rest at the hotel, I ventured back out and saw some statuary before meeting Jon for dinner. We went to the Rocks near Circular Quay for dinner, at a nice pub restaurant, and went back to sleep early.

Wednesday was my day to spend with Jon. Unfortunately, he was sick, and we only saw the Powerhouse Museum before heading back to the hotel so he could sleep off his cold.

The PH is Smithsonian-like in that it has exhibits on several subjects, from engines to art. We were particularly in the bush tucker art exhibit, and in the Australian textiles, though we made some time to see the Harley aerial show. A man on a Harley drives out on a high wire. Hanging from the Harley is a trapeze on which sits a VERY flexible biker chick. (No, this is not the beginning of a dirty joke.) It was part of their Harley Davidson exhibit. It was fun.

Dinner Wednesday was farther afield. Jon and I went to the Circular Quay to catch a Sydney ferry to Manly, a community near the heads of the inlet. After a half-hour trip, we walked around the very fashionable, mod area until we found the U-Turn cafe, one of the few locales still serving. Either the food has grown on me, or we're finding better places to eat. The Butternut Pumpkin Pizza with Goat cheese was very good, as was Jon's Quesadilla. The desert, however, was divine. Best I've had in months, literally. The Passionfruit Torte with chocolate and mango sauces was truly worth the trip.

Of Cabbages and Kings
Thursday I was on my own again. I made good use of the day by heading east of the Hotel, toward Hyde Park and the Convict Barracks. They've made a museum of this site, designed by Frances Greenway and built by convicts. Greenway, a convict himself, was an able architect (but poor forger), who designed about 40 buildings in and around Sydney. Only 11 survive today. Interesting bloke.

I then saw the Royal Mint, not a museum but no longer a mint, either. The Mint has only a small display on the history of it, from the time before it was built through the 200 renovation (everything was redone for the Olympic Games). Most interesting about the mint is that it was the first Royal Mint outside England, and was built in response to the Aussie gold rush of the 1850's.

I also saw the Sydney Hospital, still functioning today. Originally it was called the Rum hospital, because the contract was given in exchange for exclusive rights to the rum trade in Sydney. There were rum wars and rum fights and rum everything; it was an important resource in the early days, particularly for keeping the Aboriginals complacent.

I took a brief tour of the New South Wales Parliament house, which is decked out for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. Also Saw St. Mary's church, and anglican church.

I also read about Australia's first (and thus far, only) Catholic Saint. A vocal advocate of the poor, Mary MacKillop opened Australia's first free Catholic school, and began the convent order "The Sisters of St. Joseph." was actually excommunicated by the Bishop of Adelaide, with whom she often butted heads, though she was readmitted within the year. Overall, she opened 17 schools, and by the time she died, in 1909, there were dozens of St. Jo's across Australia.
She was formally beatified in 1995, and has one recorded miracle. She needs two more to formally become a saint. Very interesting.

Next, I bummed around the Royal Botanic Garden, where I saw dozens of Flying Foxes, VERY BIG bats that ruin trees in which they nest. Royal Botanic also has one Wollemi Pine tree, one of the rarest trees on earth. Thought to be extinct, and prevalent in the fossil record, someone discovered a small stand of them in the Blue Mountains. The one at the Royal Botanic Gardens is the first one to ever be planted. It's guarded by a heavy metal cylinder screen, so you can't really get a good look at it. We hope to see some more in the Blue Mountains.

Finally, I saw the Art Gallery of NSW, a nice relief from paying for entries into everything. It had a truly excellent exhibit on modern Aussie artists, called "Parallel Visions". Check it out here.

Lastly, I joined Jon for his conference dinner, held at the Women's college of Sydney, in a very nice dining hall. Actually, the dining hall put me in mind of Hogwarts, which I suppose is more like Eaton's. Seriously. Dark wood tables, high-backed chairs and all. It was a nice buffet dinner, and a funny roast of the guest of honor, a mathematician who studies...something I couldn't understand.

Today, I'm off to Bondi Beach by bus, before trying to get to the symphony at the Opera House tonite.

Wish me luck!