The World is Our Pork Chop

Sunshine!

2006-06-06T15:05:00.000-12:00

Happy birthday Ema!

The sun is finally shining in England. We have had the wettest May in twenty years, apparently. Hopefully this is all behind us and ahead lies punting, picnics and procrastination. Here are some photos from this weekend when I did nothing and everything to celebrate turning in my thesis on Friday morning.

Baby ducks!

Andy and Kammy on the punt

Me, Max's head, and Kammy

Alex punting us up the Cherwell

Max sulking because we finally proved me to be a superior frisbee thrower.
Paul standing in awe of my skills.

pandora.com

2006-05-28T22:07:00.000-12:00

www.pandora.com

My friend Frances alerted me to this great music website. It's the result of the Music Genome Project. You type in a song or artist that you know you like, and the program generates a radio station all your own with songs that you might like, but wouldn't have necessarily heard before.

For Austin

2006-05-23T20:35:00.000-12:00

I was walking down Cornmarket street today when the strangest thing happened. It's the single busiest bit of Oxford, where you'll see friends, strangers, buskers, town, gown, dogs, and even the occasional tourist. I was walking along, maybe I was headed towards the pharmacy, I'm not sure because it is all a blur after I saw Hermoine walking toward me in her school uniform! Turns out Emma Watson (who plays Hermoine in the Harry Potter films) lives and goes to school here in Oxford at the aptly named Dragon School.

Up the Tower

2006-05-15T12:33:00.000-12:00

Assuming you've got a fellow's signature, anyone can ascend the Magdalen Tower. However, not everyone elects to do so when it is hailing. Ah well, you only live once, yeah? Here are some photos from our trip:

We're the statue, can't you tell?

They thought this was cool...

Alex...

The view, even with rain and hail, it's something.

Spring in Oxford

2006-05-05T20:20:00.000-12:00

It is truly magical. Within the past three days, Oxford has become a beautiful place. Girls have unpacked their skirts and flip flops, lovers are having picnics and students are not getting enough work done. Yesterday and today I took long lunches at this great organic restaurant in the centre of Oxford, backing out of a church and looking right at the Radcliffe Camera (where I should have been studying) and All Soul's College. The sun is so welcome in a place that was so dark and damp for so long. I feel like I have woken up along with all the grizzly bears.

The daffodils on Addison's Walk, a part of Magdalen's grounds.

Cat and Andy laughing during our leisurely outdoor lunch today. We had intended to try a new Italian place, but when we got there, we weren't allowed in. The Oxford Police had roped the whole thing off. Turns out the Queen of England beat us to it. I kid you not. Just an average day in Oxford with the Queen popping by to dedicate a garden to her sister, Princess Margaret, and grabbing a ciabatta on her way back to Buckingham Palace.

That's the Magdalen swing band playing behind us.

Chris is a vocalist for the Magdalen swing band and Kammy and I are big fans.

The spring weather even compels some of us to sing! Chris is singing Frank Sinatra in this shot.

José González

2006-05-05T19:51:00.000-12:00

One of the pitfalls of living abroad is that you lose touch with what's going on...in the news, in fashion, and in music. Does anyone there know José González?

There is a great cafe here in Oxford and the first time I heard his album, I walked right up to the bar and asked what it was. On susbsequent trips, the album was playing each time. It is really subtle and entirely guitar driven. It makes me think of Mexico, of love...

Oddly enough, José González is from Gothenburg, Sweden.

He made his real breakthrough (I think, since I am essentially on the other side of the world, or so it feels) when one of this songs ran with a recent Sony advert.

If you want to really do the advert justice, link to it through this website:
http://www.bravia-advert.com/commercial/braviaextcommhigh.html

A great friend Jess surprised me with a ticket to his concert on May Day here in Oxford. He played some new stuff. It was a edgier, more daring in a way. Some may think him a bit monochromatic, but sometimes life calls for something simple, well-crafted and soothing. I like it.

Hear some of his songs

May Day

2006-05-03T08:45:00.000-12:00

May Day is an institution at Magdalen. Since 1509, school-boy choristers climb up the Magdalen Tower and sing two hymns to welcome the Spring at 6:00 am on May 1. As a student at Magdalen, it's your duty to stay awake all night. My friends decided to throw a party or sorts, in an effort to keep us all awake and it worked more or less. At 12:30 I set off, having just finished an essay and drank a glass of effervescent vitamin C.

1am, still looking respectable with Julie by my side

2am, Max had just been sitting on Cat...

3am, group calisthenics (by myself)

4am, Kammy and Andy working on breakfast, which included homemade bagels!

5:45am, the view to the street from the Founders Tower, the other Magdalen tower that I had snagged a ticket to go up.

5:55am, Kammy and Cat eating one of Andy's bagels, it's raining in this photo.

6am, the singing starts

6:15am, I'm fast asleep

EEK European Tour

2006-04-28T08:11:00.000-12:00

For two weeks, it was me and two hipsters (my mom and Kirsten) journeying through Italy and France. What follows is my adhoc photo journal of highlights.

Cat was with us for the London leg, enjoying afternoon tea at the Lanesborough Hotel. Absolutely lovely, darling. We were within a stone's throw of Buckingham Palace.

We left Cat and flew to Florence...

...where we ate bruschetta and olive tapenade for three days straight.

Lake Como, where the scenary was absolutely unbelievable. It was us and George Clooney.

My 100th cappuchi!

On the train to Menton, on the French Riviera. We mostly stole our lunches from the posh hotels where we stayed.

In Menton...

I want to learn to sail.

Day trip to Monaco. We had a really great lunch overlooking the Monte Carlo Casino.

Ah, the InterContinental Hotel in Cannes, my second home.

Enter Provence! So lovely.

And the only surviving photo of Paris, me eating a crepe with warm bananas and Nutella!

It was then back to Oxford, where the trees are blooming and the work is calling!

My Own United Nations

2006-03-25T01:06:00.000-12:00

Tonight was a typical night. Cat cooked dinner for some friends, just a simple pasta and salad kind of thing. It was great because as we were all just hanging about beforehand, helping to chop, I realized how in the span of seven months just how close I had drawn to these people. Things are simple and inevitably really funny when I’m in their company and whatever internal moaning I had been engaged in about my essays or my dissertation, I let them go. (So, even though none of them actually read this blog, thanks.)

We had finished off the pasta and salad, what would have been the leftovers of a more disciplined group. The conversation was fun, but I don’t remember the specifics. Someone brought up dessert and having been talking about languages, Eva thought it a good idea to go around the table and say “Are we going to have dessert?” in our respective foreign languages.

I started with Estonian.

Then Max from South Africa asked in Afrikaans.

Julie speaks fluent Japanese.

Eva speaks Greek, owing to her family heritage.

Cat piped in with her native French.

And, finally, Kammy offered the phrase in both Mandarin and Cantonese, for she was born and lived in China until she was 12.

It struck me how special this was. Language utility is so important. Not for business or even to show off, but because it means you’re humble. While English will get you pretty far, it won’t take you everywhere. The process of acquiring a language, from the classroom to immersion is an adventure in itself, not to mention the doors that are opened in the process.

I’ve been thinking that Spanish will be next.

Pictured: Chris, Andy, Paul, me, Kammy and Max

My Day Spent Posing as a Well-To-Do in a New York City Coffee Shop

2006-03-18T09:44:00.000-12:00

(To protect the innocent, the address and names of said Coffee Shop have been withheld.)

I’m in New York to visit Blake for a long weekend. In an effort to actually graduate, I’m spending my days working on essays and my nights faffing about town with Blake. Today, my first day of work, took me to a coffeehouse not far from Blake’s office. It’s a favorite of both of ours. It’s locally owned, always full and Blake contends it’s a damn good cup of coffee while I take the tea.

Sitting here, ruminating about the post-World War II resistance in Estonia, I look around and there isn’t an empty chair. It’s 10am on Friday. Why aren’t all these people at work? Some are obviously students, but what about these two thirty somethings next to me?

They’re talking about real estate and Paul (lets call him Paul) is going to make a killing on selling his house/apartment. Joe, the other one, tells Paul that if he has any sense, he should invest in real estate in West Virginia. Has Joe been to West Virginia? Then Joe gets a phone call and Paul, who is seated behind me, but within one foot, says, “So, you Estonian?”

I turn, “Yes, well Estonian-American…”

He’s been reading the essay I am revising over my shoulder.

Joe gets off the phone and joins in, telling me it’s Paul’s bachelor party weekend. I congratulate Paul and he tells me about having visited Tallinn. I return to my essay and the guys chat about their bachelor weekend exploits of the night before. They get up to leave, wish my luck with my degree and they’re off, leaving me with an awkward tourist couple who aren’t getting along and what I assume are housewives with a standing Friday morning date.

The tables in this coffee shop are so close, that in essence you are having coffee with twenty strangers and while it struck me as odd, I liked how those two chaps just struck up a conversation with me and some others. It makes the world seem not quite so big and impenetrable.

MCBC Torpids Dinner

2006-03-06T16:06:00.000-12:00

This is Bess. She coxes our boat. She had been dieting all week (while the rest of us loaded up on pasta and risotto) to try to make the boat lighter.

Edward is clad in the traditional first boat red blazer and a red Magdalen bow tie, complete with an embroidered lily on each side.

Finally, this is Nic, our coach. She's great fun. She's seven months pregnant and still insists on cycling alongside us when we train at 6:30am on a muddy tow path. That's dedication.

Torpids: Day Four

2006-03-05T09:26:00.000-12:00

Subtitle: It's over!

After four gruelling days, we finished in style. Although we started the competition in ninth place and finished in tenth, we rowed really well throughout (especially in our final day) and were especially chuffed (British for thrilled.)

A team shot with the our blades, displaying the traditional Magdalen lilies.

Myself and Frances after the race. Frances rows for Balliol and did really well, bumping each day.

When the race was over, I was handed a bottle of champagne and got to shake it up and spray it all over my team, so much fun! The boat club had a black-tie dinner last night, photos to follow!

Torpids: Day Three

2006-03-03T18:13:00.000-12:00

Subtitle: Hot Dog!

Well, not the best day for us. We got bumped by St. Edmund's Hall (aka Teddy Hall or just "Hall") and weren't able to catch Merton to get our own bump. Tomorrow is the last day of the contest, so we're just going to come out of the blocks like madwomen with oars in hand and have fun!

Feeling a bit down earlier, I wandered to Marks and Spencer's Food Hall because it always makes me feel better to buy overpriced produce and pre-cooked meals. With pad thai in hand, it occurred to me just what I needed in that very moment. A hot dog! Low and behold, Marks and Sparks has "frankfurters" and nice buns. The only fly in the ointment was the absence of good old banal American yellow mustard. Dijon it was, I'm flexible.

And, I watched "Anchorman" for the first time.

"Grandmother's Spatula!"

Torpids: Day Two

2006-03-02T13:51:00.000-12:00

Woho! Halfway there!

Today we started off in ninth position. We knew we didn't have to worry about the people in tenth (since we had bumped them yesterday), so we all focused in on rowing our best possible race. We were chasing St. Hilda's College today. However, before we could catch them, they had bumped New College. Unfortunately for New College, they crashed into the bank and were effectively "bumped" (aka passed) by eight crews.

So, in the end we got our bump without actually having to crash blades (or worse actual boats) with any other crew. We rowed very well as a team today and pulled through right to the finish line.

What's more, Madgalen women have never been this high up in the standings before (eighth!) It's a record for us! Altogether another great day for Magdalen women's rowing.

Torpids: Day One

2006-03-01T14:42:00.000-12:00

Hiya!

Today was the first day of a four-day "bumps" race here at Oxford. It's inter-collegiate and absolute chaos. I can't even begin to explain how it works (mostly because I've only just regained the feeling in my hands...)

We set off to line up at the start and the most snow that has snowed this year began! You can see from the photo, it was a winter wonderland. Ordinarily I would be thrilled, but at that very moment I was seated in a very unstable boat essentially level with the water in a very cold (and dirty!) river, trying to regain the feeling in my hands. It was absolutely amazing. If I hadn't been so nervous, I would have burst out in song (ala the end of White Christmas.)

In short, we were bumped by St. Hilda's College (bad), but we recovered and went on to bump Somerville College (good!)

On to day two...

This is Sian and myself in our all-too-stylish red Magdalen caps! It was bloody cold at this moment, even in all our kit.

Dining at the High Table

2006-03-01T07:01:00.000-12:00

Once in your Magdalen graduate career, you are graced with an invitation to dine at high table. I'd always seen the high table, perched at the south end of the hall, looking ominous and, well, high. And finally, like a kid waiting for Santa Claus, I got my invitation a couple weeks ago.

Flanked by fellow historians and classists, we rang the doorbell to the Senior Common Room at 7:05, the crypitcally specified time on the invitation. The tutor for graduates graciously welcomed us and we proceeded to what is the fellows "hang-out" spot, for lack a better phrase. I was right off offered a glass of sherry, which I declined on account of the big rowing race I have later today.

Let the awkward small talk begin! I honestly thought to myself before I left my house, just take it easy and whatever you do, don't start talking about American foreign policy, or worse, rowing!

When it was time for dinner to begin, we walked across the roof (!) to the special fellow's entrance to the hall. As we filed in to find seats, I was very aware of the importance of my dining mates and headed for sympathetic ears, an American librarian who I had met just beforehand. But, on account of gender balance, I was shifted one seat to by flanked by two male fellows, a classist and an historian.

It went off without a hitch! I was a smashing success. We chatted about Mark's driving tour through America in 1991 and Edmund's ideal monograph of modern historiography. And only when pressed, did I talk about rowing. (I promise!)

Dinner was lovely, starting with tomato (toe-MAH-toe) and bacon soup. The main consisted of goose and veg, followed up by a liqueur soaked peach with chocolate sauce.

In ordinary circles, this would herald the end of the evening. But this is Oxford, far from ordinary. I was instructed by my new friends to stand, bow my head from the closing grace and take my napkin with me.

"Take your napkin," "Oh, okay..."

Walking through cloisters, napkin in hand, a door was opened to me that I didn't even know existed. What lay beyond was the Senior Smoking Room. In two lines facing each other with 10 or so feet between them were chairs setup with small round tables in front of each chair with port glasses and a plate with knife and fork. The vice-president was in charge of the seating plan and in true elementary school dodgeball fashion, we were assigned sides and seats in the room. (I was picked near the end!)

Here I was seated next to Paul, the second-in-command at the Magdalen Boy's School. We were offered five different alcohols (port, Madeira, claret, dessert wine and one that I now forget), chocolates and the most exotic fruits (figs, plums, lychees, and blackberries.) To transport the glass bottles of alcohol between the two rows of fellows and graduates, a contraption devised over 100 years ago was used. It looks somewhat like a Nordic Track without the top half, and the downward slant is used to slide the bottles to the otherside, with one track going downwards and another back up. I honestly shook my head and thought, "This is so Oxford."

And just when I thought it was over, then came the snuff. I passed, but Evert (my Dutch friend) was brave and gave it a go. Afterwards he said, "Well, now I never have to do that again."

It was an altogether lovely evening...

Crew Date!

2006-02-08T18:02:00.000-12:00

On Monday night I had the opportunity to take part in a time-honored tradition here at Oxford: the Crew Date.

To distill this for my mostly American audience, it goes something like this...You are rowing down the river, spot a group of fit (British for hot/attractive) rowers from another college, quickly and never discretely confer with your teammates, and unceremoniously yell out, "Crew Date!" It's really hilarious and it's good to know that these sorts of things still make me blush like a ripe radish.

However, it's no longer fun and games when you actually have to own up to the "date" and do the awkward dance of wining and dining with the other crew. Our team was recently asked to dine with Christ Church men's first boat and we happily agreed.

In the interest of british manners, I won't comment on the evening in this venue, but ask me next time you see me to tell you all about it.

Here's a photo of Sian and I in the "Tom Quad."

I Want My Mexico

2006-01-22T22:36:00.000-12:00

Now, let me state for the record that I am indeed complaining. Yes, I am very lucky to be living in England and I am having a bang-up time at Oxford. But, there is just one problem. It's not Mexico.

My major gripe is the lack of good Mexican food. Scratch that, the complete and utter lack of anything resembling a Mexican restaurant or even Mexican food stuffs in the local grocery. At first I saw it as a challenge, see how long you can go without refried beans, Elin!

But, it's January. And for the last two years, January has meant only one thing...Playa del Carmen. Playa is a beautiful former fishing village on the Yucatan Penisula. It is just the most wonderful place to spend two lazy weeks, drinking fresh juice and laying under beach umbrellas made of wood and branches.

Here are some photos from last year's trip:

Blake and Kirsten after our adventure day (and just after Blake assaulted me with a kayak...)

Priceless.

So, what do I do this January? I come back to Oxford and my new and lovely home and community at Magdalen College and do it up right at the Mexicana Bop this past Saturday night.

That's me and Marieke.

I danced it up, ate way too many nacho-flavored doritos with sub-par salsa, and drank a pre-mixed margarita and a warm bottle of Sol beer...and it was great fun!

Hot Cross Buns

2006-01-17T03:56:00.000-12:00

This is why I love England. It's tea time and I've settled into my dilapidated loveseat with a cup of Tetley tea and a toasted hot cross bun. It's only my second ever hot cross bun and this is because they only seem to appear in the shops after Christmas, where they are a mainstay until the Easter holidays.

Who else thought they were "Hot Crossed Buns"?

They are akin to cinnamon raisin bagels, without the bagel and with more fruit. Toasted with an excess of butter seems to be the nationally recognized method of consumption and far be it from me to rebel.

We WON!

2005-11-27T09:47:00.000-12:00

We won the 2005 Christ Church Regatta! We had to race six different times yesterday in the span of five hours, but we won!

Thanksgiving in the UK

2005-11-25T12:15:00.000-12:00

It's official. I have now spent my first Thanksgiving apart from my family.

About three weeks ago I received an invitation in my pigeon hole (Oxford for mailbox) to the Magdalen president's home for a Thanksgiving Day Feast. How nice is that? It also specifically said that we were allowed to keep our mobile phones on in case our families wanted to ring us, or we could have our families ring us at the president's private number.

The president's lodgings at Magdalen are exquisite. The college is quite wealthy and the most obvious example of this is the president's home. It has a set of tapestries that were a wedding gift to Catherine of Aragon. I walked through the door and before the president had the chance to greet me, he handed me a goblet of mulled wine. I think my family should start drinking mulled wine at Thanksgiving. Before dinner, we nibbled on cornbread. I have found that cornbread is a completely foreign concept in the UK, so it's presence tonight was a testament to the overall thoughtfulness of the organizers.

Dinner itself was fantastic. The turkey was perfect, the stuffing was just like home and the cranberry sauce was homemade. I usually end up mixing my whole plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, stuffing and gravy together and tonight was no exception. I was the first person at my table to go for seconds! I didn't actually sit at the main dining table, but with some grad students at what at home would have been considered the kiddy table. It was great fun and great conversation.

Dessert. There was discussion before they brought it out if they would go for pumpkin or pecan pie. They went for both! And, fresh whipped cream and coffee. (Mom, I put the whipped cream in my coffee!)

As we were leaving, the president and his wife asked us to please take bits and pieces of the centerpiece home. The centerpiece was composed entirely of cabbage, broccoli, oranges, apples, grapes, zucchinis, plums and other assorted market goods. It was absolutely hilarious to see us all walk away with heads of cabbage under our arms and grapes falling out of our hands.

I certainly have a lot to be thankful for.

Christ Church Regatta, Day One

2005-11-24T20:15:00.000-12:00

If you have been following my blog this term, you might have caught on to the slight bent towards the Christ Church Regatta. Well, fear not for it is upon us at last.

Day one was yesterday. Our first race put us up against another novice boat from St. Peter's College. We did well right off the start and were able to win without any problems. (The above photo is post-victory.) It felt great and it was a good way to start the week. The Regatta is meant to last four full days. However, bad weather today (it hailed!) and the prediction of the same for tomorrow, has thrown a spanner into the plans. Now the race course has been shortened and will proceed on Saturday in a sudden-death head-to-head format. The race was already a sprint and now even more so.

Onto Saturday!

Cambridge, II

2005-11-24T19:58:00.000-12:00

We started the day so early, the morning mist was still burning off when we were rerigging the boat in Cambridge.

After the race we proceeded to The Eagle pub.

Our team with the Cambridge weekend market behind us.

Cambridge

2005-11-20T07:01:00.000-12:00

I woke up this morning to a foggy and frosty Oxford. It seems like the ideal precursor to snow, but I fear I will be disappointed. It doesn't often snow in England and probably not until after the new year.

Yesterday was a long fun day. Our whole team was up at 5:30 am to catch a 6am coach to Cambridge. We rowed in the Cambridge Winter Head of the River Regatta. It was our first regatta and also the longest sustained sprint we have ever attempted. We fared well. It was a time trial, meaning we weren't actually racing another boat. It took us 11:01 and it was a 2.5 kilometer stretch of the River Cam. All of my limbs were burning when we crossed the finish line. I was told that I earned the "pain locker" or "locker" award for the day because as I rowed past our other teammates on the shore, somwhere near the finish line, I had a look of utter pain on my face.

After the race, we promptly packed up our belongings and headed to the pub. Why not? We went to The Eagle, the oldest pub in Cambridge where Watson and Crick announced they had discovered the secret of life, DNA. We stayed for about 4 hours, since we had time to kill and it was warm. The weather in England has been hovering around freezing all week.

Last night we all went out for bangers and mash at a place called "The Big Bang." I had never actually had bangers and mash, but it was really good. It reminded me of Christmas dinner at my house, cabbage/sauerkraut and sausages. It was a nice close to a really great day.

Photos to follow...

OUANZ

2005-11-17T05:10:00.000-12:00

OUANZ=Oxford University Australia New Zealand [Club]

Last week was the annual OUANZ Ball and seeing as how the vast majority of my friends hail from Australia, I went. Also, the theme was 'A Night at the Races,' meaning we were to wear those fantastic Ascot hats. Unfortunately, I couldn't quite afford one of those fantastic hats, but I could afford a semi-fantastic hat from the Marie Curie charity shop, complete with a really large purple bow in the back. I think I am now over my Ascot/My Fair Lady fantasy.

T Minus Seven Days

2005-11-16T12:09:00.000-12:00

Here's a photo from Saturday of our crew. You'll notice the lilies on our blades/oars. Three lilies is the mark of Magdalen College.

I might have to rename my blog "Elin's scrappy attempt at novice rowing" if I keep this up. Speaking of up, I was, this morning at 6am. It was a brilliant day of sunshine, so no complaints. Of course, it was pitch black at 6am, but the sunrise was worth it.

P.S. Happy Birthday Blake!

Yet Another Bop

2005-11-15T06:09:00.000-12:00

The Rowing girls

Magdalen's JCR (junior common room) had a drag bop on Saturday night. Clearly a man was in charge of this one, seeing as how the men were to come in drag and the women as whores. Fantastic. Julie and I walked in from the theater, so we are both dressed a bit like school teachers in comparison.

Rowing, Part II

2005-11-06T14:07:00.000-12:00

When I signed up for rowing, I had no idea that holding the boat over our heads would be included in the package.

I'm sitting in the second seat, in the dark red.

Things are really coming together for our team. These photos come from an actually sunny day, but today was a day of almost constant rain. We stayed out for two hours, under our coach's theory that when we do come out in good conditions, we'll be oh so thankful. We were all wet through and you can imagine the shower we got when we had to lift the boat up to heads at the end of the outing.

The big novice race is in the 2.5 weeks, the Christ Church Regatta.

Magdalen's Halloween Bop

2005-11-06T06:19:00.000-12:00

Alright, I'll admit that my costume was definitely on the pathetic side. I couldn't seem to muster anything more than a pair of devil horns. If it counts for anything, I did have lofty ambitions to go at Jackie O. or even wear one of those plastic presidential George W masks, but I honestly didn't want to be stoned.

Dan came as a mad scientist, I think.

Here are Julie, Catherine, Joanne and Anna. They represent three different countries and three different continents! (Australia, Canada and Denmark.)

Bop=Party at Oxford. I definitely didn't anticipate this much by way of planned social events, I more anticipated planned marching to the library, but the moral of the story is that 20 somethings will be 20 somethings wherever they are.

Rowing on the Isis

2005-10-16T11:03:00.000-12:00

I am trying my hand at rowing for Magdalen this term. It's really a good time so far. It's hard work, but being out on the water feels so great. I always admired rowing for both its gracefulness and the overwhelming spirit of teamwork in the boat. Oxford has a long and rich tradition of rowing and so does Magdalen college. Only fifteen minutes walk away (along the Merton and Christ Church meadows), sits our boathouse.

At the end of sixth week, there is a novice competition called the "Christ Church Regatta." We are all looking forward to it, training in and out of the water a couple times a week. Early morning sessions haven't started yet, but I figure the best approach will be overwhelming enthusiasm. 5 am? Where do I sign up?

(The photograph is a mens team, I'm not sure what college.)

Matriculation Saturday at Oxford

2005-10-15T18:25:00.000-12:00

Today was by far the most quintessential Oxford day thus far (and maybe ever.) Today was matriculation, meaning that the 'freshers' were officially admitted to the university by way of a couple hundred white bow ties and a Latin blessing. I thought a photographic diary would serve the day best.

We were required to gather in the hall by 8am, all dressed in what is known as 'sub fusc,' Oxford's formal dress.

These are mostly graduate men in Magdalen.

Here Catherine and Sian are walking with our college into the courtyard of the Sheldonian Theatre, the formal hall where we also graduate. It's quite posh inside.

Following the ceremony, we retreated to Magdalen for a champagne brunch on the New Building Lawn. However, we are strictly forbidden to actually walk on the lawn, so we brunched on the New Building footpath.

Dave wore blue socks.

After the brunch and before the traditional trip to The Turf, a group of 15 graduate students climbed the Magdalen tower. It opened up the most fantastic views of Oxford. By around 11am, the morning fog and mist was burning off, creating a really magical scene. Here I am, in my sub fusc glory. The gown is really the most awkward piece of my wardrobe, but we do actually wear them quite often (to formal dinners, chapel and fancy meetings.)

Magdalen from the High

2005-10-12T16:12:00.000-12:00

Even though it rained most of today, there is a photograph that I took on Monday of the Magdalen bell tower (if you are standing on High Street.)

I had my first class today. It went pretty well. It is a lecture/discussion course dealing with nuances of history, aka historiography. (Yum!) I also had my first gym session for the Magdalen College Boat Club. Rowing is a serious endeavor here, but so far things have been pretty fun. I will be out on the river tomorrow, hopefully.

A Sunny Day in Oxford Town

2005-10-10T12:33:00.000-12:00

In the top left hand corner of this photo you can see the bottom half of my window. Today was a beautiful day here, complete with a nice stroll and a superb croissant.

The "Elin" Social Experiment

2005-10-10T07:24:00.000-12:00

What's in a name?

What is my name?

Elin. It is a typical Estonian or Finnish first name. Growing up in southern California, my name was pronounced like "a-Lean," with a soft "a" (more like an "e".) However, when we moved to Indiana, I was somehow magically transformed in "A-lynn," with a great deal of emphasis on the "a". So, in my 23rd year, my father encouraged me to reclaim my name when I moved to England (a place where no one knew me, let alone knew me as either "A-lynn" or "a-Lean.")

On the flight over, as I lay across four seats, desperately trying to get some sleep, all I could think about was how to pronounce my name. What was my name? I wasn't sure. Thankfully, most of the people around me were sleeping as I mumbled over variations of my name. Should it be "eh-lean"? Or "E-lean," with a stronger first syllable? To be honest, it was keeping me up and I was feeling only a little ridiculous for the identity crisis I was facing at 23.

It took a couple days of constant introductions to reveal the winner. In the UK, I am officially known as "eh-lean." People still struggle with it. Most think my name is "Eli", which I don't hate, but I usually just spell it out and people catch on. As my father predicted, the Americans are really the only ones who trip on it.

I really like my new name.

The Freshers Dinner and Ball

2005-10-05T16:28:00.000-12:00

On Monday night, we (the new Magdalen graduate students, aka freshers) had our first formal dinner in the Hall. I hate to say it, but think Harry Potter and you're there. We had to dress "smartly" and wear our graduate gowns. We have a more formal attire known as "sub fusc", but that's really only for matriculation and graduation. In our assigned seats we enjoyed a nice formal dinner of salad, cold salmon, roast duck, green beans, potatoes and chocolate cake, washed down with both white and red wine.

At the beginning and end of the meal, the president of the college said a blessing in Latin. He made a nice speech about the diversity of our new class and if we were to embark on a world journey, we could visit our classmates in Iceland, Hong Kong, South Africa, Australia, and he even mentioned Indiana!

After the dinner, the professors went back to their offices and the students hit the club where we had our freshers ball. It was a really great time with three different bands and most of the graduates from Magdalen and some other colleges too.

A Room with a View

2005-10-01T12:17:00.000-12:00

I arrived on Tuesday to a room with the brick wall view and after some begging and pleading, I am now blessed with the second view. The white spots are honest sunlight. Today was a mostly sunny day, and I say mostly because it did rain at least once, but I guess that's how they do it in England.

Serendipity

2005-09-30T18:35:00.000-12:00

This morning’s walking tour marked the end of my orientation program here at Oxford. When I arrived, we were promptly sectioned off into groups of 18 (not 20.) Going with my gung-ho approach, I just started introducing myself. First I met a nice American girl and then later, I zeroed in on a shorter girl who I thought might be European. She said her name was Rosa and that she was from Finland. So I said "woomenda" or however you actually spell “good morning” in Finnish. I told her about my family being Estonian and it turns out that her family has lived in Estonia since 1991. Her parents are journalists and wrote for Finnish daily’s in the months and years after independence.

So, here we were walking down the street in Oxford, speaking Estonian. I had hoped to find some Estonian-speakers to practice with!

Otherwise, today was a graduation day, so I was constantly confronted with new grads in their gowns, mortarboards and hoods. It was great fun and got my mind spinning about next summer/fall when I get to do the same thing…hopefully.

Day Two: The Turf

2005-09-28T18:49:00.000-12:00

After a full day of firsts, first time in the Examination Schools, first meal at the Hall at Magdalen (and second, incidentally), and I went to the Turf Tavern to meet some fellow Magdalen graduates. It was a great chance to meet some of my fellow students and the pub atmosphere lends it self well to otherwise awkward social situations. The Turf is a bit of landmark, supposedly very tough to find. My guide book claims it dates to the 13th century. We actually shut the place down tonight (something I never do), but that's because the pub's pulls dry up promptly at 11pm.

E P Raun

2005-09-27T05:08:00.000-12:00

This is my room. A little bit ago I heard what I thought was someone fiddling with my lock, but I was wrong. A nice girl was putting up my name plate. It's shockingly permanent. I wonder if I get to keep it?

I'm here and aside from fatigue, I am well.

Tomorrow

2005-09-25T16:27:00.000-12:00

Tomorrow is already today. Tomorrow (today) used to be six months away. I leave for England in 15 or so hours. If anyone knows of a good quote about time, let me know.

Wish me luck.

In Search of...

2005-09-18T19:00:00.000-12:00

It just occured to me why I should be a travel writer. I often do my best thinking in the bathroom, and this is no exception.

I should be a travel writer because I am a quester (one driven in pursuit of a noble (or not so noble) quest.) While others far braver have proceeded me, searching for knight's for their round tables or the holy grail or du temps perdu, I go in search of the ultimate...hot dog.

During my trip to Estonia it was the search for the best traditional Estonian meat pastry (yum!) When I was in Ireland, it was the search for the coziest spot of tea. When I spent this summer in Bloomington, it was the search for the greatest Cary Grant film. And when I was recently in New York, it was the search for the best possible French cooking, stateside.

For the most part, it's food that is my fancy. But on my forthcoming journey to England (where I'll really have the chance to perform an exhaustive 10 month search) who knows what I might find. I guarantee it will be something (perhaps the cloudiest day or the dowdiest dowdy.) For the quest is what drives me. It throws me out of bed in the morning and says, "Is that the best you can do?" For in the seemingly pointless search, we come across the surprises that delight each and every one of us when we travel. I wish I could edit a book about the surprise encounters and discoveries that our travels (and quests) have awarded to so many of us.

The thing is, none of my searches ever seem to end.

that altogether infuriatin' palm pounding

2005-09-09T17:34:00.000-12:00

Why can't we have a president who is also a human being? What has happened along the gulf coast is horrifying, so why isn't the president horrified? I sit there and wonder, why can't he show some genuine emotion or empathy, something that makes him more like the rest of us? Could he maybe admit that he is licked? Instead, he repeatedly pounds his right palm on the podium in his token way and tells us everything will be back to normal soon enough. What is so wrong, or so hard, about admitting that you are overwhelmed by this tragedy? Make the rest of us feel like you really get it! Empathy is not a failure of leadership, it is leadership.

Tartine, W 11th and 4th Street, Greenwich Village, New York

2005-09-01T03:53:00.000-12:00

Keeping with my theme of reviewing French restaurants, lend me your eyes and I'll tell you the tale of Tartine.

Tartine. What does it mean? I had to look it up, but it seems to translate as "slice of bread." The offerings are certainly much more than a simple slice of bread, but maybe the name is an homage to where it all began, French food that is, with a damn good slice of bread (and grew into sourdough and flaky croissants and crusty baguettes.)

Blake and I arrived at 8pm to a small crowd of fans gathered out front, watching the lucky friends at tables enjoying their meals. I had read that there is no 'putting your name in' tradition at Tartine, but rather you stand in a line. Tonight, however, the line was nonexistent, but one of the servers kept us in mind and magically knew when it was our turn to sit and so we all did, eventually. The other people waiting were just as excited as we were and what's more, they were our people. They were kind and curious and quick with a smile. This isn't Balthazar where you breathe only when absolutely necessary and hope you don't slip on a rogue mussel. Here, we were at home with the other 20 or 30 diners (if only because we were all essentially eating together because the room was so tight, but then again, that's Paris.)

The food. We began with goat cheese croutons. They were simply divine. The toasted French bread slices were coated (goated) with the cheese and accompanied by marinated and grilled red peppers and bits of basil. Thankfully, there were three slices and three of us, or else we may not have gotten out of there alive.

For our entrees: Kristin had grilled sausage with potatoes, Blake had a chicken and mushroom dish served in puff pastry and I, again, ordered mussels (with french fries!) I was so involved with eating my mussels, I accidentally wore them all the way home on my shirt. I suppose that all's fair in love and war and French cooking and I was wearing brown, the most forgiving of colors.

My mussels were exquisite. Blake said he had the best pot pie of his life and Kristin was very happy with her entrée. We didn’t order dessert, but instead, we walked a block to the Magnolia Bakery in search of their famous cupcakes. I have never had a richer frosting experience, I may never be the same. It was like biting into a stick of butter. I said that I was fine never going there again, but it was worth a try.

Tartine is BYOB. We picked up a nice and affordable French Bordeaux on our way.

I highly recommend Tartine. We are thinking of moving to the Village to be able to see it each and every day.

Balthazar

2005-08-23T06:41:00.000-12:00

It took us a week to get a reservation, but who cares? It’s Balthazar.

The hostess was very kind and seated us at an end table, the Parisian kind that is scooted out to accommodate the woman in the couple. We were close to a couple from Texas, but there was enough buzz in the restaurant that we felt alone in the managed chaos. Our server was extraordinarily kind, very helpful and gracious. He made us feel like locals and had no question that we belonged in this restaurant, in this culinary palace. We started with field greens, which were fresh and lightly dressed, but over salted. The bread, however, was a spongy dark French sourdough that we could both eat forever (and perhaps we will.)

The entrees were entirely French in their conception and execution. I had steamed mussels in a white wine sauce, while Blake chose the duck confit. My mussels were served with pommes frites (French fries!) We both enjoyed our entrees immensely. Mussels take time to eat, as if you have to go wading for them, but that’s more than half the fun to me.

The portions were of a reasonable size, allowing for us both to order dessert. Blake chose the blackberry financier, while I went for the French mainstay of crème brulee. Both were very rich, but fafntastic. My crème brulee came in a very shallow, yet wide dish, allowing for an excess of crunchy burnt sugar surface area.

Balthazar was long a fantasy of mine and will remain a fantasy, filled with laughter, low golden lighting and the most fantastic French food available stateside.

In pursuit of my used bookstore

2005-05-02T03:47:00.000-12:00

I harbor a romantic ideal of spending hours in used bookstores. I see myself sitting on top of a stack of books, reading, and kneeling on all fours to dig out the cleaner copy of "A Moveable Feast." But in truth, I find used bookstores overwhelming. There is too much going on, too much disarray, too many romantics roaming the aisles. I visited New York's famed Strand Bookstore and I was so flummoxed, I left my wallet on the toilet paper dispenser.

Upper East Side

2005-04-15T13:28:00.000-12:00

I am now an official Upper East Sider because I impulsively bought a fabulous pair of shoes at a local overpriced shoe store after having brunched on eggs benedict at Sarabeth's. I admit it is intoxicating to live the high life, if only for a couple hours each year.

When we finally reached Midtown, having hoofed forty blocks in my new shoes, I was annoyed at the crowds of tourists as if I weren't one myself. But then again, a flaneur isn't a tourist. A flaneur relishes in the small and simple because they have the luxury to walk past the traditional tourist traps. Today a woman was walking her dog across an intersection when the dog somehow wriggled out of its collar. The dog was as shocked as the owner at its escapist skills, but then didn't know what to do and froze. The owner grabbed one of its legs and together they hopped across the intersection. Maybe a tourist would see that too, but maybe they would be too busy looking for what they are slated to see (perhaps MOMA, The Plaza, or a hot dog stand.)

I love New York. I love to steal glances into second story brownstone apartments and imagine myself standing in the window in the mornings, watching the people rush to work and then again at night, watching them slowly return home. Maybe someday!

New York City - 405 Miles

2005-04-14T03:20:00.000-12:00

Highway 80. It's tough to flaneur your way along America's Interstate system. I am often so insanely determined to reach my destination, I hesitate to exit at say Punxsutawney and go looking for Phil. Or maybe we could stop off in College Station. "We'll stop on the way home." But I doubt we will.

Nonetheless, as we left Pennsylvania and entered New Jersey, it was as if it were New York City already. Cars zoomed past the little Camry from Indiana, scoffing I'm sure at my close adherence to the 65 speed limit. Black suburbans with the cool white and blue New York plates weaved through traffic, equally determined to reach their destination. We were still 60 miles away from the city notorious for bad driving. Is this already considered the suburbs? I smiled and kept my eyes on the road.

Montclair, New Jersey, 14 hours from Bloomington, Indiana.

2005-03-21T00:16:00.000-12:00

Pauluse Kalmistu (Tartu, Estonia)

2005-03-21T00:15:00.000-12:00

The Reismann Family Headstone, Pauluse Kalmistu (Tartu, Estonia)

Eesti Kalmistud

2005-03-20T18:40:00.000-12:00

Translation=Estonian cemeteries

Today while hundreds of Lutherans throughout Estonia sat quietly in their fur coats listening to the Sunday sermon, I was wandering through Pauluse Kalmistu. Wandering is not entirely correct. Rather, my father and I were systematically searching for the gravesite of my great-grandparents, the Reismanns. I will admit to you, my friends, that we had visited the selfsame cemetery two weeks before and had no luck finding the Reismann headstone.

After consulting with our local relatives, we set off again this morning with renewed hope. The sun shone brilliantly today, bouncing off of the foot of snow that has collected throughout the long winter in the cemetery. We each made our way down our prescribed lanes, leaving boot-sized footprints in our wake. I thought if Sherlock Holmes were on our tail, he would not have to work too hard.

Again, we paced up and down the aisles between the headstones. Ilves, Puusepp, and Ola were to be found, but where was Reismann? A middle-aged Estonian woman who earns her daily bread selling floral arrangements to cemetery visitors noticed that we were lost (and maybe she recognized “those crazy Americans” from two weeks back) and tried to help, but my great-grandparents had passed away in the late 1930s and she was not quite that familiar with the cemetery.

I kept thinking, “Please let us find it,” to whomever was listening. And finally I heard dad triumphantly yell my name from a couple rows away. I ran with high knees through the deep snow. We had finally found the Reismann headstone. We had certainly each walked by it a handful of times, but we simply had not seen it. We were both looking for what we thought was a blacker and shinier headstone, but time and moss had worn its way into the groves of the stone, rendering it almost illegible from any significant distance.

In Estonia it is common for relatives to visit the family gravesites once a week, (but maybe less in the winter months.) This tradition affords the cemetery a “lived in” feeling. More than forty percent of Estonia is covered in forest and trees have a major place in old Estonian traditions and myths. (Tamm (translated as Oak) is the most common last name in Estonia today.) So it seems obvious that the final resting place for Estonians is situated in nicely wooded areas. When American cemeteries shun trees for their interference and natural unpredictability, Estonians welcome, nay require, them. Estonian cemeteries appear to be much more at home in their respective cities and communities, more a part of the continuous landscape than those in America.

According to Estonian tradition, I have a lot of visits to make up for.

Saint Patrick's Day

2005-03-17T01:07:00.000-12:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Unfortunately, the day does not carry that much weight in Estonia, but I am doing my part. I had the opportunity to teach two classes this morning and I had the kids read aloud about St. Patrick and Ireland. They didn't appear that excited, but then again, they are fifteen and being excited about a teacher's lesson would be cause for concern.

I found a great segment on npr.org if you are looking to hear some fantastic Irish music (and true Irish accents) on this most festive of days.

Lúnasa on NPR

2005-03-14T19:18:00.000-12:00

The Estonian Flag (Tartu University History Museum; Tartu, Estonia)

Eesti Emakeelepäev

2005-03-14T18:00:00.000-12:00

Since 1995 Estonia has celebrated the 14th of March as Emakeelepäev (Mother Tongue Day.) People still have to go to work and school, but it is one of only 15 flag days each year. From sunrise to sunset, the Estonian flag waves from homes, shops, movie theaters, university buildings and especially government offices.

I really admire the Estonian system of flag days. The system embodies a deep respect for the flag and the freedom that it represents. For more than 45 years the Soviets forbade Estonians to raise their flag. It wasn't until 1988 that the Estonian tricolor of blue, black and white reappeared here in Tartu. It was carried in a procession during the first annual Estonian Heritage Days, a conference that added fervor to the awakening that was occuring throughout Estonia. And again, less than a year later the Estonian flag was hoisted on the tower of Pikk Hermann (in Tallinn's old town) on Ferbuary 24 in celebration of Estonian Independence Day (even though Estonia was still a part of the Soviet Union.)

A London Cabbie's Reading List

2005-03-14T04:23:00.000-12:00

Again, a huge fan of NPR and Will Grozier (now.) Here is a link to a bit well worth your five minutes.

A London Cabbie's Reading List

Frank Delaney

2005-03-13T19:28:00.000-12:00

This is why I love NPR. Below is a link to an interview with Frank Delaney about his new book, "Ireland: A Novel."

"Ireland: A Novel"

2005-03-13T03:34:00.000-12:00

For the perfect flaneur, it is an immense joy to set up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow. To be away from home, yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the center of the world, yet to remain hidden from the world--such are a few of the slightest pleasures of those independent, passionate, impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define.

Charles Baudelaire

Rīga, Latvija

2005-03-13T02:17:00.000-12:00

It's cold in Riga!

It’s interesting to be a tourist at a time when no one in their right mind would be touristing tourist destinations. In Riga the average temperature is 23 degrees Fahrenheit and snow falls once a day, at least. As we wondered the streets, we mostly heard German and Russian spoken amongst the other few tourists (I suppose the Russians are used to this weather, maybe it's even an improvement.) Aside from the weather, it was nice to be a tourist for a couple days (as opposed to an American living in Estonia and struggling to be as Estonian as possible.)

On our first day I was on my own for lunch and picked a café called “I Love You” out of the guidebook. Quasi-lame title, I’ll admit, but it was great! I had a fantastic salad and homemade (and home-seasoned) Latvian french-fries. I spent that afternoon wondering around Vecrīga (Old Riga.) The old town is quite nicely contained and maintained, filled with restored buildings, shops, cafes and numerous massive Lutheran churches. We were able to go to the top of the tower of Pēterbaznīca (St. Peter’s) and were greeted with a sweeping view of Riga and the Daugava (the river that runs through Riga.)

The next day we visited a couple museums. The Latvian Occupation Museum is especially affecting and well worth visiting. However, the best part of our second day was walking through the Art Nouveau area of Riga. Located only ten minutes by foot from Old Riga is Alberta Street, an amazing street full of Art Nouveau buildings. The colors and ingenuity of the decorations are truly spectacular. It’s fun to imagine actually living in one of these buildings (and consequently dealing with tourists like me photographing your front windows all day long.) I highly recommend a visit.

2005-03-13T01:58:00.000-12:00

Art Nouveau District (Riga, Latvia)

2005-03-13T01:56:00.000-12:00

View from atop St. Peter's Church (Riga, Latvia)

Lapsed Eestis

2005-03-04T03:26:00.000-12:00

Of all the things that make me smile on a daily basis, I think the little Estonian children are among my favorites. I am constantly struck by children and how they can stare at you without inhibition because they have not yet learned to be inhibited. I wonder when that happens? Imagine if all adults magically lost their inhibition and we all rode the subway together.

Estonia has been experiencing a baby boom since independence was restored in 1991 and it’s quite apparent as you wander the streets. Invariably, a mother is passing me with her young child well-bundled in a carriage. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I see a mother pulling her child in a sled. The first time I saw this, I thought “well that’s odd.” But having thought about it, I think “how clever.” With the sidewalks serving better as ice rinks, why not keep your child’s center of gravity parallel with the ice in a red plastic sled? And I imagine the child isn’t complaining. Sometimes they are made to hold onto the days groceries and they clutch them with fervor as their mothers ramp them over a curb.

I have been thinking about how best to describe the children in their snowsuits. It’s as though they are placed inside this spacesuit-type riggings and they have resigned to the fact that they can’t control their movements, so they don’t. Their arms stick out perpendicular to their bodies and they direct their energy to just observing the passersby. Or maybe they’re just so cold, they can’t be bothered to scream or cry. Whatever the case may be, I find them utterly charming.

2005-03-04T03:09:00.000-12:00

An Estonian father pulling his Estonian child in a sled! (Tartu, Estonia)

Pauluse Kirik

2005-02-27T17:20:00.000-12:00

Today my dad and I attended the church service at Pauluse Kirik (St. Paul's Lutheran Church.) Both of my grandmothers were devout Lutherans and both attened this church before they fled Estonia in 1944. During World War II a portion of the church was destroyed by bombs and once the Soviet occupation began, another good portion of the church was converted into storage space. So in effect, what now remains is only a third of what I imagine was quite a magnificent space.
There is no heat in the church. The congregation never takes their coats or hats off, it's just the way it is and no one seems to be too concerned. The congregation is full of older women, each reminding me of my own grandmothers. It seems as though older Estonian women abide by an unwritten, yet clearly understood dress code. Each owns a full-length dark brown fur coat with a matching cap. To add flare they usually wear a pair of handknit and colorful mittens. Just the other day I saw two older women meeting at a bus stop and I imagined they had been friends for more than 60 years and each Wednesday they ride the number 7 bus to the market on the southern outskirts where they shop and enjoy an Estonian pancake with fresh strawberry jam because that's the way their mother's used to make them.
I wrote a story last year about having attended the Easter service at Pauluse Kirik with my mother in 2003. The story ended with my desire to one day be able to actually understand the sermons delivered in Estonian. And this past week, I could follow a good deal of the message (about donations and charity) and to be honest, it felt really good.