Well hello, old friends!
Funny thing about working - it's great for 'income' and 'saving', but international travel becomes much more sparse. Unsurprisingly, therefore, so does travel blogging.
Thankfully, here I am to tell you about the start of a new adventure: a week-long trip to Paris.
I know, I've been here many times before (2008, 2011, 2012, 2013..twice, 2016... I think). It's hard to believe that in 2008, when I was here visiting Marjorie that I thought it would be a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Now it feels like an old friend, a patchwork of memories woven together by my friends and travel companions.
On this occasion, I'm here with Julia to celebrate the wedding of my Oxford housemates while continuing to explore the Ile-de-France.
We landed at Heathrow Friday night following an unprecedented daytime flight over the Atlantic. Not much to write home about, mainly because I spent the trip writing-to-work about. After spending the night with Ellie and Liam, Julia and I caught the early morning Eurostar from St Pancras, with ham and cheese sandwiches in hand. It felt great to be back in London after a three-year hiatus, even if I only saw the Tube and train station.
We arrived in Paris around 1400 Saturday and, after dropping our bags in the Marais Airbnb, set out to begin our adventures.
First was a catch-up with my former dance partner, Denny, at the Pompidou Centre rooftop bar. Not only was it great catching up with her and hearing about her career exploits, but we had a remarkable view of the 'topless' Notre Dame off in the distance. It looked as if it had had a buzz cut. I could only imagine being at the bar in April, watching as the inferno tore through the cathedral roof!
Since it was so beautiful out (a theme of the week so far), Julia and I headed to Pont Neuf - the tip of Ile-de-Cite - with some wine, Comte, and Spanish ham, and picnicked on the bank of the Seine as the sun went down. There were plenty of others out as well, but the late summer freshness was in the air, and it was a marvelous evening. We particularly enjoyed watching the pigeons perilously navigating the mossy stones whilst attempting to drink from the river.
In the morning, we met up with our mutual friend, Sally, at Gare l'Est. After a frantic few minutes trying to figure out the ticketing machines (because it wouldn't be a trip in another country without a ticketing mishap), we boarded a train for Reims. Sally has been living learning French for a while now, and she informed me that Reimes doesn't rhyme with rhyme... but actually sounds a bit more like Rchkkkkime. Sad to say that my poor English voice box can't handle that.
The train trip was actually a mere 45 minutes, leaving us on the edge of the quiet town around 10:30 in the morning. After scoping out city centre - and going to tourist info - we checked out the cathedral. Being Sunday, mass was still underway, but we admired the historic, grand, and beautiful structure from the back (with numerous other tourists). Apparently every French monarch for about 1000 years was coronated there.
It turned out, my Parisian experience of Sundays didn't translate to Reims, which was thoroughly shut down. Sundays are a day of rest; the town obliged. We did, however, find a nice local cafe for lunch, which served us the most magnificent quiche Lorraine I've ever had. Thankfully Sally and Julia both have more experience with the French language, so I didn't even have to order. We also had some amazing slices of apricot tarte, which definitely satiated the sweet tooth.
We did walk past some Roman ruins, but surrounded by construction works, it was somewhat disappointing. What wasn't disappointing was our tour of the G.H. Mumm champagne house, where we learned all about the production process and cellars. Did you know that the yeast turn to sludge in the second, in-bottle, fermentation? They have to open the 'final' bottle at -24C to pull the plug of sediment out before corking the bottle for distribution. Some of the process is still done by hand.
After a tasting, we wandered around town. It was hot, so we didn't quite get as far as we wanted. Nonetheless, it was nice having an excursion out of Paris to the champagne region. Oh yeah... for dinner I had a salad... with lardons and toasts with chevre. Yet another ham and cheese.
Yesterday, in honor of Labor Day, Julia had to briefly take care of some work in the morning. Meanwhile, I caught up with Paul from my high school days at a cafe in the Marais. Schools were starting up for the year; parents and youngsters crowded around courtyard doorways for day one registration. It was great to see all the little'uns out on such a crisp and beautiful morning. As for Paul, he was just finishing up and assignment for his job and had stopped in Paris on his way back to the States. It's a small world, considering how much we've struggled to deliberately meet up over the last decade. I had a... ham and cheese bruschetta... which was very tasty, but still ham and cheese. We chatted over breakfast.
Following breakfast, Julia and I set off to walk some of Paris. Taking the train to Place de la Concorde, we walked Quai d'Orsay along the water, through the 4th Arrondisement, past the Eiffel Tower and Trocadero, and down into the 16th. There we met Denny again, for lunch, at a place I had met her previously: Le Chalet. The rabbit risotto was outstanding. We then crossed the street to an apparently award-winning boulangerie, for a post-lunch patisserie. I saw the most delicious thing that none of the three of us could pronounce: Ecureuil. A chocolate hazelnut mousse/layer cake with a chopped hazelnut and chocolate coating, with hazelnut chocolate mousse on top. The waiter joked that the French have trouble saying 'squirrel', so it's all fair (aside, I just looked up a translation of ecureuil to realize it is a squirrel! Ha!). Anyway, if it sounds decadent... it was. A massive sugar coma followed.
From there, Julia and I trained back into the centre and met Sally (again) at the Ecole Militaire. We walked along the river, admiring the Seine and crossing at the Pont des Arts - now totally devoid of the famous love locks. We went through Chatelet, which Julia misheard as Chat au Lait, probably because of my poor English voice box that can't actually pronounce anything. We dashed into the Pompidou Centre to get a brief fix of some modern art before we had to go meet Julia's family.
The best part is that I may have convinced Julia and Sally that modern art actually has some aesthetically appealing aspects! Particularly the 'deconstructed' piano on the wall...
That's all for now! Tune in next time to see if I continued to dine on ham and cheese...
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Friday, November 17, 2017
Goodbye to Oxford, My Dear Friend
It's a shock to the system that a year and a half has passed since I departed my dear Oxford.
And yes, I realise that it's ostentatious to use those three words: my dear Oxford.
But I've tried on several occasions to pound out this post-game analysis to no avail. The test escapes this poor, linguistically-challenged engineer for attempting to make my time in Oxford nostalgic without being sappy. There comes a time when one must finally accept the inevitable.
Then again, in engineering we often find success by redefining the problem in a different light.
So. What makes Oxford magical?
Tourists flock to Oxford from both within and without the UK. They seek Oxford's charming architecture, the menagerie of sub fusc-clad species, Wonderland, Hogwarts, and the Inklings. But I have an inkling that it takes longer than a Master's degree (or even a doctorate!) to discover what makes Oxford so special.
I have so many fond memories from my time in the City of Dreaming Spires. Several of those came from trips to Port Meadow, that enchanting field just a hop, skip, and jump from city centre. Under golden autumnal skies, the sail boats gently cut through the water. In the winter, a light snow fall ushers you out to the Trout Inn for a mulled cider. During the rainy season it's not uncommon for the entire meadow to flood, leaving you sad there's no passable route to Wolvercote. In the summer, barbecues dot the field, as people sing, dance, eat, and celebrate; you and one of your best friends can go pick fresh strawberries around the corner in Binsey. At any time of year the stargazing is magnificent and it's easy to let your head swim around the stars, whilst discussing philosophy or the world or dance or the future.
Back in town, there is of course so much to see and do. It emanates from college life, where 'Formal Hall' must be seen to be believed. I don't know very much Latin, but if I had a pound for every pre-meal recitation of 'Benedictus benedicat per Jesum Christum dominum nostrum. Amen,' I could retire in Summertown tomorrow. I made it to nowhere near all of the colleges for dining, but pretty much all that I visited had some variant on that theme (even if they weren't sung, as at Keble Sunday Hall). There are two sides to every coin however, and for every formal hall or black tie dinner I attended, there was a college function that totally surprised me. You wouldn't necessarily expect such formal, prim and proper settings to play host to bops (too many stories for a lifetime of blog posts!) and carnivals, but such is the nature of Oxford. Yes, I even recall sitting with the dean (i.e. disciplinarian) and a prominent member of the alumni association - both engineers - at a formal dinner, where the latter argued that the drinking rules had become so strict these days. I can't imagine 20 years ago. I don't miss sconceing though.
Of course, food and drink are only two aspects of college life. When the days get warm, nothing is better than an afternoon of croquet on the college lawns (especially with Pimm's). Friends come and go, greeting you as they pass, whilst you try to line up the perfect shot, sending your opponent's ball to Timbuktu - and yours right to the hoop. All the while with centuries old buildings looking on. In the winter months it's easy to find interesting talks and performances to go to - be they by Phillip Pullman, Sir Ian McKellan, the Russian State Ballet, politicians at the Oxford Union, economists, actors, you name it. Or - you and your friends can read Shakespeare by the fire in comfy leather sofas. The density of arts and culture in the colleges and university is nigh overwhelming.
And outside of college? The possibilities are basically endless. One of my lab mates used to always go on about the fact that there's an Oxford Mango Appreciation Society. Jenna used to take me to the Teddy Hall Chocolate Tasting Club, but there was a vast array of group and individual activities one could try - octopush, netball, canoe polo, real polo, 'real tennis', cricket, a bajillion other (more 'normal') sports, Role Playing Game Society, language clubs, punting, picnicking, pubbing, parking (i.e. going to parks), reading groups, acting, music (I never did get to get involved in the Oxford Millennium Orchestra, sadly!), board games with friends, jaunts to the Cotswolds and London.... enough things for a lifetime. Even competitive ballroom dancing.
All of these things are amazing, but the question remains - what makes Oxford truly magical? I wish I could step into the shoes of everyone on earth to experience their most brilliant moments. I wonder how five years in Oxford would compare. Very highly, I assume. But why?
In April of last year I was working on my corrections, but keenly aware that my days were numbered. Alone in my office, I copied a list of the world's countries into Excel. How many countries were represented by the people whom I had met in Oxford? Believe it or not, over 60.
I had learned about life in Syria. Travels in Ethiopia. Growing up in Russia. Learning formation dance in Poland. Having family in Bulgaria, Canada, California, and Italy whilst interning in France. Visiting Mauritius. The Maori history of New Zealand. That the Swedish don't ride polar bears to school. Visa troubles experienced by people from, for example, Turkey. That Iranians are amongst the friendliest people. That Sinterklaas brings Dutch kids excellent St Nicholas Day treats. That 'Rhodes Must Fall' and 'Confederate flags must fall' have similarities and differences... and that people everywhere are ultimately people with views and ideas crafted by amazing personal experiences.
...and I learned these things over a breakfast at Green's Cafe or Viny's. Or while having tea and scones in the Acland dorm. Or having a sandwich in Uni Parks. Or sitting in South Parks at sunset.
You see, the architecture of Oxford is indeed amazing. The academics are great. As is the history. The activities and the hobbies are also amazing. Port Meadow is amazing, as is quickstep practice on a Saturday morning and dressing up as Jean Valjean for a Revolutions bop.
But what makes Oxford magical is the people. Not just because they're smart or witty or friendly or can talk intelligently about any topic - but because of being different and sharing a common experience. They are not necessarily engineers, or from Virginia, or dancers, or musicians (though some are) - but they are passionate about the act of inquiry; the acquisition of knowledge and experiences.
And whether working hard or playing hard, the students of Oxford never lose sight of how remarkable the city is, and their privilege to be there.
In my last weekend in Oxford we had a dance in St Columba's church and a barbecue - where else - in Port Meadow. Though I had been in those places frequently and hosted many barbecues, the air was still unique that weekend. It was bittersweet as we celebrated the years past. Yes, people from all over the world were there assembled as friends in the Oxford we knew and loved, connecting over things we loved most.
Now, with those magical memories fading into the distant past, I can only hope that one day we will walk those cobblestoned streets together once more.
For my dear Oxford is their dear Oxford too.
And yes, I realise that it's ostentatious to use those three words: my dear Oxford.
But I've tried on several occasions to pound out this post-game analysis to no avail. The test escapes this poor, linguistically-challenged engineer for attempting to make my time in Oxford nostalgic without being sappy. There comes a time when one must finally accept the inevitable.
Then again, in engineering we often find success by redefining the problem in a different light.
So. What makes Oxford magical?
Tourists flock to Oxford from both within and without the UK. They seek Oxford's charming architecture, the menagerie of sub fusc-clad species, Wonderland, Hogwarts, and the Inklings. But I have an inkling that it takes longer than a Master's degree (or even a doctorate!) to discover what makes Oxford so special.
I have so many fond memories from my time in the City of Dreaming Spires. Several of those came from trips to Port Meadow, that enchanting field just a hop, skip, and jump from city centre. Under golden autumnal skies, the sail boats gently cut through the water. In the winter, a light snow fall ushers you out to the Trout Inn for a mulled cider. During the rainy season it's not uncommon for the entire meadow to flood, leaving you sad there's no passable route to Wolvercote. In the summer, barbecues dot the field, as people sing, dance, eat, and celebrate; you and one of your best friends can go pick fresh strawberries around the corner in Binsey. At any time of year the stargazing is magnificent and it's easy to let your head swim around the stars, whilst discussing philosophy or the world or dance or the future.
Back in town, there is of course so much to see and do. It emanates from college life, where 'Formal Hall' must be seen to be believed. I don't know very much Latin, but if I had a pound for every pre-meal recitation of 'Benedictus benedicat per Jesum Christum dominum nostrum. Amen,' I could retire in Summertown tomorrow. I made it to nowhere near all of the colleges for dining, but pretty much all that I visited had some variant on that theme (even if they weren't sung, as at Keble Sunday Hall). There are two sides to every coin however, and for every formal hall or black tie dinner I attended, there was a college function that totally surprised me. You wouldn't necessarily expect such formal, prim and proper settings to play host to bops (too many stories for a lifetime of blog posts!) and carnivals, but such is the nature of Oxford. Yes, I even recall sitting with the dean (i.e. disciplinarian) and a prominent member of the alumni association - both engineers - at a formal dinner, where the latter argued that the drinking rules had become so strict these days. I can't imagine 20 years ago. I don't miss sconceing though.
Of course, food and drink are only two aspects of college life. When the days get warm, nothing is better than an afternoon of croquet on the college lawns (especially with Pimm's). Friends come and go, greeting you as they pass, whilst you try to line up the perfect shot, sending your opponent's ball to Timbuktu - and yours right to the hoop. All the while with centuries old buildings looking on. In the winter months it's easy to find interesting talks and performances to go to - be they by Phillip Pullman, Sir Ian McKellan, the Russian State Ballet, politicians at the Oxford Union, economists, actors, you name it. Or - you and your friends can read Shakespeare by the fire in comfy leather sofas. The density of arts and culture in the colleges and university is nigh overwhelming.
And outside of college? The possibilities are basically endless. One of my lab mates used to always go on about the fact that there's an Oxford Mango Appreciation Society. Jenna used to take me to the Teddy Hall Chocolate Tasting Club, but there was a vast array of group and individual activities one could try - octopush, netball, canoe polo, real polo, 'real tennis', cricket, a bajillion other (more 'normal') sports, Role Playing Game Society, language clubs, punting, picnicking, pubbing, parking (i.e. going to parks), reading groups, acting, music (I never did get to get involved in the Oxford Millennium Orchestra, sadly!), board games with friends, jaunts to the Cotswolds and London.... enough things for a lifetime. Even competitive ballroom dancing.
All of these things are amazing, but the question remains - what makes Oxford truly magical? I wish I could step into the shoes of everyone on earth to experience their most brilliant moments. I wonder how five years in Oxford would compare. Very highly, I assume. But why?
In April of last year I was working on my corrections, but keenly aware that my days were numbered. Alone in my office, I copied a list of the world's countries into Excel. How many countries were represented by the people whom I had met in Oxford? Believe it or not, over 60.
I had learned about life in Syria. Travels in Ethiopia. Growing up in Russia. Learning formation dance in Poland. Having family in Bulgaria, Canada, California, and Italy whilst interning in France. Visiting Mauritius. The Maori history of New Zealand. That the Swedish don't ride polar bears to school. Visa troubles experienced by people from, for example, Turkey. That Iranians are amongst the friendliest people. That Sinterklaas brings Dutch kids excellent St Nicholas Day treats. That 'Rhodes Must Fall' and 'Confederate flags must fall' have similarities and differences... and that people everywhere are ultimately people with views and ideas crafted by amazing personal experiences.
...and I learned these things over a breakfast at Green's Cafe or Viny's. Or while having tea and scones in the Acland dorm. Or having a sandwich in Uni Parks. Or sitting in South Parks at sunset.
You see, the architecture of Oxford is indeed amazing. The academics are great. As is the history. The activities and the hobbies are also amazing. Port Meadow is amazing, as is quickstep practice on a Saturday morning and dressing up as Jean Valjean for a Revolutions bop.
But what makes Oxford magical is the people. Not just because they're smart or witty or friendly or can talk intelligently about any topic - but because of being different and sharing a common experience. They are not necessarily engineers, or from Virginia, or dancers, or musicians (though some are) - but they are passionate about the act of inquiry; the acquisition of knowledge and experiences.
And whether working hard or playing hard, the students of Oxford never lose sight of how remarkable the city is, and their privilege to be there.
In my last weekend in Oxford we had a dance in St Columba's church and a barbecue - where else - in Port Meadow. Though I had been in those places frequently and hosted many barbecues, the air was still unique that weekend. It was bittersweet as we celebrated the years past. Yes, people from all over the world were there assembled as friends in the Oxford we knew and loved, connecting over things we loved most.
Now, with those magical memories fading into the distant past, I can only hope that one day we will walk those cobblestoned streets together once more.
For my dear Oxford is their dear Oxford too.
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