Niceties

The Brits are not falsely friendly. In other words, if they don’t know you they won’t pretend to be your friend in the way an American would. With Americans it is always, “Hello. How you doing? How’s the family? Great to hear it.” Not the case here across the pond.

In a way I much prefer it the British method. For those who know me well you know that I don’t enjoy being falsely friendly. To be perfectly honest, if I never had to say hello to a single person that I saw on the street I would be perfectly content. Not that I am a recluse or anything. I just really hate chit chat and small talk.

But I have grown accustomed to it. I do it. It’s fine. And because I have become used to it, it is weird to not have to do it here. It is relieving in a certain sense. My concern, however, is that I don’t have a gage on when small talk starts to become acceptable here. Take the people who work at the gym, for instance. I see the same faces four or five times a week. I even have to talk to them because I have to tell them whether I am going to the pool or the fitness area (They have a crazy system there where they print out a receipt and then I deposit that receipt in a basket at a different location even though I’m pretty sure all they do is throw them out without checking them).

But back to the point. Should I try to engage in small talk with the receipt lady? I do sometimes hear the person behind me or in front of me doing it, but I seem to think those people are the minority. Perhaps they actually know the receipt lady. They might even know her well enough so they don’t refer to her simply as “receipt lady.” Who knows? Would it be impolite to be too polite? Would receipt lady take it as phony? Would she be put off by the phoniness? It’s too much of a risk to try it. I have to face this woman several times a week. I would like to avoid as many awkward interactions as possible.

Enough about me. How are you doing?

Comments Welcome,

Andrew

Night Bus

Boston and London share one major flaw: The subway closes entirely too early. This weekend the midnight shutdown was especially troubling. On Friday we were in Notting Hill (a fairly diverse area that is relatively low key). We decided to call it a night and looked at the time. It was 12:10. The Tube stops running at about 12:30, but of course some trains stop earlier. Not wanting to seem ridiculous, we walked briskly to the station rather than full-out sprinting. I can’t sprint anyway given my fairly recent surgery.

When we got underground, officials were guarding the scan-in booths. “Where you lads headed?” We told her, and she said that there were no more trains going to South Kensington for the night. Blast!

We had two options: cab or night bus. Prices being what they are, we decided on the latter. The problem was that we couldn’t find a bus going in the right direction. We walked around (literally round meaning in circles) and found nothing. We did come upon a number 70 station, but the bus was going in the opposite direction. Logically, the 70 in the other direction (the correct direction) should have had a station on the other side of the street. We crossed. Not a 70 in sight. We hailed a cab.

On Saturday a larger group of us (three guys and two girls) headed out to Shoreditch, a pretty trendy nightlife area. We had a grand time, but at 1ish decided to call it a night. We knew the Tube was closed. And this time a cab was not really an option because there were too many of us and Shoreditch is too far to pay for two cabs. We wandered around until we found a bus going to Piccadilly Circus (no bus goes from Shoreditch to South Ken directly). From Piccadilly, we caught our bus to South Ken. Sounds easy, right? Well yea it wasn’t difficult, but the problem was it added almost two hours onto the night. Instead of being home at around 1:30, we didn’t make it home until about 3:30. It was quite frustrating.

Sorry for no pictures, but I don’t have anything new to show you. This weekend starts my Spring Break so I will definitely have great images from that trip. Also, if you click on the ads above I make money. But don’t do it too much because Google catches on. Just every time you check a new post, give a click. Thanks.

Comments Welcome,

Andrew

Shunt

I have to tell you about this place that we went last night. It was called Shunt. Sort of like saying shouldn’t really quickly. It was a theatre/bar inside the London Bridge tube station. I wish I had pictures because I am not sure if you will get the full sense of what it was like without them.

So once you come up the elevator and leave the swipe-out station, you turn to your right and there is this really eerie-looking brick wall that borders and equally eerie narrow doorway. I was reminded slightly of Alice in Wonderland where she goes through the small door while following the Mad Hatter. And the place had the same type of goes-on-forever feel. As soon as you enter the dark narrow entrance, a cloud of fog hits your face. Keep in mind that this is all underground. I think it was built in what used to be an old part of the tube station. The place was very darkly lit and they purposely played creepy music and had lights behind all these oddly shaped structures to create ominous shadows. Everyone in my group, including me, was a little scared so walking through we clutched each other like Dorothy, the Tin man, the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion walking through the forest. We walked back nearly 200 yards.

At the end of this underground tunnel was a theater. It was well let and had several stadium seats facing the stage. The stage was wet (it apparently had to do with the show that we had just missed). Then we turned right and found the most spacious (albeit underground) bar I have ever laid eyes on. The whole place felt so cavernous. Tables were quite far away from one another. Even if it was crowded (which it was mildly so) you could go the entire night without bumping into another person. It felt entirely surreal.

Although we didn’t witness any, the place is known for spontaneous performances. There certainly was plenty of space for it. I’m trying to think of a good comparison so you can really picture what this place looked like. I guess it sort of reminded me of Grand Central Station if there were no outlet to the outside. It was almost that spacious and it had a roof curved in a similar way.

The other thing about this place was that it had coed bathrooms. Individual stalls made it pretty comfortable, but this was my first experience with this type of restroom. Nothing embarrassing to report about it although my roommate said when he walked out of the stall and saw a girl his immediate reaction was “oh man I just peed in the lady’s room.”

So that’s it. Just wanted to tell you about Shunts because it is like no place I have ever been to.

Oh, and apparently people have been having troubling commenting because after a few times using a nickname, blogspot wants you to register that nickname. You don’t have to register (although if you want to you can). Instead you can just publish an anonymous comment and sign it at the end. But make sure to sign it because I won’t respond to an anonymous comment. With that said:

Comments Welcome,

Andrew

Taking Notice

I won’t be able to post tomorrow because I have to finish a paper so I’ll get this out now because it may not be too relevant by Thursday. Well not fresh anyway.
After Wales I had to do two things. Well I guess three but two of them are related. One was buy groceries (standard for new week) and the other was wash my clothes. The third thing was wash and dry my sneakers, which basically goes with laundry for all you nitpickers. You see I brought both pairs of sneakers to Wales. I was warned ahead of time that one pair would get wet as they would be on my feet whilst I plunged into the 40 degree water from 20 feet. The other pair got incredibly muddy on the Sunday hike along the coastline. So there you have it. The stage is set.

Now I want you to picture something. My only clean pair of outdoor footwear remaining was my dress shoes. And in order to transport my laundry to the laundry mat (which does it all for me for 10 pounds) I use my large backpacking backpack. So I was wearing my dress shoes while lugging the backpack that says “Obviously I am a tourist.” For better or worse I am aware that people think things when they pass. In this country people are really good about not staring, but it is obvious that they take notice. So on the one hand they all thought they were so clever. They had me identified from the minute they saw my pack. “This kid is a tourist. He has no clue where he is going. Let’s turn our noses up.”

But then I was wearing dress shoes. That doesn’t quite add up does it? Why would someone backpack across Europe in stiff shoes and not sneakers? Makes no sense. That’s what’s so interesting about judgments. They have no bearing on anything. I actually passed an Asian couple looking for directions who breezed right past me and stopped the person behind me. Whether or not I could have helped is neither here nor there. The point is they didn’t try me because they made a snap judgment.

I wonder what people thought when they saw me turn into the laundry mat. “Ahh I get it, he is using it to transport his laundry. Resourceful kid.”

And later when I used my pack to transport groceries I was faced with presenting the same image. I guess in the end it doesn’t matter. It’s just part of me hates having to look like a tourist when I don’t feel like one. But I guess I am still harping on one of the main themes of this trip: at what point do I stop being a tourist? Does using the bag like a fulltime resident make up for the fact that I have the touristy knapsack in the first place? Who knows? And in reality, no one probably noticed me anyway. I sure can’t remember anyone I saw on that walk (well except the Chinese couple).

Comments Welcome,

Andrew

Wales

Driving from the train station in Wales to the Preseli Lodge I thought a lot about music and how it relates to our memories. There were only five BU students on the trip (me and 4 girls). We were picked up at the train station by a cab called DJ cab, which lived up to its name. The driver bumped some pretty righteous tunes, but I couldn’t help but think “this isn’t right.” We were driving through one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen (although it was nighttime so I didn’t know it yet) and rambunctious hip-hop, R and B and pop songs were buzzing out of the speakers. The girls got really excited when Amy Winehouse’s Valerie came on. It became the theme song of the trip. But the problem with having a theme song is that now I will forever associate those lyrics with Wales. The two are pretty incongruous but will always be linked by my mind. Though maybe that is a great thing. Now I get to remember Wales whenever that song comes on the radio. But I don’t think it deserves to have that prestige. But because the power music has over memory, Amy Winehouse cheated her way into one of the most pristine memories I may ever have.

I guess that’s beside the point. The south coast of Wales was incredible. We went kayaking, we hiked along the Atlantic ocean and the Irish sea. We even jumped off cliffs into some of the bluest water I have ever set sight on. We stayed in a town called Pembrokeshire.

The back roads were pretty crazy. (Pictured here) The banks are so high and the road is so narrow so that you feel half underground when you ride on them. It really makes you feel like you are completely out of view from the world. You feel almost lost. Finding bearings is quite difficult from halfway underground. Also, when two cars come from opposite directions, one has to reverse until the other car can fit. It is not too efficient.

The water was about 40 degrees Fahrenheit, but at about 10 am on Saturday the four girls and I (along with our guide) jumped right into the Atlantic. We had on full wet suits, but those failed to help our exteriors. I don’t know if you can feel much more alive.

The girls were surprisingly not really outdoorsy. I thought anyone on this trip would be a real hiker/camper person. These girls were more Ugg than hiking boot, more Northface than Columbia. Still, they did well. Complaining stayed to a minimum and they participated in each activity. I guess I was just slightly disappointed that I didn’t meet people I had more in common with. Oh well. Plus they were quite nice.

To go kayaking, we had to put on full wetsuits, waterproof jackets, gloves, boots, outer shorts, these skirt things that kept the water out of the boats and life preservers. I had to pee as soon as I finished suiting up. It was a long 3 hrs, and I let a lot of fluids out in some woods in Pembrokeshire.

We kayaked in this lagoon (above) and played a few games including Kayak Polo. While trying to pass the ball to one of my teammates, who was behind me, I lost my balance and went in. It was freezing especially because all the gear trapped the water.

It felt great to see the ocean and be away from London. I love cities, but I also like to get away from them. At the bar at the lodge they had a beer called Hobgoblin Ale, which was a dark amber color and had a real smooth finish. London Pride has competition.

Here are a couple videos I tried taking. I think (if these work) I will try to make short video clips a fairly regular thing. In the second video, just listen to the fury of the ocean.

Comments Welcome,

Andrew

See you March 4

So it is official. I will be working at The Observer starting on March 4. If you click on the title of this post you can access the Web site. I had my “interview” with them yesterday. Mostly it was just a tour of the office and shaking the hands of the few people who were there. Sports reporters have a great life. First of all, they don’t have to get into the office until 11 am. And once in the office they have a ton of fun it seems. Their job is to watch sports and write about it! That’s pretty incredible. Sure they may have to work on Saturdays, but it is likely they would be watching the games anyway.

The office itself is very relaxed. It actually reminded me of the Sports Section of the old FreeP office (for those who know what that looks like). There were beer and alcohol bottles strewn about a mess of papers. On the walls: a mini basketball hoop, the Boards from last week’s edition. (No dart board, however).

The deputy editor, Oliver Owen was very relaxed. He told me that jeans will be fine to wear (I had a tie on for the “interview”) and he said they like to have a lot of fun in the office (incase you couldn’t tell). I forgot to mention the two high def televisions they have. Anyway, he actually asked me if I like to drink. That scares me a little perhaps, but I think it just contributes the feeling of the office. And if they have to work till midnight on Saturdays I guess I can’t really blame them. Like I originally said, this internship seems like it will be quite entertaining.

Still, Mr. Owen did mention a lot of work. I will be responsible for researching things and the more progress I show the more opportunities I will have. I am confident that with the right ethic, I can get something published. But we will see. He actually mentioned blogging about games as an opportunity (and a lot of people from all over the world read their blogs).

What I liked about Oliver Owen was that he really was interested in having a conversation with me. He wanted to get to know me, but at the same time we talked a lot about the purpose of writing sports. He and I shared a lot of views (such as keeping it simple and lively and not getting too bogged down in mechanics).

So I just wanted to keep you informed. No insights really, but sometime it is just nice to be in the know. This weekend I am going to the coast of Wales where I will have some hiking and kayaking opportunities. There also may be the chance to jump off a cliff into this deep pool. Not sure if I will go through with the jump when the time comes, but I hope I do. I will be staying in a lodge with other kids from the BU program (I booked this trip through BU). I’ll post probably on Monday.

Comments Welcome,

Andrew

Duetchland?

So the flight for Germany left at 7:30 am on Friday. That meant we had to leave for the airport right around 4 am. Which meant sleep was hard to come by. Actually, my roommates and I went out for a bit with the thinking that we weren’t going to get a lot of sleep as it was. I got just one hour.

You have to take a bus to get to Stansted Airport. It was a cold morning – the coldest it has been and between the lack of sleep and the frigid air tucking itself behind my earlobes and refusing to leave, it was difficult to get warm. The bus was a godsend (and I am not religious). It was a balmy temperature, had spacious seating and the pleasant mrrr it made as it slowly departed central London created a climate as conducive for sleeping as almost any bed – at least at that moment.

We arrived at Stansted with plenty of time and approached the kiosk. No lines. Things were going swimmingly. That is until I actually tried to check in. They claimed to have record of my attempt to purchase a ticket but said that my credit card denied the charge. The result? I had no ticket to Germany. Surely it wasn’t a full flight. Can I just buy a ticket now? It was going to cost me 230 pounds for one weekend. That is more than my Spring Break trip cost me and that trip lasts more than a week.

Here’s the real trouble. I was pretty central to this whole trip because my flat mates and I were planning on staying with Pat who is my friend. So could they stay there without me? Should I fork over nearly $500? I decided I couldn’t do it. Not even to make them more comfortable. Dolan is friendly and he was going to be meeting them at the gate. Besides, he met them all when he visited London and they all got along quite well. It’s the reason one of the girls actually planned the trip. I never made it to Germany.

Apparently Dolan met them at the gate dressed in some skirt-type getup wearing a funny hat. It was all part of Carnival. I was told he said (and repeated throughout the entire weekend) “I can’t believe Waitey isn’t here.” But I guess they had a great time and it worked out for the best. Well, it worked out.

If you are wondering about my financial situation, the transaction failure appears to be a fluke. I have withdrawn money since and booked my Spring Break travel and hostel accommodations and have been charged for it. I have no explanation for what happened. I was even sent a confirmation number! But at least I saved money. I spent the weekend doing some London things like the British Museum and walking around Oxford Street (5^th Ave of London). I also visited the Chelsea Football Stadium which is only a 25 minute walk from my flat.

Just a quick word on the Superbowl, which I watched until 3 am at the Texas Embassy in Piccadilly Circus: Perfection.

Comments Welcome,

Andrew