Too Much History

I gained an enormous appreciation for how young America is when I was in London. Our history is a mere blip on the timeline of societies. Thankfully, much of that history is preserved in some way or another. The Victoria and Albert Museum is incredible. It is enormous, and every room is impressive. You could spend a week there and not see the entire museum. The Winston Churchill Museum was okay, but the highlight of that visit happened after I exited and I found a perfect English gentleman sitting outside, bowler cap and all. I wanted to pick him up and hug him, but instead I took a picture.

Next stop was an old operating theater, where we watched an hour lecture and amputation demonstration. I loved it, but some of the other tourists were less excited about the graphic descriptions. There is a small museum associated with the operating theater, and I saw something miraculous: frankincense and myrrh! They are real things! I never knew what they were, but I held some of each in my hand and felt very connected to Jesus. Kinda.

The funny thing about the old medical museum was that it was awfully similar to a torture museum I once saw in Italy. The devices were practically identical, with different names. For example, both museums had devices for opening a cervix, and both had restraining tables. The list goes on…

And now here are some clouds. I have nothing to say about them. They looked nice.

Where's the gravy?

My favorite British food is Indian food. It is so good, and it is everywhere. I had Indian three or four times this week and it was all delicious. Traditional British food, on the other hand, is merely… eatable. It seems to come in pairs: fish & chips or bangers & mash. It’s all pub food, and frankly I would prefer the nuts at some of the pubs to the food.

The pubs are great though. I love the beer and the atmosphere. The names are also fun. There are three kinds of names: Ye Olde something; Animal body parts, like The Goat Leg or The Sheep Head; or names of random dudes, like The Clarence.

At the end of the work day, the sidewalks outside the pubs are packed with people enjoying a beer on their way home. And you know what else? You pay the price of your drink, nothing more. If the beer is three pounds, you pay three pounds. I love it. No bartenders with attitudes, just good beer and good company.

We have also enjoyed some good French food, but French people must be tiny. My meal of scallops with salad was actually one scallop cut into quarters with a single piece of green garnish. Looking around the table, everyone had about one full bite of food on their plates. When it is as flavorful and tasty as these were, of course, you savour the tiny morsels, but I’m just saying. I could have finished my meal in a bite if I wanted.

The last thing to mention is the tea. I have always been a tea drinker, but it is never such a process as it is here. Having tea in London is so much more than boiling water and adding a tea bag. Having tea here would be incomplete without sitting down with sandwiches and cookies. I think I prefer to keep my tea casual, but I could see how afternoon tea with snacks and friends could be an enjoyable activity periodically.

The Day Love Died

Love Never Dies is the sequel to my favorite musical, the Andrew Lloyd Webber masterpiece Phantom of the Opera. To my dismay (but not my surprise) it was a complete disaster.

Let’s start with the music. The best songs in the entire show are the ones from the original. The new music is modified carnival music, which makes sense because the play takes place on Coney Island. I only remember one of the new songs, which was the title track. In the play, this song is supposed to represent the Phantom’s magnum opus… the song that will bring Christine back to him. Instead the whole number is a joke. It was supposed to be the climax of the show, and I laughed the entire time.

The lyrics were as worthless as the music. Throughout the play, most of the characters just narrated the story in prose, but it was set to music. On the rare occasion that the lyrics did rhyme, it was so forced it was painful. Just imagine someone reading from a bad romance novel to the melody of carnival music, and save yourself the trouble of listening to the soundtrack.

How about the plot? For the sake of simplicity, let’s call the original play a love story: the characters’ actions are motivated by love. As the play goes on, the characters develop and we enjoy learning more about them. In the sequel, the same characters are suddenly motivated by money; Meg is a prostitute and Raoul is a broke alcoholic. Everyone is static and uninteresting. You don’t leave the theater with any sense of satisfaction, or with the feeling that your time and money were well spent.

The character of the Phantom was another disappointment. In the original, he is mysterious and suave in his tight tuxedo with slicked black hair. When we are introduced to him in a puff of smoke behind a mirror, he seems almost supernatural… truly like an angel of music. If that’s not enough, he lurks in the bowels of an opera house. Cool! Contrast that with the sequel. We are introduced to a lovesick Phantom wearing a black bathrobe who runs a carnival from a giant purple head-shaped room with the help of three henchmen straight out of Rocky Horror Picture Show. He is an emo carnie bum who got caught up in some baby daddy drama.

And I use the word “drama” loosely. How’s this for foreshadowing: early in the play we learn that Christine’s son is 10 years old. Soon after, we learn that the Phantom and Christine slept together 10 years ago. I heard the lady behind me say, “I bet the Phantom is the father.” She deserved a bigger sarcastic applause than the entire show.

Thank goodness that was not the only production we saw in London. Our theater experience was redeemed by the musical Oliver and the opera La Fille du Regiment.

I had seen Oliver once before, but it was a small local production. The music is catchy, and the plot is simple. I like that. The opening song was pretty amazing; over the course of “Food, Glorious Food,” about 50 kids emerge from various doors in the stage.

I loved the sets because they actually complemented the play. There weren’t bells and whistles added for spectacle; the elevators and trap doors all served a purpose. Contrast that, once again, with Love Never Dies, which was full of gimmicky costumes and sets.

We also saw La Fille Du Regiment at the Royal Opera. Turns out I actually enjoy going to the opera. Who knew? Earlier in the day, we had taken a backstage tour of the Royal Opera House, which definitely increased my appreciation for the production. We had the chance to see how the huge sets are moved and stored, and we watched a ballet rehearsal.

I am told that I was privileged to see Juan Diego Flórez and Natalie Dessay as the principles in our performance, and yes, they were fantastic. I loved everything about the evening: the sets, the music, the singing, the acting, the costumes. I used to make fun of my mom for being an opera fanatic, but she has successfully converted me.

Colourful Accents

If people in England speak English, I’m not sure what language I speak. In London, two neighbors can speak with completely different accents. I knew to expect some variations in the vocabulary as well (petrol for gasoline, trousers for pants) but even those can change depending on who you talk to. Some people talked in Fahrenheit and feet, others in Celsius and meters. I am having a language identity crisis.

As soon as I started exploring the city on foot, I felt like I was walking through a Hugh Grant movie. A British accent makes the speaker sound so civilized and proper. If someone blatantly insulted me on the street, I would probably think they were narrating a documentary. Even tiny children seem like brilliant academics when they speak in their accents. Except when they are whining. Then the accent makes it even more obnoxious.

One thing I have noticed is that they love terrible smooth jazz here. Whether it’s the guy playing his saxophone in the subway, or the music in the elevator, it is just awful. We took one of the big red tour buses on our first day, and between brief descriptions of the landmarks, they played a loop of smooth jazz. It was worse than having “It’s a Small World After All” stuck in your head. We also saw some of the Greenwich Beer and Jazz Festival, which I think they should rename “Let’s get drunk while customer service puts us on hold.”

In conclusion, if a British musician offered to play jazz for me, I would tell him to talk about nature for an hour instead.

America by Road

The drive from San Francisco to St. Louis was amazing. We met up with Ken before we left to discuss taking a scenic route, which was priceless. On the road, we covered 2,463 miles over four days and saw 44 state plates traveling across California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Kansas, and Missouri.

Our first diversion from the main route was to take Route 50 through Nevada. This road is known as “The Loneliest Road in America” because there are so few signs of civilization for miles. We loved it. The road wound through huge expanses of Nevada desert with nice mountains off in the distance. We drove 75 miles without seeing another car.

That night, we crossed the border into Utah. The road changed from gray to red, and the mountains on the horizon were purple in the sunset. We stopped at a diner for dinner and finished the 13 hour drive in Cedar City, Utah. It was a small town, but even a small town can feel like a thriving metropolis when you have spent the entire day in Nevada.

We spent the entire second day in Southern Utah by Ken’s recommendation. It was the most beautiful drive I have ever seen. I felt like I was in a theme park, because every mile was different than the last. One moment, we were in a golden aspen forest, and the next, we were surrounded by open plains. The terrain transformed within minutes from a barren gray moonscape to a deep red canyon.

We took many opportunities to pull over and take pictures. Unfortunately, most of the pictures we took from the car are better views of bugs on the windshield than the scenery. There was one section where we were driving on a ridge, with steep slopes and amazing views on both sides of the car. Soon after that, we were following the Colorado River through a canyon. You can see the scale of the canyons if you check the tiny dots in the pictures of Lake Powell. Those are huge RVs.

If you are ever driving through Utah, add a day to your schedule for the scenic adventure. I kept my maps, so I am happy to share our route. The drive was beautiful all the way through Denver. Ben took us out to dinner while we were there, and we enjoyed some time outside the car with him.

Once we entered the plains of Kansas, it got pretty boring. The town on the border of Kansas and Colorado is called Kanorado, and that was probably the most exciting moment of the day. Also the billboard for Jesus Heals and Restores, Pornography Destroys immediately followed by Adult Superstore was entertaining.

We learned a valuable lesson on our journey across the country. You don’t have to travel to the other side of the world to see something amazing. We have awesome natural beauty right here if you go out and look for it. I can’t wait for the drive back!

Road Trip

San Francisco to St. Louis, October 2009.

Hoover Wilderness

My high school has a great outings department, and this weekend I got a call asking if I would be available to help lead a trip to the Hoover Wilderness near Yosemite. Without hesitation, I postponed my road trip to Los Angeles and started packing. There were six students, one teacher, and a dog on the trip, and it was a great group.

Once we distributed the group gear and ate lunch, we started the hike. The ascent was not long, but we enjoyed the views of the surrounding mountains and the sound of the creek running alongside the trail. We arrived at Green Lake within a couple hours and set up camp, where we would stay for the next two nights.

With mountains all around us, we didn’t quite experience a sunrise. Instead, our morning began with the sunlight slowly engulfing the rocky peaks around the lake, which was so calm in the morning it was like a mirror. Ken explored the shore for a good spot to go fishing with Ouzel. I choked down some oatmeal so that I would survive the day hike.

We walked up to a higher lake on Day 2 to spend the afternoon. Just as we were settling in, we began to hear thunder. Dark clouds slowly started to creep over the ridge. Little pellets of ice began to fall on the trees. A cold rain interrupted our lunch. We stuck it out under trees until the rain had passed, and started back towards camp.

Surrounded by granite mountains, the thunder echoed endlessly. It was amazing, the whole group would admire a lightning bolt across the sky, and then the thunder would hit and bounce around for minutes. It was like the whole wilderness was hungry and we were hiking through its growling stomach.

After escaping the cold rain, we were all tired, so we took naps in our tents. When we woke up, Ken and I went fishing with Ouzel while the students investigated an “island” in the lake. After dinner and a few mugs of hot chocolate, we watched the stars through the trees and headed to bed.

We were all so tired after our adventurous weekend, even Ouzel was sleeping in the van on the ride home. Nothing beats a bath when your legs are covered in dirt, so that’s where I am headed after I unpack.

Turning Japanese

A week in Japan, May 2009.

Departure

This summer was a blast. I am finally home, and enjoying my first real shower and bed were even better than I expected. Sadly my camera broke, so here are a few photos I found online for your viewing pleasure.

The last week was a lot of hard work, but I actually really enjoyed it. We packed up the tables early, so we are our meals sitting in a circle on the ground. The last night together was one of my favorite of the summer. We had big plans to go out drinking and dancing, but it was a Sunday night, and the bars were dead. After dinner we walked down the street looking for something to do, and the most wonderful thing happened.

Imagine walking down a seemingly normal street in your town. For example, Miller Avenue in Mill Valley, or Delmar Boulevard in St. Louis. There are restaurants and shops lining the road. You are enjoying your warm evening stroll. Then you see flashing lights up in the distance. What could it be?

A bumper car arena, of course! It was so funny because we had all driven up and down this road many times before in the middle of the day, and none of us had ever seen the place. It was like a dream. We got to the window to buy tokens, and when Motts asked for a receipt, the guy laughed. I suppose the idea of bumper cars as a business expense is pretty silly.

The battle was epic. In America, bumper cars have to be so safe because people would sue if they scratched their knee. Not so in St. Martin. These things were fast, and no seatbelts. I was almost thrown out of my car during some of the big collisions. Put that on your list. Bumper cars after a couple pina coladas and bottles of wine is pretty amazing.

Breakdown

The summer has come to a close. I sailed a thousand miles around the Caribbean and trained a dozen new rescue divers. I have new friends from around the world, including South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, and Sweden. All the boats have returned, and most of the staff has left. Those of us who remain are in charge of breakdown. Every piece of equipment, from the air compressors to the dinghies, gets cleaned and stored for the winter.

I am in charge of regulators. The regulator consists of all the hardware that allows a diver to breathe from a tank. It has been fun learning how all the gear works and how all the pieces fit together. The work is pretty repetitive, but I can do it sitting in the shade, which is preferable to carrying heavy things in the sun like everyone else.

The pad is so uncomfortable because the air is stagnant, which means the bugs don’t get blown away, and it gets hot. In fact, we have all been thrilled with the effects of tropical storm Ana and hurricane Bill. They passed by pretty close. Not enough to put us in danger, but just enough to send a rainy breeze across the island.

I like the smaller crew we have working now. We work long days, but as soon as dinner comes, we all put down the work and have fun. There is a party schedule for each night, which we don’t really follow, but it’s a nice idea. The food is so much better now that teenagers aren’t cooking in a boat galley.

We try our best to prevent pad fever by spicing things up with random activities. For example, I purchased my first speedo to wear around the pad and develop my tan lines. My Neapolitan tan is better than ever. We took a dinghy without a motor into the marina one night for a moonlight paddle with some drinks. When the current picked up a little bit, we decided to ditch the dinghy under a catamaran and walk back.

We have been trying unsuccessfully to hunt the crabs that live in the muck around the pad. Justin built a trap with a door and a French flag (because the crabs are French, of course) and used Fritos to entice them, but these are smart crabs. Or we are dumb hunters. I will keep you posted on the hunts.

The one thing that hasn’t changed from boat life is the music selection. It drives me crazy. On the boats, the kids had a handful of songs that they listened to over and over. At the pad, the staff does the same thing. Every hour, I hear the same two songs played in order. First, Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show. Second, The General by Dispatch. On the boat, the kids played bad music repeatedly, which was unfortunate. But it turns out that playing good songs repeatedly is even worse! I used to love this music, and now when I hear it I want to drown myself.

We had one day off this week during which we visited the other side of St. Martin. We rented a car for about $30 and crammed 9 people inside. Keep in mind this is a little eurocar, not an American boat. So on the way across the island, we encountered a hill. The car started jumping, and Dave warned us that we might have to bail. The car stalled, and the driver behind us was shocked to see how many people piled out to push the car up the rest of the hill.

When we finally arrived, we parked and explored. The town is a cruise ship port, so there are tons of duty free shops. Some people bought computers and hard drives. I bought a pair of headphones with the cash advance on my paycheck. When we got back to the parking spot, the car was gone. Turns out it wasn’t a parking spot, so all 9 of us had to explore the city to find the car. That was fun.

When we did find our car, we drove to the airport. The St. Martin airport landing strip is literally across the street from the beach. There are bars on either side, and people spend the day drinking and watching planes take off. Departing planes basically take off from the beach, so for each departure, people line up to get blown away by the jet blast.

The power was amazing. If you have never stood directly behind a 747 taking off, it is quite an experience. My sunglasses were ripped from my face, and I was blown down the beach helplessly. It was like a bomb went off. First there was confusion and shock. Then in the aftermath, people stumbled around looking for lost children or articles of clothing in the ocean. Then everyone returns to the bars to wait for the next flight.

I was worried about breakdown, but it is actually a good time. The people are great, the work is interesting (for now), and the food is tasty. I go to bed tired and wake up rested. The only thing that could be better is if we had a hurricane to battle. I say that half-jokingly, but part of me is a little disappointed that Bill veered away from us. I will just have to stick to earthquakes as my natural disaster of choice.