Recently, I have attacked a new piece of classic literature, begun (most appropriately) on my spiritual journey. Milton's Paradise Lost is en epic poem from the bad ole 1600s. It tells of Satan's fall from heaven, and describes his temptation of Adam and Eve as a subtle revenge upon God. Suffice to say, it's pretty much been banned as long as it's been written.
However, I tend to think that controversy is a good place to find literature, and with this tome, I think I am correct.
The Fall interests me, not just the story, which is interesting enough, but the traces it has through all literature. I think that my study at Oxford this summer is going to centered around TH White's The Once and Future King as a reincarnation of this concept/theme.
For whatever reason, humans are deeply attracted to ideals, to logic, to the loftiness of reason and generosity. But, this deep attraction will always be undermined by our lower, animal instincts. Revenge, lust (whether for sex, wealth, or power), rage--these forces pull otherwise intelligent and strong humans from their pedestals and make barbarians of the purest and most civilized. It happens over and over again, and always will--because of the time it happened first. This is more than enough reason for me to be interested in Milton's work.
Yet the philosophy is not what I have enjoyed most about my reading of Paradise Lost. Rather, the lyrical descriptions of places unknown to Man that are the most endearing.
More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite
More grateful to their Supper Fruits they fell,
Nectarine fruits which the compliant boughs
Yielded to them, sidelong as they sat recline
On the soft downy bank damaskt with flow'rs.
damaskt=patterned (a damask is also a type of rose, clever Milton)
No wonder the loss of Eden was such a price to pay, for such wonders. I always love it when a writer from centuries past is able to evoke something clearly to the modern reader--such beauty that transcends time and place.
Molly
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Saturday Spirit Quest
This past weekend I was fortunate enough to spend a day purely in the seeking of enlightenment. It was a journey of rather in-epic proportions, but my questing buddy and I made every effort to imagine ourselves heroic knights seeking all knowledge, beauty, and truth--it lent a certain gravity to mundane events such as crossing bridges (wild rivers into unknown lands), going to Cracker Barrel (a great bountiful feast set out by the gods for their true followers), etc.
The reason for this trip was that after the horrors of spring break, there seems to be a lingering sense of ill around those of us who went, as if the universe did not give us quite enough bad luck then, so they had to make up for it now. My questing buddy (QB) and I are attending a summer program at Oxford this summer, and were terrified that another experience would be tainted (or let's be honest, devoured) by our bad fortune.
So we sat down and mapped out a plan--there are only so many spiritual places in Alabama. We set off for The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament--a beautiful monastery which is home, not only to some odd monks, but to the Clare Nuns of Perpetual Adoration, and the Knights of the Holy Eucharist (who keep emus). We attended one of the sessions of adoration, and it was one of the most transcendental experiences I've had--right up there with dancing naked under full moons, and skinny dipping under waterfalls. (It's funny that nudity has played such a large role in the defining moments of my life.) But seriously, we could not see the nuns, they were singing from behind the Shrine, but their voices, harmonized and unaccompanied repetitive in Hail Mary and The Lord's Prayer, wafted over, ghostly for us. We sat transfixed for the longest time, just listening and taking in the opulence.
After exploring for a while, we left offerings in the garden at the feet of the Virgin, and hit up the gift shop for some Saint Medallions. (For me, Michael: for travelers and in general--he's the archangel, guys. And Joan of Arc: for courage and passion.)
Then it was off to lunch at Cracker Barrel and the Ave Maria Grotto, or "little Jerusalem." Brother Joseph spent the better part of his life crafting all the important sites in the world in miniature with such odd materials as bottle caps, marbles, and scrap metal. It is a sight to behold--expansive and intricate. I loved the hanging gardens (of Babylon), as well as the Tower of Babel.
Later we attended the school play of a friend of ours, and made a late night Denny's run--sort of a conclusive way to make peace with the Chicago layover and the resultant hours spent in Denny's, trying to eat as cheaply as possible.
All in all, I felt like it was a highly successful quest--all week I have been buoyed by the things I've seen and I've tried to hold on to that transcendence I felt at the Shrine. I don't know if it was the nature of what we did, or just the very act of going and seeking for something immaterial--but I feel that we found it.
Molly
The reason for this trip was that after the horrors of spring break, there seems to be a lingering sense of ill around those of us who went, as if the universe did not give us quite enough bad luck then, so they had to make up for it now. My questing buddy (QB) and I are attending a summer program at Oxford this summer, and were terrified that another experience would be tainted (or let's be honest, devoured) by our bad fortune.
So we sat down and mapped out a plan--there are only so many spiritual places in Alabama. We set off for The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament--a beautiful monastery which is home, not only to some odd monks, but to the Clare Nuns of Perpetual Adoration, and the Knights of the Holy Eucharist (who keep emus). We attended one of the sessions of adoration, and it was one of the most transcendental experiences I've had--right up there with dancing naked under full moons, and skinny dipping under waterfalls. (It's funny that nudity has played such a large role in the defining moments of my life.) But seriously, we could not see the nuns, they were singing from behind the Shrine, but their voices, harmonized and unaccompanied repetitive in Hail Mary and The Lord's Prayer, wafted over, ghostly for us. We sat transfixed for the longest time, just listening and taking in the opulence.
After exploring for a while, we left offerings in the garden at the feet of the Virgin, and hit up the gift shop for some Saint Medallions. (For me, Michael: for travelers and in general--he's the archangel, guys. And Joan of Arc: for courage and passion.)
Then it was off to lunch at Cracker Barrel and the Ave Maria Grotto, or "little Jerusalem." Brother Joseph spent the better part of his life crafting all the important sites in the world in miniature with such odd materials as bottle caps, marbles, and scrap metal. It is a sight to behold--expansive and intricate. I loved the hanging gardens (of Babylon), as well as the Tower of Babel.
Later we attended the school play of a friend of ours, and made a late night Denny's run--sort of a conclusive way to make peace with the Chicago layover and the resultant hours spent in Denny's, trying to eat as cheaply as possible.
All in all, I felt like it was a highly successful quest--all week I have been buoyed by the things I've seen and I've tried to hold on to that transcendence I felt at the Shrine. I don't know if it was the nature of what we did, or just the very act of going and seeking for something immaterial--but I feel that we found it.
Molly
Monday, April 23, 2007
The Travel Journal (part 4)
The big finale to our spring break debacle.
7:45pm 3.22.07
We are sitting in the Noel Coward theater about to see Avenue Q. We bought tickets for the balcony, but when we got here, they upgraded us to stalls! (Good luck? What?) However, the person in front of me is very tall, and I'm contemplating suicide. Boo.
Midnight 3.23.07
Well, I'll begin at the end and say that Avenue Q was incredible. The woman only partially obstructed my view, and the show was hysterical, creative, and a little bit bittersweet. It was one of the most satisfying theater experiences I've had.
Today started off with an interesting bus tour of London, including some great pictures, some rain, and a stop at the gorgeous St. Paul's Cathedral. Then there was the madness of Leicester Square and buying tickets. Lunch in a cute sandwich shop (pricy but good) and over three hours in the National Gallery. I saw half of the paintings/artists we studied in Art History, it was wonderful.
New favorite Monet: The Houses of Parliament at sunset. Favorite thing altogether? The eight small Seurat studies that showed his experimentation, which lead to the development of pointilism. Also the Bather's painting. Biggest disappointment? Finding out that La Grande Jatte was in Chicago and I missed it. Still I had an incredible, awe-inspiring time.
After this we met up with the group (The Alex City kids spent the entire day at the Hard Rock Cafe and looking for clubs) and had really good Indian food. Then there was the Q. As I've already said, it was wonderful. We took the Tube home, really excellent. That has to be one of the most efficient ways to travel. Tomorrow is a completely free day, and though I know that we can't do everything, I plan to have a fantastic time.
Oh, also today someone from EF came to talk to our teacher. I really hope we get partial reimbursement. We deserve it. On that note, I'm a little bit worried about the money situation, I haven't really kept track. As much fun as I'm (finally) having, by and large, I really just want to go home.
12:30am 3.24.07
Today at 5:45am) we get to go home. I just talked to mom and cried, I couldn't help it--I'm so happy to leave.
This past morning we woke up to find out that two girls on a completely separate tour in the same hotel claimed they were raped by two of the Alex City boys. They revealed this to a member of our group, meaning several of us had to give statements and be questioned (not me, thank God). This morning we went to the Tower of London, but I was so numb to it--all I remember was right before we saw the crown jewels this video of Elizabeth's coronation. She looked so beautiful and also scared and sad. But we had to stay in the gift shop for two hours while they questioned one of us. It was sickeningly stressful for all.
We saw those boys as being stupid and inconsiderate but not as monsters who (allegedly) raped 14 and 15 year old girls. I don't even want to think about it. Once all that mess was dealt with, we went to see the Globe (getting fairly lost along the way) and took a lot of pictures (not enough time or money to take a tour). Then to Leicester square for tickets to the Woman in Black and on to dinner. We had quite good fish and chips (I'm so glad we're past the peas and carrots stage). However, one of our group members had a total breakdown during dinner. It made me really see what this trip has done to us, both physically and mentally. We went and saw the play which was excellently acted, and then came back to the hotel to get packed up. I'm going to try to get some sleep before we're forced on a plane.
9:32am 3.24.07
We sit in Heathrow airport again, but at least this time we have seats to sit in. The rapists from Alex City posted bail and are going home, though police investigation will continue. Our flight is at eleven, but we've been here since seven in the morning and they've yet to post our gate. We're sitting (some people miraculously can sleep) in the holding area surrounded by bustling crowds of people. But again, at least we have seats.
9am 3.25.07
I am home.
As you can imagine, it was quite the trip of a lifetime, in many many mixed ways. It took several weeks before any of us started to act or feel normally, and telling the story was little help. Mostly we wanted sympathy, but no matter how we expressed the events, the emotion was unclear. Then we reached the point where we never wanted to talk about it again. Now, I think, I have made it into a dinner party story in my head, one that I will tell for years--the worst spring break ever. In that way, I think, I am taking the power out of the story and making it my own--my power to wield as I choose.
I will not be beaten down by circumstance--my trip to Oxford this summer remains bright, and it will be. Just the act of putting down the words of everything that happened over spring break was a way I managed to cope--if anything the trip was a testament to the power of the written word.
Not that I needed any more evidence of that.
Molly
7:45pm 3.22.07
We are sitting in the Noel Coward theater about to see Avenue Q. We bought tickets for the balcony, but when we got here, they upgraded us to stalls! (Good luck? What?) However, the person in front of me is very tall, and I'm contemplating suicide. Boo.
Midnight 3.23.07
Well, I'll begin at the end and say that Avenue Q was incredible. The woman only partially obstructed my view, and the show was hysterical, creative, and a little bit bittersweet. It was one of the most satisfying theater experiences I've had.
Today started off with an interesting bus tour of London, including some great pictures, some rain, and a stop at the gorgeous St. Paul's Cathedral. Then there was the madness of Leicester Square and buying tickets. Lunch in a cute sandwich shop (pricy but good) and over three hours in the National Gallery. I saw half of the paintings/artists we studied in Art History, it was wonderful.
New favorite Monet: The Houses of Parliament at sunset. Favorite thing altogether? The eight small Seurat studies that showed his experimentation, which lead to the development of pointilism. Also the Bather's painting. Biggest disappointment? Finding out that La Grande Jatte was in Chicago and I missed it. Still I had an incredible, awe-inspiring time.
After this we met up with the group (The Alex City kids spent the entire day at the Hard Rock Cafe and looking for clubs) and had really good Indian food. Then there was the Q. As I've already said, it was wonderful. We took the Tube home, really excellent. That has to be one of the most efficient ways to travel. Tomorrow is a completely free day, and though I know that we can't do everything, I plan to have a fantastic time.
Oh, also today someone from EF came to talk to our teacher. I really hope we get partial reimbursement. We deserve it. On that note, I'm a little bit worried about the money situation, I haven't really kept track. As much fun as I'm (finally) having, by and large, I really just want to go home.
12:30am 3.24.07
Today at 5:45am) we get to go home. I just talked to mom and cried, I couldn't help it--I'm so happy to leave.
This past morning we woke up to find out that two girls on a completely separate tour in the same hotel claimed they were raped by two of the Alex City boys. They revealed this to a member of our group, meaning several of us had to give statements and be questioned (not me, thank God). This morning we went to the Tower of London, but I was so numb to it--all I remember was right before we saw the crown jewels this video of Elizabeth's coronation. She looked so beautiful and also scared and sad. But we had to stay in the gift shop for two hours while they questioned one of us. It was sickeningly stressful for all.
We saw those boys as being stupid and inconsiderate but not as monsters who (allegedly) raped 14 and 15 year old girls. I don't even want to think about it. Once all that mess was dealt with, we went to see the Globe (getting fairly lost along the way) and took a lot of pictures (not enough time or money to take a tour). Then to Leicester square for tickets to the Woman in Black and on to dinner. We had quite good fish and chips (I'm so glad we're past the peas and carrots stage). However, one of our group members had a total breakdown during dinner. It made me really see what this trip has done to us, both physically and mentally. We went and saw the play which was excellently acted, and then came back to the hotel to get packed up. I'm going to try to get some sleep before we're forced on a plane.
9:32am 3.24.07
We sit in Heathrow airport again, but at least this time we have seats to sit in. The rapists from Alex City posted bail and are going home, though police investigation will continue. Our flight is at eleven, but we've been here since seven in the morning and they've yet to post our gate. We're sitting (some people miraculously can sleep) in the holding area surrounded by bustling crowds of people. But again, at least we have seats.
9am 3.25.07
I am home.
As you can imagine, it was quite the trip of a lifetime, in many many mixed ways. It took several weeks before any of us started to act or feel normally, and telling the story was little help. Mostly we wanted sympathy, but no matter how we expressed the events, the emotion was unclear. Then we reached the point where we never wanted to talk about it again. Now, I think, I have made it into a dinner party story in my head, one that I will tell for years--the worst spring break ever. In that way, I think, I am taking the power out of the story and making it my own--my power to wield as I choose.
I will not be beaten down by circumstance--my trip to Oxford this summer remains bright, and it will be. Just the act of putting down the words of everything that happened over spring break was a way I managed to cope--if anything the trip was a testament to the power of the written word.
Not that I needed any more evidence of that.
Molly
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
The Travel Journal (part three)
8am 3.20.07
We are now on the Ulysses, the largest ferry in the world. It's like a cruise ship that runs between Ireland and Wales. We're taking the route which takes a slow four hours, leaving Ireland behind and heading for Wales.
6:42 pm 3.20.07
What a lovely day. After a long (slightly nauseating) ferry ride during which we befriended art student and Irishman Ross, we got aboard a bus and headed into Angelsey, an island off the coast. The landscape was rolling and green with more sheep than people (to quote tour guide Matt) much like Ireland but craggier, more wild in its beauty. Compare the Bronte sisters, Charlotte and Emily--that is Ireland and Wales. I love Wales--it is shockingly beautiful. We ate lunch at an authentic countryside fish and chips place (greasy and delicious) and talked to the owners; an old husband and wife duo who gave us advice about hiding our money and called our group "Ala-bah-ma."
Then we asked to take our picture with the man. His wife spent forever looking through the camera only to say that she needed her glasses. His response? "Christ on a bike!" A wonderful phrase I fully intend to use. Words can't describe what comes next: Beaumaris Castle. In ruins and utterly picturesque. I fell in love with it, and the Snowdonia mountains in one incredible hour. Now I'm about to eat dinner in our adorable hotel restaurant, and although I've yet to see them, our entire group should be present.
9:11pm 3.20.07
Well, they're back. Yesterday they spent fifteen hours sitting on the floor of Heathrow Airport (ie. hell). Two girls were ill, spending the morning vomiting, the rest utterly broke down. They were finally rescued by a guy from EF, but he told them not to come to Dublin that night, that if they spent the night in London they'd get to tour Wales with us today. Obviously he lied. But the girls did not find out until they arrived in Wales that they'd completely missed all the touring. They went to the pub. It makes me sick to think of all that has happened to us, but especially to them. What have any of us done?
Tomorrow, day 6, the tour will begin for half of our group. But as much as I hate it, and if I'd known what was going to happen I would have stayed with them, I still had a lovely day, and I'm still really happy about it. Sort of.
Quotes from our fellow tour group from Alex City, AL:
1. In Wales do they speak Wale-ese?...No dude, I don't think that's a language.
2. Does roasted lamb taste like chicken?
3. Is salmon like sushi?
4. We went to the gas station and got some Budweiser and Corona--we didn't like that Guinness stuff.
5. We have music appreciation at my school--we listen to the AFI and talk about it.
6. I'm a loser...(us: Oh no!)...No, I'm a cool loser. With an -eur. (ie. loseur) It's an English spelling.
7. (about some Welsh word) I swear that says Robin Williams!
Some people should never be allowed to leave the country. I hate that they got to have our whole tour. Also, I'm scared because I have no English currency whatsoever and no viable way of getting any. Plus my "roommate" left me alone in the hotel room. Oh well. Shower and bed await, I guess.
7:45am 3.22.07
Yesterday made me so happy. Anne Hathaway's cottage was lovely and intriguing. The town of Stratford was picturesque and friendly, stuck in the past in the same gentle way as the "modern" parts of Williamsburg. Warrick Castle was disappointing, only an hour of rushed touring, and it felt much more like an amusement park than an authentic place. But on the bus I read my book and had interesting discussions with various people, and for dinner (in London) we all ate "pub grub" at the Wheatsheaf across the street from our hotel (a Comfort Inn). Afterwards Matt took us on a night walking tour down the Thames. It was incredibly beautiful in a completely different way than the nature of Wales. Today will be the first of our two days in London (mostly free time). This trip is finally working out.
So I thought. Next week: Our London (mis)adventures.
We are now on the Ulysses, the largest ferry in the world. It's like a cruise ship that runs between Ireland and Wales. We're taking the route which takes a slow four hours, leaving Ireland behind and heading for Wales.
6:42 pm 3.20.07
What a lovely day. After a long (slightly nauseating) ferry ride during which we befriended art student and Irishman Ross, we got aboard a bus and headed into Angelsey, an island off the coast. The landscape was rolling and green with more sheep than people (to quote tour guide Matt) much like Ireland but craggier, more wild in its beauty. Compare the Bronte sisters, Charlotte and Emily--that is Ireland and Wales. I love Wales--it is shockingly beautiful. We ate lunch at an authentic countryside fish and chips place (greasy and delicious) and talked to the owners; an old husband and wife duo who gave us advice about hiding our money and called our group "Ala-bah-ma."
Then we asked to take our picture with the man. His wife spent forever looking through the camera only to say that she needed her glasses. His response? "Christ on a bike!" A wonderful phrase I fully intend to use. Words can't describe what comes next: Beaumaris Castle. In ruins and utterly picturesque. I fell in love with it, and the Snowdonia mountains in one incredible hour. Now I'm about to eat dinner in our adorable hotel restaurant, and although I've yet to see them, our entire group should be present.
9:11pm 3.20.07
Well, they're back. Yesterday they spent fifteen hours sitting on the floor of Heathrow Airport (ie. hell). Two girls were ill, spending the morning vomiting, the rest utterly broke down. They were finally rescued by a guy from EF, but he told them not to come to Dublin that night, that if they spent the night in London they'd get to tour Wales with us today. Obviously he lied. But the girls did not find out until they arrived in Wales that they'd completely missed all the touring. They went to the pub. It makes me sick to think of all that has happened to us, but especially to them. What have any of us done?
Tomorrow, day 6, the tour will begin for half of our group. But as much as I hate it, and if I'd known what was going to happen I would have stayed with them, I still had a lovely day, and I'm still really happy about it. Sort of.
Quotes from our fellow tour group from Alex City, AL:
1. In Wales do they speak Wale-ese?...No dude, I don't think that's a language.
2. Does roasted lamb taste like chicken?
3. Is salmon like sushi?
4. We went to the gas station and got some Budweiser and Corona--we didn't like that Guinness stuff.
5. We have music appreciation at my school--we listen to the AFI and talk about it.
6. I'm a loser...(us: Oh no!)...No, I'm a cool loser. With an -eur. (ie. loseur) It's an English spelling.
7. (about some Welsh word) I swear that says Robin Williams!
Some people should never be allowed to leave the country. I hate that they got to have our whole tour. Also, I'm scared because I have no English currency whatsoever and no viable way of getting any. Plus my "roommate" left me alone in the hotel room. Oh well. Shower and bed await, I guess.
7:45am 3.22.07
Yesterday made me so happy. Anne Hathaway's cottage was lovely and intriguing. The town of Stratford was picturesque and friendly, stuck in the past in the same gentle way as the "modern" parts of Williamsburg. Warrick Castle was disappointing, only an hour of rushed touring, and it felt much more like an amusement park than an authentic place. But on the bus I read my book and had interesting discussions with various people, and for dinner (in London) we all ate "pub grub" at the Wheatsheaf across the street from our hotel (a Comfort Inn). Afterwards Matt took us on a night walking tour down the Thames. It was incredibly beautiful in a completely different way than the nature of Wales. Today will be the first of our two days in London (mostly free time). This trip is finally working out.
So I thought. Next week: Our London (mis)adventures.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
The Travel Journal (part two)
12:30pm, 3.18.07
We are about to leave our "home" at the Motel 6 and head back to the O'Hare International Airport. We do have to be there for about five hours, but supposedly there are lots of cute shops (spending money, just what I need) and that's good. Hopefully I will be able to find out the balance on my card--I definitely did not expect a two day unfunded layover when I planned my budget, Still, we're happy, rested(ish), clean, and about to fly overseas to take the train to Wales. (Mold, Wales, to be exact).
4:10pm, 3.18.07
Sitting at the airport. We board at 5:40--at least, we are supposed to. We are warm, fed, and comfortable, though I look forward to being all those things whilst flying over the Atlantic. Also free food and drink will be an excellent amenity, as everything here is overpriced to the extreme. I still have plenty of money, so I don't have to worry, and it definitely won't go as quickly when we aren't "paying to survive" as one girl put it. The enormous unfairness of it all has yet to really hit me. I just hope we can be practically reimbursed.
6:15am, 3.19.07
Landing in the UK! At last we are over London (Heathrow) after a seven hour (sleepless) flight. But after breakfast and coffee, I am excited and ready to be in a new country. This morning we saw the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean--except all we could see was a pink horizon line and a sea of billowing grey clouds. Down we go!
1:00 3.19.07
Dublin! Heathrow was an appalling mess. We were so so excruciatingly tired and there were hundreds of people yelling in all different languages. Then only six of us got on one flight--the rest are coming in a couple of hours. Now we are riding the bus to our hotel with Matt--out tour guide! Ireland is beautiful, and we now know where our luggage is. I have mine--I nearly cried when it came around the conveyor belt. Surely this trip will finally be good.
10:09, 3.19.07
This has been a day of intense ups and downs. D, B, E, and I were set loose in Dublin on our own, We went to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells, then the Long Room (most unbelievable library, high vaulted ceilings and floor to ceiling ancient leather bound books. The long hall was lined with marble busts of literary figures, and the room smelt of knowledge. It was heaven.) We then shopped for souvenirs and all was glorious (if painfully cold). But then we were picked up by our bus only to find that the group left in London had split again.
Only five of them got to Dublin, the rest would be stranded for the night. It is disgusting. This journal has been positive for the most part, glossing over the reality that this trip has been terrible in so many ways. We put so much money and so many dreams into it, and it gave us heartache in return, as melodramatic as that sounds. I have now been awake for over two days, isn't that strange to think about? We ate a "traditional" (meat and potatoes) dinner and went to the famous Temple Bar for some lovely cider and not-quite-so-lovely Guinness. I need to crash, but we have a 5:45 wake up call, and we're taking an early ferry to Wales tomorrow where everyone else will meet us. We hope.
I think I will divide this into two more posts, Wales/Stratford and London. Think lots has happened already? Are you in for a roller coaster or what? Seriously, I don't know what we did in former lives, but the universe has had her vengeance in triplicate.
We are about to leave our "home" at the Motel 6 and head back to the O'Hare International Airport. We do have to be there for about five hours, but supposedly there are lots of cute shops (spending money, just what I need) and that's good. Hopefully I will be able to find out the balance on my card--I definitely did not expect a two day unfunded layover when I planned my budget, Still, we're happy, rested(ish), clean, and about to fly overseas to take the train to Wales. (Mold, Wales, to be exact).
4:10pm, 3.18.07
Sitting at the airport. We board at 5:40--at least, we are supposed to. We are warm, fed, and comfortable, though I look forward to being all those things whilst flying over the Atlantic. Also free food and drink will be an excellent amenity, as everything here is overpriced to the extreme. I still have plenty of money, so I don't have to worry, and it definitely won't go as quickly when we aren't "paying to survive" as one girl put it. The enormous unfairness of it all has yet to really hit me. I just hope we can be practically reimbursed.
6:15am, 3.19.07
Landing in the UK! At last we are over London (Heathrow) after a seven hour (sleepless) flight. But after breakfast and coffee, I am excited and ready to be in a new country. This morning we saw the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean--except all we could see was a pink horizon line and a sea of billowing grey clouds. Down we go!
1:00 3.19.07
Dublin! Heathrow was an appalling mess. We were so so excruciatingly tired and there were hundreds of people yelling in all different languages. Then only six of us got on one flight--the rest are coming in a couple of hours. Now we are riding the bus to our hotel with Matt--out tour guide! Ireland is beautiful, and we now know where our luggage is. I have mine--I nearly cried when it came around the conveyor belt. Surely this trip will finally be good.
10:09, 3.19.07
This has been a day of intense ups and downs. D, B, E, and I were set loose in Dublin on our own, We went to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells, then the Long Room (most unbelievable library, high vaulted ceilings and floor to ceiling ancient leather bound books. The long hall was lined with marble busts of literary figures, and the room smelt of knowledge. It was heaven.) We then shopped for souvenirs and all was glorious (if painfully cold). But then we were picked up by our bus only to find that the group left in London had split again.
Only five of them got to Dublin, the rest would be stranded for the night. It is disgusting. This journal has been positive for the most part, glossing over the reality that this trip has been terrible in so many ways. We put so much money and so many dreams into it, and it gave us heartache in return, as melodramatic as that sounds. I have now been awake for over two days, isn't that strange to think about? We ate a "traditional" (meat and potatoes) dinner and went to the famous Temple Bar for some lovely cider and not-quite-so-lovely Guinness. I need to crash, but we have a 5:45 wake up call, and we're taking an early ferry to Wales tomorrow where everyone else will meet us. We hope.
I think I will divide this into two more posts, Wales/Stratford and London. Think lots has happened already? Are you in for a roller coaster or what? Seriously, I don't know what we did in former lives, but the universe has had her vengeance in triplicate.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The Travel Journal (part one)
This is the (slightly edited and refined) journal I kept on my trip to Ireland, Wales, and England. Ie: The Worst Trip Ever. Literary references will flow throughout...ish.
10pm, 3.16.07
After spending almost eight hours in the Birmingham Airport waiting for our delayed plane, we finally are in the air. I feel I've bonded with my fellow travelers in our treacherous journey thus far. I am exhausted and hungry and slightly ill, but we are on the way to Chicago now. From then, who knows? We may have to spend the night--whether in a hotel or airport is uncertain. Even though it isn't Europe, it's still further from home than I've ever been. I'm dreamy right now, from the whir of the plane and the popping of my ears. I want to rest, but know I'll be woken soon. How full life is of surprises. My horoscope today said that plans would unexpectedly change with spectacular results. I'm feeling optimistic.
12am. 3.17.07
The descent into Chicago was like falling into something unbelievable--one of Gatsby's wildly exploding parties. As the lights grew bigger, I wondered why there were spots that were light less--only to recognize them as grey clouds suspended in the air below us. It felt like a secret sight, like the chimney sweep scene in Mary Poppins--something mystic and serene and utterly surprising. Now we sit in a clump in the O'Hare baggage claim waiting for luggage that will never come.
It seems that we will be missing out in Ireland entirely. We will spend some time in Chicago. We've officially nicknamed the baggage claim conveyor belt the River Styx. The airport? The Waste Land. Ah, life. I feel like a Beat poet, a vagrant, lurking and jiving through America.
10am. 3.17.07
After sinking deeply into the throes of despair last night in baggage claim, we checked into a Motel 6 for the "night" at about four in the morning. At nine we got up, thinking that we had to go back to the airport--they told us if we weren't all there with our passports we couldn't even discuss moving up our flight. They lied, only our chaperon had to be present. Now we're sitting at Denny's eating breakfast and preparing to spend the day in Chicago, as well as most of tomorrow.
Another night in the smoky Motel 6, but what can you do? It's almost romantically seedy. Our flights are at six tomorrow--so they're telling us we'll have a full day in Dublin. Life looks up.
12pm. 3.17.07
We're about to go shopping and to the art institute. We're bundling up as best we can and feeling pretty happy. At least Chicago has a fairly big St. Patrick's Day celebration--they dye the river green!
1pm. 3.17.07
After walking a literal mile into the 30 degree wind, I am writing this on the El train as we head downtown.
9:40pm. 3.17.07
The Cezanne to Picasso, Vollard exhibit was incredible. I love the Institute of Art, I could have spent days there. Favorite hands down was Derain's Big Ben. Then shopping and back to our motel home. Tomorrow we will sleep in and then go to the airport for our 6 o'clock flight. Finally we'll leave the US!
10pm, 3.16.07
After spending almost eight hours in the Birmingham Airport waiting for our delayed plane, we finally are in the air. I feel I've bonded with my fellow travelers in our treacherous journey thus far. I am exhausted and hungry and slightly ill, but we are on the way to Chicago now. From then, who knows? We may have to spend the night--whether in a hotel or airport is uncertain. Even though it isn't Europe, it's still further from home than I've ever been. I'm dreamy right now, from the whir of the plane and the popping of my ears. I want to rest, but know I'll be woken soon. How full life is of surprises. My horoscope today said that plans would unexpectedly change with spectacular results. I'm feeling optimistic.
12am. 3.17.07
The descent into Chicago was like falling into something unbelievable--one of Gatsby's wildly exploding parties. As the lights grew bigger, I wondered why there were spots that were light less--only to recognize them as grey clouds suspended in the air below us. It felt like a secret sight, like the chimney sweep scene in Mary Poppins--something mystic and serene and utterly surprising. Now we sit in a clump in the O'Hare baggage claim waiting for luggage that will never come.
It seems that we will be missing out in Ireland entirely. We will spend some time in Chicago. We've officially nicknamed the baggage claim conveyor belt the River Styx. The airport? The Waste Land. Ah, life. I feel like a Beat poet, a vagrant, lurking and jiving through America.
10am. 3.17.07
After sinking deeply into the throes of despair last night in baggage claim, we checked into a Motel 6 for the "night" at about four in the morning. At nine we got up, thinking that we had to go back to the airport--they told us if we weren't all there with our passports we couldn't even discuss moving up our flight. They lied, only our chaperon had to be present. Now we're sitting at Denny's eating breakfast and preparing to spend the day in Chicago, as well as most of tomorrow.
Another night in the smoky Motel 6, but what can you do? It's almost romantically seedy. Our flights are at six tomorrow--so they're telling us we'll have a full day in Dublin. Life looks up.
12pm. 3.17.07
We're about to go shopping and to the art institute. We're bundling up as best we can and feeling pretty happy. At least Chicago has a fairly big St. Patrick's Day celebration--they dye the river green!
1pm. 3.17.07
After walking a literal mile into the 30 degree wind, I am writing this on the El train as we head downtown.
9:40pm. 3.17.07
The Cezanne to Picasso, Vollard exhibit was incredible. I love the Institute of Art, I could have spent days there. Favorite hands down was Derain's Big Ben. Then shopping and back to our motel home. Tomorrow we will sleep in and then go to the airport for our 6 o'clock flight. Finally we'll leave the US!
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
A picture is worth 1,000 words
So, yesterday I started The Picture of Dorian Gray by the fab Oscar Wilde. I'm about halfway through, and wishing I was reading rather than blogging. This book is great stuff. The story is enthralling, twisty, etc, the wit is...witty. However, I don't really like any of the characters. I mean, the painter guy is probably the coolest, but he's a little drippy for my tastes--takes everything lying down. The author seems to want to portray this as him being deeply engrossed in his art. Maybe.
Lord Henry what's-his-name speaks entirely in aphorisms of his own slightly twisted creation. He wildly influences the title character, and not in a good way. I abhor cynicism and pessimism in both people and characters. He is the picture of decadant reclining ennui. While this is a picturesque thing in the short term, and he is certainly the soul of the style in which the book is written...it gets old.
As far as Dorian, I have to say I don't have a good feeling as to where this is going. Due entirely to Lord-freaking-Henry's influence, he is devolving from a magical child beauty to a cruel and hard young man astonishingly quickly.
Although I'm not really feeling the characters (except for the tragic and beautiful Sybil...oh how I love her) I have to applaud the artistry of Wilde--I still want to read about and know what is going to happen to them, even though I can easily predict it will only go downhill from here. I know that Dorian will make the choice for eternal youth...I mean, duh. And of course with that choice will come tragedy and downfall. But hey, I'm so in for the ride.
As the trip nears, and Dublin beckons-- I will not only see Oscar Wilde's birthplace, but also I will go on the BRAM STOKER DRACULA TOUR. Florence Balcombe would be having a field day. Plus a visit to their alma mater, Trinity College. I just love seats of knowledge and literature.
Maybe I'll see a fairy ring.
Molly
Lord Henry what's-his-name speaks entirely in aphorisms of his own slightly twisted creation. He wildly influences the title character, and not in a good way. I abhor cynicism and pessimism in both people and characters. He is the picture of decadant reclining ennui. While this is a picturesque thing in the short term, and he is certainly the soul of the style in which the book is written...it gets old.
As far as Dorian, I have to say I don't have a good feeling as to where this is going. Due entirely to Lord-freaking-Henry's influence, he is devolving from a magical child beauty to a cruel and hard young man astonishingly quickly.
Although I'm not really feeling the characters (except for the tragic and beautiful Sybil...oh how I love her) I have to applaud the artistry of Wilde--I still want to read about and know what is going to happen to them, even though I can easily predict it will only go downhill from here. I know that Dorian will make the choice for eternal youth...I mean, duh. And of course with that choice will come tragedy and downfall. But hey, I'm so in for the ride.
As the trip nears, and Dublin beckons-- I will not only see Oscar Wilde's birthplace, but also I will go on the BRAM STOKER DRACULA TOUR. Florence Balcombe would be having a field day. Plus a visit to their alma mater, Trinity College. I just love seats of knowledge and literature.
Maybe I'll see a fairy ring.
Molly
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