Globe-trotter

About to head back to the States for the holidays tomorrow... so if I want to cover the past couple of weeks, I'd better do it now.

First, Switzerland. Flew into Geneva the day after Thanksgiving to visit my friend L. and her fiance -- we spent the day chatting, shopping, eating at a fancy hotel restaurant next to the Rhone, and in the evening, drinking 'white beer' at Les Brasseurs, a Swiss pub mini-chain, out of a huge column complete with its own tap (check it out). Yes, we got a few strange looks from our fellow customers, most of whom were splitting a beer column between five or six people, and not three. Their loss...

That night, we hopped on a train to Lausanne, a city about an hour away from Geneva, where I spent the next couple of days admiring the view of the Alps from L.'s balcony. We walked around the town a bit, but made the mistake of doing so on a Saturday after 5 PM, when everything in Switzerland shuts down. On Sunday, it's even worse -- nothing is open. Not even grocery stores! This meant that L. and I had to do most of the shopping for our belated Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday, lugging a 5-pound, extremely overpriced turkey back to the apartment and grumbling all the time. Saturday evening, after climbing the stairs of a church older than everything, I tried a keriche, a sweet beer with cherry juice. Too sweet for me, I managed to sip away half of it and then felt a bit queasy.

Sunday was our Thanksgiving, and the first Thanksgiving for a flat full of L.'s Swiss roommates. Although my main culinary achievements are mastering the art of stir fry, and popping an Old El Paso enchilada kit in the oven, L. is truly a domestic goddess, so under her guidance we slaved away in the kitchen for an incredible six hours and turned out quite a feast: turkey, of course, but also mashed potatoes, homemade stuffing, stewed carrots, squash, and pumpkin pie. Being a vegetarian, I left the turkey to the master, but the end product certainly looked like any gobbler I've seen on a 90210 Thanksgiving special. Of course, after looking at the food for so long, and picking at it the whole time, the master chefs didn't eat much. However, I now have a new claim to fame: making a pumpkin pie from scratch!

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The following weekend, I packed my tiny travel bag again and made off to meet my friend W. in Amsterdam. While my weekend in Lausanne was quite appropriate for Thanksgiving -- lots of sleeping in and "family time" -- in Amsterdam I was back in tourist overdrive. Arrived Friday afternoon, dropped off my stuff, and went for a grand old walk past the Leidseplein, a tourist trap of a square if I ever saw one, but bless it all the same. Because it is there that I found the dessert to beat all desserts, ever: the Haagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche-Belgian waffle combo. MMMMMMMMMM is all I can say. Anyway, past the Leidseplein, up through part of the shopping district, and finally to an excellent Mexican restaurant that W.'d found in a free city guide. Nobody else was in there, and their loss -- the chips and guacamole were killer, and my enchiladas were swimming in green tomatillo sauce.

Next day, after a bit of a late start, I checked out the Rijksmuseum, a bit like the British museum except the architecture is far more impressive. (I found this is true of Amsterdam as a whole: full of gorgeous canal townhouses, which, when set in the midst of the neon-lit, noisy, smoky delirium, is quite unreal.) They're doing major renovation -- bad timing for the museum junkie -- but I was able to check out some of the country's treasures from the 17th century Golden Age of Holland, in an exhibition called, aptly, "The Masterpieces." On the ground floor, a basic history of the time given through portraits and other artifacts, including an impressive model of the famous Dutch trading ships; upstairs, a lovely gallery featuring works by the master painters Vermeer and Rembrandt, among others.

Afterwards, lunch at a creperie, then a gambol around the Flower Market, which was packed full of frenzied Christmas shoppers and disgruntled locals, but in terms of aesthetics, gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. And they even have US-certified tulip bulbs so you don't have to smuggle them in! Those Dutch, they think of everything. Took a canal cruise in the afternoon/early evening, to see everything we weren't managing to walk to on foot... at moments like these I wish I hadn't been broke and sold my digital camera. Amsterdam from the canals somehow manages to seem timeless and ephemeral at the same moment, especially at night. I practically expected ghosts to rise out of the water.

Later that evening we checked out Cafe Alto, a little jazz cafe near the Leidseplein that is a MUST-go, even if you think you don't like jazz. We completely lucked out that night, got a couple of tables close to the front, where a quartet of adorable old men just killed it for two sets -- effortless improvisation, and they never stopped smiling. Everyone in the place was stamping feet, bobbing heads and whooping and clapping along. I went to the renowned Jazz Cafe in London and heard a live (as in, alive, practically vibrating) set by the Christian McBride Quartet, but in Cafe Alto, a more intimate setting, the performance felt really interactive. The band was definitely picking up on where the audience wanted to go.

Sunday I tried to cram even more in, and still missed plenty, so I hope I'll get back to Amsterdam again sometime this year. In the morning, of course, W. and I flocked with all the other tourist zombies to the Van Gogh Museum... crowded, but worth it. Just because of the texture of his painting style, I really believe that if you have to chance, you have to see Van Gogh's work in person. I saw an exhibition a few years ago in Philadelphia that's stuck with me ever since. The museum also features a commendable collection of work by VG's (he told me to call him that) contemporaries, and a special exhibition space, which, while I was there, had an exhibit on Art Nouveau that was stunningly thorough -- from textiles, to advertisements, to furniture sets, plus a detailed look at the man who "founded" (as in, funded) the movement, Siegfried Bing.

W., who had stayed out a little later than ol' Grandma here the night before, needed a nap after this, so I went solo to Foam, a contemporary photography gallery a little ways down a canal street from the hustle and bustle. They had a major retrospective on of the work of fashion photographer Guy Bourdin, whose work more often explores, rather than celebrates, the disturbing relationship we have with what we own/wear/covet. Met up with W. and some other friends of his, wandered about town (and yes, I avoided the Red Light District on purpose -- whether it's stupidly righteous or not, the idea of that place, and its attraction to voyeuristic tourists, upsets me), and finally that evening got a little piece of the U.S. of A. at a comedy club called Boom Chicago, which features sketch-comedy a la Saturday Night Live, which I've been missing dearly these past few months. Got a few belly laughs out of it, and you can't ask for more. Headed home shortly after to get a few hours' sleep before running for the plane back to London.

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The following week was my birthday week, as I mentioned a couple of posts ago, and to celebrate my friends and I invaded a pub's weekly karaoke night and made true asses of ourselves. I had two all-too-brief moments in the spotlight: once, singing "Faith" by George Michael, and much, much later in the evening (and much to my chagrin the following day), singing "Wonderwall" by Oasis with my friend G. and pretty much everyone who could cram their faces into the microphones with us. A silly, silly night, but seeing as I'm only 22 I think a bit of silly is in order.

This past Saturday I met up with my aunt and uncle and cousin for high tea at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Knightsbridge -- boy, does my family spoil me! I have loved tea parties since I was so little I didn't even like the taste of tea, and would fill my little cup up with sugar, so this was a dream come true. Before I tried the clotted cream on scones, my cousin divulged that it is one of her secret addictions, and guess what -- it's mine too, now! (Not so secret, I suppose.) And I am really in love with the tiny sandwiches with the crusts cut off -- we all like the crabcake ones so much, we ordered an extra plate. As we'd ordered the Champage Afternoon Tea, I had my first glass of Dom Perignon! Oh dear, my tastes may be getting a bit expensive...

Finally, last night I went with my good friend S. to see Margaret Cho, who's in town for a month working on new material, plus providing London with a sort of "Best of Cho" performance in between the new stuff. One of her biggest hits from the new jokes was a jab at American news coverage. She pulls the mic real close and scrunches up her face, and then screams (in imitation of a newscaster): "IT'S RAINING! IT'S NOT RAINING! THERE'S A FIRE! THEY PUT OUT THE FIRE! OH SHIT IT'S CAT STEVENS!!!!.... Americans spend $5 billion every year protecting our country from Cat Stevens. We are scared to death of light rock."

Obviously, it's funnier when she says it, but hopefully y'all get it.

Okay, time to pack, and check out the Turner Prize Exhibition at Tate Britain if there's time. To those of you in the States, see you soon!

Christmas sidebar

I promise I will tell all about Switzerland, Amsterdam, and the best karaoke birthday party ever, among other adventures. I will probably do this tomorrow. In the meantime, feast your eyes on this jolly old tidbit about the way we like to celebrate with Santa in Great Britain. It's supernuts, and it doesn't even involve putting bad children in a sack and shipping them off to Spain! (Sorry, Holland.) If you don't have an account with the New York Times online, you'll have to get one to read this -- but the account is free, and plus, once you have it, you can read the whole Sunday magazine online!

Birthday update

Well, it's been ages, but the good news is I've been up to a lot, and I've decided to take a little time out on my birthday to give you the story. Since there's a lot to cover, though, and in the interest of brevity, let's see how it goes in bullet-point-form:

• The Women's Library -- I'd been dying to check out the Women's Library, which is, indeed a specialty library, but which also runs special exhibitions drawing from their own archives as well as other institutions in the UK. The current exhibit, up until April, is "Iron Ladies: Women in Thatcher's Britain." When Margaret Thatcher was running things my lifetime goal was to become Jem from Jem and the Holograms, so I came into the exhibition with a knowledge-base of just about zero. Turns out that wasn't a bad way to go, as it felt a bit like a scavenger hunt going from display case to framed poster, with displays containing everything from Thatcher's old speech notes, to placards of the Union Jack which say "Think British before you buy," to Flashdance-era workout clothes. The most striking part of the exhibition had to be the display on "peace camps" such as Greenham Common, set up by women to protest Britain's storing nuclear arms near their homes. I'd never heard of this movement, but it lasted over years, finally resulting (ten years after the missiles had returned to the States) in the land where these women camped, originally belonging to the air base at Greenham, being returned to the public. Just one example, but overall I was amazed at what a politically charged time the '80s were! I've always thought of it as the "Me Decade, Part Two" -- but compared to today's general apathy those people were damned hippies!
• Art stuff -- Yeah, lame heading, but whatever. I checked out a couple of the Paul Mellon Lectures at the National Gallery, given this year by David H. Solkin, a professor at the Courtauld Institute of Art. This year's theme was "The Epic of the Common Life," exploring the connection between developments in genre painting and the changing society of 19th-century Britain. I love to hear artists or art historians speak about a work of art. Their gaze is so refined; they know exactly how to tease every detail and nuance out of an image so that it seems almost to grow and brighten as we look. Solkin's lectures covered a massive amount of ground at only an hour each (there were five altogether) -- I went in feeling a bit skeptical (I'm a modern art girl, or have been) but in the end found myself won over by the active, often nearly chaotic scenes of life depicted by David Wilkie, Thomas Heaphy, and later Benjamin Robert Haydon. I also had a chance to finally check out the Courtauld Institute itself, or more properly its gallery, which consists of several small rooms in the Somerset House on the Strand filled with art by some of the most important painters in the last two hundred years -- Manet, Gaugin, Cezanne... I also appreciate the space, which still has most of the fixings of a grand Victorian affair -- a nice change of atmosphere from the sterility of most gallery and museum spaces.
• Fabric -- Because I can't go to museums all the time -- it's against the law when you're young -- I've had a couple outings to Fabric, London's most successful club, in the East Central area of the city close to St. Paul's Cathedral. The club can fit around 2000 people and regularly does; those who like to plan ahead buy their tickets online, so as to avoid a two-hour wait (even at three AM). Inside it's a pretty nice place -- three rooms, which feature DJ's spinning anything from drum n' bass to reggae, and naturally, every variation of house music known to humans. Club life is pricey, so it will be awhile before I go again, but if you want to dance it's definitely worth the effort to head there and do it up right.
• Brighton -- All of the sudden I realized I'd spent nearly eight weeks in London, while one of the main advantages to living in London is its proximity to everywhere! With this in mind, I went for a day trip with my flatmate M. to Brighton, a classic old beach resort town only a couple of hours for London. Having gone to a similarly Victorian-styled, slightly cheesy beach town each summer for my entire life, I was thoroughly charmed by the large wooden pier filled with lights and "American hot dogs" and hazardous carnival rides. The beach is full of pebbles, which seems to be standard for British beaches (I've seen one other, in Gosport over the summer, and it was the same), but if you throw on some flip-flops and wait until July or August, when the water will actually be warm, you're ready to rock! Snarkiness aside, it is your typical adorable beach town, and I do plan on enacting the above scenario for at least a week this summer. Send you a postcard!
• Eyes, Lies and Illusions -- In mid-November I went to the Goethe-Institut in South Kensington to see a couple of films in a series called Media Magica, by Werner Nekes, a German filmmaker and massive collector of cards, books, and toys that demonstrate the effects of optical illusions. He has an exhibition of some of his collection -- he owns more than 20,000 pieces -- on at the Hayward Gallery at the South Bank Centre, which is great fun, particularly for anyone with a fascination for looking through microscopes or telescopes or stereoscopes or plain old peepholes. The films themselves were a bit disappointing; they were billed as "experimental," but in fact were structured more like a good PBS miniseries (like that one with Patrick Stewart and the history of cartography -- has anyone seen that? It's pretty old... anyway...). So, entertaining, but not the night of crazy German collage films that my friend and I had in mind.
• Jill Scott -- Do y'all know her? If you're from Philly, at least, you'd better. I checked her out a few weeks ago at the Brixton Academy venue, which resembles an old opera house, except a bit rattier than it used to be as it now hosts rock and hip-hop concerts. Now, girlfriend is an amazing singer on her albums, but honestly, they are a pale, pale version of what she can actually do in person. What a performer! She's obviously one of those women who's known her whole life that she'd end up onstage; she's so comfortable there, and she makes the audience feel like her best-est friends. At several points she had the whole audience singing back-up! When she came back for her encore, she sang a song called "Rassool," about kids she knew in North Philly who were killed in the drug business. I'd never heard the song before, but it was powerful -- even to her; she began to cry and had to stop singing for a couple of minutes to calm herself. When she came back, she began to say the names of the people she knew who'd died selling drugs, and asked the audience to do the same. After a moment's hesitation, the room filled up with voices shouting or whispering the names of people that had been lost. Pretty much the whole place was in tears. So, yeah, if you get the chance, go and see her.
• By the Bog of Cats -- Last item for today (I'm going to turn this into a two-parter): I finally got out to see some West End theater! It's a new play, called By the Bog of Cats and set in Ireland, starring Holly Hunter as a desperately lonely but fiery woman whose lover, about to remarry, wants her to leave the bog where they live. It's a brief but intense play; kind of a reworking of the Medea myth. Holly Hunter was a perfect choice for the role -- she is gorgeous, hard as steel, and terrifying. The actress who played her daughter annoyed the hell out of me, but I have a thing against child actors (I think they're all brats), so I won't say definitively that she was crap. Overall a beautiful, haunting play, which made me realize how much I miss the theater. New Year's Resolution: Go to the theater twice a month. I think I can manage that...

Well, that's all I'll do for now... but stay tuned, because in the past two weekends I've been to Switzerland and Amsterdam, with adventures galore! Also, coming up, a big karaoke birthday party in a pub, and a giant tour of London's current exhibitions before I head back to the States for the holidays. Thanks again for being patient!