January 30, 2008
Chelsea 1, Reading 0
Tonight was my first "football" match here in the Old World, and suffice to say I came away thoroughly impressed. Mind you, I love playing soccer; I've played from the first grade through high school and during summers I play in a pick up league with my friends from my town. Those are some of my fondest sports memories and achievements. But for one reason or another I just couldn't bring myself to get excited about Premiership soccer. I guess I kind've cheered for Liverpool, stemming from my entirely unhealthy obsession with The Beatles, but to call myself a fan would be dishonest. The World Cup in 2006 really rekindled my interest in the sport as a whole, but never to the level I would have liked.
Still, actually being in the UK, I figured I wouldn't be able to live with myself had I passed up an opportunity to see the world's biggest sport played by the world's best athletes. The asking price was cheap, 65 pounds for an upper deck seat, but it was just something I had to do. Plus I don't have class tomorrow, so even though I'm battling off sickness I could always sleep in and catch up on my rest.
When my friends and I got to their stadium, Stamford Bridge, the place was mobbed. Bobbies (police) were in full force making sure everything stayed on the straight and narrow but the atmosphere was still fantastic. Upon some smothering peer pressure, I even caved for a pretty sick Chelsea kit (the neon yellow kind... yeahhhh). The match itself was marked by a goal off a header by German legend Michael Ballack and then a contentious back-and-forth effort after that. Luckily for the local mobs, Reading's threats came just short. I recognized Reading winger Bobby Convey from America's World Cup squad and cheered for him a bit, albeit quietly, when he was in position to make a play. But overall the experience was everything I had hoped it would be and more. Now here's to hoping this damned cough will go away!
Posted by Lambert on 11:30 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Heart of the Country
First I'd like to apologize for not getting to my trip about Ireland sooner. We were on the move so much that I got pretty run down and am currently fighting off sickness. The DayQuill/NyQuill diet is always a drag as I have to cut back on my trips out at night and I'm relatively certain my roommates are going to smother me with a pillow from my congested snoring. Hopefully I'll be better in time for this weekend's day trip to Canterbury and the cliffs of Dover, which should be amazing. I've already accepted the fact I'm going to be sick as a dog for my first soccer, er, football match here in the UK tomorrow in Chelsea.
As for Ireland, the trip was incredible, frustrating, and rewarding all rolled into a weekend. The plan was for me to meet my friends from Pepperdine's Florence program in the airport, despite the fact my flight got in four hours early. Luckily there was a pub there and I lounged in a booth with my book and some of the local fares until their flight landed. I haven't seen my friends since last April, so the feeling upon embracing them for the first time was that of sheer jubilation. My dorm last year had some fantastic guys that really bonded together and had an amazing atmosphere. In fact we became notorious for always rolling to different places together and for being so tight-knit. Seeing two of these dorm mates and spending the weekend with them in the Emerald Isle was terrific. Also there were four girls, two of which I was friendly with all the way back to freshman orientation, and another two I met for the first time (though after four hours in the pub they were welcomed to the same hug given to my closest friends).
We proceeded to Dublin and after getting dropped off in Parnell Square located our hostel a few blocks away. Boy, what a dump. We were in a ten person mixed room with three other really odd kids there but all of our beds appearing to have been slept in previously. After going back to the front desk, we were instructed to flip the mattress over if it was that big of a deal to us. Yikes. After stripping our belongings of everything valuable, we dropped off our bags and headed over to Temple Bar, the section of Dublin notorious for it's nightlife. Unfortunately, many of the most active pubs and bars were limited to those 23 and over (for the record, its 18+ to drink, so this goes well beyond anything I would consider "reasonable." Is 21 not considered responsible enough?). Eventually we found a few places we got to enjoy and had a merry time. The exception being of course the litany of folks hitting on the four girls in our group - all asking bluntly to begin "Do ye have a boyfriend?" And doing the math, us guys couldn't always cover for every girl.
After that we went back to our hostel where the lights weren't shut off until 3:30 by the guys who controlled all the lights at the front desk. Then there were the rowdy mobs who went door to door knocking and yelling and just being flat out obnoxious. After they ended there reign of misery, and just as it looked like we could get some sleep, someone pulled the damn fire alarm. I mean really, who does that? Suffice to stay, I don't have fond memories of Mt. Eccles Court.
After we woke and showered (which I'm relatively certain made me dirtier) we went to, where else, the Guinness Factory for some nice pre-noon drinks. Oy. It was one of those things you have to do in Dublin and we did it, though I suppose I was still reeling from the night before to enjoy it fully. Afterwards we went to Christ Church, built in the 11th century and the oldest church -I believe- in Ireland. From there it was off to the bus station to catch our bus to the country side where our next night was to be spent. Here's where it got "frustrating."
Our hostel was in a tiny village called Glendalough (pronounced Glen-da-lock) though our sales person at the bus station advised us to go to Wicklow, leading us to believe Glendalough was just a part of Wicklow. Well, technically that was correct, except Wicklow was a town as well as a county in which Glendalough was located. The town of Wicklow itself, where the agent sent us, was a good 40 minutes from our desired destination. And lo and behold, the buses stopped running to Glendalough from Wicklow a half hour before we got there. Ugh. At least our initial bus ride was amazing as we got a sunset view of the gorgeous countryside. The only problem now was that it was getting dark and we were gradually getting marooned from our desired location. We tried to catch buses that would at least get us closer, but even then we could only get as close as 20 minutes away.
We got as far as a tiny village called Killmakaneic before we ran out of options. We could either try and find a reasonably priced mini-bus/taxi or take a bus back to the only place where they were running to that late on a weekend: Dublin. We literally went door to door at the handful of establishments that populated the small village, and upon getting to the last gas station nearly gave up. Literally the last person we approached before we were about to leave, a Garda, an Irish policeman, turned out to be our saving grace. He just so happened to have a neighbor whose brother ran a one man mini-bus company and offered to take us to Glendalough for 50 Euro, reasonable considering there were seven of us. After four hours we finally got to our hostel a half hour before the front desk closed and we would have been without a room. Our driver was pushing 90 on some twisting mountain roads, and I happened to be one of the poor souls facing backwards on the bench seating of the Ford Transit. I almost booted on everybody and everything, but made it to solid ground and the comforting embrace of one of my friends just in time.
The hostel there might as well have been Versailles compared to the night before. We had our own room in a quiet enclave nestled in the Irish country side. For weary travelers it was perfect. We went to bed relatively early but after some good banter about old times. We were exhausted and relatively broke, affording us little opportunity on the pub-front. However, it did mean we could get up extra early for a sunrise hike around our hostel, which was absolutely divine. Seriously, the Irish countryside is gorgeous. We would have stayed longer except only two buses leave Glendalough for Dublin all day, a 9:45 AM bus and a 5:00 PM bus. We had to take the former since our flights left in the mid afternoon. Still, the ride back to Dublin was amazing in it's own right as well. Definitely well worth checking out for anyone in Europe.
Back in Dublin, we walked around some of the swankier shopping districts (whose names allude me at the moment) before ending our journey at St. Patrick's Cathedral. -Begin rant- What upset me the most was the 5 Euro fee to get into the church they required. Had they asked for a donation, I would gladly have paid to keep one of the most revered and stately institutions in good stead. But I just have a problem with a priest riding a cash register at the head of a queue to get into a place of worship. Wasn't Jesus against this kind of practice in the church? Did Christians not learn anything from the Reformation? -End rant-
St. Patrick's green beside the church was lovely and remarkably vibrant for a January afternoon. the grass was as green as any New England lawn in the summer and flowers were even in bloom. And to think that was the spot where St. Patrick converted a great many of the native inhabitants of Ireland centuries before our journey. The whole spot was just so serene and inviting. Unfortunately, though, that was the spot of our departure as my flight left a few hours before there's. After navigating my way back to the airport, I made it back to my flight and eventually back here with some incredible memories and one wicked cough.
Overall, it was a great learning experience. Much of the traveling I did was on my own and while the native language was always English, it was still very foreign. I learned a great deal about hostels, courtesy with the locals, and how not to panic when plans seem to unravel. But best of all, I got to have some fantastic moments with my friends, something that can never be taken for granted.
Posted by Lambert on 11:24 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Give Ireland Back to the Irish
-Published January 24th, 2008 on Tavern Banter-
Almost as if on cue, my British History class has been discussing the role of the Irish with he story of England and the United Kingdom. What makes this discussion so timely is the fact I am going to the Emerald Isle this weekend to make my first appearance there. I'll be joined with some of my friends from Pepperdine's Florence program who are making the trek up via one of Europe's notoriously cheap airlines, Ryan Air (with whom I also have a booking). We plan on staying in Dublin the first night and moving out to the country on Saturday before returning to Dublin Sunday and making our way back to our respective programs. It should be a great time and I'll be sure to snap some pictures and share some stories. I'll be most interested in trying to glean any emotions the Irish have about Northern Ireland, whom I was always brought up to believe should be restored to Ireland proper. While I won't be heading up there, I'll be sure to ask around in any pubs where I feel confident I won't be run out of for mentioning my enthusiasm for London. Ah well, wish me luck and I'll be back soon!
Posted by Lambert on 11:22 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Cultured... or Something
-Published January 21, 2008 on Tavern Banter-
Perhaps the best part about the area of London we are in is the proximity to museums and the like which are largely available for free. The Victorian & Albert is literally a block away and so much history is involved there, from the bomb-scarred exterior dating back to WWII to the priceless pieces of antiquity on display inside. Make no mistake about it, the exhibits in the V&A are nothing like the British Museum or The National Gallery; our humanities professor called it "history's attic." Meaning a place to put the stuff that isn't quite good enough for the primetime, but nothing you want to get rid of or throw out. And there's something to be said for pieces like that to be fully appreciated.
We're also located only a couple blocks from Royal Albert Hall, home to many incredible musicians and artists alike. Royal Albert Hall itself is a remarkable and distinctive building that stands out in the already incredible landscape of London. Notably, the National Science Museum is quite literally across the street from our apartment. The furthest I have explored it was to go to the ATM (which ate my card) so I'm a bit bitter, but I'm assured the exhibits themselves are fascinating. Perhaps if I ever overcome my grudge I'll visit.
And then there are the heavy hitters: the British Museum and the National Gallery. Simply put, they are as good if not better than any museum you will go to in my opinion. And yes, that includes the Louvre. You can find all the big names, many of the most incredible works, and stuff you hear about in the history books. It blows my mind, really. Like this past weekend I saw the Rosetta Stone. Like on a whim, I just went and saw it. You can do that here, it's incredible. And today for part of my humanities class at the National Gallery, I got to hear our professor expound on Renaissance painters da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Raphael. Awesome.
Suffice to say, art history majors in our program are in 7th heaven and even casual observers like myself can stand in awe and at least try and appreciate how remarkable this city is in so many respects. And you know what the best part is? I've barely scratched the surface of what this place has to offer. Meaning I'll be very very busy for a very long time. And whats not to like about that?
Posted by Lambert on 11:21 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
The Magical Mystery Tour
-Published January 16th, 2008 on Tavern Banter-
If one thing is understood from my semester here in the UK, let it be this: living in a foreign country, no matter how similar it is to America, is still very different. And as someone who was whining to friends and family about giving up the US for a span, I can say with complete confidence that this is an experience of a lifetime, one that I would never pass up. And thats after my Bank of America debit card was eaten up at a Barclay's ATM, or cash machine as they say here (and no, not rejected, like eaten up and shredded). And sure, I've had a few lost in translation moments, but even that gives one pause to think about our own perspectives and what's on the other side of the bubble we created for ourselves in America.
Classes should be interesting. Apparently British professors don't believe in giving A's to American students or something, so the 4.0 from last semester will be a tough act to follow here. Especially with the traveling I have planned. Maybe that's why Bank of America ate my card... for my own good. I'm confident every cent (or pence) I made over the summer and had saved from past summers will be spent, mostly in this coming week as I book trips. Already I am going to Dublin, Ireland, Nice and Paris in France, and am looking to travel to Amsterdam and Croatia. All with groups of kids from the program here and other Pepperdine International Programs. All should be tremendously fun.
Anyways, off to group dinner then a night class. Cheerio!
Just kidding. Somethings I won't pick up. Cheerio is one of them.
Posted by Lambert on 11:20 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
