The busiest travel day of the year

The Austerlitz airport was crowded but silent when I arrived.  Not surprisingly, I was 2 hours early and quickly caught wind that trains were running late.  This too was not shocking as the week of snow in Europe has caused chaos.

I picked my way through the masses of people standing before each of the three giant train schedule signs.  Glowing in orange lights were times beginning just past 1pm; it was presently 6pm.

I found a seat on a slab of concrete along a billboarded wall and contemplated what to do until the platform would be announced for the Barcelona train.  My bum had not yet frozen against the cold, improvised bench when the intercom chimed duh dun daaa duh and a woman speaking in French  gave an update.  A few cheers went up to the sky and I looked around perplexed.  I queried the girl to my right who briefly explained the reaction of the people who  had been waiting many hours.

A group of four young women and one older man began chanting – I can only guess it was a rally for their specific trains to be assigned a platform.

Just then it happened.

Lights illuminated and cheers once again broke the stillness of a busy train station.  Then swoosh!  Like a director shouting ¨scene¨ the characters broke their pose and a flurry of commotion ensued.  Some went right, some went left.  The girl to my side jumped up with a huge grin, grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase and dashed to her platform.  Wheels spun, feet pattered – energy rushed.

I watched the blur of people go this way and that way.  Two pet owners held tight to the leash of their eager dogs while babies in prams yelped at the disturbance of motion.  Train employees zoomed by on segways.  The scene was all very amusing.

And then it stopped.

The station is now normal.  Some wait for platform numbers while others grab a panini for supper.  I can now see across to the doorway where I entered.  With bum now feeling like ice I wait and gaze up with fingers crossed that I will not suffer a similar fate.

Smelly Cheese and Achey Feet

Back in Paris and goodness this keyboard sucks!  But otherwise it is lovely even in the dead of winter.  Somehow there is magic in this city even with gray skies and bare trees.  Ill definitely need to come back again… but perhaps in a month other than December.  Maybe as a May birthday present to myself?

So far we have eaten a few delightful pasteries.  Tomorrow will be about crepes and for our Aris last night we will definitely find a nice French cafe.

My new favorite thing about this city are the rent a bikes.  I dont know where to get an access card but if I had one Id brave the streets but perhaps not the Arc d Triomphe circle of chaos.  You just swipe the card and it releases a bike.  You take it for a spin and return it when  you are done.  Fantastic and even more amazing than zip cars.

My favorite part of the day was coming across a placard on a building.  It reminds me that I need to translate what it said for it was about Simone de Beauvoir.  Better still was that we wandered into a cemeterie and found it to be the resting place of she and Jean Paul Sartre.  I love those random finds.  The cemeteries are much like those in New Orleans where the graves are overlaid with massive granite or marble or other stone slabs.  Others are mini houses that most likely host an entire family.  Somehow I dont find these final resting places to be at all creepy…  but then we did just come out of the catacombes…

Hollandaise [Holland Days] {hollan daze}

Wow, its been snowing non-stop.  I’m about to send this Alaskan girl home so she’ll take the weather with her!  Can’t wait to get to Barcelona.. oh my, I hope it is dry.

It’s been a bit of a silly adventure.  I definitely recommend taking the ferry from Harwich to Hoek de Holland.  You get to sleep the whole way of boredom and it is probably cheaper and about the same amount of travel time than flying from Stanstedt.   But make sure you book your train ticket from Hoek to wherever.  We were destined for Amsterdam and since the ticket is only about 15 euro I figured it was silly to pre-book.  I’ve done waaay too much booking for this trip and have lost a couple deposits because we’ve changed plans a tiny bit.

So we got the ticket kiosk and of course it will not accept my credit or debit cards.  I did not bring my barclays chip-n-pin, so we had to search for a “cashpoint”.  That was found and I took out a bunch of euros.  We got back to the machine to find it only accepted coins.  No seriously, coins only.  And we needed 31 coins!

We went back to the shopping area and went from store to store asking [read begging] for cash exchange from notes.  The first was about to do it, but then said no – they didn’t want to run out for the weekend… this was customer service at a grocery store {stingy much?}  Then a shop of random stuff traded 20 euro worth – they were really nice.  Next door a grumpy man at the book store said no before I had barely finished my sentence.  I begged for just 5 euro… nope.  I turned and in my most ugly American, sarcastic voice said “such a friendly country here”".  I felt justified in doing so.  Finally the second grocery store swapped the last 15 euro.  Success and back to the ticket kiosk.  We got on the next train, had a 2 minute window to switch in Rotterdam and then go to Amsterdam.

We are “couch surfing” with a lovely girl named Dita.  She is from the east of Holland and I love her little apartment.  It reminds me a lot of Raw Whimsee.  It is many steep stairs up to the top of the building and has a great deck with a bit of a view above the other adoreable buildings.  We are here one more night and then off to Paris!

Favorite things in Amsterdam?  Um… no surprise… bicycles!  We rented a bike for 24 hours and had a lovely time freezing our buns off through the streets.  It’s easy to get lost here, but doesn’t feel as dire since the feet do not feel the pain, just a bit of time use.  However, this morning it was a little more difficult with the fresh snow.  It was drier this morning but is slushing out.  The bikes have been returned, so no worries anymore.  I only nearly took a spill once.  Why?  Oh yes, another slight curb – this time hidden under snow.  Definitely brought back toughts of my hedge crash this fall!

Oh, and adding to my cycle collection… I have a cool claw clam for the back wheel.  I’ll just need someone to drill a coupla holes in my fram and viola, always with me lock for that tire.  Then, oh goodness I’m so excited, a seat cover!  Its white with little blue flowers.  I believe it is oil cloth.  Absolutely love it and hope I can hang onto it for the next 4 months {at least} of cycling in rainy England.

Internet time is running out and the “coffee shop” scent is getting a little heady… more again!

A{lone}lies

Six days, three emmotional shifts.

I suffer from the lonelies, do you?  Periodically the darkness and gloom of being alone rages around me.  I feel ridiculous: unwanted, bored, tired – always tired.  And then I’m ‘in-it’.  How to describe this?  Like the scene in Garden State… look it up.

In-it.       Focused on thoughts.          Unaware of my surroundings.          Snap, snap, snap out of it already!

And so I do.

Without reason, I’m out just like that.  I don’t feel depressed or unloved.  I no longer bumble through the day.  My mind stops the spin, the spiral downward.  I’m done.

Then I begin to love myself.  Fiercely.  I reflect on just how damn cool I am.  That I do cool, random things.  I make myself laugh.  I catch myself smiling to myself.  I feel my heart swelling and my skin glowing with joy for this life lived.  Life well lived.  And I wonder why I spent the last 2.75 days feeling rejection coming from no direct figure.  And I wonder why every being in any direction is missing this moment with me.

I look around and there is no one, and I’m satisfied.

From one extreme to the next, I find myself settling in.  To the me.  To my independent self.  I wander aisles of art giving commentary to no one but who is in my head.  I pause to wonder what it’d be like to walk near another and say my thoughts aloud.  But then if this were so I would not have these thoughts.

I’d be thinking something else.

I’d be with someone else.

Would I then be my self?

A room with no name

It’s been awhile since I’ve lived in a place with no name.  Maybe I’m just “over-it” in giving inanimate objects/places a way to be known.  My bike was never bestowed one maybe because its brown and boring (yet super sweet really).  I used to give plants names too, but the ones I have now are pretty crummy and undeserving.  There have been no pets lately to name either.

I really miss Wytherbei, like a lot.  My little place in the ghetto with its green walls and quirks was so lovely.  I named her by means of mixing a bit of Jane Austen (think Willoughby) and the need for serenity.  {Note: my current place is located not far from a Weatherby Rd., this I really like}.  It seems that when choosing a name I had a premonition of needs.  I needed a place to “weather out” the storms of life and just “be”.  And oh goodness the hurricanes and snow showers that enveloped me were constant.  And yes, my little apartment proved a haven.

The other little place I called my own was Raw Whimsee.  She too was lovely, just a tiny studio on the 7th floor in New West.  I miss her hard wood floors, though dusty they were so more easily cleaned.  And the feeling of being up and away from it all was rewarding.  I remember lamenting her passage to a friend who encouraged me saying “there will be even greater places ahead”.  It was said with much hope, but a little condescension too.  He occassionally spoke down to me, the dear, sweet, young girl.

So here I am.  Raw Whimsee and Wytherbei fading memories… and how I long so much for either.  It seems that in the deconstructing of a life, I have taken a major step backward and away from my self.

The problem is not just that I enjoy living alone and doing my own thing, but its that I currently live in someone else’s home.  I have some liberties over my room, but even asking if it was permissible to put thumb tack holes in the wall was met with resistance.  Ack!

I need to be surrounded by beautiful things.  Aesthetics permeate the air I breathe – and for now it is so thin.  I brought a few “artifacts”, but desperately need to find a new bit of local inspiration.  The worst is when I leave this tiny room.  As I open my door I am hit with more lousily painted, builder-beige walls than you can imagine.  The energy of this house is, on a good day, neutral, but too often a vortex of suckage.

I guess I imagined my olde world experience to be filled with crown molding, exposed brick, or at least sleak, scandinavian-esque lines.  Instead there is carpet in the bathroom and row upon row of flimsy suburban dull.

Perhaps then in these remaining semester weeks I should make it my mission to attempt a name for this room of my own.  Creativity has been possible within these four corners and maybe I will enjoy an uptick in inspiration with the ordination of a name.  Any ideas?

This Random Life

The cost of a text – just 10p?

You know how gmail allows you to set-up a block for late-night emails?  You can set a preference that after a certain hour emails cannot be sent without answering a few math questions. Ya, I need something similar for my phone.  Otherwise, I need someone to just take it from me on “nights out.”

We’ve all been drunk-dialed, its humorous, but easily forgotten.  However, text messages are semi-permanent.  Like, its as close to as “in-writing” as you get these days!  And they can be read and re-read over again and there’s nothing I can do to make it disappear from the receiver’s phone.

Even worse… I have a record!  And though I cringe thinking about certain texts the following day, I nearly vomit with panic as I force myself to look up the archive and re-read the msg.  Oh goodness, its a horrible feeling.

I then go through a process of reading it over and again; rationalising the content and excusing it to tipsiness.  Sometimes the consequences are unknown, but not usually without presumption.  So then I agonise and justify and hope to god the receiver is forgiving.

The messages are not necessarily ridiculous – I’ve never told someone off or cursed someone out.  No, its more like I divulge too many awkward details or feelings in 140 or less characters.  [sheesh, I haven't drunk-tweeted, let's hope I never do!]  So the problem is mostly that I’ve left myself vulnerable – and without context – and without intonation – and without a coy smile to say haha, just being silly!  And this weekend, I even tried to be academic (WTF).

So please, someone – any techie out there!  Can you create a gate disallowing drunken text messages?  Something I can activate before glass is in hand?  Something I can also deactivate b/c I’m pretty crummy at those gmail math questions even when I’m sober and bright-eyed.  ;)

This bias still exists?!

Oh Gender.  And difference.  And Gender difference.  Culture, opinion, insight, assumption.

There’s been and will be  a substantial amount of conversation re: gender.  It’s my uni course so I’m in two gender classes.  But even in my optional module and the one I audit – there is a fair amount.

For the most part, I get it.  At least at this point it is quite basic and oooh I’m so looking forward to getting in deeper.  So instead of being fascinated by the content of a lecture (and half the readings) – I’m astounded by other’s comments and reactions.

Especially from men.

Extra-especially from Southern men (Southern does not mean Georgia, Alabama or the like, though I suppose similar sentiment could be found).

Week 2, Lecture 1, Module 3 – “What does gender mean to you”   Answer 1: “Having to do with women’s vulnerabilities” (not a true quote as I’m lousy at remembering verbatim)

Week 3, Lecture 2, Module audit – short bit about women’s unequal pay in the labour force.  Student theory: Maybe if women are trained and enter a field then the demand for this profession is overwhelmed and the price declines much like economic markets.

It is difficult not to laugh or gasp at such comments (actually I fail miserably).  And to do so is quite – what’s the right word? – elitist, imperialist, feminist, [fill in here]…?

I suppose in my western society it is reasonable to believe such thought patterns have become extinct – or close enough that we can now move on.  In fact, most people see feminism as outdated.  Never mind the persistence of issues such as equal pay etc.  But I digress.

Returning to the classroom response and reactions – though it is unfathomable for me to understand how anyone on the planet can still subscribe to belief in women’s necessary subordination, I am equally shocked by reactions of disbelief.  For how can someone know until they have learned?  Furthermore, there’s that pesky issue of cultural difference and the overtired assumption that Western thought is superior.

The lecturer of example 1 carried on throughout the classroom to hear the various opinions of the term “gender”.  But in a later email suggests this view of gender in development to mean helping poor women in the developing world is that of political and practical application.

However!  Example 2 elicited a much different response from the lecturer of which included a severely raised brow.  Perhaps justified in that the comment came at the end of a short tirade explaining the issue, which allows assumption that the responder had not been listening.  Or perhaps had not had time to process new thoughts?

Nevertheless, it was a shut-down: “funny isn’t it that men are not then paid less” [if when markets are saturated does not every wage decrease] (but then I wonder, since were talking of gender, could it be found that in say, farming, a man is paid more than a woman for the wheat?  Isn’t payment for produced goods and not just physical labour often rewarded differently?)

As an undergrad in gender classes, it seemed entirely reasonable to snicker or sigh or slightly embarrass the speaker of such seemingly unconscionable use of patriarchal bias.  But now, with insane cultural diversity (each class must represent at least 20 countries) it feels a bit awkward.

My British Home: Healthcare

Superpower as minority

Today was the last session of “induction week” – a somewhat drawn-out, but quite informative series of sit down and listen chunks of time.  I’ve been a bit ready to get on with it, but am glad for today’s presentations (even though I hate group activities).  This was not for marks and was a way of getting to know each other and even getting to know a little bit about our course – development.

If I told you “I’m studying international development” would you know what I’m talking about?  How about “Gender Analysis of International Development”?  Yep, a glaze across the face, hey?  I do intend to keep blogging throughout the year, so hopefully the definition of my program will come through clearly in due time.

My colleagues represent 55 countries.  There are Japanese, Nigerian, German, Mexican -well everyone in the room!  We’ve got the whole world in this room (sing the tune).  I consider myself a little more globally aware than most; however, I had quite the moment of realization today during these presentations.

As superpowers go, none is greater than the U.S.  This goes beyond political policy or intervention and carries through to cultural influence.  Think about it… you can pretty much find McDonalds, Coca-Cola, or Starbucks in any corner of the world.  Beyond brand name, there is style.  A woman from Cairo today said you can find kids there wearing their pants slung below their bums and listening to rap music, though no-one knows what it means (I’d argue nobody anywhere does).  Another brought up the case of the Philippines and how basketball is quite popular though the people are ridiculously non-competetive against the towering players of other countries – and yet they love it.

Then, at the end of one person’s spiele, it was said “eventually we’ll all be acting like Americans.”  Instantly the room got it.  There was a smile, a chuckle, and the room bonded.  Yes, how silly, we’d be like THEM.  Of course though it seems inevitable, it is also undesirable.

I laughed too for I get it.  I understand the desire to be different, keep ones autonomy, and be free from oppressive influence – come on now, I just came from Alaska!

But then the members of the room looked around to each other and no one saw an American except for the Canadian.  She quickly blurted “oh, not that there’s anything wrong with…”  Oh yes, I was the only American in the room.  I nodded my head and shot-up a peace sign.  How embarrassing.

How embarrassing that though I know of American domination, I don’t really get it.  I don’t realize the extend of my country’s power – that each decision either directly affects or somehow ripples in the rest of the world.  The WORLD!  We are relatively free of consequence in the U.S. for the good continues as good and the negative gets swept up as a nuissance and we move on.  (ie: most I know own ipods etc. despite the fact we’ve been a country at war for 8 years – goodbye need for victory gardens).

The reality of influence is not lost on the world, but I just can’t convince myself that Americans (Real or Otherwise) understand the gravity of our power.  Until we comprehend this, then we must deservedly bear the label “arrogant”.

Though the import of goods to the U.S. is extremely high, it appears the export of culture is greater.