Well there you go an Englishman abroad, finally! After escaping the Chrimbo market back home, and setting off at 11:45 for the States, I arrived at Boston Logan at 6pm, whereby I ran into the first problem, immigration. I'm my own worst enemy at times, but really it does help if you read both sides of the document you need to fill out to gain entry into the USA. Maybe the kindly officer, female, was utterly bemused by the sight of the intrepid travel virgin, incapable of ticking boxes, that she finally let me through after I'd filled in the required number. Of course, I being I decided to declare the bags of contraband, which then held up proceedings some more, the contraband was four bags of coffee beans, six packets of bread yeast, and the killer of all murderous contraband...vanilla sauce powder.
Clearly the US Immigration & Customs were dealing with a less than intellectual member of the human species, and no doubt correctly assumed that a man who truthfully declares he's bringing vanilla sauce into the USA poses no real security threat. Of course I'm an innocent man, who's only criminal offence is being a man, which he naturally blames his mother for, well she's responsible for the chromosome lottery that has a silly moment.
Finally I managed to get through all the hurdles that officialdom deems necessary, to be met by a lot of people at the arrivals gate. That's the thing really, people meeting people for countless reasons, the majority no doubt enormously pleased to see their friend, relation, or milkman returning from his holiday in much warmer climes, which isn't very good for fresh milk, but he's ready to be back at work after a good rest from the endless cups of tea he's drunk before going away. That aside, I wander through somewhat bemused by the attention being paid to the vanilla sauce, maybe they don't have it in the states, to be met by my dear friend S, who, unbeknown to me, is holding a camera and lets rip with the viciousness of an uzi hell bent on blinding me with its barrel flash. My first words, uttered freely in the arena that is the arrivals hall was 'bastard', which a young lady thought was highly amusing, as did my friend.
I arrived to the joys of a Boston winter, slightly mild for the time of year, but with an abundance of snow, most of which had been shoved to one side by a macho pickup truck, immensely helped by the yellow snow plough blade attached to the front. It all seemed a bit overwhelming, landing in a land where the language is a variation of your own, and one where there are doubts as to the sanity of your virginal status. This isn't helped by the fact that every documentary, hollywood movie, TV series and news reports coming from the USA is heavily laden with a bias towards gun totting mayhem. Perhaps, in future, there should be a health warning issued on every media product urging caution when viewing the contents. Thus far, within the space of an hour of having my feet planted firmly on American soil, I'd certainly met the seriousness of the official world, as seen and practiced through American eyes, but people were polite, happy to talk, and perhaps contrary to popular belief far more open than is appreciated. My one real concern was the language barrier, my own, not having been in an English speaking country for the last eight years, and a language restricted and largely curtailed by its limitations of use in a career I've come to love, teaching the language of my birth, English.
But hope always springs eternal for virgins everywhere, and if one has misgivings due to the foreboding messages of a world that should know better, one can't be blamed for accepting the good graces of your real life hosts with a little more relish than is romantically acceptable. As I live in a world that spends an enormous amount of time willing its own destructiveness, the sights and sounds of politeness ring ever truer to one's aging ears. I could be ever more cynical and think that every polite word expressed by someone has a motive beyond its innocence, and maybe that's often the truth, yet somewhere deep the 'thank you' has a sense of value and worth, that is perhaps priceless and far too often abused by some of its practitioners.
On that note, it's with hand on heart that I thank 'S' for having made my present adventure possible. I've no doubt I'll be saying 'thank you' to him on many occasions over the next few weeks, but as always it'll be voiced with the appreciation it deserves.
As a final word I'll keep writing the blog as and when I get the opportunity, keeping you up to date with my travels as a virgin abroad. For now, wherever you're reading this, keep smiling!
An individual stroll through life, often taking an amusing view, or sometimes a little more serious one, depending on the mood.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friendship and the Pond.
Well lots happened this week, and life became much clearer, ending up on Saturday with moving my friend 'D' to his new place. After many years of slumming it as a cosmopolitan wannabee, he's now happily looking forward to life on the edge of town, overlooking a small wood and the golf course; with tongue in cheek I wish him every happiness in his new found quest to becoming even more middle class than he already is; something he strongly protests he's not....Can't help wondering why my leg is acting as though it's being pulled for some reason. Seriously though, just for a moment, I've watched him these past few months entering another stage in his life, and I've never seen him happier. I'm equally happy to say that without his support, care and kindness at a particularly bad moment in my life, who know's where I would have ended up. And whilst it's perhaps not the 'manly' thing to say, my affection for him is without limit, even if I either don't show it enough, or don't say it; one of the joys of writing a blog is you can say it openly, thanks matey! But the next time you ask me to help you move, I'll be unavailable due to a forgotten meeting I'm supposed to be attending.
On Friday I had a final interview for a job and was accepted, which in the great scheme of things is nice to know that somebody wants me; especially in these times of economic uncertainty. I'm scheduled to start at the beginning of February due to my being happily in the USA over Christmas & New Year for a well deserved rest. Whether I keep the blog updated, whilst I'm away, or to wait until I get back to write it is open to debate, but the feeling at the moment is to escape any form of electronic communication and have a complete rest from it all. I'm well aware that I spend far too much time piddling about on the Internet and laptop, and it would be very nice to avoid both whilst away; we shall see. At the moment I'm focused on getting finished what I need to before I go, which means ever longer hours on the keyboard, not that I really mind, at least I'm busy and that's the most important thing.
However, I'm now beginning to feel a little excited with the passing of time, and the holiday ever closer. It'll be a number of firsts for me, and so a great adventure. It'll be the first time I've flown from one continent to another, the first time I've flown transatlantic, the first time in the USA, and the first time I've occupied the same seat for around 7 hours. Then when I get there it'll be the first time I've eaten a real 'dog', hotdog before anyone starts complaining, the first lobster, pastrami on rye, apple pie like mom used to make, and numerous other things along the way. Culturally, there's lots to take in, and despite an often slightly jaundiced view of the US, I'll have an open mind when I get there, and one of the things here is to accept that whatever perception I may have, it is driven by the media, whereas my personal relationships with Americans are completely the opposite.
History has always been of interest, so there will much to cover and see with visits to Boston, New York and Washington. Of course my time will be fairly limited, so whatever I see will be done with a purpose in mind. I've no real desire to be wandering down 5th Avenue, Wall Street or hanging around Times Square, but hopefully I can get to visit the Apollo Theatre in New York. Washington will be taken up with a visit to Capitol Hill, the Smithsonian and other sights. Boston is likely to be freezing, but unlikely to deter from visiting the Harbour area etc. Of course on a much lighter note, I'm playing with the idea of popping into the local IRS office and demanding, without menace, the repayment of taxes not paid to the British people since the revolution!
Hopefully, one of the highlights will be time spent on a beach, it'll take me back to those rare happy childhood days of wandering alone along the seafront during the winter months, which I've always said is the best time to visit a beach and see it in all's its glory, and at its supremely natural best.
A final remark about this trip, of a lifetime some might say, it might prove eventful in many, as yet unknown, ways, particularly as I'm no great lover of big bustling cities. But the one thing it's already shown before I set sail across the pond, is the value of friendship. And so 'S', from the bottom of my heart, thank you matey for making this possible.
On Friday I had a final interview for a job and was accepted, which in the great scheme of things is nice to know that somebody wants me; especially in these times of economic uncertainty. I'm scheduled to start at the beginning of February due to my being happily in the USA over Christmas & New Year for a well deserved rest. Whether I keep the blog updated, whilst I'm away, or to wait until I get back to write it is open to debate, but the feeling at the moment is to escape any form of electronic communication and have a complete rest from it all. I'm well aware that I spend far too much time piddling about on the Internet and laptop, and it would be very nice to avoid both whilst away; we shall see. At the moment I'm focused on getting finished what I need to before I go, which means ever longer hours on the keyboard, not that I really mind, at least I'm busy and that's the most important thing.
However, I'm now beginning to feel a little excited with the passing of time, and the holiday ever closer. It'll be a number of firsts for me, and so a great adventure. It'll be the first time I've flown from one continent to another, the first time I've flown transatlantic, the first time in the USA, and the first time I've occupied the same seat for around 7 hours. Then when I get there it'll be the first time I've eaten a real 'dog', hotdog before anyone starts complaining, the first lobster, pastrami on rye, apple pie like mom used to make, and numerous other things along the way. Culturally, there's lots to take in, and despite an often slightly jaundiced view of the US, I'll have an open mind when I get there, and one of the things here is to accept that whatever perception I may have, it is driven by the media, whereas my personal relationships with Americans are completely the opposite.
History has always been of interest, so there will much to cover and see with visits to Boston, New York and Washington. Of course my time will be fairly limited, so whatever I see will be done with a purpose in mind. I've no real desire to be wandering down 5th Avenue, Wall Street or hanging around Times Square, but hopefully I can get to visit the Apollo Theatre in New York. Washington will be taken up with a visit to Capitol Hill, the Smithsonian and other sights. Boston is likely to be freezing, but unlikely to deter from visiting the Harbour area etc. Of course on a much lighter note, I'm playing with the idea of popping into the local IRS office and demanding, without menace, the repayment of taxes not paid to the British people since the revolution!
Hopefully, one of the highlights will be time spent on a beach, it'll take me back to those rare happy childhood days of wandering alone along the seafront during the winter months, which I've always said is the best time to visit a beach and see it in all's its glory, and at its supremely natural best.
A final remark about this trip, of a lifetime some might say, it might prove eventful in many, as yet unknown, ways, particularly as I'm no great lover of big bustling cities. But the one thing it's already shown before I set sail across the pond, is the value of friendship. And so 'S', from the bottom of my heart, thank you matey for making this possible.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The madness of.....jungle bells and kamikazi reindeer.
I know that I'm in danger of becoming even more boring than I normally am, but really! Saturday was just about the straw that broke the sodding camel's back; sorry camel, it's not your fault and whoever came up with the idiom wants shooting, tomorrow...or we can wait until after your Christmas pantomime gig.
The first part of the morning was pleasantly spent with an old friend, who wanted to visit a village shop, which was a mixture of DIY, gardening and barbecues. I might add at this point the entire reason for a leisurely drive into deepest Bavaria was to view a particular brand of barbecue called Weber; no doubt named after that distinguished sociologist, Max Weber, a dead man who has continued to rise in my estimation with each passing year of life. I might also point out that this is was a Saturday morning in December, -5c outside, and a hard frost had settled during the night, which made the German countryside look particularly pretty, especially from inside the car. But to my delightful friend, when it comes to barbecues, the weather is a mere side issue and of no great importance when planning ahead to spending an enormous amount of time on his huge balcony, happily cooking a herd of cattle. If nothing else, at such times and in his company, you quite often don't realise it's brass monkey weather, where everything from the nether regions has given up the ghost, withdrawn into the inner sanctum, and gone into hibernation until the daffodils are in full bloom. I digress slightly, but only because I'm sitting in front of a partially open window, and typing is the easiest way of preventing the fingers from falling off due to severe frostbite.
So having seen the barbecue, which resembled something the size of the Dead Sea, and having watched my friend's eyes widen in future culinary delight, and noticed that the cows had disappeared from the adjoining fields, we made our way home. As we drove along the autobahn I couldn't help but wonder why anyone should ever buy a decent car, which is capable of putting the willies up the likes of the Jeremy Clarksons of this world, and then drive at a speed a tortoise suffering from constipation would die from out of utter shame, were it to be seen piddling along at such a miserly rate of knots.
I was dropped off close to home, and although it would have been nice to have a Saturday off, I had to work as I'm taking far too long completing a particular task that needs doing. For the next few hours, with a short break for lunch, I managed to get stuck in and things were looking that much brighter, having abandoned the Internet and turned the phones off I was very productive. The latter part of the afternoon was marked down for getting the shopping done, and I duly wandered off into town at the appropriate moment. Knowing full well the town would be groaning with the weight of tourists, due to the Christmas market, I sensibly went the way of the 'wise men', avoiding the ant like infestation, by avoiding the main street into town.
Of course, by avoiding the town centre, I fully expected to avoid the crowds. Yes, by now it should have become apparent that I'm using the word 'Avoid/ing' a lot, not because I can't find a suitable synonym, but because I thought I'd got avoidance techniques down to a fine art. However, like all men of greater talent than I possess, which really doesn't say much about men in general, my delusions of avoidance greatness came to an abrupt end with a massive punch in the face; had a horse decided to kick me in the groin it would've hurt far less.
It seems that not only were the tourists out in force, the Franconians had also decided to join them. The Franconians are a separate branch of the Teutonic family tree, who adopted the name 'France' after Boney's invasion of Germany, who in turn don't have much in the way of fond memories of his time in Germany. Ok, I'm being slightly flippant here, and taking several tonnes of pinched salt for the sake of artistic licence (those who take their history seriously go to the link above). However, what can't be escaped is that I live in a beautiful city, Nürnberg, which becomes particularly more gruesome with the arrival of sweaty bodies in their thousands, who are in turn joined by thousands of Franconians out to buy gifts, duly put under the Xmas tree to open on the evening of Christmas Eve, a tradition carried on by Lillibet Windsor and her hoard of kin being as they are of German extraction. It's one of those strange anomalies that the British hate Europe but are quite happy to have a monarch whose European ties reflect the European Union map. Maybe the fact that Europe wasn't interested in being a member of the British Empire, or the Commonwealth that followed, is the key to the problem
But I've seriously gone off the rails and need to get back to where I should be; which if you've read this far I've no doubts that you're wondering where the hell you are, or for that matter where the hell the idiot writing this is. As we can plainly work out I am here, and you are here, so we must be here together. Anyway, the town was packed solid and it was virtually impossible to move with any great purpose in mind. For a people who pride themselves on being logical, it beats the hell out of me as to why every Thomas, Andrea and kinder should want to come out at the same time. OOOOOOOOOOO I could whistle on a wallaby's pouch were it not so serious! I now realise why I quickly abandoned the game of rugby at such a young age, the scrummage is a very annoying and often painful experience. It also taught me the finer and more subtler forms of the Anglo-Saxon language, which later became even more refined by the French.
After swearing several times that I'll never venture forth into the jungle bells of an insane yuletide city, where kamikaze reindeer are the norm, and where Franconian men and children wander about wearing Santa hats sporting red flashing stars, unfortunately I will have to. God I hate life!
The first part of the morning was pleasantly spent with an old friend, who wanted to visit a village shop, which was a mixture of DIY, gardening and barbecues. I might add at this point the entire reason for a leisurely drive into deepest Bavaria was to view a particular brand of barbecue called Weber; no doubt named after that distinguished sociologist, Max Weber, a dead man who has continued to rise in my estimation with each passing year of life. I might also point out that this is was a Saturday morning in December, -5c outside, and a hard frost had settled during the night, which made the German countryside look particularly pretty, especially from inside the car. But to my delightful friend, when it comes to barbecues, the weather is a mere side issue and of no great importance when planning ahead to spending an enormous amount of time on his huge balcony, happily cooking a herd of cattle. If nothing else, at such times and in his company, you quite often don't realise it's brass monkey weather, where everything from the nether regions has given up the ghost, withdrawn into the inner sanctum, and gone into hibernation until the daffodils are in full bloom. I digress slightly, but only because I'm sitting in front of a partially open window, and typing is the easiest way of preventing the fingers from falling off due to severe frostbite.
So having seen the barbecue, which resembled something the size of the Dead Sea, and having watched my friend's eyes widen in future culinary delight, and noticed that the cows had disappeared from the adjoining fields, we made our way home. As we drove along the autobahn I couldn't help but wonder why anyone should ever buy a decent car, which is capable of putting the willies up the likes of the Jeremy Clarksons of this world, and then drive at a speed a tortoise suffering from constipation would die from out of utter shame, were it to be seen piddling along at such a miserly rate of knots.
I was dropped off close to home, and although it would have been nice to have a Saturday off, I had to work as I'm taking far too long completing a particular task that needs doing. For the next few hours, with a short break for lunch, I managed to get stuck in and things were looking that much brighter, having abandoned the Internet and turned the phones off I was very productive. The latter part of the afternoon was marked down for getting the shopping done, and I duly wandered off into town at the appropriate moment. Knowing full well the town would be groaning with the weight of tourists, due to the Christmas market, I sensibly went the way of the 'wise men', avoiding the ant like infestation, by avoiding the main street into town.
Of course, by avoiding the town centre, I fully expected to avoid the crowds. Yes, by now it should have become apparent that I'm using the word 'Avoid/ing' a lot, not because I can't find a suitable synonym, but because I thought I'd got avoidance techniques down to a fine art. However, like all men of greater talent than I possess, which really doesn't say much about men in general, my delusions of avoidance greatness came to an abrupt end with a massive punch in the face; had a horse decided to kick me in the groin it would've hurt far less.
It seems that not only were the tourists out in force, the Franconians had also decided to join them. The Franconians are a separate branch of the Teutonic family tree, who adopted the name 'France' after Boney's invasion of Germany, who in turn don't have much in the way of fond memories of his time in Germany. Ok, I'm being slightly flippant here, and taking several tonnes of pinched salt for the sake of artistic licence (those who take their history seriously go to the link above). However, what can't be escaped is that I live in a beautiful city, Nürnberg, which becomes particularly more gruesome with the arrival of sweaty bodies in their thousands, who are in turn joined by thousands of Franconians out to buy gifts, duly put under the Xmas tree to open on the evening of Christmas Eve, a tradition carried on by Lillibet Windsor and her hoard of kin being as they are of German extraction. It's one of those strange anomalies that the British hate Europe but are quite happy to have a monarch whose European ties reflect the European Union map. Maybe the fact that Europe wasn't interested in being a member of the British Empire, or the Commonwealth that followed, is the key to the problem
But I've seriously gone off the rails and need to get back to where I should be; which if you've read this far I've no doubts that you're wondering where the hell you are, or for that matter where the hell the idiot writing this is. As we can plainly work out I am here, and you are here, so we must be here together. Anyway, the town was packed solid and it was virtually impossible to move with any great purpose in mind. For a people who pride themselves on being logical, it beats the hell out of me as to why every Thomas, Andrea and kinder should want to come out at the same time. OOOOOOOOOOO I could whistle on a wallaby's pouch were it not so serious! I now realise why I quickly abandoned the game of rugby at such a young age, the scrummage is a very annoying and often painful experience. It also taught me the finer and more subtler forms of the Anglo-Saxon language, which later became even more refined by the French.
After swearing several times that I'll never venture forth into the jungle bells of an insane yuletide city, where kamikaze reindeer are the norm, and where Franconian men and children wander about wearing Santa hats sporting red flashing stars, unfortunately I will have to. God I hate life!
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