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!
*
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.
*
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!
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!
*
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.
*
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!
posted by HB @ 1:43 PM
1 Comments:
At 1:36 PM,
Anonymous said…
next time we'll really do it up right, yah? i've found more of the city, during my month of wandering around since you left. also, am sending clothes. late, i know, but with surprises! more to come in email form. bisous and bijoux!
-L. and her fiance
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