Thistle Do Nicely: Edinburgh, Scotland

Before heading back to London, my friend and I stopped in Edinburgh for a couple of days and were lucky enough to have gorgeous weather. We happened to stop in a pub for a pint during the one hour it rained during our entire stay.

Don’t really have too much to say for Edinburgh other than that Edinburgh Castle is one of the best castles I’ve ever been to, the trek up Arthur’s Seat is well worth it, and the Scots still love those puns.

Morocco Day by Day: Arrival in Tangier

In April, four friends and I took a 10 day trip to Morocco for what can only be deemed an extreme and totally awesome adventure. The next several posts shall be dedicated to this particular trip. I did take approximately 80 billion photos, so if that’s what you’re after, you really should head over to Picasa.

We took an Iberia flight, at some ungodly hour of the morning, to Tangier on 6 April. We’d heard some fairly mixed reviews of Tangier but we decided to check it out for ourselves. Many folks warned us to stay clear of it because it tends to be a bit more dangerous than other Moroccan cities and doesn’t represent the “real” Morocco. Others said they could get lost in the Medina for days on end and would be happy to explore the many cafes, night clubs, and restaurants. We wound up really enjoying it but probably would have gotten bored if we’d stayed for much longer.

The weather was absolutely perfect upon arrival and we could not have asked for a nicer place to stay. The hostel was called Dar Jameel and was a fairly close walk to the city’s main Casbah. It also featured a terrace overlooking the harbor.

After enjoying some “whiskey Berber” (or mint tea) on the terrace, we went into town to explore the medina. Unfortunately, we were a bit too late to actually get into the Casbah, but we did manage to sneak a look inside before the doors were shut.
The above photos are from the area just outside the Casbah. We stumbled through many arch ways and around several corners to find this place. We experienced our first Moroccan “guides,” or any man or child who decided he could help us find whatever it was we were trying to find. It was a bit unsettling but almost everyone left us alone after we said “no.”

The medina was fairly small, at least from what we saw. Kebabs in a local shop satisfied our hunger but not our new found need for mint tea.
This guy seemed to know it was our first day and so showed us how it’s done properly.

Back at the hostel a few of us played an epic game of Scrabble on the rooftop during prayer call. It was a bit eerie hearing the call for the first time, but was even more so at about 4am that morning. We had little choice but to get used to it quickly.

Dunkeld, Scotland

In March, a different friend and I made our way up to Scotland. Despite having lived in the UK for a while now, and having a British father, I’d never made it up that far north (disgraceful, I know). Well, we took the train from London up to Edinburgh and then hopped on a bus to Dunkeld. My friend happens to be a pretty fine fiddler and once upon a time went to fiddlin’ camp in Virginia. It turns out there was a fiddling festival in Dunkeld, in honor of Niel Gow, and so we decided to go along so she could get her fix and I could experience what all the fuss was about.

I didn’t realize this before our trip, but apparently the Scots love their puns, perhaps more so than the Irish. This was especially evident in smaller towns, such as Dunkeld. We also happened across a beautiful church, St. Columba’s Cathedral and a forest that may have given Shakespeare inspiration for MacBeth.

We encountered surly bus drivers and some rather Lord of the Rings-esque scenery. Don’t worry Niel Gow, we’ll be back.

Travels Part 1: Portugal

What a better way than to get this blog going again than by posting some pictures from some of my more recent adventures? One of these days I might actually include some photos from England, Northern Ireland, and the United States, but for now I’ll stick with these. Of course you can find many of these on Facebook (if we’re friends), or on Picasa, but those don’t include the stories! I’m feeling a bit inspired as I shall be journeying to India on Monday for two weeks.

Last November a friend and I went to Lisbon, Portugal for three days-not long enough! It rained almost the entire time and was much colder than we’d expected, but it was absolutely wonderful. The city is a wonderful blend of new and old, much cheaper than London, and free of many of the obnoxious tourists you’d see in a more traveled area such as anywhere in Spain.

Since I’m recovering from some dreadful illness (possibly swine flu, No Joke!), I’ll let the pictures in the gallery do most of the talking (but what about those stories? Suck it up this time and deal!).

The first couple of pictures are from the old quarter of town, which is filled with winding little streets. My friend and I knew there was a castle to be found somewhere, but it took quite a long time to find it. It was sunny before we got to the castle and absolutely pouring by the time we got there. The photo of people with umbrellas pretty much sums up the whole trip.

The next day we were quite busy and ventured to neighboring areas including, Sintra, Cabo da Roca, and Cascais. On our final day we went to Torre de Belém which is absolutely gorgeous. We also partied all night with some folks at our hostel before getting on an early morning flight…but I’ll refrain from posting those photos here.

Stay tuned for photos from Scotland!

Mad Men and the Sopranos Just Might be the Same Show

Let’s get something sorted before I continue, I LOVE both Mad Men and the Sopranos. If you haven’t watched either, something is wrong with you. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way about anything, but if new episodes of Lost and Mad Men happened to be on at the same time…I would probably watch Mad Men first.

After getting horribly roped into Don Draper’s smoke-filled and booze-fueled world on a procrastinatory binge about a month ago, I suddenly had a craving to go back and watch the Sopranos. A bit of IMDBing showed that this desire should come as no surprise since Matthew Weiner, writer and producer for several Sopranos’ episodes, happens to be the creator of Mad Men. Well, I obtained the first season of the Sopranos on DVD and have come to the conclusion that Mad Men and the Sopranos are practically the same show-Mad Men possibly appealing to a larger female audience (here’s lookin’ at you, Jon Hamm). I don’t mean this in a bad way, clearly I’m fully addicted to both. But if I didn’t say something, I might go a little insane. Here’s the rundown (in case you hadn’t figured, there will be a few SPOILERS):

1) Don Draper and Tony Soprano as a pair of Bad A’ Mofos.

Okay, so Don Draper is a little easier, to um..digest (on the eyes), and we all really want to like him, but time and time again he shows what a true jerk he is. We all know that Tony’s not exactly the nicest guy but we can see, from his interactions with Dr. Melfi and his daughter Meadow, that he’s not always happy with the decisions he’s made. All he’s ever really wanted is to “get food on the table”, and besides, he barely managed to get into college, let alone survive that semester and a half. Both are mysterious, adulterous, and true top dogs. Don always manages to keep his job by being the best, sharpest, and by having some sweet connections. Tony shows he’s not to be messed with by never being afraid to run over someone.

2) Carmela Soprano and Betty Draper as the almost, but not quite so innocent bystanders.

Although Carmela initially comes off as the stronger woman (she yells and stands up to Tony), we have to remember that Betty is stuck in the late 1950s and early 1960s and can’t be expected to do the same. As the show progresses, Betty does become more vocal and even kicks Don out of the house for a brief period of time. Both want to be good wives and mothers but know that their husbands aren’t exactly honorable men. No one else really understands what they’re going through and we don’t know what they’re going to do next to act out. Each one always seems to be on the edge of having an affair but always seems to return to her spousal duties.

3) The Shoes Thing.

Burt Cooper, everyone’s boss over at Mad Men, makes everyone remove their shoes before entering his office. Meadow Soprano, Tony’s daughter, will not let anyone enter her room until they have removed their shoes. Maybe this isn’t such a big deal, but can you think of any non-Asian shows that do this?

4) Psychiatry.

One of the major relationships on the Sopranos is between Tony and his psychiatrist, Jennifer Malfi. She learns about his emotions, his fears, his secrets in a way that no one else does. On Mad Men, psychiatry is reserved for weak people who weren’t raised right, like Roger Sterling’s daughter. Or Betty Draper. In the first season, Betty develops a nervous condition after her mother dies. As a way of “fixing” her, Don sends her off to a psychiatrist, who reports to him by telephone in the evenings. Betty’s sessions with her shrink are incredibly different from those of Tony and Dr. Melfi, but each each tends to be the pivotal scene of the episode. Perhaps the folks at the Sopranos and Mad Men are interested in demonstrating how psychiatry has changed over the decades? The relatively silent and somewhat creepy doctor from MM versus the rather engaging and likable  Melfi from the Sopranos.

5) Catholicism

Tony certainly makes no claims to be a good Catholic, but Carmela does. She hangs out with the priest, regularly confesses, and often admits that she thinks her husband is doomed to Hell. Don doesn’t really speak about religion and is called out for it by Connie Hilton. Peggy Olson, Don’s former secretary and now copy-writer, has been raised Catholic and frequently clashes with her family over her lack of devoutness. Both Carmela and Peggy get dangerously close to their parish priests and we sometimes can’t help but wonder whether something scandalous will happen.

6) New York City is always in the distance but never quite attainable.

In the Sopranos opening we see NYC in Tony’s side view mirror before he gets on the Jersey turnpike to go home. They go into the City sometimes, but most big business is handled off the side of the highway and closer to home. Sure the folks at Mad Men work in Manhattan, but most of the scenes downtown take place indoors. Anything that takes place outside happens in the ‘burbs of Tarrytown. Betty continually expresses her love of NYC but always seems stuck outside of it because Don never takes her there unless he has some sort of business to attend to.

7) Weird dream sequences and troublesome parents.

Tony and Betty not only share their need for psychiatry, but also their draining, elderly parents and bizarre dreams. Both Betty’s father, Gene, and Tony’s mother provide constant problems until they eventually die.

That’s all I’ve got for now, but trust me, they’re the same.

It Sure Has Been A While!

Whoah…I haven’t posted here since last December? I guess that’s what being in grad school will do to you! Now that all my coursework is done and unemployment has officially begun, this blog may very well become the venue for incoherent and random musings (as if they weren’t before). Edamame and his adventures will most likely return at a future date.

Christmas Post!

My parents have made sure to always have a real Christmas tree every year. We decorate it, some years with a little more zeal than others. However, we have never been the type of family to go overboard when it comes to Christmas cheer. One of my uncles loved to decorate his house with an obscene amount of Christmas lights. His house would stand, out not only because of his enthusiasm, but also because his family happened to be one of the few Christian families in the neighborhood. One year they had a hard time selling a small sailboat so they placed it in the front yard, equipped with a lighted mast and a mini rudolph. 

However, while procrastinating I have stumbled across some people who can put my uncle to shame. While he may have decorated his entire house to look like the American flag, he failed to time his lights to festive music. Perhaps I’m simply a latecomer, but I’ve never fully paid much attention to how much effort people can put into music and light shows. 

I have done a little browsing on YouTube and have come across four different music and light show categories.

1) The people who take these things incredibly seriously

While impressive, I find these a bit on the boring side.

2) People who want to annoy the crap out of their neighbors

It doesn’t really matter if their shows are all that well done. What does matter though, is music choice and the amount of lights used. Take the example of this house, which used the Crazy Frog version of “Jingle Bells.” 

Or, these people, who used a techno version of “Jingle Bells”

3) All things TSO (Trans-Siberian Orchestra) related  

People really like TSO.

4) People who don’t really care that much about Christmas but really enjoy music and light shows (as well as annoying their neighbors)

One house does Sandstorm

And my personal favorite, lights done to the Colbert Report theme

I am really glad my neighbors don’t partake in any of this.

Edamame discovers a new world of adventure

Edamame tuckered himself out with his quest and so decided to go back to training for a while. However, he found himself getting tired easily and lacked the passion he had previously shown in the dojo. One day his sensei took him aside and said, “Edamame, I think it’s time you went on vacation.”

Edamame replied, “But I’ve hardly been around at all these last few months. If I cannot complete my quest then I must continue my training.”

“My son, you demonstrate the discipline of a true ninja. But all of us need to take vacation sometimes. You are young and are tired beyond your years. Go, take a break. That is an order.”

Edamame slunk out of the dojo and booked a plane trip home. He was a little bit sad as he felt that he’d let himself down, but he was also relieved to see his family again. A couple days later he got off the plane to see his parents and brother waiting for him by the baggage claim. His parents were small too but his brother was almost normal sized. They’d had to move houses after he was born because he was too big to sleep in an oven mitt. They didn’t mind though because they finally had someone tall enough to put the star on top of the Christmas tree. 

“Welcome home Edamame!” his mother exclaimed. “We are so happy to have you back. Even Auntie Ninjin is coming over for dinner.”

Edamame smiled and looked forward to climbing into his own bed for some much deserved rest. However, once they got home Edamame realized that he would not be going to bed any time soon. His mom had invited almost his entire family over for dinner and they would all be staying the night. 

“You’re the star of the show tonight!” his father informed him. “We all want to know what you’ve been up to since the last time we saw you.” 

At dinner everyone turned to Edamame and became silent. The dojo had to be semi-secretive about its activities so no one really knew anything about his adventures. He explained to them about his love for ice cream and how he discovered he was lactose intolerant. He described his travels through the United States, Spain, France, and Sweden. About how he’d been followed by his enemy in Argentina, China, and eventually Indonesia. He shared his pictures and the recipes he’d learned. His cousins asked him millions of questions and wanted to know if he could really beat up all those bad guys. He blushed, his ninja modesty preventing him from answering.

Then Aunt Ninjin said, “You know, your cousin Ringo is also lactose intolerant. I give her these lactaid pills and she can eat all the ice cream she wants. Here, have one.”

She pulled a bottle out of her purse and handed a couple of pills to Edamame. Then she got up and got some vanilla ice cream out of the kitchen and placed a bowl in front of him. His eyes bulged out of his head as he began to realize that he would finally be able to eat his precious ice cream. All of his problems would be solved!

He picked up a spoon, took a bite, and paused. His family looked at him waiting for a response. His face scrunched up and he yelled, “I HATE IT! I HAAAAATE IT YUK YUK YUK GROSS GROSS GROSS!”

“But does your tummy hurt?” Aunt Ninjin wanted to know.

“No.”

“Well then the pills do a pretty good job I’d say.” Aunt Ninjin sat back with a smug look on her face.”

“But I hate it. But what about everything I’ve done these past few months, all the recipes, and all the bad dreams? I have missed out on my training and my duties! Now I can never be a true ninja. It’s all been wasted!” 

“Oh Edamame,” his mother said. “It has not been wasted. Just think of all of the wonderful things you have seen and the people you’ve met. You are so young, you have time to become a true ninja.”

“I believe you are right mother. And you know, I’ve discovered that I hate one dessert, but there are many others that I like now!”

Edamame finally felt at ease. His quest had ended. However, he loved traveling too much to give it up and so decided to take a ninja gap year. He would try to pick up any neat recipes he found along the way, although they might not always be for dessert. He would also be sure to bring his lactaid pills, just in case he couldn’t get by without dairy. And he decided he would maybe even blog about his adventures. Keep an eye out for Edamame’s first stop to Portugal!

My Battle with Utensils: How my use of silverware identifies my nationality

Last evening, I had the opportunity to attend a lecture at the Reform Club in London. Peter Hennessy was speaking about the British decision to build nuclear weapons. As an aspiring historian, my father believed that I would benefit from attending the lecture. The lecture was interesting, but is not what I’d like to write about today. Instead I would like to focus on what makes me an American, rather than the Brit I could potentially be. My mother is from Ohio, my father from Northern Ireland. While most of my schooling has been in the States, I spent over 8 years in the British school system in Singapore. My American side wins most inner arguments, but a small voice (possibly that of my granny) urges me to embrace my Britishness. But last night at the Reform Club, I learned that while I may be an Anglophile, I will always be a full-fledged American.

What is the Reform Club you ask? It is a snooty, stuffy, club in Central London, where rich old white men and women argue about politics and enjoy guinea fowl and roasted vegetables. At 24, I was probably the youngest person there, other than a couple members of the catering staff. I say probably as a couple other younger people were also dragged by family members. My dad, coming in at 53, was probably close to being the second youngest. It wasn’t all bad. Many people seemed kind and wanted to know if I had enjoyed the speech. Perhaps they had mistaken me for a teenager, who was far too young to possibly understand the lecture. One woman became rather defensive and angry after my father went to move his things from a seat he had ever so mistakenly believed to be free. Several ladies reminded me of Keeping Up Appearances Hyacinth Bucket. For those of you not overly British enough to know anything about this show (or happen to be under 60), Hyacinth Bucket is one of the silliest characters to ever grace a television screen. Constantly trying to prove to her neighbors and fellow members of society that she is civilized and far from being a commoner, she insists that her last name is pronounced “Bouquet.” Her family members, clothed in wife beaters and ill-fitting pants, cause her humiliation and embarrassment. The thing is, no one cares how upper class Hyacinth believes herself to be. After attempts for propriety fail, her neighbors see her as being human, and a pain in the ass. While members of the Reform Club may actually have the titles and reputations to place them in the class with which Hyacinth wishes to associate herself, their manner and speech make them just as ridiculous in my eyes.

Having said all of that, of course I attempted to be at my best behaved and most British. Having spent quite a lot of time in the UK, I have a fairly easy time of changing certain words in my vocabulary. “Chips” become “crips,” “French Fries” become “chips,” “college” becomes “university,” and “trash can” becomes “bin.” I’ll add superfluous ‘u’s to words when spelling, and will sometimes reverse “er” to “re.” “Center” will become “centre,” and “behavior” becomes “behaviour.”  Pronunciation of words like “controversy,” “details,” and “research” may also change. After a couple of days I have no problem looking right first when crossing the street instead of left. I can even slightly change my accent so that I can trick people for a brief second that I am not an American. Saying “excuse me,” “sorry,” or “thanks,” with a small accent twist has helped place me into the “other,” or even worse, the dreaded “tourist” category. 

But, there is one thing that I cannot change. Believe me, I have tried. I cannot change how I hold my knife and fork. This may seem stupid to most people, and it is. But at a dinner party or at a restaurant, my eating habits single me out as an American. British people never put down their knives. The fork remains in the left hand while the knife helps to pile food onto the back of the fork. Peas, chicken, and potatoes will be mushed together. Noodles must not spend excess amounts of time dangling in air. In contrast, Americans will go out of their way to not have to pick up their knives. We cut a piece or two and then set our knives back down. The fork is casually switched from left to right, and if we need to cut another piece, back to the left again. When eating pancakes we will often use the edge of our forks to cut off a piece. Food like rice is scooped rather than piled onto the fork. Our free hand is free to either venture under the table, fiddle with the napkin, or help prove a point in some useless argument. While no one dared to mention it last night, I could feel myself being distanced from the rest as I used my left hand to brush away a piece of hair that had fallen into my eyes. I have come to accept my eating manners as proof that my American side will always win.

A Busy Month for the Ninja

As Edamame’s enemies grew more cunning, he realized that he would need to act more quickly in order to escape them. Desserts were the last thing on his mind as he traveled through China, Russia, Germany, and Denmark. His enemy appeared at every corner and at each major tourist site he found. He flew to San Francisco, where he almost got squashed by a car on Lombard Street. Next he went to Black Rock City, Nevada and attended Burning Man. Yes, he even fled to a desert in the middle of Nevada in order to flee his enemy. However, he found the art cars and numerous lights far too overwhelming, and so left before the man had been burned.

Reno provided some relief as he was able to hide under craps tables…or at least until an elderly man spotted him and insisted that Edamame would bring him good luck. At his first opportunity, he flew back to Boston, only to find that his clan was nowhere in site. What had happened? The dojo appeared to be untouched, each weapon in its place. But where were his fellow students? He knew he couldn’t stay in one place for long, so he sped off to New York City to find some answers. 

Once he arrived, he visited a sister clan, hoping that someone could help him. Luckily, the dojo’s sensei had learned of his clan’s whereabouts. He informed him that the enemy had learned too much. Edamame had gained fame at the Olympics. The enemy had been able to trace him back to the dojo in Boston. And so they had relocated to London. They knew that Edamame would eventually find his way back to them, and wanted him to know that he would be fully welcome to rejoin them once his dessert quest was finished. Edamame was surprised at the news, but happy to know that everyone was safe. He had always wanted to visit London. Now he would have the chance to explore a new city. But first things first! He had to get back to his mission. Where would he go next? 

Edamame decided he had not yet had enough of Asia (and besides, he had racked up quite a few frequent flyer miles by now) and so he headed to Bali, Indonesia. After arriving at Denpasar Airport, he hopped on a mini motorcycle and sped towards Ubud. He had never seen so many beautiful stone figurines or entryways. Statues were wearing checkered black and white cloths around their waists, several holding orange flowers as offerings. One day he went to the Barong dance and loved seeing the costumes. 

On another day, he visited Tannah Lot, which is a beautiful temple surrounded by water. On his way back to the parking lot, he found a man selling different types of food. Along with satay and nasi goreng, there was pisang goreng, a much loved banana dessert. Edamame had always loved bananas, and so was pleased with this new found treat. The bananas were warm and gooey, perfect for a hot day at the beach or a cold, rainy day. 

Oh no! A sneaky little monkey appeared and grabbed the bananas out of his hand! Edamame only had a few hours left in Bali before he had to move on. Perhaps he would try to obtain a recipe from someone, as he suspected that Pisang Goreng would be a little bit harder to come by in London. As much as he had enjoyed the dessert, he wasn’t quite sold on the idea of his favorite thing being fruit based. It would need sugar and lots of it. He sighed and figured he’d check out a map to determine his next location. He looked at the beach and wished that he could spend some time relaxing in the waves. But a ninja does not have time to overcome jetlag or to go boogie boarding. Perhaps he would come back to Bali once he had retired…or had returned to Earth in another life.