Monday, August 22, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
when reading is like a journey
Reading a book can be like embarking on a journey. Sometimes there are ups and sometimes there are downs, and sometimes things don't go the way you want them to. That's why reading a highly anticipated book by an author you hold in very high regard can be dangerous. Will he meet or fall below expectations?
Terminal World, unfortunately started out slow, meandering, unfocused and, I felt, awkward. Steampunk even futuristic isn't quite my cup of tea, and that was probably what left such a stale taste in my mouth. But, hang on, he is THE Alastair Reynolds, master extraordinaire of dark, slightly disturbing, dramatic, mind boggling, hard sci fi, space opera, once dubbed "the high priest of gothic miserablism".
Yet, as much as I was desperate for it to be, Terminal World started out not feeling like the voice of Alastair Reynolds I'd come to know from his absolutely brilliant Revelation Space novels. Everything was in place, the mysterious half-glimpses of this particular world, slightly disturbing races, the strong, believable characters, the detail, and yet, it all felt like awkward writing.. like trying to fit a square into a round hole.
It took over two hundred pages for me to really get into the book when suddenly, like a flick of a switch, everything started to flow. The writing smoothed out, the sensation that various threads were starting to come together, the rich, believable detail that allows true immersion into a world was back. I recognised his voice again. I was elated and pumped with the tingling excitement and anticipation that master storytelling elicits. I grinned. I laughed in joy. And boy, when he gets going, does he get going. I was sucked in and lost for the last half of the novel.
Frustratingly, Alastair Reynolds often ends his novels raising more questions than providing answers. What are the Mad Machines? (Why did he only introduce them right at the end?!) Who made Spearpoint? What happened that caused the Mire and Zones? How did the angels evolve? There's a gateway/wormhole/portal at the center of the planet? How did the humans end up on Mars? And why do they call it Earth? Was the race that built Spearpoint human? So, the Chinese dominated space travel (in the far future), really? Will Quillian survive? Who knows? The answers weren't there.
Without a conclusive ending, the door remains open for future sequels and revisits to that world. I'm not complaining, but I do hope answers will be eventually given not just for Terminal World, but more importantly the Revelation Space world (Who's going to stop the greenflies? Will the Pattern Jugglers make a difference? Will humanity be wiped out? What really happened to the Inhibitors? Exactly what sort of technology did the Nestbuilders/Slugs provide humanity that actually managed to stop the Inhibitors? Who are the Shadows really?).
Yes, reading is like a journey. You never know what will happen and sometimes you'll have to stick to it even if it starts out rough, but if you do, you just might get taken for a ride you'll never forget. And that's how all good fiction should be - unforgettable.
Terminal World, unfortunately started out slow, meandering, unfocused and, I felt, awkward. Steampunk even futuristic isn't quite my cup of tea, and that was probably what left such a stale taste in my mouth. But, hang on, he is THE Alastair Reynolds, master extraordinaire of dark, slightly disturbing, dramatic, mind boggling, hard sci fi, space opera, once dubbed "the high priest of gothic miserablism".
Yet, as much as I was desperate for it to be, Terminal World started out not feeling like the voice of Alastair Reynolds I'd come to know from his absolutely brilliant Revelation Space novels. Everything was in place, the mysterious half-glimpses of this particular world, slightly disturbing races, the strong, believable characters, the detail, and yet, it all felt like awkward writing.. like trying to fit a square into a round hole.
It took over two hundred pages for me to really get into the book when suddenly, like a flick of a switch, everything started to flow. The writing smoothed out, the sensation that various threads were starting to come together, the rich, believable detail that allows true immersion into a world was back. I recognised his voice again. I was elated and pumped with the tingling excitement and anticipation that master storytelling elicits. I grinned. I laughed in joy. And boy, when he gets going, does he get going. I was sucked in and lost for the last half of the novel.
Frustratingly, Alastair Reynolds often ends his novels raising more questions than providing answers. What are the Mad Machines? (Why did he only introduce them right at the end?!) Who made Spearpoint? What happened that caused the Mire and Zones? How did the angels evolve? There's a gateway/wormhole/portal at the center of the planet? How did the humans end up on Mars? And why do they call it Earth? Was the race that built Spearpoint human? So, the Chinese dominated space travel (in the far future), really? Will Quillian survive? Who knows? The answers weren't there.
Without a conclusive ending, the door remains open for future sequels and revisits to that world. I'm not complaining, but I do hope answers will be eventually given not just for Terminal World, but more importantly the Revelation Space world (Who's going to stop the greenflies? Will the Pattern Jugglers make a difference? Will humanity be wiped out? What really happened to the Inhibitors? Exactly what sort of technology did the Nestbuilders/Slugs provide humanity that actually managed to stop the Inhibitors? Who are the Shadows really?).
Yes, reading is like a journey. You never know what will happen and sometimes you'll have to stick to it even if it starts out rough, but if you do, you just might get taken for a ride you'll never forget. And that's how all good fiction should be - unforgettable.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
home is where you make it
I remember the moment when the realisation struck me. I can't remember exactly when it happened, but I do remember where. It was probably still early on in that first year; I'd come home from work, happy and still excited about being in a different country and living on my own for the first time. I'm lying on my bed on newly bought sheets, staring up at the ceiling ready to go to bed when I realise, I'm home.
It makes me smile.
It makes me smile.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
on a day off...
"Lin ayi." Goes the refrain. To my ears though, it sounds closer to "Lin hao yi".
She's a young girl, probably late primary or early secondary school age, and without fail in the afternoon, we'll hear her call to be let in. Her voice is always patient, never changing in modulation, tone or emotion. I've never heard it raised in impatience for Lin aiyi is never prompt in letting her in, and have only once heard it quicken in tempo, a verbal oh oh, after calling for almost five minutes without a response.
We never hear an answering call or a returned greeting. The only sign that her calls have been heard is the click of a closing gate and the return of silence.
I've never seen her; she calls from the other side of the opposite block but her voice is unmistakable and it's endearing, this little call from an unknown little girl. We'd grown so familiar with it such that when she didn't call one afternoon, we remarked on it. School holidays, of course.
We're usually sat on the couch in the living room, surfing the web, watching DVDs, enjoying a late lunch, when she starts calling.
"There she goes again," I say, and we both laugh and smile.
The things you hear when you're home on a day off during the week.
She's a young girl, probably late primary or early secondary school age, and without fail in the afternoon, we'll hear her call to be let in. Her voice is always patient, never changing in modulation, tone or emotion. I've never heard it raised in impatience for Lin aiyi is never prompt in letting her in, and have only once heard it quicken in tempo, a verbal oh oh, after calling for almost five minutes without a response.
We never hear an answering call or a returned greeting. The only sign that her calls have been heard is the click of a closing gate and the return of silence.
I've never seen her; she calls from the other side of the opposite block but her voice is unmistakable and it's endearing, this little call from an unknown little girl. We'd grown so familiar with it such that when she didn't call one afternoon, we remarked on it. School holidays, of course.
We're usually sat on the couch in the living room, surfing the web, watching DVDs, enjoying a late lunch, when she starts calling.
"There she goes again," I say, and we both laugh and smile.
The things you hear when you're home on a day off during the week.
Monday, July 4, 2011
how do I miss, let me count the ways...
There were things I didn't like in SH. Of course, there are always things not to like wherever you end you living in the world (even home), but it's the memories of what you liked that are worth keeping.
I'm not sure what it says about me, but I do not miss people. I miss what I do with them, how I feel when I'm with them, the interaction and contact. Likewise, I do not miss things. I miss the emotions and memories linked to objects, the 'why' (why did I buy this?), the 'where' (did I get it in Japan, Prague, or Turkey?), the when.
To distill and clarify, perhaps what I miss are the experiences. That's why I miss places.
The list below are all restaurants. The food is amazing and glorious which is why I kept going back, but it is because the food was that amazing and glorious that I spent a lot of time in most of those places, and that is why I miss them.
Coconut Paradise
- for my last 3 birthdays, the leaving do, and amazing lemongrass tea, green vegetable curry, pad thai and Thai style char-broiled beef.
Blue Frog
- 2 for 1 burger Mondays!, several bitching sessions, oh and the sweet potato fries.
Cha
- cheap and good, and they actually do teh ping right!
Abbey Road
- everything happened here.. birthdays, leaving do-s, de-stressing sessions, sangria (with orange, purr), the one and only spaetzle casserole and who can forget? James. Ah, James, of the really strange Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels accent that sprouted overnight.
The Boxing Cat Brewery
- love the location, the burger, the peanut butter and chocolate cake and the fun
Lotus Land
- it's in Taikang Lu, what more do I have to say? Oh, there is the cosy seating and THE best Indian in the city
rbt
- for the swings! (which I only managed to get on the very last visit) and the drinks (Green barley with kaiten). The de-facto place to go with Ray Ray and Vivian.
Julie's
- for burgers, chocolate cake, the cheese cake, and the always friendly Marcel
Cantina Agave
- sangria and friends
hof & whisk
- for THE best chocolate cakes in the city, fun, laughter and serious conversations
mesa aka the yummy cocktail place (which is unfortunately closed now)
- my last birthday, and the most delicious cocktails in the city. mmm...
... and not forgetting all the amazing XingJiang and Lanzhou La Mian stores all over the city, all visited with friends. Always with friends.
What else have I missed?
I'm not sure what it says about me, but I do not miss people. I miss what I do with them, how I feel when I'm with them, the interaction and contact. Likewise, I do not miss things. I miss the emotions and memories linked to objects, the 'why' (why did I buy this?), the 'where' (did I get it in Japan, Prague, or Turkey?), the when.
To distill and clarify, perhaps what I miss are the experiences. That's why I miss places.
The list below are all restaurants. The food is amazing and glorious which is why I kept going back, but it is because the food was that amazing and glorious that I spent a lot of time in most of those places, and that is why I miss them.
Coconut Paradise
- for my last 3 birthdays, the leaving do, and amazing lemongrass tea, green vegetable curry, pad thai and Thai style char-broiled beef.
Blue Frog
- 2 for 1 burger Mondays!, several bitching sessions, oh and the sweet potato fries.
Cha
- cheap and good, and they actually do teh ping right!
Abbey Road
- everything happened here.. birthdays, leaving do-s, de-stressing sessions, sangria (with orange, purr), the one and only spaetzle casserole and who can forget? James. Ah, James, of the really strange Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels accent that sprouted overnight.
The Boxing Cat Brewery
- love the location, the burger, the peanut butter and chocolate cake and the fun
Lotus Land
- it's in Taikang Lu, what more do I have to say? Oh, there is the cosy seating and THE best Indian in the city
rbt
- for the swings! (which I only managed to get on the very last visit) and the drinks (Green barley with kaiten). The de-facto place to go with Ray Ray and Vivian.
Julie's
- for burgers, chocolate cake, the cheese cake, and the always friendly Marcel
Cantina Agave
- sangria and friends
hof & whisk
- for THE best chocolate cakes in the city, fun, laughter and serious conversations
mesa aka the yummy cocktail place (which is unfortunately closed now)
- my last birthday, and the most delicious cocktails in the city. mmm...
... and not forgetting all the amazing XingJiang and Lanzhou La Mian stores all over the city, all visited with friends. Always with friends.
What else have I missed?
Saturday, July 2, 2011
a tour and other thoughts ...
Walk up the long driveway and as you near the top, two semi-detatched houses come into view. The one we want is on the right. If it's summer, all you can see of the house will be the garage, the front door (painted a dark greenish-blue) and half of the ground floor sitting room window that stretches across the width of the room. You can't see the front bedroom on the first floor because it will be obscured by a tree in vigorous green leaf.
Head up the little stone path that leads to the house. There's no car in the driveway, neither is there one in the garage and there hasn't been one for years. To your left is a little flower patch with vivid purples, bright yellows, subtle pinks and a hint of red. The door has a little golden knocker and swings open easily, the key twisting smoothly in the lock.
Inside you are standing in a hallway that stretches out in front of you leading towards a white accordion door behind which lies the kitchen. Immediately to your right as you close the front door behind you is a tidy little recess that holds a small shoe-rack. Perfect location. To your immediate left is a door, cream coloured, that leads into the sitting room. To the right, beyond the shoe rack is another door leading to a tiny, cosy little watercloset fitted under the stairs. Beyond the toilet is a tall, wooden coat rack.
Going into the door on your left, the sitting room opens out in an unbroken line to your right, merging seamlessly into the dining area and ending in large full-length sliding doors that afford a brilliant view of the garden. On a nice sunny day, sunlight streams in from the front of the house, hitting the carpet and a set of wooden shelves hand-built by a grandfather years ago. Opposite is a small fireplace ornamented with framed family photos and little knick-knacks, beside which is a glorious row of bookshelves, all full. An old but still elegantly functional sofa bed sits right in front of the front window and two comfortable armchairs are positioned, tilted slightly inwards at an angle at opposite ends of the fireplace and bookshelves.
Looking out into the garden there are beautiful roses climbing on the trellis and beyond them are other roses. Beneath this second climbing rose are dark, vivid purple clementis. All bloom at different times of the year. Pots of varying sizes and shapes hold flowers of various colours in the nearest corner to the house. In the middle of the garden is an old apple tree, already there when the house was bought 40 over years ago. It leans to the left and is propped up by a stick, but it still bears apples every year. Over to the right stands a tall, slightly overgrown philadelphus bush which bears large clusters of sweet-smelling white blossoms.
If you go through the second door on the right, you end up in the kitchen, which is dominated by a very practical wooden table and two long benches. Another lovely big window on the left, above the sink, overlooks the garden. To get to the garden, go through a white door with a glass panel directly opposite the door from the dining area and through the door immediately to your left.
Still in the kitchen, back to the sitting room door, the accordion door last seen in the hallway is to your right. Going through that, we head up carpeted stairs to your left. Three small steps up, a small landing, you turn right and up a short flights to stairs. Before the top, you turn right again and with another three small steps you're on the first floor.
The bathroom is directly to your left, all perfectly white tiles, lovely natural light, a white bath and light blue linoleum floor. The airing closet is at right angles to the bathroom and is the first thing you see coming up the stairs.
There are three bedrooms on this level, one, the front bedroom is first and overlooks the front lawn and the street, the view uninterrupted during the winter when the tree in front of the house is bare. The second bedroom lies right beside the first and has a beautiful view of the back garden. You can also see the green playing field behind the house. To get to the third bedroom, by far the smallest, turn right at the top of the stairs and pass the first and second bedrooms. It's long and narrow but the small window at the end allows in more than adequate light.
The entire first floor is illuminated by sunlight let generously through a large panel of glazed glass which runs across the entire length of the wall hugging the stairs. Bath towels hung over the dark wood and metal bannister dry in no time.
We always stay in the first bedroom when we visit if there are no prior guests. I've come to like it and feel comfortable in it. I love the sense of space and natural light allowed in by the huge windows. When I'm there, my toiletries go onto the chest of drawers against the wall (as you come in through the door) and I always have to push back the little wooden cats to make more space. I will then move the round makeup mirror from the lowest of the wooden shelves that line the wall adjacent, to the chest of drawers where it's more suitable for my height.
The two single beds, pushed together, are mismatched but I think that adds to the charm of the room. A low bedside table sits beside the bed closest to the window (which I claimed immediately) and 70s tall reading lamps, in silver, stand on either side of the beds. The central heating radiator runs along the wall below the window and without fail, there are fresh towels hanging on delightful silver curling racks that hook onto the radiator whenever we arrive. Warm towels in winter? Bliss.
A new addition to the room since I was there last is a baby cot in the corner by the window at the foot of one of the single beds. And when the family is over we have to play musical bedrooms in order to accommodate both little ones. The dog ("the goo gurl") sleeps in her basket at the foot of the stairs.
It's fun when everyone is over. The round dining table downstairs must be extended, the chairs in the hallway must be brought in to accommodate everyone, the dog, though quiet and extremely well behaved will sit on feet if you're not careful, asking for attention and the best cutlery are brought out. It's distantly different from what I grew up with and am used to, but I love it. There's a sense of ritual and routine to it all - everyone knows what to do, where things go and I especially love I'm now a little part of it.
Head up the little stone path that leads to the house. There's no car in the driveway, neither is there one in the garage and there hasn't been one for years. To your left is a little flower patch with vivid purples, bright yellows, subtle pinks and a hint of red. The door has a little golden knocker and swings open easily, the key twisting smoothly in the lock.
Inside you are standing in a hallway that stretches out in front of you leading towards a white accordion door behind which lies the kitchen. Immediately to your right as you close the front door behind you is a tidy little recess that holds a small shoe-rack. Perfect location. To your immediate left is a door, cream coloured, that leads into the sitting room. To the right, beyond the shoe rack is another door leading to a tiny, cosy little watercloset fitted under the stairs. Beyond the toilet is a tall, wooden coat rack.
Going into the door on your left, the sitting room opens out in an unbroken line to your right, merging seamlessly into the dining area and ending in large full-length sliding doors that afford a brilliant view of the garden. On a nice sunny day, sunlight streams in from the front of the house, hitting the carpet and a set of wooden shelves hand-built by a grandfather years ago. Opposite is a small fireplace ornamented with framed family photos and little knick-knacks, beside which is a glorious row of bookshelves, all full. An old but still elegantly functional sofa bed sits right in front of the front window and two comfortable armchairs are positioned, tilted slightly inwards at an angle at opposite ends of the fireplace and bookshelves.
Looking out into the garden there are beautiful roses climbing on the trellis and beyond them are other roses. Beneath this second climbing rose are dark, vivid purple clementis. All bloom at different times of the year. Pots of varying sizes and shapes hold flowers of various colours in the nearest corner to the house. In the middle of the garden is an old apple tree, already there when the house was bought 40 over years ago. It leans to the left and is propped up by a stick, but it still bears apples every year. Over to the right stands a tall, slightly overgrown philadelphus bush which bears large clusters of sweet-smelling white blossoms.
If you go through the second door on the right, you end up in the kitchen, which is dominated by a very practical wooden table and two long benches. Another lovely big window on the left, above the sink, overlooks the garden. To get to the garden, go through a white door with a glass panel directly opposite the door from the dining area and through the door immediately to your left.
Still in the kitchen, back to the sitting room door, the accordion door last seen in the hallway is to your right. Going through that, we head up carpeted stairs to your left. Three small steps up, a small landing, you turn right and up a short flights to stairs. Before the top, you turn right again and with another three small steps you're on the first floor.
The bathroom is directly to your left, all perfectly white tiles, lovely natural light, a white bath and light blue linoleum floor. The airing closet is at right angles to the bathroom and is the first thing you see coming up the stairs.
There are three bedrooms on this level, one, the front bedroom is first and overlooks the front lawn and the street, the view uninterrupted during the winter when the tree in front of the house is bare. The second bedroom lies right beside the first and has a beautiful view of the back garden. You can also see the green playing field behind the house. To get to the third bedroom, by far the smallest, turn right at the top of the stairs and pass the first and second bedrooms. It's long and narrow but the small window at the end allows in more than adequate light.
The entire first floor is illuminated by sunlight let generously through a large panel of glazed glass which runs across the entire length of the wall hugging the stairs. Bath towels hung over the dark wood and metal bannister dry in no time.
We always stay in the first bedroom when we visit if there are no prior guests. I've come to like it and feel comfortable in it. I love the sense of space and natural light allowed in by the huge windows. When I'm there, my toiletries go onto the chest of drawers against the wall (as you come in through the door) and I always have to push back the little wooden cats to make more space. I will then move the round makeup mirror from the lowest of the wooden shelves that line the wall adjacent, to the chest of drawers where it's more suitable for my height.
The two single beds, pushed together, are mismatched but I think that adds to the charm of the room. A low bedside table sits beside the bed closest to the window (which I claimed immediately) and 70s tall reading lamps, in silver, stand on either side of the beds. The central heating radiator runs along the wall below the window and without fail, there are fresh towels hanging on delightful silver curling racks that hook onto the radiator whenever we arrive. Warm towels in winter? Bliss.
A new addition to the room since I was there last is a baby cot in the corner by the window at the foot of one of the single beds. And when the family is over we have to play musical bedrooms in order to accommodate both little ones. The dog ("the goo gurl") sleeps in her basket at the foot of the stairs.
It's fun when everyone is over. The round dining table downstairs must be extended, the chairs in the hallway must be brought in to accommodate everyone, the dog, though quiet and extremely well behaved will sit on feet if you're not careful, asking for attention and the best cutlery are brought out. It's distantly different from what I grew up with and am used to, but I love it. There's a sense of ritual and routine to it all - everyone knows what to do, where things go and I especially love I'm now a little part of it.
after the cold
Cold hardiness (n) - the ability of plants to withstand sub-zero temperatures.
Growth slows, leaves are shed, some even die, only to live again when spring comes. Even through the longest winter you'll be surprised by what survives with just a little bit of warmth and watering. Just like friendship.
Growth slows, leaves are shed, some even die, only to live again when spring comes. Even through the longest winter you'll be surprised by what survives with just a little bit of warmth and watering. Just like friendship.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Living two lives
"Was it strange whenever you came back? Did you feel like that?" asked my sister having experienced a little bit of living a life away from home herself recently.
"Yes," I replied. "Till I realised you can't live two lives, because if you try, you aren't living the life that's in front of you right now and you'll miss out on all that life has to offer by holding on too tightly to the past."
Three years ago, I left home to live and work in SH. The first time I came back it was for a month and I spent the first two weeks feeling like a stranger in my homeland. It's unsettling. Everything's familiar and yet tinged with a subtle difference you can't put your finger on. It's frustrating. It's disconcerting, and it has a name - reverse culture shock.
It took me the next two weeks to readjust and just when things were starting to feel normal again, it was time to go back.
It was strangely comforting going back to SH, which in a 180 degree turn had become more familiar to me than home, even as I was feeling the tug of family left behind. For the first few days, I chatted to my sister every night and emailed my parents daily, trying to keep those ties fresh and immediate. Then work and SH life took over again. I reverted to texting occasionally and emailing periodically.
The next time I came home it was less of a shock, now that I knew what to expect. Perhaps it was also because I was only home for two weeks. It was easier that round, but it still took me those two weeks to feel part of home life again. When I left (once more), I did so determined to keep in better contact with my family and friends. Again, it didn't last.
And it happened each and every time I came back till I left SH to come home for a long-term stop this June.
"Yes," I replied. "Till I realised you can't live two lives, because if you try, you aren't living the life that's in front of you right now and you'll miss out on all that life has to offer by holding on too tightly to the past."
Three years ago, I left home to live and work in SH. The first time I came back it was for a month and I spent the first two weeks feeling like a stranger in my homeland. It's unsettling. Everything's familiar and yet tinged with a subtle difference you can't put your finger on. It's frustrating. It's disconcerting, and it has a name - reverse culture shock.
It took me the next two weeks to readjust and just when things were starting to feel normal again, it was time to go back.
It was strangely comforting going back to SH, which in a 180 degree turn had become more familiar to me than home, even as I was feeling the tug of family left behind. For the first few days, I chatted to my sister every night and emailed my parents daily, trying to keep those ties fresh and immediate. Then work and SH life took over again. I reverted to texting occasionally and emailing periodically.
The next time I came home it was less of a shock, now that I knew what to expect. Perhaps it was also because I was only home for two weeks. It was easier that round, but it still took me those two weeks to feel part of home life again. When I left (once more), I did so determined to keep in better contact with my family and friends. Again, it didn't last.
And it happened each and every time I came back till I left SH to come home for a long-term stop this June.
favourite uk moment #5
I'm pretending to sleep. I hear a little noise of consternation and open my eyes. Little E's sat there looking at me, brows furrowed. I close my eyes again. I hear movement and jump up with a playful roar. He squeals in delight.
I pretend to sleep again. This time, when I wake up, I catch him in the midst of crawling towards me. More happy squealing.
The last time I open my eyes, he's there (!), face right in front of mine. I roar and grab him. He laughs, squeals and wriggles away before turning round to look at me: again! again!
I pretend to sleep again. This time, when I wake up, I catch him in the midst of crawling towards me. More happy squealing.
The last time I open my eyes, he's there (!), face right in front of mine. I roar and grab him. He laughs, squeals and wriggles away before turning round to look at me: again! again!
Not quite me
I don't quite recognise the self I see from old diaries I've been going through (all part of a bigger clean-up enterprise). As I read words my 13, 15, or even 18 year old self wrote, I don't quite know who this young, exuberant, hopelessly naive and idealistic girl is.
And yet there are certain glimmers of a person that peeks through, which makes me go, I know her!
And yet there are certain glimmers of a person that peeks through, which makes me go, I know her!
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Touchy Feely books for little hands
Little E had one ('That's not my tractor...") and the instant I saw it, I knew I had to get a similar one for Ilyas :)
Why polar bears? Do you have to ask?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
favourite UK moment #4
She's small, dressed prettily in a pink dress, and is walking along a ledge overlooking the prairie dog enclosure. We look around, there doesn't seem to be a parent in sight.
"Hello," I say.
"Hello," she replies.
"Shall we get down? Do you want to get down?"
"Yeas," she nods and holds up her little arms.
"There you go," I say, putting her safely on the ground.
"Hello," I say.
"Hello," she replies.
"Shall we get down? Do you want to get down?"
"Yeas," she nods and holds up her little arms.
"There you go," I say, putting her safely on the ground.
unforgettable UK moment #5
Walking down the Downs towards the Zoo, I glance over to my right and am suddenly spooked. It's mid-morning and the sun is joyously out, but a chill runs down my spine. In the instant my mind says, it's just a dog, I know it isn't.
I stop. "Look," I breathe. "A fox."
A wild fox indeed, sitting absolutely still in the grass, so silent and watchful it can't be alive. I'm still spooked and am reminded of silent creatures ghosting through forests where the only sound is a slight rustle of leaves and the hint of a breeze.
Then it moves, and the spell is broken.
Who doesn't love going to the Zoo?
I stop. "Look," I breathe. "A fox."
A wild fox indeed, sitting absolutely still in the grass, so silent and watchful it can't be alive. I'm still spooked and am reminded of silent creatures ghosting through forests where the only sound is a slight rustle of leaves and the hint of a breeze.
Then it moves, and the spell is broken.
Who doesn't love going to the Zoo?
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
unforgettable moment #4
"Turn off your lamps."
We did and it plunged us into the deepest, most absolute darkness I'd ever experienced; darkness so dark you couldn't see anything, even your hand held up right in front of your eyes.
It was in this pitch black that the youngest children of Welsh coalminers at Big Pit worked, up to as long as twelve hours a day, as Trappers, opening and closing the wooden doors that regulated the flow of fresh air into the mine.
Our guide once worked at Big Pit. His first job - taking care of the pit ponies. It was also his job to bring the ponies up into the sunshine for two weeks out of the year during the festive season. And it was also his job to bring them back down.
"They weren't stupid. They didn't want to go back."
Pit ponies spent 50 out of 52 weeks deep down underground.
We did and it plunged us into the deepest, most absolute darkness I'd ever experienced; darkness so dark you couldn't see anything, even your hand held up right in front of your eyes.
It was in this pitch black that the youngest children of Welsh coalminers at Big Pit worked, up to as long as twelve hours a day, as Trappers, opening and closing the wooden doors that regulated the flow of fresh air into the mine.
Our guide once worked at Big Pit. His first job - taking care of the pit ponies. It was also his job to bring the ponies up into the sunshine for two weeks out of the year during the festive season. And it was also his job to bring them back down.
"They weren't stupid. They didn't want to go back."
Pit ponies spent 50 out of 52 weeks deep down underground.
unforgettable UK moment #3
"We get to go into the ship?!"
Built in the very same dry dock where she now stands, she was the very first iron and screw propeller steamship to sail the seas. Her name is the SS Great Britain.
It was one of the best exhibitions I'd seen in a very long time - brilliantly imagined and stunningly executed with interactive elements (different stamps to collect!), engaging displays and well-written write-ups.
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| First class bunks with washbasin. |
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
unforgettable UK moment #2
Weston-Super-Mare - an exotic name for a little seaside town. I love the way it rolls off the tongue. It was also my introduction to the British seaside and the experience can be summed up in one word - windy (very, very, very, very windy). I loved it!
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| I now understand the need for this. |
But it was on the way back when the action happened. I remember thinking, that car's too close, it's going to scratch ours. A scratch it wasn't. Thank goodness no one was hurt.
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| Side air bags? I never knew they had those. |
It was my very first road accident.
unforgettable UK moment #1
So there we were, walking happily through green, grassy fields. Me absolutely thrilled at actually being in The Countryside, and getting very good at figuring out country gates.
Then (abrupt stop, slightly worriedly), "Why are there cows in this field and why are they ALL walking towards us?"
Then (abrupt stop, slightly worriedly), "Why are there cows in this field and why are they ALL walking towards us?"
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| Taken after they'd lost interest in me, naturally. |
Cows, afar, from the safety of a vehicle as it passes by on the motorway, are cute, benign, ooh-look animals. Up close, they're huge. And I'm small.
We continue walking, briskly, eyes front and survive to climb over the stile into the next field.
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| Curious horse. |
Horses are pretty much the same as cows. Pretty when seen from a distance, slightly worrying when right in front of you, muzzle at head height. Walk cautiously away, eyes front, don't panic. We survive the horse only to see..
two dogs, one huge, charging straight at us from the bottom of the field. I freeze and think, I'm going to die as the large one stops, hardly two steps in front of me. It's barking aggressively and I don't know what to do. I hardly notice the small, yippy one.
This is a public footpath. We have the right to be on it as it is the right of the owner to call off her dogs. She does, but doesn't do so immediately. Shaken, we hurry on, over another stile and laugh nervously. Just when we thought it was over, both dogs rush through the gap in the hedge at us again.
This time I really think we're going to die. The owner is out of sight now, she can't see how aggressive the dogs might get, the dogs can't look to her for assurance. She recalls them and to our relief, they go. This time we hurry on.
I stop taking photos and pick up a stick from the ground. The romantic sheen of The Countryside is slightly tarnished.
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| Note the stick in my hand. |
The next field (oh who would have guessed) had cows in them in the corner to our right, and (oh aren't we lucky) in front of us some distance away there were two dogs. We stop and wait and see if the dogs would react.
One of them did. It was a nice, chocolate Lab which wagged it's tail at us and then lay down in the grass. Sigh of relief. Now, what about the other dog?
Alerted by the Lab, the black dog turned round and I thought for the third time that day I was going to die. It was a Rottweiler and it had started to growl at us.
I immediately assessed the potential escape routes available to us. We couldn't circle round the dogs because that would take us right into the middle of the cows and should the dogs decide to charge us then, I definitely wouldn't want to be in the middle of a group of panicky 1400lbs (~ 635kg) cows.
We couldn't go back the way we came because that will take us back to the aggressive dogs and I certainly didn't want to go through that again.
We end up standing there with no choice of action. Then, someone whistles for the dogs and they go! We give it a few moments (Are they really gone?) before inching our way across the field.
We survive and the next few fields are blessedly empty. Till we get to another field with cows AND calves, that is.
By then I'm sick and tired of running into livestock and with turning back not an option, I plunge straight ahead, thinking, If they charge, I run, while trying not to think of the flock of rams in the field to my left - the only place I could escape to should the cows decide I'm threatening.
Eyes front, with determination in my step, I start walking straight at the cows and mercifully they give way albeit hesitantly. We exit the field and hit the road. I'd never been so glad to see a road before.
I like my fields to be free of scary, curious cows and crazy, barky dogs, thank you very much.
favourite UK moment #3
Little I has several favourite phrases. In no order, they are - "oh no", "oh dear", "shoes" and "car".
We're sleeping in the corner room, it's bright outside and through the door comes the sound of tiny pattering feet down the carpeted hallway. There's a quick "shhh" from the parents and on cue, clear as day, we hear a little voice go, "oh dear".
And according to dad, he probably now thinks that all dogs are "goo gurl".
And according to dad, he probably now thinks that all dogs are "goo gurl".
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| The "goo gurl". |
favourite UK moment #2
Am sat, playing with Little E in the beautiful sun-room of his home, way out in the countryside where all around you are fields and fields as far as the eye can see, and it's pitch black at night, apart from the faint glow of lights far away in the distance that is Bristol. He's yet to realise how amazingly fun his car wash/car park toy is and is using it as a seat for now while he plays with his toy cars.
"Vroom vroom vroom," I say, picking up a round, rubber coaster, making engine sounds and honking noises. It catches his attention and his eyes light up. Again! Again!, he demands with little squeals, holding out the coaster to me. Many more times later, I suddenly hear him say, "ba.. ba.."
Did he? Was that? Could it be?
"Vroom vroom," I say, holding out the coaster towards him. He squeals, swats it, and says, "ba ba".
Voila! He has learnt! And according to mum, he now does that to ALL coasters. :) Priceless.
Monday, June 20, 2011
favourite UK moment #1
Ahead of us was an elderly man with his equally elderly dog crossing the grass. She was a lovely dog, long, lean, black, probably a whippet.
I had started walking some ways behind them when she turned around. I smiled at her because I like dogs. Her owner smiled too and they continued walking, but she kept lagging, kept turning round to look at me. He urged her on, but still she whined, still she strained at her leash to try and get to me. Her owner turned and the both of us shrugged.
I finally caught up with them at the pavement where the owner had stopped to said 'hello'. She greeted me with enthusiasm, whining happily and licking my hand.
"She thinks you're my granddaughter."
Did she really? Couldn't she tell by my scent, voice and step that I wasn't the granddaughter that she obviously loved so much? How old must she be to be so mistaken? Aww...
I had started walking some ways behind them when she turned around. I smiled at her because I like dogs. Her owner smiled too and they continued walking, but she kept lagging, kept turning round to look at me. He urged her on, but still she whined, still she strained at her leash to try and get to me. Her owner turned and the both of us shrugged.
I finally caught up with them at the pavement where the owner had stopped to said 'hello'. She greeted me with enthusiasm, whining happily and licking my hand.
"She thinks you're my granddaughter."
Did she really? Couldn't she tell by my scent, voice and step that I wasn't the granddaughter that she obviously loved so much? How old must she be to be so mistaken? Aww...
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