Thanksgiving in London and Speed-Tourism

Well, as it's the best holiday ever invented (in its current evolutionary phase--I entirely agree with anyone who wants to talk about indigenous rights), I wanted to spend Thanksgiving amongst friends. Tell me if you can think of anything bad about feeling thankful, cooking, eating, drinking, friends, family, singing, games, more eating, and napping. Impossible. So with that in mind, I decided to hop the ditch and spend my thanksgiving (yes, I know this blog is hopelessly out of date) with Sarah Galbraith and contingent. Unfortunately the trip was incredibly short, so I decided to make it simple and not try to catch up with all of the other lovely people in London--that will have to wait until May/June when I return next.

On arrival, I couldn't help but sing The Wombles on the train.

And then we were off for my first London pub--and some snooker playing amongst the hippest of hipsters. Wow, there were some great woolen jerseys in that dive.

The next 24 hours were full of Thanksgiving goodness. Markets for fresh ingredients, cooking, organizing the apartment to fit more people than it should . . .

The meal itself was amazing. Turkey, two types of stuffing (one with haggis), mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, apple/blueberry sauce, numerous roast vegetables, various salads, pies and cakes galore. The English contingent pulled out all of the stops. 

The night continued on into singing and music and laughter, until I fell asleep somewhat mid-sentence. Standard.

The next day was absolutely beautiful and sunny, and we went riding our bikes all over, ending up at Derek and Laura's place for pancakes and blueberries. It was awesome to meet Achilles Renoir--what a cool wee man. We also went for a wander in Hampstead Heath, catching up on the last few years of events, and kicking leaves. Unfortunately, I left my camera at home, so you'll have to take me at my word. It was a picture-perfect endorsement for moving to London--hmmm.

My last full day in London was spent attempting to fit in a variety of tourist-centered attractions in a haphazardly browsing fashion. I started out with my atlas and compass in hand, and headed for the South bank of the Thames. I tracked down a Banksy . . . covered in plexiglass it gives food for thought--is this how street art should be treated? On the one hand, it's worth a ton of money intact, and as is can be protected from further tagging and artworks. On the other, the nature of street art is ephemeral and often politically or socially motivated and pertinent to a moment in time, rather than preservation through the ages. Thoughts?

I also saw a series of these characters . . . which I thought were incredibly emotive, encircling a worksite. Looked like they were possibly commissioned.

I then trolled the bridges . . . Tower, London, Southwark, Millenium (which looks fabulously like a spine), Blackfriars, and Waterloo.

I spent several hours at the Tate Modern. As usual, dreaming of all the artworks and projects I could do.

In wandering about London, I was intrigued and excited by the juxtaposition and layering of different epochs and styles of architecture and art. What an interesting city.

With the light fading, I suddenly realised that my version of hitting the tourist spots didn't really fulfill the norm, and that I'd at least like to catch a glimpse of some of the more famous landmarks, so I speed-walked my way about, getting in the new Globe Theatre, Big Ben, The Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace and its famous guards, Trafalgar Square, a double-decker, a red telephone box, and a heartbeat's worth of the British Museum (which only fueled fire to my desire to return). . . all in just a few hours of severe ADHD.

And then I returned to the real-world, the London I was there to see . . . spending another lovely evening with Sarah and Brendan.

In the morning, we frequented the local tea shop--I promise I'll always remember to let you have the front section of the paper first, Brendan. I cede it to you for all eternity.  Look at that look he's giving me--it's just daring me to try for it. Also, the perspective in this shot is a *little* off, but yes, he is an extremely tall, lovable Scotsman, and Sarah is quite the compact model.

Thank you all for a lovely time. And you entirely succeeded in making me think very very seriously about London as a next sedentary location for this wandering minstrel.

Oh the decisions to be made . . .

More rugby than I've ever watched in my life.

So, as a football/soccer kid, I grew up with an irrational dislike for rugby. That, and the fact that our entire country goes entirely insane over All Blacks matches and regional games alike meant that I never really paid much attention to the game.

Being here in France, in one of the big rugby cities, during the Coupe du Monde . . . I had to represent New Zealand, and represent I did.

For the pool games, I watched with my flatmate Luc, or with friends. There were even New Zealand pancakes to be had.

One particular match I watched out of the back of a car before a frisbee tournament. . .

For the final, there was more on the line. I invited a group of friends to come to a local Irish bar with me to watch the game, and return afterwards for food, games, and festivities.

There were half a dozen or so of us watching the game at the bar, and then 20 or so for the celebrations (9:30am being a little early for most on the weekend).

Luc and I went all face painted up . . . 

The bar had about 4 New Zealand supporters and 300 French. It was a little hard to be heard.

For awhile there the French were pretty excited and thinking they were going to be victorious (while I bit my fingernails).

They even sent around a rooster at celebratory moments. Calls of Allez Les Bleus resounded around the bar.

In then end, the whole thing was pretty civil. The French clapped both teams at the end of the game, and I got sprayed with champagne by Georg and Laura. My voice did not return to normal for three days, and I was briefly worried that I'd permanently damaged it.

While I'm not going to be a rugby follower, I feel more able to appreciate it. Since these games I've even gone to the local stadium and watched Montpellier play live. Who knew.

Go the All Blacks!

Montpellier, ma belle ville.

I arrived here through a series of serendipitous events. People ask me why I chose Montpellier, and really I like to say it chose me. Regardless of how it happened, here I am. I have a French address . . . and have done for over two months now.

Montpellier, situated 10 kilometres from the Mediterranean Sea, is a university town with a history. Established at the end of the 10th century as a trading centre, the city began to flourish. The faculty of Medicine was created in 1180AD. The students originally didn't have classrooms, and met in a square to hear lectures (a square which still exists, and one can go to have a coffee and sit pretending to do homework while pondering the vast history of this interesting town). The university itself was officially established a few decades after. The climate is pretty fabulous, and has a mean temperature of 7.1 °C (44.8 °F) in January to 23.4 °C (74.1 °F) in July. I'll take that.

The heart of Montpellier centres around La Place de la Comédie. Here, facing the grand theatre/opera house, you can find street performers, places to eat and drink, and people to mingle with.

In the center of La Place de la Comédie there is a beautiful fountain that is a reproduction of the sculpture/fountain The Three Graces, which was originally situated there starting in 1790. And a merry-go-round which I almost never see people riding, but adds to the slightly other-worldly feel of this interesting square.

My neighbourhood is the closest I could have gotten to a French version of Eastern Market. It is called Beaux Arts. Within a four block radius I have the market, two tram stops, the post office, a hair dressers, 2 bakeries, about 15 epiceries (tiny grocery stores), a cheese shop, a butchers, a fish shop, and then for restaurants I can find French, Japanese, Thai, Indian, pizza, sandwiches, and numerous others I haven't tried or explored. I also have a place I can go to for dance lessons, or the local gym. And to make it even better, it is cute and old and French.

Just two minutes away is the old city, on the hill from which the name Montpellier comes.  Here you can find numerous winding narrow streets, designed that way to minimise the wind tunnel effects of the strong Mistral winds, and to increase shadows to act as natural air conditioning systems. Oh urban planners of the past, I respect you.

The school of medicine is in the former monastery building.

Next to the school of medicine is Les Jardins des Plantes. A shout out and thank you to Rosemary, as this is one of my favourite places . . . and a great suggestion of hers. The gardens were created in the 16th century to aid with medical research. In the summertime there are evening lectures there, and I went to one really interesting one highlighting plants used in Japanese cuisine. But the thing I like best is how people use the space differently. Studying, strolling, drawing, I even came across one musician strolling up and down one of the paths practicing his clarinet. Obviously the tiny apartments that you find in these French cities are not very conducive to practicing instruments.

Around the town, there is tons and tons of graffiti and street art. Some of the graffiti is an eye sore, but much appears to have been commissioned. Most stores have what looks like a garage door that they can pull down over the front at night, and almost all of these have beautifully designed pictures spray painted onto them. This makes navigation for me somewhat difficult, as from day to night the streetscape changes immensely. There are also quite a number of murals, and a few that use trompe-l'oeil or the effects of deception to make you think something is there which isn't really. Montpellier is also one of the cities graced by mosaics created by the street artist, Invader. So throughout the town you can see little Space Invader characters happily peering out from their lookouts on street corners.

My favourite hang out is the bistro, Chez Felix. Each Wednesday and Sunday nights you can find the band Hippocampus Jass Gang here. They play 30s jazz/swing music, with a variety of instruments (contrebass, guitar, washboard/spoons, banjo, clarinet, trumpet and violin). The second half of the night brings the local swing dancers out of the woodwork, and the ambiance is relaxed and happy. I like to think they give the music a French twist, but many of the songs are American and have me missing the Second String Band from DC . . . a different style of music, but the same happy feeling, and my DC fave. Inspired by this, I have started swing classes. So hopefully before my time here is up, I will be out there on the dance floor myself.

My apartment itself is wonderful. I live with Luc (French), and formerly Jeanette (Norwegian) . . . with a terrace for my hammock and a room of my own, it's all I could want, except for perhaps a stove, gah! However, I have made some pretty fantastic homemade pizzas in a frying pan--who knew that was possible, and, Banoffee Pie doesn't require an oven, so we're sweet.

Come visit! I'd love to show you around.