Hyde Park

XXIII: Weekend

Switzerland is a silly country. Aside from all of its obvious, kitsch characteristics... like Swiss army knives, cuckoo-clocks, cheese, chocolate and that one place where they collide atoms in Geneva (CERN for all you Dan Brown fans) - my favorite is probably the fact that the people there are lacking any REAL type of national identity.

This last weekend, I've learned in great detail and experience that the country is split into three very distinct regions (which shows that I've always been shite at geography) - French Suisse, German Suisse and Italian Suisse. And these three regions all speak their own languages.. you guessed them: Swiss French, Swiss German and Swiss Italian. Although the languages are very similar to their basic counterparts, the answer to why France, Germany and Italy didn't just claim their respective pieces of Switzerland and make it their own is beyond my immediate knowledge - but in any case, I find it kind of funny.

Why don't they just speak plain Swiss? Wouldn't that make it easier for the natives? And that stupidly long acronym for the national train station, CBB CFF FFS, could probably then be shortened to just ONE set of three letters. But wait, that would just be too easy. And perhaps this confusion is what keeps them from taking anybody's side and refusing to become part of the EU. But yeah, "just plain Swiss" doesn't exist. Maybe the whole country is designed to be the most confusing tourist spot in the world. Who knows?!?

Anyway, Allison and I made it out to Switzerland (aka Confoederatio Helvetica... yeah, I don't know how they got "Switzerland" from this name) over the weekend for a Valentine's Day weekend ski-trip, and it was more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. But it was also a bit ridiculous.

We left the "comforts" of London around 5 a.m. on Friday morning to catch our 8:05 Easy Jet flight to Geneva. But before I could even get to the airport, I was lucky enough to have my American debit card sucked into an ATM machine, never to be seen again, because apparently the bank was having technical difficulties. It wasn't my fault... but that still left me without my normal debit card. And I probably won't get another one for 2 more weeks. How convenient. It seems that all the forces are constantly working against me being here in Europe - but whatever, I'm finally starting to get used to these unfortunate situations. Thank God for credit cards.

Geneva was pretty. That's probably the only word I have to describe the place, because there's really not much more to it than that... except for maybe the super-expensive food and the unfriendly train station staff.



At least they have a geyser in the middle of a lake. It's called Jet d'Eau (Jet of Water... how clever).


After figuring out how to take a train, we ended up about an hour away from Geneva to meet up with Chris in Neuchatel. He and his flat-mate Jason were nice enough to let us stay with them and be our hosts for the weekend. They took fabulous care of us.

Neuchatel was cute. What else am I supposed to say about a little Swiss French town with a population of 50,000? We didn't stay within city limits long enough to really get a feel for it. And since Allison and I don't speak French, we let Chris take care of EVERYTHING. It was kind of nice getting to be the follower...



On Saturday, we took a day-trip to Lausanne, which was pretty much the epitome of adorable because of its snow-covered rooftops, cobblestone streets and giant cathedral on top of a hill.







But the absolute BEST part of Lausanne was this toilet I found in a random cafe:


It looks like any other toilet, I know. BUT here's the crazy part- instead of a lever, it has a twist-knob that you use to flush it. As you can tell, I enjoy the small things in life. Moving on....

Sunday was nothing special - just snowboarding in the Swiss Alps and a traditional fondue feast. SLAAAAASH the most perfect Swiss Day EVER.



That's the Eiger in the background (a.k.a. the mountain of glorious death):


No, we didn't ski that. Instead, we opted for a nicely steep and amazing mountain called Mannlichen (not to be confused with Man Lickin'). It just doesn't get better than that...



Actually, I lied. The fondue was the cherry on top of it all. Or should I say "cheese..." I was only a few congealed-emmental forkfuls away from OD'ing on the best meal of my life.



Luckily, Allison and I made it back home to London all right. We even got back in time to make it to our night class today. Not to sound pretentious or anything, but it still boggles my mind how easy it is to jump over the pond for a weekend getaway to Switzerland. Oh yeah, did I mention I went snowboarding in THE SWISS ALPS!?!?! Man, life is good.

Crazy

People crack me up.

I was in a Starbucks in Covent Garden earlier, doing some academic reading over a white mocha, when this crazy blonde British woman asked if she could take a seat across from me. It wasn't really a big deal to begin with - because sharing tables with strangers is quite a normal phenomenon here in London - so I thought nothing of it. She was nice enough, a little quirky with the greeting, but nothing too scary.

So she sat down, and I went back to reading The Arcades Project by Walter Benjamin. But my critical thought processes shut down after about 5 minutes, when the blonde woman decided to call a friend of hers (whom she referred to as "my little darling") and started talking about this "awesome gig" she sang at last night and how her faith in guitarists has been restored because of a lovely ("bless, him") little man called Duncan.

I tried to tune her out, really I did, but it was all to no avail. She was cackling so loud that I don't think anyone in the entire cafe could even hear their own thoughts. And the funny thing is that she had her phone on the table, while talking through some ugly mouthpiece with attached headphones.

She was holding the mouthpiece in front of her pouty lips, but couldn't just pick up the damn phone off the table. Why do people do that???? We're in London.. you're not driving or even walking! Take the stupid headphones off and pick up the phone!!!! Seriously!!! This annoyed me... EXTREMELY. Anyway, I managed to sneak a picture of her with my cell phone.



It took about another 5 minutes before I just gave up on my reading completely and headed out of there.

And THEN... on my way home, I was standing on the escalator going up out of Manor House tube station, when I noticed that the girl in front of me had these ugly poop-colored Uggs on. Wait, this isn't the annoying part.

I dug my phone out of my pocket as quick as I could to take a picture, but only managed to get one of her stepping off the escalator. You can only really see one foot here, BUT... she was wearing the Uggs like a retarded fat-footed person. She wasn't even fat - but she was stepping on the sides of her boots instead of the actual bottoms, as if her stupid feet were too wide for her stupid boots. Oh. My. God! Pull them up before you start walking... is it so hard???



I'm telling you, people are crazy.

XXII: I'd Rather Dance With You

I can't dance to save my life. Which is probably why I would rather stay home and read a book than go out to the clubs, if I can help it. But sometimes... just sometimes... it's necessary to hit the town - especially when there's something extraordinarily fun going on. And besides, it's much easier to get on the dance floor when there's a healthy level of intoxication involved.

I went to a 1940's-themed Blitz Party on Saturday night with a few girlfriends. I was a little nervous at first, because I haven't gotten over my people anxiety enough to be fully comfortable going to an organized party with a bunch of strangers like this. But I was pleasantly surprised at how much fun I had, considering my lack of bootie-shaking abilities.

At least I got to dress up - I'm kind of a sucker for costume parties. We had a bit of a problem busting out the victory rolls (how in the world did women in the 40s do their hair every day so perfectly?) but we made do with our vintage dresses and shoes. And don't forget the fake lashes...

GO ALLIES!

(L-R: Ashley, me and Allison)


(L-R: Hannah, Ashley, Megan and me)

And it was great because the party took place in this abandoned community center in Shoreditch which had about six different rooms with low ceilings, separated by old brick arches - a perfect representation of an old wartime bunker. Big band music filled the rooms, while hundreds of costumed-guests slammed against each other with their boogie and swing moves. It really WAS like being in another era.



It was kind of nice getting out of the day-to-day monotony, which has slowly been creeping up on me since winter vacation ended. Between my painful obsession with Twilight and the extra research of putting together a dissertation proposal, it's been hard to get out and experience more of London. Exactly what I was afraid of... getting too comfortable and feeling too at-home that I was beginning to get lazy with my social interaction.

Fortunately, the girls administered just the right amount of peer pressure... and I got my lazy ass to commit to buying the ticket. And I'm glad I did. We met some wonderful new people... some of whom were dashing young PhD's who were kind enough to buy us some drinks. I honestly never thought I'd ever be in that situation (usually because I keep myself out of it) but it turns out that having lots of girlfriends and maintaining a constantly welcoming smile attracts this kind of thing. Who would've known? Hah.


(L-R: James, me, John, Megan and Ashley)

Which brings me to an interesting conclusion about myself. I think I have a bit of a self-confidence problem... and I don't think I smile nearly enough. I've had a sort of epiphany. I'm completely confident when it comes to school, work, professional and familiar relationships and that sort of thing. But I'm completely clueless when it comes to interacting casually with strangers.

I think I can trace it back as far as kindergarten - when the first friend I ever made was because a little blonde-haired girl named Ariana came running up to me to ask if I wanted to go play on the swings with her. Even then, I wasn't the one putting in the initial effort. The same holds to this day. It usually takes some extraordinary magnetic force for me to put myself out there and strike up conversation with a complete stranger. But I need to stop that. Because I'm missing out.

And since Saturday, I've caught myself in the tube or walking down the street with a leave-me-alone scowl broadcasted over my face. That needs to stop too. Because I know deep down inside, I can be a pretty friendly person... and what do I really have to fear? Embarrassment? Rejection? Just a few petty things that I can get over pretty easily. And I've come to realize that most people don't mind the conversation - in fact, they might welcome it - if for nothing else than breaking the monotony of day-to-day life.

From this point on, I'm resolving to break down the protective barriers a little bit and be a more confident and approachable person.

In the words of that one girl from Waking Life: "I don't want to be an ant."

Cold Hands (Warm Heart)

I am freezing. It seems Mr. Mak has made some type of mistake with the heaters. He was supposed to add hours, not take them away. This kind of neglect is just cruel... especially on snowy days when I'm actually feeling good about doing school work. I wish I had a space heater. Better yet, I wish I had a fireplace!

I've spent the last few hours trying to write and re-write cover letters to send with my CV for internships. But it's hard to concentrate when your hands are too cold to type without shivering. Brrrrrr. I've resorted to making a hot cup of tea every 30 minutes so I can keep the juices flowing.

So here I am, in my room, frozen to the core - despite the thermals, sweats, socks and fuggs. I think I might have to call it an early night, just so I can wrap myself in blankets. I swear it's like 40 degrees in here..

Oh well. Here's hoping for another Vampire Bond dream...

XXI: Angel in the Snow

I woke up this morning around 9 a.m. to the obnoxious sound of my phone ringing. Dammit. I was having a good dream. I was a Bond girl and my personal 007 was a vampire that looked kind of like Eddie. But he wasn't Eddie. He was Edward Cullen. But he was also James Bond. And we had just finished ridding the world of the EVIL French terrorist Michel - who had long blonde hair and a penguin tuxedo. He was trying to bomb Parliament and somehow, Bond and I outsmarted him and found ourselves going on a speedboat chase along the River Thames, where I pulled out my super-sleek handgun and lodged a bullet in his head. It was awesome.

Vampire Bond and I were walking through the lobby of Parliament (which I have no REAL idea what it looks like), and we were gazing out the window into a snowy evening. I was still wearing my long silver gown and stiletto heels (again, proof that it was a dream because I could NEVER pull that off in real life), him in a dashing pin-stripe suit. The image looked like the ending scene of a real Bond movie, the feeling of victory and heroism dominating the atmosphere. He had just put his arm around me and we were about to make our way home so he could change me into a vampire... when the thin cell phone in my silver clutch began to ring. Then I realized, it was my REAL cell phone that was ringing.

So I shook myself out of the dreamscape to answer the phone number that I didn't recognize. It was Simon from Specsavers and he was calling to let me know that the store would be closed today and that I would have to reschedule my 11:30 eye appointment. He said that the weather conditions were too bad for them to open the store today. Huh?

So I hung up with Simon, and stumbled to my bedroom window. I opened the curtain, and voila! A thick blanket of snow covered the street, houses and cars before me. GORGEOUS. My first instinct was to pile on the layers and go outside to play. But I thought it might be better to check the news first to see how London transport was going to deal with this craziness (since I technically had a class to attend tonight).



I was a little bit worried about going out in this flurry (the snow is STILL falling now as I type). But my anxieties were alleviated when I saw an e-mail from the professor David Cunningham.. the subject line read: "Class Cancelled: Monday 2nd February." Turns out my professor lives in an area of London where the buses were cancelled so there was no way for him to get to campus. A couple minutes later, I get another e-mail from the University that says ALL classes are cancelled and that even the library was going to be closed. This day just keeps getting better and better.

I watched the news for a while, and discovered that London has NO CLUE how to deal with this - they closed down most of the buses and some of the tube lines (I don't know why, because they're underground) and pretty much... the city was forced to come to a semi-stand-still because nobody knew how to get anywhere. My German housemate Anika thought it was pretty funny.. she's used to having snow in Berlin and was amused that the entire city of London didn't know how to deal with it.

"In Berlin, nobody would understand what all the fuss is about," she said...

Either way, I think it's pretty cool - because I've never lived in a city where school actually got CANCELLED because of snow. In fact, I bet everyone is at home sweating in the wind right now in Simi Valley.

And since all of London decided that today was going to be a full-fledged snow day, I figured I might as well spend it doing irresponsible things.. in other words, no school-related reading allowed.

I put on my thermals, my jeans, 3 pairs of socks, leather boots, 3 shirts, a black hoodie, a coat, a scarf and a hat... and headed out the front door with my camera to take a little walk. I didn't get very far though... because I found my other housemate Reza at the corner with his 6 full grocery bags placed carefully on the sidewalk, standing in concerned confusion as some hacidic Jews were trying to get their car to move. I asked him what was going on... and he said he wanted to help them.



See... Muslims and Jews can be friends! He DID help them, actually, and he even got the driver to smile at him - I don't think I've ever seen that before. Then... our other housemate Kim came walking down the street with grocery bags too... so we stopped there a while to enjoy the scenery. I helped them carry some bags back to the house...

Since school was cancelled for ALL of us, we figured we'd go out to our garden to play. So we created a new housemate... the androgynous snowman Charlie Mak:



All the news people say that things will be back to normal tomorrow... but at the rate the snow is coming down (like huge chunks of foam), I don't know how true that will be. Maybe I'll get lucky again and my Tuesday class will be cancelled too. It's just too beautiful outside to want to do anything productive...



________________________________

EDIT 7:17 p.m.
How embarrassing... London should've been more prepared for this.

XX: These Days (part 2)

continued from previous entry...

All the while, something inevitable was lurking behind us. James' flight back to the states was on the 9th of January. It was a little bittersweet. Him leaving meant that he could be out of the painful cold and back in the comforts of the U.S. (things like efficient plumbing, good customer service and atmospheric warmth, which I'm sure he was happy to get back). But it also meant that it was separation time again, which of course made me sad because I was getting closer to having to experience withdrawals. Luckily, I could still hold on to Shawn for another 10 days...

Outside the Tate Modern (James' last night in London... photo courtesy Shawn)


After we dropped James off at Heathrow that Friday, Shawn and I decided to head into Earl's Court on our way home for some provisions. At his request, we picked up some longoniza... and then mostly for refilling my stock, 3 boxes of Pocky, a bag of rice, a box of corn starch and some chitcharon.

Just as James suspected, the weather was relatively nice for the rest of the week.. Most of the time, Shawn and I just hung out (with exception to the times he would hang out with Helen and I stayed home attempting to finish up my essays). I'm a little surprised (but not really) that we remained harmonious throughout - given that extended periods of time with friends could turn into a really bad thing. But it didn't so I can only suppose that we really ARE pretty good friends. (*_*)

I spent a lot of time that third week being utterly distracted with getting my plans together for Shawn's birthday surprise. And in between, we got terribly drunk in my basement from my housemates' cocktail party, saw Slumdog Millionaire at the Barbican, went to the new Westfield and had some sushi, went on a behind-the-scenes tour of the Natural History Museum where we saw a REAL GIANT SQUID, ate cupcakes, drank lots of tea, and did a bunch more normal-ish activities. That is, until I was successfully able to secure Eurostar tickets to Paris.

Happy Birthday, Shawn!


Sounds like an extravagant birthday present, I know. But really... how could I NOT take advantage of him being here on his birthday and Paris just being a relatively cheap train ride away? It's not every day you can say you went to Paris for your birthday. Plus, I hadn't been back since I was 15 and it just seemed like the perfect opportunity. Since we had seen most of the sights on previous trips, we just focused on spending the one night/one day looking for lesser-touristy stuff.

Cafe de Deux Moulins (The Two Windmills from Amelie)


Moulin Rouge (no, the big elephant was NOT there)


Jim Morrison's grave


Shakespeare and Company (the bookstore from Before Sunset)


Les Deux Magots (The Two Magots? j/k I don't know... this place had some sort of literary/philosophical significance but we couldn't read the whole sign because it was in all French)


We went to a bunch of paper stores (to feed Shawn's obsession), drank as much coffee as humanly possible- because it's better there than anywhere else in the world I've been to (perhaps only Italy can beat it but I don't know for sure), and went back and forth across the city in the Metropolitain.

Pretty harmless sight-seeing, I would say. Except for the necessary tourist-esque photograph in front of the Arc...


Come to think of it, we crammed A LOT in those 36 hours. And we got back to London just in time to eat at Falafel King (that's not what it's really called but apparently that's the new nickname) one last time, and to have all of Sunday to veg before Shawn went back to the states on the 19th.

I guess the only significant thing that I haven't mentioned yet is that I finally started reading Twilight (the first book) the night before we left for Paris. With all the sightseeing and the last day to hang out with Shawn, I still managed to finish it on the tube on my way home from Heathrow on the 19th. And Shawn anticipated that... because he gave me New Moon (book 2) as a thank-you gift that Sunday.

It was all over from there. When I wasn't eating or sleeping, or trying my hardest to be a grad-school student, or watching the first movie, or ordering the next book, I was reading. I'm surprised I was even able to get out of the house to celebrate my friend Natalia's birthday last weekend. I even had to slow down reading book 3... because book 4 hadn't arrived in the mail yet.

So, I just finished Breaking Dawn (book 4) yesterday. But honestly, my decision to begin the series couldn't have been more perfect timing, because my unhealthy obsession with the books seriously dulled the separation anxiety that I barely even noticed it. Which is why it took me so long to blog. I kept getting distracted by the dashing vampire, Edward Cullen.

So that's it... back to real life again. I've got internship applications to fill out, situationist theory to read up on (yes Shawn, Society of the Spectacle is officially on my reading list), a dissertation proposal to craft, a March trip to Barcelona to plan, and a personal brainstorming session for the brilliant novel that I one day hope to write...

These days have been intense - moreso than I would have thought possible crammed into such a relatively short period of time. Exhale. Sigh. But at least I'm feeling inspired...

XIX: These Days (Part 1)

I'm back. To real life, anyway.

The last month has been wild. It would be an absolute injustice to try and describe it all through a bunch of meaningless words... because no matter how hard I try to develop a coherent story in my head, it simply ceases to exist in the proper way. It just comes out in my imagination as a series of images and wordless emotions, which look more like blurry, silent home-videos inside a darkened room, than anything else anybody would really fully understand.

Most of my friends and family have already heard some of the stories... about how we went to Edinburgh for New Year, about the long-awaited Beatles pilgrimage to Liverpool, and the brief few weeks afterwards where I got to smash my two worlds together (Simi life meets London life). Oh yeah, and I can't forget about the spontaneous one-night birthday celebration in Paris.

So instead of attempting to document every single minute little detail in what would surely turn into a thousand too many paragraphs, I'll try to take a more reflexive route. Which means, I may quite possibly write things that make no sense to you whatsoever, that serve more as personal reminders to myself about how I felt. Sorry in advance... but I promise to add in some photographs for nostalgia's sake.

I suppose I'll just pick up where I left off. After Christmas, Kim and I didn't have much more to do but wait for Shawn and James to arrive. So when they finally got here on the 28th of December, I was all but exploding inside my own skin for the excitement of seeing them. We were waiting for them inside Heathrow airport, and I'm pretty sure I was jumping up and down in anticipation for what felt like forever - because we knew their plane had landed and that any minute, they'd come walking through the doors with all their luggage. So when they finally came out, both wearing all dark colors and the only two in the entire airport wearing sunglasses - I felt absolutely hysterical.

Here comes the rockstar... and his accountant.


It was a fantastic feeling to see them. The few months in between, where they were there and I was here, all of a sudden seemed to have disappeared. The waiting was over and our friends were here - and it couldn't have been more surreal. For the first few hours, I couldn't stop looking at them. How strange.

After my initial hysteria started to wear off, we were finally on our way to begin the holiday. There was an excruciatingly long bus-ride to Edinburgh- somewhere in between point A and point B, we stopped at rest-point that looked like Baker's Square. There was a VW van... we could've been anywhere in the world. It was freezing but we smoked a lot of cigarettes anyway. Inside the coach, we TRIED to get some sleep and we played a little bit of musical chairs in the back of the bus. Shawn and I exchanged iPod's for a little while, then at the end, he found a battered copy of "Angels & Demons."



Edinburgh was cold. There was a leftover French funk in our room at the hostel, so we had to get air freshener. We drank A LOT, we talked to a ton of random people walking through the streets drunk in the middle of the night, saw people in kilts, watched the torch ceremony, ate warm donuts, had a temporary run-in with the devil (who was waiting for us in a wrapped package under a Christmas tree), gazed at a fireworks display and danced the nights away. We never saw the light of day until it was time for Shawn, James and I to leave days later.

The last 24-something hours of being in Scotland (Dec. 31 - Jan. 1), we stayed awake the whole time. I was miserably tired and I vaguely remember being babied while the guys took care of checking out and everything else. The girl at the reception desk was rude. And at some point, I was on the couch in the hostel common room, trying to get warm and squeeze in a few minutes of sleep before catching a 12:30 train to Liverpool. Eventually, we took a cab to Kim's dorm to say goodbye - and minutes later, found ourselves heading south back to England.






Liverpool was something else entirely. It was seedy, but the people were nice. And the lady at the cafe had super-long acrylic nails. We went on a Magical Mystery Tour... which turned out to be a spiritual journey through everything Beatles... including the real Penny Lane, the real Strawberry Fields, the real homes of the fab four, and the real Cavern Club. We went on a hotel-hunt for Ringo, then later I stood next to the spirit of John Lennon inside a museum, and we all celebrated being there by going to a dirty McDonald's. The last night the three of us were there, we experienced the heebie jeebies- which maybe should have warned us about the short series of unfortunate events that would follow...







On Jan. 4, while buying train tickets back to London, James had a fraud problem with his debit card and had to cancel it. Then, our train back to London from Liverpool was experiencing technical difficulties. A ride that should have only been a few hours turned into a 7-hour ordeal. We got on each other's nerves a little bit - probably from all the stress, the lack of sleep from the last week, and having to wait in the blistering cold through an unorganized mess of coach transfers. Which reminds me... I still need to go to Euston station to try and claim refunds for our tickets.



When we finally got back to London, we were exhausted. I stole the cushions from the downstairs couch so James would have something soft to sleep on. Shawn and I crammed on my single bed. The next five days were a little weird - partly because of the 24/7 close proximity the three of us were in, partly because James was in an unfortunate debit card situation, and partly because everywhere I wanted to take them seemed to be closed. I had no idea what was going on - maybe all of London was still on holiday. Still, we made the most of it by continuing our Beatles journey, walking around A LOT (of course in our billions of layers of clothing), having late-night dinners at "Falafel King" and seeing the city from the top of a giant ferris wheel.







The days just seemed to fly by. It was a bit unnerving to watch my two worlds collide the way they did... seeing people from home in a completely different context. But I was still having a great time, and I was happy to be with them. All the while, something inevitable was lurking behind us...

To be continued...