readingredhead: (London)
1. I am allowed to unabashedly love everything about the French: their language, their food, their strange ideas about workweeks and vacation time, and those pesky revolutions.

2. I am allowed to be irreverent with British literature. I don't have to treat Jane Austen as my maiden aunt and I don't have to worship Charles Dickens.

(Yes, this is the entire list. It's not a very long one, but I do take some comfort in it.)
readingredhead: (Talk)
I spent the first two thirds of my day working on an essay for my Dickens class that I don't want to have to look at ever again, even though I have no choice but to do so. But then I went out to dinner with friends and went to see The Real Thing at the Old Vic and it was amazing and here I am thinking that it's going to be cool enough to meet Toby Stephens (aka Mr. Rochester from the 2007 BBC miniseries), AND THEN IT GETS BETTER. You know how? Because Christopher Eccleston -- the Ninth Doctor himself! -- walks out from backstage and smiles that goofy grin with those fabulous ears and I get up the guts to walk up to him, offer him a pen and paper, and tell him as he signs my program that he's my Doctor. And I'm thinking it's not just my imagination that that smile got just that much wider when I said it. After that, Toby Stephens was really just icing on the cake.

And then I came home, AND THERE WAS CAKE WAITING FOR ME. It's almost like there was no Dickens in my day at all.

(Also, how do I not have a Ninth Doctor icon? Perhaps after I have written three essays and died, I will have to find one.)
readingredhead: (Talk)
Well, I suppose I cheated: I bought a new computer. His name is Touchstone, after a main character in Garth Nix's Sabriel, which I fell back in love with recently after listening to the audiobook. It's a really great fantasy read and I wholeheartedly recommend it.

Touchstone, in case you care, is an HP Pavilion dm3t, and sort of looks like the mixed-race offspring of a silver macbook and HP's current line of larger laptops. He is slightly larger than I had intended him to be (13.3" display), but still much more portable than Fitzwilliam. He is thinner and lighter, partly because he does not have an internal optical drive; I got a deal on an external CD/DVD RW which works just fine. He runs Windows 7 and although I've only been toying with the interface for two days, I think I like it well enough. Also he's supposed to get very good battery life but I haven't really tested these claims yet. I'm just hoping that he'll last me as long as Fitzwilliam. Fitz is technically still alive, if ailing, and now that I've wiped him bare of all unnecessary everythings (including all my documents, pictures, music, etc.), he'll go to my dad.

I haven't really been doing much, except complaining about the fact that I have to read Bleak House and occasionally actually doing some of the reading. Corinne gave me a Dickens action figure for Christmas and I'm considering bringing him back with me to London so I can put him on my desk and glare at him whenever I am frustrated. Ideally, I should also read Aphra Behn's Oroonoko and Daniel Defoe's A Journal of the Plague Year before I return to Queen Mary, not to mention that I have a paper to write still. Not looking forward to that part.

On the bright side, functioning computer + reliable internet = finally posting pictures from the last two months! Expect notifications to flood your facebook.

Now, I am torn between attempting a return to Bleak House (unlikely) and wasting an hour or so on the internet...yay for Christmas break?
readingredhead: (Rain)
It snowed today.

I was in my Dickens class, listening to the prof lecture about A Tale of Two Cities, when suddenly I looked out the window and big white snowflakes were just falling. I didn't pay attention for the rest of the lecture, just kept looking outside and watching it fall.

I have two more things I need to do before my semester is officially over and I can frolic in snow (sadly it appears to be slowing down now) without impunity: take French exams, and do reading for Representing London course. My French exams commence in two hours. I have a decent vocabulary but don't really know how to conjugate verbs.

I don't care.

I went ice skating the other day, and was supposed to go again tonight but the tickets for the rink by the Tower of London sold out before I could get one. I've walked up and down Oxford Circus and Regent Street and Bond Street with their Christmas lights, seen the tree in Trafalgar Square (pretty wimpy, but still a Christmas tree), had warm soup and hot chocolate, been to a 'Christmas dinner' with my flat at the local pub, and gone to a German Christmas carnival where I drank mulled wine.

This is what the holidays are supposed to be about. How in the world did I live with (relatively) warm Christmases for twenty years? Without markets and lights and seeing your breath in the morning and rain boots and twelve layers of clothing?

How did I live without London? How will I live without London? The easy answer is also the hardest: I won't. I am too in love with this place, these people, to give it up for good. I will live here again -- not just travel here, live here. I don't know how, or when, but I know that I will, that I have to. And not just because this is the most beautiful lead-up to Christmas that I've ever seen. Because this feels right, all of it, and that's not something you let yourself walk away from.
readingredhead: (Stars)
I don't have enough time to provide a full update -- November has started and with it, my frantic novel-writing; by this time next week, I will be in Barcelona, about to depart for Marrakesh, and very little of that is planned yet, aside from plane tickets and a place to sleep -- but I find it necessary to relate that I spent a long weekend in Paris and fell in love.

It's a different kind of love from the one I feel for London. Queen Mary is another "home" now, and this city feels contentedly mine in a way that only Berkeley really rivals. I still remember the first time I ever went to London, with my hopes all up, and I got this giddy feeling the instant I stepped off the plane, like being there had turned on some kind of switch and lit up something new.

Paris wasn't like that -- I landed at Charles de Gaulle airport at about ten in the morning Paris time, after having been awake since four in the morning London time in order to get to the airport, etc. I don't know when it hit me that I was actually there. But once it did? The beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I've always loved French history. It's part of the reason why I like romanticism so much -- it's a literary and artistic movement inspired in large part by the actions of the revolutionaries in France in 1789. I spent the summer reading and re-reading A Tale of Two Cities and thus getting to know Dickens's Paris like the back of my hand. When I was walking the streets, everything came back to me, and even if I didn't have a map in my head, I could tell you who the streets were named after. I love London for its history, as well, but the history in Paris has a different flavor to it, something I can't quite pin down.

In four days, I saw so much that I had wanted to see -- everything, in fact, that was on my list, and more besides. And yet I still know that there is plenty that will pull me back. It's hard to say that I like it better than other places I've been, because all European cities are different, and admirable for different reasons. But still, I think it wouldn't be entirely incorrect to state that, after London, Paris is the second most amazing city I've seen in Europe, and that I know I'll be returning.
readingredhead: (Rain)

I spent three nights and two full days of this weekend in Rome. I was there for a week or so during July, and this was my fourth trip there in total (the first being six years ago, when I was just fourteen), but every time I visit, the city has something new to give me. This time, I met up with my friend Andy, who’s studying at Trinity College in Dublin for this school year and who had always wanted to go to Rome but had never even been to Europe until his trip to Dublin. With my more-than-average knowledge of the history, myth, legend, geography, and even language of Rome, I led us on a two-day whirlwind tour of all of the major sights and experiences, including:

the Vatican Museum + Sistine Chapel;

St. Peter’s Basilica + climb to the ‘cupola’ (the pinnacle atop the dome);

Piazza Navona;

the Pantheon;

Piazza di Spagna/Spanish Steps;

Trevi Fountain;

Piazza del Popolo and Via del Corso;

Borghese gardens;

Victor Emmanuel Monument;

Roman Forum;

Colosseum (properly known as the Flavian Amphitheatre, in case you were curious).

In fact, the best question is probably what we didn’t see. We didn’t cross the river and hang out in Trastevere, we didn’t go into the museum at the Villa Borghese, we didn’t rent Vespas…and really that’s about all that we didn’t manage that I have at some point done or wanted to do.

My favorite part was being in the Forum at sunset; I took more pictures in that one hour than I did at any other site we visited, I’m almost sure of it. There’s something beautiful about Rome at sunset, but the Forum at sunset in mid-October was totally breathtaking; I’ve never seen anything like it, in Italy or elsewhere (though Florence, near the Arno River, during a summer sunset comes to mind). I also really liked climbing to the top of the ‘Vittoriano,’ as the Victor Emmanuel Monument is called in Italian, and seeing the city from there, something my family and I had never done. The days were long, and there was a lot of walking, but I had a fantastic time — mostly because I’m slowly becoming more and more familiar with the city and its culture. I’m even getting confident enough in basic Italian to ask for directions, order a meal, and always say my pleases and thank-yous (not to mention read street signs and purchase train and metro tickets). Actually, it wasn’t until after I’d gone through the whole process in Italian that I realized the self-service metro ticket machines could be made to display their instructions in English.

This upcoming weekend will be spent reading Nicholas Nickleby and writing the first essay of the semester (a close textual analysis of a passage from Jane Eyre) because the weekend after that, I will be making my first ever trip to Paris! Then I have one more week of instruction before I get a whole week off for ‘Reading Week,’ in which technically you’re supposed to study and catch up with reading, but when I and my friends will be spending two and a half days in Barcelona followed by three and a half days in Marrakesh. I’m really excited to be doing so much traveling and experiencing so many different places while I’m here, but I’m equally excited to be able to call London ‘home.’

I had a few hours of crazy stress yesterday because the way that you turn in assignments here is so different, and teachers in general seem less concerned about reminding you when your assignments are due. In this case, I was pretty sure that an assignment for my Dickens class was due today by 4:30pm, but when I logged onto the VLE (think blackboard or bspace) it said that it was due yesterday (today at the time) by 4:30pm. It was 1pm when I read this and I had class starting at 3 that I couldn't miss. I ran around finishing up my assignment (thank god it was mostly done already) and then filling out the requisite coversheets (both in print and online) and submitting both a virtual copy via the VLE and a hard copy in person to the English Department office. This makes me miss Berkeley.

Also, my Representing London: the Eighteenth Century class was talking about coffeehouses today and the different kinds of sociability one finds there, and it made me miss my favorite cafe in Berkeley. Oh, Milano, how I pine for thee. There's good coffee here but the pub is the social locale du jour, so I'm stuck with convenient but uninspiring cafes. Still, I can't complain, because they're in London. Every so often I'll be doing something — whether it be reading Jane Eyre, or listening to a Beatles song, or just walking outside and breathing in the beautiful grass-and-wet-cement smell of early mornings post-rain — and then I'll realize that I'm not just reading this novel, or listening to this music, or capturing this moment. I'm doing it in a place that made it, in a sense. London is the genesis of so many things that are important to me. Maybe that's why coming here feels in its own way less like going away and more like coming home.

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March 2013

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