Funny Photo Friday: Feed me!

In honor of Halloween, a photo of something cleverly dressed up as something else.

At a b&b in the Lake District.

There are moments

I usually try not to take myself too seriously, especially when blogging, so I'm going to have to ask you to humor me for a few minutes here in my ruminations.

There are moments when a travelling memory floods over me. It's often triggered by a smell or phrase, but other times, it's just some fleeting thought racing through the neurons in my brain, flipping switches and firing impulses, that makes an unexpected connection, uninvited and illogical.

Today I was opening some drawings on my computer and then I was walking down the sidewalk in Kathmandu. It was Nepal, our Nepal, not full of beautiful mountain treks, majestic snowy peaks or weeks of relaxed exploration as we might have liked, but the hot, smelly, dirty, stare-filled streets of its largest city with demands and requests and inquiries for tour guides, for money, for food, the unexpected poverty, the unending haze, the excruciating bus rides. The beautiful temples, intricately carved wooden lintels supporting multiple stories of red-brown brick over nearly-thousand-year-old windows, feet shuffling through marigolds, rotting fruit, candle wax, red paste, all the human detritus of temple worship, peppers and spices drying on woven mats on the streets, the baby in a cardboard box, her grandmother crowding over to coo and smile then leaning back to let us admire, the woman knitting the wool hat, the layer upon layer of color, texture, spice, smell, history. It's the joy of my family after months of separation, the laughing, the carefree-ness of holidays, the awkward readjusting for other people, even familiar ones, the hesitancy that comes with separation. Trying to get pages added to our passports, watching my parents deal with Chinese politics and failing- the disappointment of a missed opportunity, no Tibetan train, no Tibet. Squatting as my sister, mother, father, almost fragile in their relative paleness, play a game of little metal tigers and goats with a browned, leathery man, his face a more vibrant translation of his faded opponents'. Will they buy the woman is wondering. They'll buy the man is thinking. And the freedom of travel. Being free. Weightless, not responsible- is that the same as irresponsible?- yet weighted. Where will we stay tomorrow, the next day, the next month, we have to buy tickets, they don't understand, please don't snap at me, do you want to barter for an auto or should we just walk, he cheated us, my bag is heavy, so heavy, but surely there's something clean in here.

Movement on the monitor demands attention from my absent brain.

The drawing had loaded on my computer (my computer is slow), and I was back in Newcastle. Still an adventure, I suppose. But isn't every day? Can't everywhere be?

Survey

Having flown with a group of Britons over the weekend, I heard five separate times how Americans clap when a plane lands. I've flown frequently lately, and I have had this happen twice that I remember. Once in India and once when there was some extreme turbulence or something and then a perfectly smooth landing. I am fairly certain this second time was in the USA.

So. Do we?

(I say no.)

Funny Photo Friday: Eat up!

In honor of a Calvin alum whose blog we enjoy, here's a photo of a menu in the Lake District. Makes you wonder what they really serve with the rustic bread!

Business or pleasure? (a trip to Dublin)

Where to begin? First, some background information. For those Americans who, like me, have long thought the terms 'bachelor' and 'bachelorette' sound a wee bit degrading, here's your opportunity to use a new English term for a pre-wedding celebration: stag or hen do. OK, now that I think about it, those are just as bad, but regardless, Newcastle is a popular hen and stag party destination. The levels of drunkenness reached on these weekend-long excursions are fairly shocking to a girl who grew up in a county that didn't sell beer or wine on Sundays. I've been saving up photos to show the lengths people take, but I don't think my collection is complete enough to post just yet. You'll have to wait.

So to tie this to last weekend... two summers ago, a co-worker of mine got married, and the office (of mostly men) decided to take a weekend trip on the ferry to Amsterdam to celebrate. They had such a great time, they decided to do it again this year with Dublin as the destination. Someone at the office was in charge of booking our flights and hotel rooms and one office-wide meal. As we were waiting in the airport for our cheap Ryanair flight last Friday morning, I joined the banter about seeing Dublin from the inside of various pubs, and a co-worker turned to me and jokingly asked, 'Haven't you been on a lad's weekend before?' There was an architectural excuse originally, but in the end, everyone knew this office trip was just a lad's weekend, essentially a stag do without the justification. A lad's weekend with a few women, of course. A lad's weekend with the people you see every day for nine hours, who are your bosses or colleagues or merely acquaintances, the people who you may want to impress with your speed, articulateness, punctuality... not so much your drinking skills. For about the umpteenth time, I wondered what I was in for. (Side note: my computer's dictionary didn't mark 'umpteenth' as misspelled. Wow.)

Read the rest...
I'm glad I went. If nothing else, I got to see a very integral part of Northern English life. (I make no claims for the rest of the country. It may be only as big as my state, but even I can see the diversity in it.) I could easily argue that key element as alcohol, but I can also argue it as an evening spent with friends, creating stories, bonding through ridicule, broaching subjects bordering on 'too serious' for typical English conversation. It may be my femaleness that allowed that last one to occur, but I discussed sexism, racism, marriage, swearing, American city nomenclature, inhibitions, road construction, autism, smoking, xenophobia, diversity, the number of tigers in America, sportsmanship...

That being said, upon arrival and hotel check-in, we ventured forth to explore the city and made it only as far as the fourth pub. Luckily I had been to Dublin before, so I didn't feel obligated to part from the crowd for some sightseeing, but of the eighteen of us, I would estimate about twelve had never been. Apart from a wander by the three women, we pretty much spent the rest of that day in various pubs. The second day brought a lovely walk up a hillside south of the city for some beautiful views of Dublin bay and the sea, but that was followed by some quality pub time as well. Sunday? Do a bit of souvineer shopping for the kids and then wait for the airport bus in... you guessed it, a pub.

I have no idea how much those men spent on alcohol, but I would estimate each pub's tab (and we went to multiple per day/night) equalling my entire weekend expenses. It certainly made for some good stories, which were blearily recounted come breakfast. And the stories will continue to be recounted over the next few months, separating those who know them and those who don't, those who were there from those who were not.

I guess what surprises me most is that drunkenness in general is accepted, even encouraged. I remember reading articles in my trusty free morning newspaper (quality all the way) in New York warning employees not to get drunk at the company Christmas party. Here on Monday morning after the Dublin trip, I read an article in the British version of the same paper about the growing drinking problem in thirty-somethings and explaining alcohol units and recommended allowances. It's not an issue of the Christmas party, but any time someone leaves the office, gets married, or simply proposes a Thursday/Friday night out (Thursday for my office). Drunkenness in front of or even with your boss is not frowned upon, but inevitable. I suspect it is rather more explicit at my office due to the dearth of women and a younger boss who enjoys good food and drink and sharing this love with his colleagues. But I would still be careful of how many drinks I had in front of my American colleagues and boss at a work function (or any function). Here, an empty hand should be filled again, never mind who you're sitting next to.

What else to say? I did have fun. I didn't mind coming in on Monday morning, despite having spent the entire weekend with my co-workers. I looked forward to more open conversations with those whose company I already enjoyed and also with those I'd struggled to talk to before (or who had struggled to talk to me- female, American, younger, uh...). But surely there's a healthier way to bond?

I also had an almost overwhelming moment of homesickness while in a hot, crowded pub listening to some traditional Irish musicians on Saturday night. There was just something about the familiarity (folk music, the little bar with live music as in NYC, memory-laden American songs like 'The Gambler' being covered) and the foreignness (the absurd drinking, the people I'd only known for a year, the 'Powder Day rules' of each man for himself attitudes, the absence of my husband) that made me miss something that wasn't there. I think those intense moments fit with the oddity of the entire weekend.

So where to start? Perhaps with the word surreal. That's what the whole thing was: surreal.

A quick weather moan

It appears we are nearing that time of year when the "places I've lived" graphs cross. What I actually find more depressing, though, is the difference in sunset times, and we haven't even moved our clocks back for the end of British Summer Time. Alas, the darkness descends...


(At least I can know that soon it will be warmer here than anywhere else I've lived. Now if I could just get snow to fall at 30 degrees and not turn to slush...)

Funny Photo Friday: Let's be clear about something.

On our way back from the Lakes. These are literally within 5 feet of each other. It was almost funnier when they were all red, but I just couldn't get the camera out in time!

God Bless America

We voted! I often feel a bit awed when marking my ballot (‘With the stroke of a pen, we, mere citizens, become We the People’ as Jill Lepore wrote in the New Yorker last week), but this year it seemed like even more of a privilege than in the past. I think because the campaign and candidates are given so much time and attention here but those doing the talking have no actual say in the whole affair.

As a side note, we are still registered to vote in Michigan, and on our ballot we could vote on permitting human embryo stem cell research, legalizing medical marijuana and allowing beer and wine to be sold on Sundays in our county (it's not currently). All kinds of interesting stuff, but is there not something a bit jarring about those last two choices existing side by side? It takes all kinds... and perhaps nowhere more so than in the USA.

When to call it quits

Sensing the impending winter darkness of Northern England and slightly influenced by the discovery of a lot more outdoor gear than we remembered in the Christmas-esque opening of boxes in various attics in Michigan, Josh and I decided to attempt a camping trip last weekend. We drove out under cloudy skies only to be greeted by pouring rain upon entering the Lake District. We had a great afternoon driving around, laughing guiltily at the walkers and attempting various water crossings, but we finally had to give up when we got to our chosen campground.


Here are a few photos of the first day... and the sunny second.







I don't think I've laughed so hard in a long time! We ended up driving back home and going back out the next day for a beautiful walk up Blencathra. We scrambled up and down via routes called "Sharp Edge" and "Narrow Edge." Lots of fun!
Jen- this photo above has the stone circle we visited in it. If you put your finger in the exact middle of the photo and then move it over to the left a bit, it's in the green field under your finger above the yellow-y field. Just thought you'd like to know. :)





How this day followed the one before, we don't know, but it was beautiful!

The legend of the Monkey Hangers and other reasons why the English have so many funnier names than we do

Grab a cup of cocoa, take the laptop to the armchair, and settle in for a nice Sunday afternoon story.

Once upon a time, the people of Hartlepool lived the normal lives of Northern Englanders. They caught fish, ate meat pies, and drank the good drink of fermented barley. Then one day, England and France had a bit of a falling out, having something to do with a man named Napoleon.

As Hartlepool is a coastal city, the people knew the sneaky French could be planning an attack on their very seashore, and they kept a wary watch over the coastline. Suspecting that their little town had a very important role to play in the Napoleonic War period of English history, they patrolled the beaches for any sign of action, and soon their vigilance was rewarded with the sight of a ship not far off the coast. The townsfolk didn't have long to worry what to do next, though, as a storm battered and eventually sunk the unlucky vessel. The pitchforks and fish knives would have to stay where they were until next time.

The wreckage proved the ship was indeed French, but the only survivor to make it to shore was a monkey, who, it seemed, had the unfortunate task of entertaining captain and crew, as his soggy body was wearing a military uniform. The simple fishing folk of Hartlepool had most likely never seen a monkey and assumed he must be a spy. Obviously. To their dismay, all attempts at interrogation were met with monkey babble, which, as anyone not knowing the language would do, they understood to be French, a further sign of the wee spy's guilt. With no other alternatives, the townsfolk held a trial, convicted the monkey, sentenced him to death, and hung him on the beach. And to this day, the people of Hartlepool are called Monkey Hangers.

Now, if you happen to meet a Hartlepudlian, I wouldn't recommend using the nickname for safety reasons. Some like it; some don't. And they're a sturdy lot.

(For the sake of honesty, this blog entry argues convincingly that the story just might be made up, but I prefer to believe the unbelievable.)

Funny Photo Friday: For all your ricotta and spinach enchilada needs

The things you find in Durham...

What's in a name

So there are funny names all over the place (for example I grew up next to Paris, Michigan and have visited both Hell, Michigan and Paradise, Michigan... none of which lived up to their name by the way) and England has proven no exception. Whilst such a list could be rather long and exhaustive, this one isn't and just contains some odd names that we've seen. Ok most of them really just show up on one of the nightly news weather reports and I think they make it just because they are weird.

Lemonhead

Yarm

Langthwaite

Pity Me (seriously)

Ingoe.

Sharpton.

Hurt 'n Rab (still serious)

Ireshopeburn

Hartburn

Rockhope

Redmirt

Tweedmouth

Spital Toungues

Netherton

and my personal favorite, Staindrop.

Fish Eye(s)

So last year for Christmas Megan bought me a Lomotography Fish Eye Camera, which happens to be the world's smallest fish eye camera. Now, its a standard film camera (remember those?) but it has a fish eye lens permanently mounted on the front instead of what you normally find there. As such it ends up distorting the image and light bending it around the curved lens, which results in a round photo, instead of a standard rectangle (see the photos to the left and the right).

Anyway, since then I've played around with it a decent amount and am starting to get the hang of the thing (it's a little tricky but lots of fun). And after the last round of photos came back I decided to scan some to show to folks. The plate on the scanner wasn't overly clean and the quality of the scanner isn't that great so keep that in mind, but even with those it's a cool little toy.

With that being said here are the photos... (Be warned there are kind of alot...)

Funny Photo Friday: Oh, that's where they are

A gas/petrol station near here

An Anniversary or What's been on your mind?

In hono(u)r of the one year anniversary of our arrival in England, I wanted a glimpse of the thoughts and encounters we’ve considered blog-worthy in the last year. You’ll notice over there on the left that we’ve categoriz/sed our posts by location for your post searching convenience (we know what you do on Saturday afternoons), so I skimmed through the ENGLAND options and picked out the most prevalent themes. This may seem a bit tedious, but you’ll recall that I rather enjoy lists and graphs and diagrams of interesting information, and since I wrote half the posts, I think they’re interesting. Also, I had other things I should have been doing, thus the doing of this. The results? Top themes were General living in England/cultural differences, Weather, Visiting home, and Accents and words. It was no surprise that Cultural differences should come out on top, but certainly Weather as number two is amusing. And apt. Very apt.

In case you’re curious, here’s the whole list:
(Note: some posts written in England were completely unrelated to England and didn’t make the category cut.)

General living in England / cultural differences 21
(2 of these also fit in Food, 3 in Weather, 2 in Accents/words,
1 in dentist and 1 in cultural faux pas)
Weather 15
Visiting home, returning here 13
Accents and words 11
In and around Durham 10
Where we live, our stuff 7
Josh and student related 7
Food 6
Work 6
Our future 6
Visitors 6
Stereotypes, being American 5
Things we miss 3
Politics 2
Missing the train 2
Scottish Twee Birds 2
The Package That Went Round the World (almost) 1
(Not entirely related to England 9)