Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Brief Rundown of London

After Brianna finally finished her essay on Beckett, we took the bus to London yesterday.

Brianna's tour included:

  • Strolling around Notting Hill and visiting the famous Travel Bookshop that Hugh Grant works at in the film with Julia Roberts.
  • Stopping for tea and scones at the pretty blue cafe that Laura and C.B. also visited, but I can't remember the name of and Brianna is at tutorial so I can't ask her.
  • Buying orange juice from the stall and Camden Markets and checking out all the bizarre stores. One place (I kid you not) had glow in the dark shopping bags, which made it really tempting to buy something.
  • Eating dinner in the East end at Tayyabs. Or at least I think that is what the restaurant was called. I do know that we ordered way too much mango lassi, but it was amazing so I don't regret it.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Chelle's Tales: Stories of a Medford Chap in Oxyland

Photo: more.icelandair.is



FACT FROM THE ABOVE CUPS SERVED ON ICELANDAIR: there are 10 ways in Icelandic to say "cup."


So thanks to

Eyjafjallajökull

I had a free tour of Iceland. Yesterday instead of landing at Keflavik airport my plane was diverted to Akureyri airport in Northern iceland. Akureyri airport is small. And it was cold. And we were surrounded by icy mountains with no sign of civilization. It was also 4:00 in the morning.

Buses picked us up to drive all the passengers to Reykjavik. No one was more excited than the man sitting behind me about the FREE TOUR of Iceland.

Conversation overheard between the two men sitting behind me:

Man #1: LOOK! Volcanic Rocks!

Man #2: How do you know that?

Man #1: I'm taking pictures.

Man #2: Stop wasting your film.

Man #1: I haven't used film in years.

Man #2: You don't even know what you're taking pictures of.

Man #1: (insists that Man #2 wakes up their other friends to look at the lava rock).

Man #2: No. They're not even lava rocks.

Man #1: Then why are they black? I know what I'm talking about.



Easy to say I was pretty excited to arrive in Reykjavic. The airline attendants handed out hotel and meal vouchers to anyone who had a canceled connecting flight and gave out a 'hotline' number that everyone needed to call to reschedule their own flights.

This is when Brianna saved the day and called from Oxford to reschedule my flight for me.

I was put up in the sweetest hotel ever. My room had two beds. Excessive? No. Perfect? yes.
Check it out: http://www.grand.is/

The only sad part was when I slept through dinner. The hotel staff was really nice about this and snuck me into the restaurant where I had a candlelit dinner and a rose on my table. Very romantic.

More to come later.....

Saturday, May 1, 2010

GROUNDBREAKING NEWS


THERE IS A BUTLERS CHOCOLATE CAFE IN LONDON. I have C to thank for her brilliant investigation and discovery that made the last day of April just oh-so-special.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

six weeks

Because a picture's worth a thousand words.

WEEK ONE (WALES - Montgomery, Welshpool) - SEE POST BELOW FOR DETAILS


WEEK TWO (ITALIA - Florence, Siena, and Roma)




WEEK THREE/FOUR (TURKIYE - Istanbul, the coast, cappadocia)




WEEK FIVE/SIX (THE UNITED KINGDOM - Oxford, Scotland, London)

and that's all for now, folks!

Saturday, March 20, 2010

compost is lovely

Just back from my favourite little farm in Wales! I'd bore you with all the dreadful little details, but I need to quickly unpack, wash clothes, and then repack before heading off to Italia tomorrow to rendez-vous with C in Firenze. Just rest assured that the past week entailed lots of tea breaks, compost heaving, jostling about in the back of the Land Rover, and bell ringing. You know, just another standard trip to the land with more sheep than people.



Friday, March 12, 2010

goodbye hilary


I'm going to have to invert the typical glass half empty/half full adage, and instead of celebrating that I'm two thirds done with Oxford, dwell on the fact that I still have one third left.

Even then, one third just doesn't seem like enough.

However, that's all still a while off and until then I can just concentrate on sending hilary term off with a bang and looking forward to the infamously long easter break. I've traded in papers for packing, and instead of diving nose deep into critical theory or Frankenstein I'm rifling through hostel reservations and flight confirmations. What they don't tell you is that Oxford is actually travel agent training. These six week breaks are just made for it. I can't think of a better place to read Waiting for Godot then on a train from Rome to Florence. But then, maybe that's just me.

So, if you begin to miss me in the next six weeks (inevitable) and wonder where I may be (which will be highly variable), feel free to pick and choose from the projected selection of my wanderings below:

-up to my knees in mud at a farm in Wales
-eating gelato outside the Pantheon in Rome
-cruising on a bike through the streets of Siena
-haggling at a bazaar in Istanbul
-flying above the cave dwellings in Cappadocia
-celebrating C's twenty-first, Turkish-style (don't worry, I don't exactly know what that means yet either)
-punting along the Thames with the Ps and Gs
-tracing the steps of William Wallace through the Scottish highlands

See ya on the other side.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

whole lotta regatta


Yes, that clod of earth was stuck to the back end of our boat from when we hit the bank during the first day of Torpids. We may go down in history, but at least no one was ejected from our boat- not something all participating colleges can claim!

Sunday, March 7, 2010

meet the beehlers


If C has just flown back to the US without developing a keen sense of englishness then it's no fault of mine. I mean, I gave it my best. From day one we were off exploring palaces, having pints, drinking tea, wandering about London, and competing in regattas (actually that last one was just me- C was given the role of number one fan/official photographer: the first of which he excelled at and the the second of which he considerably failed). All in all, I think we pulled off project massiveladishization moderately well. At least, I think he finally figured out which direction the cars were all coming from.


To give credit where credit's due, C wasn't my only guest. L came all the way from Paris and I think I can speak for us all in saying that we have become much more cultured as a result. At least, now every time I see a Picasso car I think of L and other artsy things.

C and L were quite keen guests and so we actually ventured outside of Oxford into uncharted territory. aka Blenheim Palace, birthplace of Winston Churchill. L has mad skills in "making friends" with guards and whatnot and as a result we learned about all the places one is not allowed to go in addition to all the places one is allowed to go. Personal highlight for me was seeing Winston Churchill's velvet old man slippers with his initials embroidered on them. Jealous.

Clearly, such a trip forces one to embrace their inner lad. I mean, Churchill was quite the lad himself. And all those statues are quite inspiring. Other laddy excursions included fish and chips, Old Rosie, and GBK (Gourmet Burger Kitchen- no joke, those burgers are HUGE). Oh, and lots of chips. Gotta love those chips. Chips, chips, chips.


I could go on about what a great tour guide I am, but I'll spare you. Instead, I'll just end with saying that the weather was deceivingly sunny during this Beehler reunion and that C has just left with a fairly skewed perspective of British weather. Or maybe C wasn't lying to me when he said that he could control the weather with his mind. That would certainly explain a lot at any rate. Like all the freaking snow in Vermont.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

on the edge of a wee bit of nasty sea



Things to Do in Ireland
(A Slightly Deceiving Title Since This Isn't Really A List):


1. Claire and I saw five rainbows on this trip. Also, Claire is a pot of gold.



2. Can I just say one thing? Doolin has the nicest people EVER. Legit. From our excessive interaction with Irish bus drivers, hostel owners, etc., we never met nicer people in our lives. Also, the Irish family we befriended along the road, had tea with, and from whom we learned about the Irish music festival that just happened to be going on during our stay in Doolin (best. thing. ever).



3. Cliffs of Moher. This is where I learned that Claire and I are both ballsy. Or that Claire is ballsy and that I'm just easily convinced.


4. What's an Irish music festival without a Guinness or two?

Thursday, February 25, 2010

ireland shmireland

C and I have decided that green is our colour.

And that there's no point studying abroad if you can't have an enviable weekend trip to some enviable destination in enviable company to do enviable things.

Or at least, that's how I see it.

Monday, February 22, 2010

"And this also," said Marlowe suddenly, "has been one of the dark places of the earth."



Oh, the Thames, that "interminable waterway" stretching it's length across England to "the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth." Great it may be, but muddy and swollen and angry it also is a large majority of the time. Or so trusty sources (me that is) will tell you.

Despite my previous poor experience with mud and running and England all mixed together, I managed to convince D to follow the Thames path with me from Oxford to Abingdon, a good eight mile run that winds along the side of the river. Picturesque? Quite. Gorgeous? Nothing less. A good pub meal in Abingdon and a bus ride later and we are back in Oxytown, plastered in mud up to our knees (the nice older couple sitting next to us at the pub looked as if they were torn between being overwhelmingly impressed with our athletic feat and absolutely horrified at our barbaric mud sliding conquests- ultimately hard to tell because we couldn't understand anything they said to us) and maybe just a bit more capable of understanding this river than before.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

if the price is right


A (Very) Brief Guide of Free Things to Do in London:

1. Walk around Camden; sit on a motorcycle chair; consider getting multiple face piercings; visit the markets; chat with the tea stall man about tea; stare at other tourists; feel self-consciously un-tatttooed


2. Go to the Tyburn Convent; stay for mass; chat with the nuns; take a tour of the crypt; make friends with Mother Esther; be impressed with Emma's knowledge of the martyrs; become disillusioned upon learning that Emma actually doesn't know anything about the martyrs


3. See The Royal Shakespeare Company performance of
Dunsinane (not lying, it was free); eavesdrop on conversations about the war in Afghanistan during intermission; keep accidentally saying "Macbeth" inside the theatre despite Emma's warning nudges; discuss how Lady Macbeth's hair person did a super amazing job; consider dying hair red; realize that Emma is a natural red head and so can never compare; abandon red hair scheme in lieu of moving to Scotland

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

dairy foods are gouda for you


Haggling is not really my thing. Unless it involves cheese. Especially if that cheese is locally made British cheeses. It's also not a bad thing if said cheeses are located next to lots of fresh fruits and veg. Then I guess I can handle a little bit of haggling.

In other words, discovering the farmer's market on Gloucester Green has changed my life. I shudder to think of my previously avocado-less, cheddar-barren existence. That was a sad, sad existence.

The other recent life-changing dairy related event in my life was the organic round of brie that C brought from her trip to the Cotswolds. WHO KNEW THE BRITISH COULD MAKE BRIE SO WELL?

Monday, February 15, 2010

you still sound american


A Short Dialogue That Has Been Rather Loosely Paraphrased:

Me (American) to C (another American): Did you have a lovely dinner?

C: Woah, that just sounded so British!

M (a British person): No, that did not. That was so American. If you were British you would have asked "How was dinner?" and then the other person would have answered, "Oh, it was lovely."

L (another British person): Agreed. That sounded so American.

Friday, February 12, 2010

universal wanderers

Varekai means "wherever" in the Romany language of the gypsies, a wherever that is possible anywhere and everywhere to anyone who is constantly moving from one place to another. L and I recently went into London to see the Cirque du Soleil performance by this name at the Royal Albert Theater (which was in itself otherworldly) and the themes of wandering and foreignness seemed especially true to me as I continue to live in a county that has now become both still strange and familiar. The show takes place in a world called Varekai deep within a forest at the summit of a volcano, a world inhabited by fantastical and absurd creatures. Into this world falls a solitary young man with wings who suddenly finds himself stranded and must now learn to rediscover life. Cirque calls their show a true tribute to those with the nomadic soul and to the passion of those whose travels lead them along the path to Varekai, a claim that is quite rightly made.

Rediscovering life is definitely true of all traveling. I'm going to loosely paraphrase Mr. Bate when I say that whenever we go somewhere new it simultaneously threatens who we are and encourages us to rediscover ourselves in a new way. A comparatively banal example of this (what isn't banal after the image of winged men falling into forests filled with extraordinary creatures? I now rue the day I didn't beg my parents to send my to circus school) is my newly developed taste for ethnic food. A rather large part of British cuisine is composed of a large variety of ethnic foods, mostly Indian, but many other varieties of well. Thank goodness, otherwise we'd be stuck with nothing but bangers and mash and other variations of my now least favourite vegetable. Last night C and I went out for Lebanese food, and to my pleasant surprise I recently found out that my new favourite restaurant in London is a Pakistani one that E took me to way out in the East End.

As a blonde and a redhead, E and I were extremely conspicuous in a neighborhood of almost entirely dark haired residents as we tried to find our way through a new section of the city until we eventually had to stop and ask for directions. Inside the restaurant, we were each one of the very few women who didn't cover their hair and while our waiters were incredibly nice (maybe too nice? It took us about ten minutes to order our food because we learned so much about our waiter in the meantime, and then he kept coming back to tell us about all the places he'd been. Very interesting until E went to the restroom and I found myself cornered into a long discussion all by myself) we couldn't help noticing how much we stood out. I mean, the place was a definite winner. We've already got plans to go back.

It's all about rediscovery.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

it doesn't always rain in London



I went to visit E at Queen Mary's yesterday and to my delight was offered these lovely panoramic views of the east end- perhaps most interestingly, including the construction sites for the 2012 Olympics. E came to visit me first at Oxford for her share of the cobblestone streets and narrow roads (quite a contrast from the view above), and we had quite a lovely time "bumming around." According to E, taking the train to Oxford was a piece of cake- she had only to search for the train that all of the professor-looking types were boarding.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

navigating the unnavigable

For a lengthy and completely accurate account (including bits I can't really narrate since I wasn't actually present at the time) of the story I'm about to touch on see C's post. Really, it's a bloody good story, so go on and read it. I really wish you would.


First off, sheep poo is smelly. You can take my word for it because I have a first hand account of traversing open fields surrounded (and I mean this literally) by hundreds of sheep. D almost collided head on with one that was running down a hill as he was running up it. Quite unsettling. But how did we end up in said fields surrounded by said sheep? Well, D, C, L, and I decided to go off in search of adventure in the peak district national park.

This was our first "great idea."

We caught a train (well, in fact first we missed a train and then bought tickets for the next one) Friday night up to Derby (pronounced DARby), and as the train was extremely crowded we got to ride up north standing up in the compartment between cars where the toilets are. (Un)fortunately, we were not alone and shared our close quarters with a bunch of raucous and rowdy guys who were enjoying themselves drinking and using excessive expletives. This is where we learned that America is the land of Barbecues and Bikinis. Oh, and Disney World.


Without any further complications, mishaps, or difficulties, we managed to reach our hostel, the East Midlands Guesthouse, for the night in Derby (remember, NOT like a horse derby) and check in. The guy gave us a key to the front door warning us of a past "accident" about the complicated process entailed in getting in and out of said door that was enough to prevent us from endeavoring any further outings for the night. There was also free tea and TVs in our rooms.

Next day, we were awake bright and early to begin our adventure into the PEAK DISTRICT. With the aid of the first of many helpful hikers we were to meet throughout our trip, we managed to catch the transpeak bus up to Bakewell, home of the original Bakewell pudding (don't worry, I'd never heard of it before either). The Warren will be happy to know that unlike the deep-fried Mars Bars in Edinburgh, I actually ate one of these puddings before the day was out and can attest to its right to fame.

Upon reaching Bakewell, we decided to hit up the visitor center and purchase maps for hikes before embarking on our journies. D and I opted for trail running, while C and L decided to hike, but we both ended up picking the same 8 mile hike up to Chatsworth Park. The hike was GORGEOUS and took hikers through fields, "woody bits," golf courses (Davis and I ducked as we popped out into one field only to see a man swing his club and yell "FORE!" at us), mud, mud, mud, sheep pastures, estates, and mud. Our directions were written like a scavenger hunt including instructions such as "the path where the grass is greener than the rest," "the steeple a quarter of a mile away," and over stiles and past "ancient barrows." Yeah, we didn't know what an "ancient barrow" was either.


So, this is where the fog really descended. Our Tufts in Oxford Adviser had actually warned us before our trip about the quick fogs in the Peak District. Apparently, the army sends recruits to the area for basic training and they end up having to be rescued all the time. Davis and I got stumped searching for those "ancient barrows" for close to two hours, back tracking to a cottage that we knew we had passed an hour ago, until we were able to find enough hikers to find our way back to Bakewell through the muddiest downhill stretch of woods imaginable. We made a pact to eat at the first restaurant we found in town, as it was close to 2:30pm and we'd been out running in cold, mist, and mud for four hours at this point (a promise which we kept and to our delight discovered a wonderful tea room where we stuffed ourselves shamelessly). C and L were still making their way back to town, but they had cell service and all seemed to be going well.

But the fog only seemed to be getting worse. Shortly after finishing our meal, we received a phone call from C declaring that she and L were LOST. They were only about a mile away from town but were going in circles. They were going to look for other hikers but they hadn't seen anyone for the past hour. D and I noticed that it was now past three and going to get dark soon. We decided to go to the visitor centre and find a better map in case C and L found some sort of landmark that we could them locate them by. We hadn't been there for two minutes when we heard reception talking to "two lost girls" not from the area who were walking in circles somewhere. Our first thoughts were about how this must be a regular occurrence until we heard the receptionist advise the girls to call Mountain Rescue because it would be dark soon and then it would get really cold. This is when we realized that they were talking to C and L.

I'll fast forward here a bit through all the awful suspense (heightened by impending darkness, frantic phone calls, and the prospect of missing more trains and finding another place to stay) to the conclusion. After talking to Mountain Rescue and trying to locate themselves, C and L managed to find two seasoned hikers who rescued them and walked them back to Bakewell. At this time, they had been wandering in circles for several hours and added even more mileage to their trip, but made it back safe and sound. We even managed to catch our train on time and arrive back at Oxford, muddy, worn, and with huge smiles on our faces. Crazy trip? You betcha. Do it again? In a heartbeat.

But we'll use better maps next time.