It was a call that was so sublime, but the room is so quiet, oh*

Oh, was it good to be in my City again. Not that it wasn't nice to be there with Lauren or with my family, but it's been just about a month since I've been there by myself. Just me wandering London. And it was so nice to do it again.

I'm starting to wonder if London is somehow sentient. I took a street I know I've never taken (the only path I hadn't trod from the center of Piccadilly Circus) and after a right, then a left, then a split-second decision to go right again, I ended up in a part I've recently been thinking of exploring again (Covent Garden). To be fair, the center part of London isn't that hard to navigate, but I wasn't thinking about where I was going, just walking. And my city spits me out somewhere I've been saying I should go again. The same happened a little later on as I meandered through Soho without knowing exactly where I was--and out I popped at the other end of the street I started on. I'm just saying, maybe the City knows where I need to be, even if I'm not consciously thinking it.

I spent at least two hours sitting in Trafalgar Square, thinking and writing and people-watching and taking pictures. I went on a bit of a black-and-white photo kick, actually. I took a lot of b&w pics of iconic places. And a lot of videos. I'm thinking about editing the videos together into a love letter to my city when I'm back this summer. Should be fun.

Piccadilly Circus

One side of Trafalgar Square, looking towards the Strand and Northumberland Ave

This is really cool. My book Secret London: An Unusual Guide says it's Britain's smallest police station. "Allegedly, the secret police box was installed by Scotland Yard in 1926 so that the cops could keep an eye on the demonstrators and agitators who routinely gathered in Trafalgar Square (still London's most popular protest site)."

Sitting on the rim of one of the fountains, looking back at the National Gallery

Who's that cool cat in the aviator shades in a black-and-white photo?

The Eye from Westminster Bridge

Parliament and Westminster Bridge from down near the Eye

I think I definitely like b&w much better than the colour setting. You may be missing the candy-apple red double deckers and the contrast between the buses and the black cabs, but most of my b&w photos turned out awesome and classy. Whereas, in colour, you can see all the imperfections that an amateur photographer with a sometimes-many-clicks camera has in her pictures.

What a lovely day. And now to sleep and spend all tomorrow studying for my oral Arabic final tomorrow evening. What fun. Wish me luck!


* Everyone should go listen to Breath of Life, the new Florence + the Machine song. The song is quintessential Flo, powerful and building and crashing down into nothing only to build again. Beautiful. But you guys should know what I'm going to say: the lyrics. The lyrics are amazing. Everything. It's so intense and perfect.

Hello all! -waves-

Sorry I haven't had much to say. It's not that things haven't been happening, it's just I haven't had much to say.

My list that says To Blog goes like this:
- finish Venice story


And that's it. So while I have gone and seen the Avengers with Bella and I have hung out in Camden and watched the sun go down over my City from the top of Primrose Hill with Lauren and while I have done the fun kind of research for a paper, I don't know how much of that is particularly interesting. Apparently, my idea of this blog has changed. It used to be "random thoughts while in England" and then it changed to "tell an interesting story about being in England." And while hanging out with friends is fun, I guess it doesn't qualify as a proper story you're all waiting with baited breath to hear?

Anyway, the weather recently has been properly English. Not just grey and drizzly, oh no, but downpours that are over in a flash and then come back as soon as you think it's going to be a nice day. But today, my friends, the sun is shining bright and warm into my little attic room and I am going to look over my Arabic and then skedaddle into Central. Because it has been too long since I wandered there on my own and because it's a gorgeous day and because I can, really.

Toodle-loo!

Recent happenings in my life: Oxford, Stratford-upon-Avon, old friends and Britishness

I was here and then I was gone again and now I'm back. Phew, this month has been a whirlwind and it's not slowing down anytime soon, though the next few weeks will be more about school and less about the big, wide world. (Read: boring)

On Sunday, I met up with an old dance friend of mine in Oxford. Well, she's not in Oxford, she's actually been studying in Paris for the year, but she's touring England for the week and was staying with some friends in Oxford. We wandered around Oxford (such a lovely town!) for the day, went to some cute shops, hung out in a pub while it hailed (yes, it hailed. I don't know what's going on with the weather lately. It's been super weird) and then I showed her the first two episodes of Sherlock. (That was all we had time for by the time we got back to her place and stopped gabbing)

Monday saw us rise bright and early so that we could make our ways (she took the bus and I the train) to Stratford-upon-Avon, the birth and death place of one Mr William Shakespeare...whose birthday it was. My hour-ish train ride saw a beautifully, quintessentially English landscape: wide, green pastures broken only in the distance by the occasional old house or row of trees, set against a huge sky of deep greys. Most people don't like grey skies; bright blue with sun and a few wispy white clouds is usually the sight that fills people with joy. It's very pretty, certainly, but it's not my favourite. There's not enough contrast, not enough to interest my eye and my brain. My grey clouds, they're rarely monotonous, even though everyone seems to think they are. There are so many different shades, so many different shapes the layers can make. It's absolutely gorgeous to me. And it stayed like that for most of the day, patches of sunshine but mostly a chilly English day. A perfect backdrop for celebrating Billy Shakes' birthday.

She arrived earlier than I did and when we were there a couple weeks ago (the Williams' + co and I), I'd already seen the Birthplace. So she did that and we met in the gift shop, where we bought matching pocket Much Ado About Nothings, tiny blue leather things that mean a lot for both of us. (It's our favorite play, something we found out as part of a list of surprisingly similarities). After that, we were in desperate need of food, so we stopped into the Windmill Inn (another place I'd gone with the family). Which was delicious, again.

We didn't have much time after that, however, so we spent the rest of it at that most sacred of places in the town, his grave. Talk about a spiritual experience! The church was beautiful, we paid our mandatory donation (2 pounds for adults, another number for seniors, 50p for students, yay!) and walked past the gift shop and the kids' corner and headed straight for the altar at the back. I could tell exactly which was his; it was the one completely covered in flowers from the festivities this past weekend. Hundreds of bouquets (mostly tulips, like the ones gracing my desk right now) obscuring everything but the plaque on the step above stating that this was the grave of William Shakespeare, famous poet.

We took pictures and sat on the step. Lauren had a flower she wanted to present, but it had to be the right moment or something. I didn't have a gift, but I wanted to read something. We had our Much Ados and she also bought R&J and Hamlet, but we didn't realize until that moment that our Much Ados had sonnets in the back. I read through some and, though it's not perfectly fitting, I settled on Sonnet 19, murmuring it to myself. Lauren asked that I read it as she threw her flower and, partly because of the church setting and partly because I was in front of William Shakespeare's grave, I read it in a hushed, cracking voice. It was magical.

Our time up, we walked quickly by New Place, where she took pictures, and to the bus station. (She was to leave about an hour and a half before I, so I was going to make sure she got back alright and then wander a little more). We waited for her bus...and waited. And waited. Until finally, half an hour after the bus was supposed to arrive and take her to Oxford, where she was to board a train to take her to a family friend's place in Central London, the other guy waiting for the bus called and we found out it was due to be an hour and 47 minutes late.

So, cold and wet and grumpy, we went to the train station and got her tickets to come back with me. And then from Oxford, I took my own train back to London Paddington. It wasn't the best turn of events (Lauren's travels have all subscribed to Murphy's Law, lately), but it was a very, very good day.

And the wonderfully, deliciously English cap to the day: not only did I mainly subsist on tea all day (a regular tea, white, which means milky, and a "cheers" when it's handed to me--oh, I'm starting to fit in here), but I had a half hour wait for my train at Waterloo Station back home, so I finally bought a Cornish pasty and oh, was it good. So I was sat at Waterloo Station, one of the hubs of London transport, eating a pasty and drinking tea. I felt so delightfully English, I can't explain it.

And then today, I found out that not only could I buy a cd of an artist I like for only 7 pounds at Sainsbury's, but they also have individual portions of Sticky Toffee Pudding. Which, if you don't know, is basically pure sugar and is the most delicious pudding (or dessert) I have had here.

I will finish up the story of Venezia soon, but I'm back to classes now and the first part of my Arabic final is on Thursday and so, who knows when I will get to it. But I will.

Italia! Part 1 1/2: Roma and Venezia!

+ For our last day in Rome, we hit up the Vatican, which was amazing. First was St. Peter's Basilica and I could've spent all bloody day in there, so absolutely gorgeous was it. And then we made our way through the insane tourist crowds to the Sistine Chapel. Oh, my. It wasn't the same as my reaction to the Hagia Sophia, but oh, was it so very, very amazing to see. Another moment I was keenly aware that I was standing inside history.

Though, I must admit to a little bit of, hmm, blasphemy? Because whilst standing in the Sistine Chapel, looking up at the beautiful art in the hushed silence, I started to think of this Eddie Izzard clip and nearly burst out giggling: "Michaelangelo, a painter and a decorator. And when the Pope said, (Italian accent) "Michaelangelo, I want you to paint the Sistine Chapel." He said, (working class accent) "Yeah, no problem. I'll use these rollers, I'll do it in beige… uh, stipple effect you know, and two days we'll be sorted." "No, you get me wrong. I want a picture with the Holy Father, the Jesus Christ and lots of little fat kids with wings."

Trust me, it's very funny.

+ Anyway, we ended up chilling in the courtyard at the Vatican Museum for a couple hours and then wandering back to Flaminio via the bridge by Castel San Angelo and up next to the river. A very nice walk.

+ Then to the bus we took from the airport, but this time going to Fiumancio Airport, rather than Ciampinio, so it was a longer journey and we were cutting it very, very close. Bella didn't seem to care, but I was biting my nails the whole time.

Apparently, and this might shock you all, I am a worrier. I like leaving plenty of time and I like knowing what I'm doing and I like having a contingency plan in case something goes wrong. I guess I'm more like my father (the planner) and my grandmother (the worry-wart) than I knew. :P

But of course, we made it just on time and we were fine and we touched down in Venezia around 10-ish. Bus to Piazzle Roma (I like that in Rome it was Piazza Venezia and in Venice it was Piazzale Roma; we couldn't escape the other while we were in each.) and then waterbus (boat!) down to our stop (Zitelle) and our hostel.

We slept deeply that night, if not well because of the many high school groups in the rooms who were very excitable indeed.

Next up: Venezia!

Italia! Part One: Roma!

I'm surprising myself with my promptness in writing this up. I arrived home in early afternoon yesterday and chilled out for the rest of the day. Today I was lazy for the morning, but am currently in the Surbiton Wetherspoons with a full belly and a cider in hand. And so, Italy.

Pardon, this write-up may be a bit choppy. I tried to write everything that happened down at the end of each day, but this is translated directly from my journal, so it's still a bit note-like.

Roma! -Day One (Saturday)

+ Bella and I met up in Central late on Friday the 13th and then made our way to Stansted Airport. Remind me never to go via Stansted again. It's a little bit sketchy and a lot inconvenient to get to. Though, to be fair, Heathrow is also not terribly convenient to get at. It's just generally weird to get from where we are to an airport. But once at Stansted, we got some food around midnight and then curled up for a couple hours sleep. Of course, we were curled up on the cold, hard floor, so it was less than ideal, but it was sleep and I needed it. At about 3 am, we woke up to check in and go through security for our 5.40 boarding time. Luckily, there was a Starbucks on the other side of security, so I grabbed a vanilla latte. We were surprisingly chipper for the ungodly hour and so little sleep.

+ Ryanair is a jerk. Not only are the sketchy (they're the cheapest flight for a reason...), but their standards for carry-on (only one piece, not one and a personal bag, but only one, and a very, very small one piece at that) meant that I had to pay an exorbitant amount at the gate to put it in the hold. Stupid Ryanair. Luckily, the other two flights we had (neither with Ryanair), I had already paid to put one bag in the hold, so I was set.

+ Had a not terribly interesting flight, touched down in Rome at 9.40 local time (8.40 London time and 3.40 am home time). Italy has the easiest security-and-baggage-claim I have ever been to. We were out, with a bus ticket to Termini Station, the hub for getting from the airport to the city, by 10.07. Got on the 10.45 bus, hit up Termini, in the middle-left of Rome, by 11.15 or so.

+ Managed to navigate the crowds (omg, Italians do not know how to queue! They're one giant quivering mob of pushy limbs and loud voices in languages I do not understand), the Metro system, Metro tickets and getting off at the right stop all on 3 hrs of sleep, no food, and with luggage. I was inordinately proud of this feat, given that I get cranky only one of the three, not to mention being in a new place where I don't know anything that's happening around me. Got off the Metro at Flaminio, which we quickly found out was the hub of central Rome, and took the overground to Prima Porta, where we waited for the free shuttle bus to our hostel.

+ Our hostel, Tiber Hostel and Camping, was just that: both a hostel and a campground. Which was a little strange, but not as strange as what we found out after we checked in: the rather swanky restaurant on the grounds ended up being the best food we had all trip. Our first meal in Italy was (for me) a proper Italian cappuccino and spaghetti with tomato sauce, smothered in cheese and real tomato chunks. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. I would say that's an overstatement, because I was so hungry and just in need of food, but no. A second meal (dinner the next night) with a different choice of food proved to be just as, if not more, delicious.

+ After our late lunch, we got back on the overground, back to Flaminio, and back on the metro to the stop Repubblica, where Bella led us to a bookstore she'd read about on a list of the 13 best bookstores around the world. Among the notable interesting things was a travel moleskine (I love moleskine journals and this was created specifically with world travelers in mind) and Claude Levi-Strauss (a famous anthropologist) in Italian.

+ We continued walking and ended up at Piazza Venezia, at a giant monument built by [insert famous Italian name that I can't remember here] which also housed their own Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

+ From there, up Via del Corso, the big main road in Central Rome. Lots of shopping and tourist stuff. Very cool.

+ Up to Piazza del Popolo (where the Flaminio station lets out) then over to a side street where we found delicious pizza (margherita, mmmm) and our waite, a nice older man who wanted to show off his city. He took a look at our maps and pointed out all the best sites to hit. Very sweet and cool. And after that, gelato! Mmmm, Nutella and chocolate chip (stracciatella)!

+ Took a walk to the Tiber River with our gelato, at which point I turned to Bella and said, "you know, this reminds me of the first time I walked across the Thames [this semester]." And she said, "disappointing?" Yeah, that was it. The Tiber River is a bit like the Thames in that it's dirty and less impressive than you think. Still nice, just a bit of an "...oh" moment.

+ After that we took all our transport back to the hostel and crashed for the night.


Roma!- Day Two (Sunday)

+ We ignored Bella's alarm enough that it finally turned itself off and so I woke up a couple times, but dozed pretty much all morning, before eventually rising around 11.30. We had no plans and we had no sleep, so I thought we were entitled to a lazy morning.

+ Got into Flaminio around 1, set off in search of food, and ended up at the Pantheon. Which is gorgeous. We didn't go inside, but we bought take-away panini (and cappuccinos, yum) and sat in the piazza and people-watched.

+ Walked across to Piazza Navona next (a very pretty marketplace with paintings I nearly bought for myself--a ballerina fixing her pointe shoes--and mama--a field of sunflowers and an Italian villa in the background), then wandered down Corso Vittorio Emanuele II to a bridge, from which we could see the very impressive Castel San Angelo. It was once a fortress and a castle and a place where the pope could escape the confines of Vatican City (down one long walkway straight to St Peter's Basilica) and is now primarily for tourists.

+ Across the river, down Via Della Lungara to Via Garibaldi. Yes, I know he's a famous figure in Italian history, but all I can think of is Daffy Duck, a bald head, and "Meeester Garibaldi!" from Babylon 5. Anyway, we found our way up to a monastery to a beautiful, beautiful sight of all of Rome spread out beneath us. We were on Janiculum Hill, an important place in Italian historyhe sight of a very, very bloody battle, and one of the seven hills of Rome. It was raining and cloudy and gross, weather-wise, but it didn't matter because the view was amazing.

+ After which, of course, we promptly got lost. In the rain. In the residential area of Rome that wasn't even on our map. After panicking and going through my internal monologue that hates being lost, it was actually pretty cool.

+ Took the train from Roma Trastevere (which wasn't even on our map...) to Rome Termini and then took all our public transport to our hostel, where we had another swanky dinner. (2 sangrias! Spaghetti with bacon in the tomato sauce! Tiramisu! Tottenham v Chelsea on telly!) and then to bed again.


Roma! -Day Three (Monday)

+ In to Rome by 8.30 am, breakfast at a cafe down Corso: a Nutella cornetti (kind of like a croissant) and a cappuccino.

+ A three hour bicycle tour around Rome. I was a little (okay a lot) nervous at first, since it's been a least 4 years since I've been on a bike and the drivers (and pedestrians!) in Rome are completely and totally bonkers. But it ended up being a lot of fun, even if I went a bit white-knuckley in a couple places. We saw a couple sights we'd already been to (the Pantheon and Piazza Navona, for example), but then we hit the big sights in both old and modern Rome (the Colosseum is amazing and I wish we could've gone inside, but we had a timetable; and the Trevi Fountain, into which both Bella and I threw a coin the proper way: backwards, over our left shoulders with our right hands) and it was really, really awesome to see the city. I have an insane respect for bicyclists now, especially in big cities.

+ Made our way to the Spanish Steps and walked a ways amongst the expensive shops (Armani! Chanel! I actually touched a pair of Chanel pumps and just about died). I don't know why women are so masochistic when it comes to pretty things we can't afford.

+ Sat on the Spanish steps, in the sunshine, for a few hours. She read her book, I people-watched and wrote a bit. On our right was a tearoom that we had a very late afternoon tea in (Babbington's. Expensive, but worth it) and on our left was the Keats-Shelley museum with a plaque proclaiming this is the spot where John Keats died at age 25 and next to a sign that just said Byron and had no explanation. It was amazing. I love it, centers of art and culture that have lasted for centuries and will continue to do so for centuries more.

While I'm thinking of it, here have Benedict Cumberbatch reading Ode to a Nightingale, by Keats. Come drown in the beauty of it, like I am.


Next up: Tuesday, which was half Rome and half Venice, and then two full days in Venice!

Istanbul, not Constantinople (part 2)

And time for part two of my Istanbul story!

Sunday, 1/4:

+ Engin had called to reserve us a place at a very nice Turkish baths, the hamam. It wasn't exactly what I was expecting (not that I knew what to expect), but it was a lot of fun. We splurged and went for the Luxury package, which included a scrub down and wash and a 30 minute oil massage.

What we weren't expecting is how the wash went down. You walk into a large room with natural light from the ceiling and a large hot stone in the center. Most of the women are topless, some fully unclothed, and all speaking in Turkish. You are indicated to lay down on the hot stone, work up a bit of a sweat, and then one of the women pointed to me and pointed to the edge of the stone, where the washing was being done the whole way round. She removed my bra and scrubbed me with water and a loofah pad (or something like it) and then did the same with hot water and a soap. It was nice and relaxing and she spoke a little English, enough to ask me "English?" and "You enjoy Istanbul?" but I wasn't really concerned about the language barrier because I could understand her directions and I was really relaxed. She then brought me to another area and rinsed me off and washed my hair and then pointed me to the jacuzzi room.

I was happy to just float in the jacuzzi until they called me in for my massage, but the other three (who had not enjoyed it as much as I had, having expected something different; I think they were uncomfortable with naked women washing them down, but I don't understand. The cultural tradition is it's a place for Muslim women to go and cleanse themselves and only women are allowed in with each other.) weren't content with that. So we went looking. I ended up waiting a few more minutes downstairs while they were taken upstairs.

The massage was amazing and so worth spending a little more money (after all, I'd gotten out the liras and when was I going to use them again?). I reflected a little afterwards that even a year ago, I would not have been this comfortable with nudity and strange people touching me. (I still can't have people touch my feet, though; the lady tried on one foot and I stayed as still as possible, but when she moved to the other one I couldn't help jerking around a bit. She took the hint and focused on the rest of me, lol).

+ After showering and changing, we were hungry and so went for food. Not as good as the other places we ate, but eh, that's like anywhere.

+ We split up after that, because I wanted (not wanted, needed, but I didn't let them in on just how much it meant to me) to go see the Hagia Sophia and they didn't. So they went in search of the underground water system that is no longer in use and is now a tourist destination and then Topkapi Palace, I think, while I went to stand in line and give my money to history.

+ I'm going to add this little bit here. This is part of the reason it's taken me so long to write this up. You know how I'm overly emotional and I say things like, "it was the best [thing] ever!" about, oh, I don't know, everything? And how I'll say things like it gave me goosebumps or I was speechless or I can't find the words to say? I feel I overuse those phrases and all of them are relevant for the next story, but I feel like a failure. If the writer can't find the words to describe an experience and so resorts to "it was amazing, I was speechless, I had goosebumps," what sort of writer is she? But that is a tangent for another time. It's time for me to tell you about the Hagia Sophia.

+ Since I read The Historian the summer before 10th grade and then had a chapter on the Byzantine Empire in 10th grade history, I have wanted to see the Hagia Sophia. What attracts me is the physical (the pictures have always shown it to be a beautiful, beautiful sight) and the spiritual; it was a church during the Christian Byzantine Empire and then a mosque when the Muslim Ottoman Empire came in and now it functions as a meeting place between the two, important for both (though a little more for Christians; the Blue Mosque is more holy for Muslims in the city) and proof positive that, though it may come from a place of war and conquering, the two religions can exist side by side and bring Christians and Muslims to their knees in the same place. It doesn't matter what words are used (words are superfluous anyway, when it comes to emotion; feeling is more important than thinking) or what pictures are on the wall (for the record, Christian iconography stands beside old Quranic phrases in calligraphy on the walls), it is a holy place.

+ I was fairly jittering in line and I was impatient at the till ("just take my money and let me in!" I wanted to say) and then I walked inside. And I promptly started crying. I couldn't help it, the tears just started. I had to close my eyes and talk myself down to keep from blubbering and properly bawling.

To quote directly from my journal, written whilst in the building itself: "Hagia Sophia (Aya Sophia) is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life and I started crying when I walked in. There are no words. Well, there are. All cliche, all adjectives that hold no candle to what I'm actually feeling. It's the kind of emotional response that goes beyond language and description."

And then later, the next morning, "I felt completely...destroyed. Emotionally. I'm fairly certain that my face was some weird contortion of pain and discomfort--but I really was just trying to hold back from weeping."

+ To add to that emotional turmoil (actually, I came out feeling calmer than I had done in a very long time. At peace. It could be the crying, but I think it was the catharsis the experience provided), we went to a Whirling Dervish ceremony that evening. No one else in my party or in the audience, for that matter, cared about it the way I did; everyone else was taking pictures and snacking and whatever else, but I tried to keep my attention focused on what they were showing us, the piece of cultural and spiritual tradition that we were allowed to see. It was beautiful.

Monday, 2/4:

+ We didn't have to leave until 1 (I could've waited longer, having waffled and bought the later flight), so while they were packing and showering and getting themselves together, I went for a walk. Nowhere big, just up and down a bit of Istiklal, just letting myself sink into the feeling of being there. It was a nice ending to a whirlwind weekend.


So, my dear readers, that is that. My incredible journey to a city I never thought I'd actually get to visit. Pictures are here, all 200+ of them.

And now, to finish packing for my next adventure: Italy! Bella and I leave for Rome ungodly early tomorrow morning (so early we're going in tonight), spend 3 days there, then 3 days in Venice, then back home.

Istanbul, not Constantinople (part 1)

My dear darling readers, you have been so patient and I have been so lazy. I apologize for keeping you waiting and now I will set down the story of Istanbul.

Friday, 30/3:
+ We arrived in the evening and took a taxi (taksi) to our hostel, the Taksim Lounge in Taksim Square, pretty much the other side of the city from the airport.

+ Taksim Lounge looks kind of sketchy on the outside (it's a faded, cracked pale blue hidden in a corner a couple streets off the main roads), but it is a wonderful, magical place. Headed by a man named Engin, it's only been open 4 months and is a bit of a family affair, with Engin pretty much living on site and his brother taking the night role, except for when we got there. (He was studying for an exam.) Engin is amazing, a force of nature. He survives on three hours of sleep, is always helpful and will get you whatever you need, he keeps us fed and full of Turkish tea or coffee. He deserves the great reviews he got online. And the people I met there were fascinating: Jen and Lucy, two friends from British Columbia and Australia respectively, who were traveling during hols; James, an English guy, who seemed to be best friends with them even though they'd only just met; Stephen, an Australian man who was basically working his way around the world. He'd spent the past two months doing China and Southeast Asia, was in Turkey for a week or so, then off to Eastern Europe and finally ending in the UK.

+ We asked Engin where the best, cheapest Turkish food was and he gave us directions to a delicious place. Not a seven-course meal with cushions and tea and bellydancers (like the Moroccan place we went to in DC a few years ago), but a restaurant where Turkish people actually eat. The term authentic is usually used for restaurants like the one in DC, to give the appearance of confirmation, that this is how it usually goes down in such a place. Not really. Most of the places we found in Istanbul, even if they were nicer, were sort of buffet style (buffet behind glass, anyway; you pointed at what you wanted), and wonderfully cheap. About 10 liras would get you heaping platefuls of delicious food. I was expecting it to be spicier, but that's me.

Saturday, 31/3:

+ I had hoped to go on a guided tour of the city, Byzantine and Ottoman Relics, but that didn't happen. So we had decided to do a big tour of Sultanahmet (Old City, the area with all the big pieces), but we didn't move fast enough to do everything I wanted. This upset me a little at the time, but traveling is a learning experience and I still had a good day.

+ We made it over the bridge to the Spice Bazaar first. It's smaller than the Grand Bazaar, but we still spent hours and hours in it. It's exactly what it sounds like, a looong enclosed hallway with stalls crammed up against each other selling spices and tea and Turkish Delight (which is delicious, omg). I'll let you in on a little secret: I bought a bunch of Turkish tea for my daddy and I and to be split amongst the aunts. So there, I was hoping to keep it a surprise, but you guys have been patient with me.

+ After the Spice Bazaar, we found our way through the crowded streets (when I say crowded, I don't mean Saratoga when the track is open; I mean, there is nowhere to move because of the crush of people and stalls.), stopping occasionally to look at this or that. Lucy and Jen told me to find the pomegranate guy, which I didn't understand until we found one. You know orange juicers? Where you put the orange in and squeeze and squish, goes the orange and out comes your orange juice? Well, he did that (the other girls had a combination orange-pomegranate juice, but I just wanted the pomegranate) and it was so cool to watch. One 5 lira glass of pomegranate juice took 4 pomegranates. (And that is probably the most times I've ever had to spell pomegranate in one go.)

+ And then the Grand Bazaar, which is one of the two things I most wanted to do in the city. Ohmygoodness, it was pretty! And absolutely massive. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, other than a giant place full of people selling things and pretty painting on the ceiling. And it was just that, but so much more. You know how we have the Mall of America, that temple of material consumption? I feel like this is the Turkish version, but with such much more history behind it. It has the history of hundreds of years of this tradition; this is how so many people make their living. And the cultural tradition of haggling!

+ Three things that happened at the Grand Bazaar: I was given a picture for free; I haggled a 10 lira bracelet of the eye down to 5 lira and haven't taken it off since; we were given free tea.

The first one probably requires the most explanation. Wandering through the stalls, the girls were stuck on the jewelry. I was looking for a simple talisman bracelet, just a sturdy string with the eye on it that I could wear around and not feel too much like a tourist, so I passed by stall after stall after a cursory glance while they poured over the silver and shiny. I just so happened to pass a stall selling prints of calligraphy, old maps, old paintings. Beautiful. I said as much to the guy who was selling and I often get very enthusiastic about things I like, so I could tell I was grinning and looking around in wonder. He asked where I was from (almost every seller that we conversed with asked that) and I said the States and he said I was a lot sweeter than most of the Americans. "They come in like this" (he posed with a frown and crossed his arms over his chest), "but you are not. You're much sweeter." Which was a very nice thing to say, even if it might have been a flattery technique to get me to buy. He then said, "May I give you a gift?" To which I obviously replied, "Sure!" He handed me a small print, about letter size. Calligraphy, or whatever the equivalent is in drawing; it was a ink drawing of a dervish in the middle of whirling. Probably the best free thing I've ever received.

+ After the Bazaars, we ate and then needed to go. Unfortunately, the public bathrooms were squatting toilets. I don't know if you've ever experienced that, but it is awkward.

+ Found Sultanahment, walked around the Blue Mosque, which was stunning! Especially in the late afternoon light.

+ There was another guy Lucy and Jen talked about, the "honey guy" between Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia, in Sultanahment Square. Oh goshhhhhh. He wraps warmed and flavored honey around each other into a candy on a stick. SO good.

+ Back to the hostel via a long, long, long way up. So many stairs.

+ The best food I had in Istanbul was that night, at like 9.30. It was a kebab in gyro-like sauce (it's not tzatki, but similar) in a wrap and it was 7 lira and I was so happy. We tried the drinkable yogurt and that was not so good.

+ After chilling at the hostel for a few hours, we went out to a hookah bar with Lucy and Jen. I thought it looked kind of sketchy on the outside, but it was part of a hotel, so it was a very swanky hookah bar. And no, don't worry, we didn't do pot or hasish. What we did was shisha, and we got a mix of apple and mint flavors and it was weird at first, but I got the hang of it after a little while and it was fun.

+ After that, we went to find the "mussels guy." Yes, it was a mussels seller on the street after midnight and yes, I had some (1 lira for two) and yes, I found it delicious. Mostly because I couldn't taste the seafoodness. There was rice and spices and he covered it in lemon juice and it was nummy.

+ We hung out till 2, when I went to take a shower and go to bed. Bri and Eberly went to bed around 3 but Aimee, Lucy and Jen went out to a couple bars and clubs and didn't get back till 6.30 or so.

Next up, Sunday!

The City is Like a Lover, fragment 3, draft 1

She’s been denied entry from her city for days now and it’s having a disgusting effect on her. Back home, she’d never complain about holing up in her room for days on end, having cup of tea after cup of tea as it rains and the clouds show grey and white as they move rapidly across her window. But she doesn’t have much time and she’s going a little stir-crazy as it is, with nothing of import to do, and so she curls up in her room and dreams of the City.

She puts on the music that she listens to as she travels the City—the song that showed up on her iPod the first magical day she spent wandering the streets in the cold winter air—and lets herself fall to dreaming. The music itself is compelling and she leans into the images it conjures up. The City in the crisp winter air, blood rushing to people’s cheeks as the wind howls; the City in the bright, bright sunshine, summer come a month too early, everyone in shorts and skirts, the cacophony more joyous this time, bright, coppery, smelling of holidays.

Her favorite, however, is the City in the late afternoon sun. Almost dusk, the gold makes everything shine; the people are smiling as they head home from work, to their families or to the pubs. Children on holiday from school run and laugh, older students play with a football, tourists trample to and fro with their cameras around their necks.

She drowns herself in the memories, in the music as it risesrisesrises to the climax, pressing herself further and further into the comforter on her bed as if she can dive right into the City through the images in her mind.

She awakes from her reverie with a smile on her face and calm in her heart.

----

The trains from Berrylands to Waterloo have been down since Friday and today there's one from Kingston, but it was about 12.30 when I found this out and drizzling cold rain and I must admit, I was reluctant to go up to Kingston and then into the city and then back to Kingston and back home. So I had a leisurely pub lunch and then came home to do some writing and a strange sort of meditating.

I've felt something pressing on my brain the last couple days. Not bad, not unpleasant, just an itch of some kind. I've been lamenting the realization that I'm a writer without a story to tell and it's been irritating me, something just out of reach that I keep jumping to get to but can't quite grab. I think it's because I've been in constant motion for the past month-ish and then all the action came to a complete stop last week and inertia is a funny thing with me. I never want to stop and once I stop, I don't have the drive to start again. So I spent today emptying my brain of some of the thoughts pressing on my brain the most.

I know, I know, I still owe you the story of Istanbul. I will do so, I promise, definitely before I leave for Italy this weekend.

The other party of my family should have touched down in England by now. I'll be seeing them tomorrow, at the Tower of London first, if I remember aright, and then we'll be doing some fun England-y things. Should get some good pictures for you.

Cadbury Creme Eggs make me very happy*

I will get around to writing up my Istanbul trip but there's a lot to say and the important parts (well, really the important part singular, the Hagia Sophia) are heavy and emotional. Hard to describe. So I'm working on coming up with the words.

Things that have happened here that are not related to my trip to Istanbul:

+ D. (my fav prof back home) asked if I wanted to be her research assistant next semester on a research project. She's sending all the assorted paperwork (including my proposal to be her assistant, thank you mother for the editing comments) in soon, so crossing fingers that that works out.

+ I emailed my fav prof here (Ian) to ask if there's even a remote possibility that I could do something in television with my anthro degree and he not only responded, but responded positively and complimented me and is willing to let me pick his brain. Which made me do a happy dance.

+ My power cord started smoking last night, to my intense horror and panic (as Danes can attest, having been in the middle of a Skype date when it happened), so I had to run out and get a new one today. I have to admit, I was still a little panicky until I got it home and had it working.

+ Wandered into Central again today (like I do), basically moving from beverage to beverage. Started with lunch at The Clarence (at the end of Whitehall, near Trafalgar Square, near where we went to see Simon Callow in Being Shakespeare last week), which was yummy; then Starbucks in Piccadilly Circus (you can see how, even in a new-ish place, I still like my routines...); then another cider (later) at The Lyceum Tavern again. I like going places where I can watch people and that often happens to be inside. Also, it was chilly today and, while I spent a good deal of time people-watching in Trafalgar Square, I got cold.

+ I have figured out part of the reason I feel so comfortable in The City: I'm calm. Peaceful. It's the sort of calm, inner peace you hear about in connection with meditation, that I've only rarely been able to achieve. Apparently, the key for cutting off my brain from thinking is to surround it with everyone else's noise and chatter and existence. I cease to think, to worry, to plan my next three days. I'm an island of nothing in the bustle of everyone else's lives. It's amazing. I have no idea why I can achieve a meditative calm in the heart of London, of all places, but I don't want to ruin it by over-analyzing it.

+ On my way back to catch the train, went across the Golden Jubilee bridge (which my parents discovered; I am ashamed that they found something I didn't after months of wandering the area...) and up the South Bank and there were a bunch of performers. First up was a troupe of breakdancers from all over the place; the lead guy was from France, others from Argentina and Columbia, Japan, etc. One of the first songs they danced to was Abdel Kader, which I know from the Rai music (French+Arabic) unit in French class in 10th grade, so I was very, very excited. After them, a pair of guys (looked like brothers, but idk) who did a ball-twirling bit, like David Bowie in Labyrinth. I couldn't stop staring, it was so cool!


* This has nothing to do with anything, other than I bought a package of them while at the store yesterday (yesterday? I don't even remember...) and they are so delicious.

Dust off your converse, it's time to save the universe*

Or, the Doctor Who Convention, as taken from notes in my journal.

1. We showed up for 9.00 opening and got a ticket to the 9.30 Special Effects showing with Danny Hargreaves, the main SFX guy. He was adorable and far too cheery about explosions at half nine in the morning, but it made an excellent start to the day. Best moments of the panel include: a small boy dressed as the Eleventh Doctor being picked to go onstage and help show off how they shoot Cybermen without actually hurting the guys in costume; and when Danny Hargreaves accidentally let a spoiler slip and turned bright red and stuttered and stumbled and laughed nervously.

2. Meet the Cast panel: my favorite, because it included Steven Moffat (the writer/head honcho of both Doctor Who and Sherlock), Matt Smith (Eleven), Karen Gillan (Amy, one of the two
companions) and Arthur Darvill (Rory, Amy's husband and the other companion), as well as Caroline [insert last name here], one of the producers.

Excellent moments include:
+ Matt entering the stage with a big ballet-like jump (a jete), nearly running over the table and spinning around to uncoordinatedly find his seat. He really is like Eleven; he's so fidgety, never sitting still, always playing with this or that. And he's adorable with kids.
+ Moff saying "[the trio] have excellent chemistry"--and Matt rejoining with "In the bedroom..." to the hysterical laughter of nearly everyone.
+ Karen Gillan saying "Macbeth" and then covering her mouth and going, "Can I say that, since we're in a theatre?" (She's adorable and in my first play with the HRSC, I was called out for saying the name Macbeth while we were onstage. It's a superstition with a long history; very interesting.)
+ The amount of cheering and swooning that went up for Arthur Darvill when they showed a clip of his character in his most badass of moments. \
+ Hearing Steven Moffat speak and his sarcasm. His quotes and comments often don't come across right in text; interviews don't explain the way he speaks and so I've never really liked his interviews. He always comes across as a bit of a jerk, to be honest. And he is, in his sarcasm, but it's sharp and quick and not really condescending, but like with my dad and his friends, if you say something stupid, prepare to get mocked for it. You can see where Moffat is a good writer and good with words and he often had the whole place in stitches; my dad was in tears for a good chunk of the panel.

3. Meet the Creators: Behind the Scenes of the episode The Girl Who Waited.

+ The writer was awesome, but I felt kind of bad for him. When he went to go pitch his idea, they cut it down a lot because they'd already done a lot of the elements in other episodes.
+ The prosthetics/make-up guy, who we saw later on, was really cool.
+ The guy who created the Handbots, the robots, and one of the girls who was in the Handbot suit. Also very cool to see how the design was conceived then made reality and then put into practice.

4. Prosthetics session: learned more about chemistry in that one hour session on how to make prosthetics than in my entire class in grade 11.
+ they made a hand cast of some guy--poured in the resin which we could watch turn from the colour it was to white. SO COOL.
+ And then they covered a woman's face in purple-blue goop and left it on then did a similar thing they did with the hand cast. Still really really cool.

5. Props and costumes room: pretty much everything I'd seen at the DW Experience...with the exception of one of the scarier monsters from last series being an actor in a costume. And it came to life. And followed people around the room. SUPER SCARY. I legitimately felt my heart start pounding and I grabbed my dad's arm to hide behind him. Argh.

6. DW Uncut: Caroline, casting director, location guy, director and cinematographer. (Sounds like the set up to a really long and complicated bad joke...)
+ Lots in store for the 50th anniversary episode which will be airing next year. So excited!
+ Ep 5 will see the return of the weeping angels, will be shot in NY, and will be Amy and Rory's heartbreaking exit. Moff says there will be a death; a proper one. I have my own suspicions and they're making me sad already.
+ Showed us the sneak peek trailer of eps 1-3, episode 3 is a Western, shot in the old areas where spaghetti Westerns were shot in southern Spain. Ben Browder!
+ A resounding no from the panel on the rumours that Benedict Cumberbatch will be in DW. Sigh. A girl can keep dreaming....

Then skipping very quickly to the next day....You guys don't have a burning desire to hear about Cardiff Castle, right? I mean, it was really cool and all, but this is a Doctor Who post and so I will skip to Monday night, when we went for a tour of the TARDIS set...

Which was seriously amazing and not nearly long enough. They gave us half an hour to walk around, take our pictures at the doors, and play with all the bits and bobs on the console (including the phone and the Blue Boringers! And the pinball...which I ended up getting stuck at the top...) and then we had to leave. I could've spent hours and hours just playing in the TARDIS. It was magical.

I often watch tv shows on two levels: the emotional story aspect and the clinical actor aspect. (Not that I'm ever clinical, as in detached, in watching my shows.) I respond to the story and can cry at an emotional scene, but I'm also thinking in the back of my mind, oh, that was a great shot or that music was amazing or thinking about how to actors call up the emotion on their faces, in their eyes, to convey it realistically. It was the same on the set. I knew it was a set, I was really excited to see it all, I liked seeing how it all fit together and who put the bits and bobs on the console; but I also felt...I don't know, like I was in the TARDIS itself. Like any minute Eleven would come bounding down those stairs, talking a mile a minute, Amy chattering in one ear and River in the other and they'd whisk me away to wherever and whenever I wanted to go. Which is the very definition of magical for me.

In short, it was a lovely weekend and a fantastic cap to the con. Pictures, sans set tour, here.


*Did I already use this title for the DW Experience? Oh well. I like the quote; it comes from somewhere on the internet because the 10th Doctor (David Tennant) always wore converse, my preferred sneaker brand.

Safe and sound on English ground once more

I've got a treat for you faithful readers of my blog: two new updates for the price of one! (Or, actually, three, including this one).

Yes, that's right, I will be telling you all about the Doctor Who Convention in one post and then writing up my trip to Istanbul in another. So for those of you complaining that I don't update enough (*cough* Uncle E ), be careful what you wish for.

I'm currently uploading pics for Edinburgh and then DWC and then finally Istanbul, I need to write up both those posts, and I need to write up a formal thing to possibly have a research job with my favorite prof next semester. I need more tea.