I’m charged with the task of catching up on two weeks of travel, compelled by my commitment to the two people who read my blog, and aware that, soon, I will have very little to share of consequence to them. I’m actually very pleased about that.
Let’s start at the end (that’s what she said) and I’ll tell you about our last 40-odd hours or so. It really doesn’t even count as a horror story, just a story of inconvenience, and the stumbling block to getting HOME.
I was not ready to say goodbye to Kate, John, Nico and Paul (I never will be, methinks.) We left on Tuesday afternoon and I cried. Me crying at goodbye can be counted on like GMT; it’s a trait I’ve carried over since I was a kiddo, leaving my Georgia family each summer. My family and Ben tolerate it well now, and, on good days, think it is sweet, but, like all my emotions, it feels a little too public for me sometimes. More on that later.
After a short dinner and another sad goodbye to the Tallahassee ladies, we slept hard, and all went to plan on the flight home. Compared to the fourteen-hour trek from Australia in early June, the nine hours from Milan is a cakewalk.
I felt that familiar rush of patriotism coming into the U.S., then the cringing-fear when I watched the customs officers interact with visitors to this country. I was glad to see that they seemed to be, if not warm, decent and reasonable. In hindsight, I think they were just grateful to see people coming to Newark.
Newark airport is disgusting. I thought so on the way out, and it was reinforced for me over the fifteen-hours I’ve spent there since. I tried to take a more conciliatory view about two hours into our layover yesterday, and then the kid across from me projectile vomited. I get it, kid, I get it. He had Newark poisoning. Why juxtapose a city so close to NYC, where beauty can be found quite easily, and then build such a crap town? Then, terminal B at Newark faces directly to the city to remind you that you are ALMOST in a redeemable place but not quite, probably because you did something bad.
As I write this I wonder if I’ll feel more generous about Newark in a few months. Probably not.
As a RPV (random projectile-vomiter) I felt empathy for the kid, but did feel compelled to move. Once we figured out that our flight was going to be delayed for several hours, we looked for a place to sit down and have a meal. We decided on TGI Friday’s (BAD CHOICE) and I psyched myself up for free refills and good customer service.
Then it went like this:
To myself: I just want a salad. Maybe just a grilled chicken salad. That will make up for the fourteen free refills I’m about to drink. Hmmm…here’s a salad with barbecue sauce for dressing…how American…how disgusting…why do I want it? Oh yes. It has onion rings on top. GOOD IDEA AMERICA. Here’s our waitress…she seems mean. Is she talking to us? I can’t tell because she is looking away. Check out that tat it’s huge…and it says JIHAD. Hmmm. Oh God what did she just say? I was distracted by the tattoo. Is she talking about a personal Jihad? I mean, am I prejudiced to assume Jihad is always a negative thing? Seriously, who in Newark thinks it is a good idea to get a Jihad tattoo after 9/11? She’s mumbling. Maybe I should order? “I’ll have the BBQ chicken salad, please.” Oh, God, Why did I order that? Don’t change it now. She just asked if we want to order Tuscan spinach dip. Hell no I don’t want any crap Tuscan spinach dip. Oh God she looks angry. I would be too if I was called to Jihad and ended up working at TGI Friday’s. Maybe she needs some Jihad flair, like, “I’ll put a Fatwah on Mondays.” NOT APPROPRIAT E ROBYN. Did I just say yes to the dip? Probably best. Otherwise she might kill me.
The portions were ginormous. The salad was gross. The Tuscan spinach dip was okay, but definitely not Tuscan. We made it out alive. Back in the U.S.A.; giant portions of nasty food at chain restaurants. The cynicism sets in on day one.
Eventually our flight got delayed twice more, then cancelled, and we witnessed the meltdowns of hundreds of travelers, and stood in lines for hours, eventually desperately racing to the hotels to get a place to stay for the night. I was grateful for the room. Ben is a good traveling companion because he shared his I-Pod with me while we stood in line, and that kept us smiling and mellow, probably to the annoyance of the other customers. At one point in the evening, I found a quiz on Facebook that I’d seen a few months ago, and laughed so hard I could hardly breathe. It was classic Robyn: glasses fogging over, inhaler-using, tearful laughter, that spread to the waiting area where we were all waiting for some new information. In the end the whole row across from us was laughing, they didn’t know why, laughter just does that somehow.
I’m on my plane home now, about twenty-four hours after our scheduled flight. Ben had an earlier flight, they split us up, and should be arriving as we speak. Tonight we see family and friends and start to move to our new place. No rest for the travel weary. We have a whirlwind five days at home, and then head to APA in Toronto for a week. Then I’m coming home to sleep for a week.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Monday, August 3, 2009
Asked and Answered: How Much Salami is too Much Salami?
I’m reading “The Omnivore’s Dilemma” this month but had to take a break once our friends arrived from Florida because it was making me too angry. Basically it turns out that, since corn is the king crop, we are all made up of corn. Think you’re having a steak? That’s corn steak. Having some fruit? There’s corn in that. I was feeling overwhelmed by the fact that I was basically made of corn so I used Italy as a means to combat that, and tried to check my physical makeup to reflect a more balanced diet of gelato, salami, seafood, pesto, wine and cheese. They are probably all made of corn, but at least it is Italian corn. I am proud to say that I am at least 1% not corn now. My big toe is made entirely of salami.
The end of Edinburgh and the week in Italy were lovely and amazing, just as we’d hoped it would be. Of course, having several of your closest friends in a paradise should be a recipe for success. We had a lovely last few days in the U.K. showing our friends our favorite bits of Edinburgh, and taking the train down to York, one of my favorite cities, laden with good memories. We stood in the pouring rain for my THIRD literary pub tour and I still loved it, and said goodbye to Shan on Monday night. We toured Vicenza and got our fill of Palladian architecture, and I cuddled Paul and laughed at Nico, and we sunned at the Cinque Terre, and laid out at the porch of our agriturismo every night under the stars, and toured walled cities and bakeries and wineries, and ate gooey-cheesy pizza, and came up with ridiculous jokes and one very viable business scheme. We got too hot and too tired and a little coldy. We sang the Cornetto song way too much. We adopted the speech patterns of a two-year old (NO! JUICEY! MINE!) and fixed a flat tire at midnight. Katy and I regressed to our eighteen-year-old selves. There was a lot of grabass. Her baby fell asleep in my arms one night which may have been the best moment of the trip for me.
To quote Little Rick, it was “too much special.” To quote Little Rick again, “too much is never enough.”
The end of Edinburgh and the week in Italy were lovely and amazing, just as we’d hoped it would be. Of course, having several of your closest friends in a paradise should be a recipe for success. We had a lovely last few days in the U.K. showing our friends our favorite bits of Edinburgh, and taking the train down to York, one of my favorite cities, laden with good memories. We stood in the pouring rain for my THIRD literary pub tour and I still loved it, and said goodbye to Shan on Monday night. We toured Vicenza and got our fill of Palladian architecture, and I cuddled Paul and laughed at Nico, and we sunned at the Cinque Terre, and laid out at the porch of our agriturismo every night under the stars, and toured walled cities and bakeries and wineries, and ate gooey-cheesy pizza, and came up with ridiculous jokes and one very viable business scheme. We got too hot and too tired and a little coldy. We sang the Cornetto song way too much. We adopted the speech patterns of a two-year old (NO! JUICEY! MINE!) and fixed a flat tire at midnight. Katy and I regressed to our eighteen-year-old selves. There was a lot of grabass. Her baby fell asleep in my arms one night which may have been the best moment of the trip for me.
To quote Little Rick, it was “too much special.” To quote Little Rick again, “too much is never enough.”
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Glasgow Pics
We are back in Edinburgh, as you will see in Robyn's post, and she is making me post some more of my pictures in order to further exercise her power over me, now that the students are gone and she no longer has an excuse to call me "a kept man." So here are some of my pics from Glasgow and a great panorama from the Highlands which, Harry Potter fans may recognize as the background from the scene where Hagrid is holding a funeral for his friend the giant spider Arogog (I think that's his name). Enjoy!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
"La Hoss" Gets Soppy About Goodbye
“La Hoss” is my new nickname. It stems from my regular use of “Hoss” in addressing the students these last couple of weeks, e.g. “I’m not sure why you think this excursion is optional, Hoss.” I’m living a fun continua; I have a few students who don’t feel comfortable calling me Robyn and persist with the Dr. Long, many who have adjusted to Robyn, and a few who call me “La Hoss” or something equally inappropriate to call one’s professor. I love it.
Thursday is goodbye students. While there have been a few moments in which I’ve looked forward to this day with enthusiasm, (“Do you have our papers graded yet”) I am feeling very sad about it. They have been a fun, enthusiastic group, and their excitement about returning home is being tempered by sadness about the end of the adventure; I know that feeling well. It invites a great deal of nostalgia on my part, and I wish them the full experience. I remember crying over Shannon’s “pig brownies” as I left Edinburgh in 2003, lying in my folks’ backyard in Wichita to try to keep my tan that summer and feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere in the world, and pulling over on a road trip in 1998 because I was crying so hard when Green Day’s “Time of your Life” came on the radio.
What has struck me with this trip has been the way I feel about going home this time; in 2003, I had to drag myself back. This time, (once I’ve had my fill of friends, pesto and white wine in Italy) I’m looking forward to going home. My once-held anti-American views, (I remember telling a classmate in my doctoral program that, “Basically everything in Scotland is better”) have tempered into a deep appreciation for BOTH worlds. I keep telling my students that they will appreciate home more as a result of this trip and it’s happening for me: Lawrence feels like home. Lawrence is home.
There is a lot of fun to go back to, admittedly. Baby girls Hadley and Carly will need holding. Wilcox and I have a big day of canning salsa and homemade spaghetti sauce planned, and I’m desperate for the magic that is the Lawrence Farmer’s Market. I miss our Lawrence friends, who have had their own adventures this summer. I get to host FOUR showers in the next three months and you know I love hosting showers. Nadine and Matt are getting hitched, and my Georgia family will be in town for said event, and I cannot wait to see them. I’m counting on a night when Dad and Matt will grill and Mom will make her potato salad. Andrea and David have moved into their new place, which reunites Dyngus. Ben and I have already decided that we are having our first meal back in Lawrence at Cielito Lindo. We move into a new place. We go back to school. Life marches on, and it is a good life. Mostly, I’m ready to see the people I love.
I will miss this, though, very much. I’ll miss Esme, Shan, Steve and Cals. I’ll miss all this free time to talk to Ben. I’ll miss the proximity of the art that I’ve been able to see. I’ll miss the BBC, the Scots, the students and teaching history. I’ll miss looking out my window towards a castle, and waking up in Edinburgh. I’ll miss the cool weather. A lot.
Will keep you posted when possible—the Tallahassee crew arrive in two days, and, after what will undoubtedly be a great five days in Edinburgh, we wing to Italy, to the Cinque Terre, to the pesto, wine and cheese, to the agriturismo, to hysterical laughter, to Kate, John, Nico and Paul. Woo hoo!
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Thursday is goodbye students. While there have been a few moments in which I’ve looked forward to this day with enthusiasm, (“Do you have our papers graded yet”) I am feeling very sad about it. They have been a fun, enthusiastic group, and their excitement about returning home is being tempered by sadness about the end of the adventure; I know that feeling well. It invites a great deal of nostalgia on my part, and I wish them the full experience. I remember crying over Shannon’s “pig brownies” as I left Edinburgh in 2003, lying in my folks’ backyard in Wichita to try to keep my tan that summer and feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere in the world, and pulling over on a road trip in 1998 because I was crying so hard when Green Day’s “Time of your Life” came on the radio.
What has struck me with this trip has been the way I feel about going home this time; in 2003, I had to drag myself back. This time, (once I’ve had my fill of friends, pesto and white wine in Italy) I’m looking forward to going home. My once-held anti-American views, (I remember telling a classmate in my doctoral program that, “Basically everything in Scotland is better”) have tempered into a deep appreciation for BOTH worlds. I keep telling my students that they will appreciate home more as a result of this trip and it’s happening for me: Lawrence feels like home. Lawrence is home.
There is a lot of fun to go back to, admittedly. Baby girls Hadley and Carly will need holding. Wilcox and I have a big day of canning salsa and homemade spaghetti sauce planned, and I’m desperate for the magic that is the Lawrence Farmer’s Market. I miss our Lawrence friends, who have had their own adventures this summer. I get to host FOUR showers in the next three months and you know I love hosting showers. Nadine and Matt are getting hitched, and my Georgia family will be in town for said event, and I cannot wait to see them. I’m counting on a night when Dad and Matt will grill and Mom will make her potato salad. Andrea and David have moved into their new place, which reunites Dyngus. Ben and I have already decided that we are having our first meal back in Lawrence at Cielito Lindo. We move into a new place. We go back to school. Life marches on, and it is a good life. Mostly, I’m ready to see the people I love.
I will miss this, though, very much. I’ll miss Esme, Shan, Steve and Cals. I’ll miss all this free time to talk to Ben. I’ll miss the proximity of the art that I’ve been able to see. I’ll miss the BBC, the Scots, the students and teaching history. I’ll miss looking out my window towards a castle, and waking up in Edinburgh. I’ll miss the cool weather. A lot.
Will keep you posted when possible—the Tallahassee crew arrive in two days, and, after what will undoubtedly be a great five days in Edinburgh, we wing to Italy, to the Cinque Terre, to the pesto, wine and cheese, to the agriturismo, to hysterical laughter, to Kate, John, Nico and Paul. Woo hoo!
Love,
Robyn and Ben
What's Going Down in Glasgow Town?
Wowzers. We have been busy. With what, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. Since arriving in Glasgow we’ve been adjusting our attitudes about not being in Edinburgh and have come to love Glasgow anew. I’ve frog-marched eleven students to five museums and three dinners, and fought valiantly to keep them engaged in our morning classes. We’ve cooked a bit, and, exhausted, watched a lot of BBC. I’ve harassed Andrea and Autumn for the news at home. I’ve plied eight of the students with Vitamin C and juice since the plague has hit our camp (so far, Ben and I have given it a miss.) I’ve been teased about how fast I walk. I don’t get why they’re not in a hurry, though: We’re in Scotland! Here are the highlights, below:
Five museums, and the best one, hands down, was the Kelvingrove Art Gallery near the University of Glasgow. They’ve just completed a major re-haul and have organized it into “stories” mixing media, painting, sculpture and artifacts to make it more accessible and I say it worked. I opted for the nearly two-hour tour last Tuesday and didn’t regret it one bit; I especially loved the exhibit on Scotland: Fact and Fiction and the Glasgow Boys exhibit on Charles Rennie MacIntosh and his wife, Margaret; they displayed panels from his tea room that I fell in love with.
We’ve had some good dinners with and without the students: a yummy noodle bar, paella and tapas, and a visit to a bier house last night that I’d been to before with the crew when we lived in Edinburgh. Today we went to The Willow Tea Room, a MacIntosh design, and had afternoon tea, which was lovely. I love tea, I really, really do. It was the first tea experience for the students and they loved it. Moose, my lone male student, especially loves tea, and told me today that he’s been drinking, “like, eleven cups a day.” I don’t love tea that much.
Our Saturday was a highlight. We trained it back to Edinburgh to meet Shan, Steve, Cals, Esme and Tim for dinner, and had fun laughing and talking all night. Shan made her famous “pig brownies” and put together a cheese plate, further indenturing me to her fabulousness for eternity. We spent the night and reluctantly drug ourselves back to Glasgow on Sunday, but I pretended for the weekend that I could just train to my friends in Edinburgh anytime I wanted to.
Tonight we’re cooking in and prepping for our goodbyes to the students in two days time. Ben has taken some good photos that I’ll try to post sharpish.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Five museums, and the best one, hands down, was the Kelvingrove Art Gallery near the University of Glasgow. They’ve just completed a major re-haul and have organized it into “stories” mixing media, painting, sculpture and artifacts to make it more accessible and I say it worked. I opted for the nearly two-hour tour last Tuesday and didn’t regret it one bit; I especially loved the exhibit on Scotland: Fact and Fiction and the Glasgow Boys exhibit on Charles Rennie MacIntosh and his wife, Margaret; they displayed panels from his tea room that I fell in love with.
We’ve had some good dinners with and without the students: a yummy noodle bar, paella and tapas, and a visit to a bier house last night that I’d been to before with the crew when we lived in Edinburgh. Today we went to The Willow Tea Room, a MacIntosh design, and had afternoon tea, which was lovely. I love tea, I really, really do. It was the first tea experience for the students and they loved it. Moose, my lone male student, especially loves tea, and told me today that he’s been drinking, “like, eleven cups a day.” I don’t love tea that much.
Our Saturday was a highlight. We trained it back to Edinburgh to meet Shan, Steve, Cals, Esme and Tim for dinner, and had fun laughing and talking all night. Shan made her famous “pig brownies” and put together a cheese plate, further indenturing me to her fabulousness for eternity. We spent the night and reluctantly drug ourselves back to Glasgow on Sunday, but I pretended for the weekend that I could just train to my friends in Edinburgh anytime I wanted to.
Tonight we’re cooking in and prepping for our goodbyes to the students in two days time. Ben has taken some good photos that I’ll try to post sharpish.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Monday, July 6, 2009
Gettin' High on the Highlands....
The Three Sisters at Glencoe...
The canal locks at Fort Augustus...
Flowers at Culloden...
The heather that Pete picked for me since it was my birthday (he picked it for all the girls, really)....
Through the ruined walls of Ardvrek Castle...
Ardvreck Castle (haunted, Andrea...apparently the daughter married the Devil to keep the castle safe and SHE WAS NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT)...
Culloden...
Ben and I on my birthday at Corrieshalloch Gorge...
Corrieshalloch Gorge....
Flowers at Corrieshalloch Gorge...
Heather along the road....
A yummy cheese shop in Dunkeld....I had to say no, but it was fun to look....
We had a great weekend, seeing parts of Scotland that none of us had seen, enjoying our fun tour guide, feeling restored by the beauty of the Highlands, and appreciating the yummy breakfast and homemade oat cookies that Molly, the owner of the B&B that Ben and I stayed in, made for us. She was lovely and asked how we were getting on after losing Michael Jackson. On Saturday morning the students had a birthday muffin with a candle in it for me and sang Happy Birthday:) Ben sneaked in two pairs of pretty earrings that he'd had time to pick up during the last week at Rosslyn Chapel and at a store where he'd bought me earrings when we were dating. Sweet.
We're finishing our first full day in Glasgow now...took the open top bus tour and had a killer good group meal at Wagamama's Noodle Bar.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
For Dad: Edinburgh to Dunkeld, Dunkeld to Inverness (overnight stay), Inverness over the Murray Firth to Corrieshalloch Gorge, Corrieshalloch Gorge to Ullapool, Ullapool through Assynt Coigach (stopping at Ardvrek Castle) to the Falls of Shin, back to Inverness (overnight stay) Inverness to Culloden, Culloden along Loch Ness to Fort Augustus (watched the locks work here), Fort Augustus to Fort William and Glencoe, Glencoe to Loch Lomond, Loch Lomond to Glasgow.
Monster Mash
That's Ben's Haggis, Neeps and Tatties....
and my yummy Shepherd's Pie with mushy peas....The Great, the Good, the Bad, the Ugly, and the Ugly Americans
Howdy pardners. I’m starting this post on Friday, July 3, a day before my 31st, making it the second time I’ve celebrated a birthday in the U.K. This morning I’d like to be able to rip a hole in the space-time continuum and be home for a night, with many of you, eating a Dairy Queen ice cream cake. Still, birthday in the Scottish Highlands? NOT BAD.
This may be a post you’ll want to skip reading if you still want to like me, even a little bit, but I figured I need to be honest about the whole experience.
The Great and Good: Teaching has still been fun and, to their credit, the students have (mostly) really engaged themselves, which makes it extra fun. Most mornings I come into the classroom and find something written about me the chalkboard like “1978: The Year of the Bird” or “Robyn Long: Also the Pretender” that is a play on something I’ve taught the day before. They make me laugh. One of the students asked if she could just take me out for queso in lieu of having to take the final exam. I nearly said yes.
On Tuesday afternoon we had a great tour of the National Gallery with a very competent tour guide, after the students’ incompetent teacher (that’s me, folks) took them to the Portrait Gallery only to find it was closed for TWO YEARS. I’ve been communicating with the tour director there for six months about our visit, and never a mention of the renovation, I swear. The students have made fun of me since, but I like to chalk it up to a lesson on the ambiguities of travel. Ben and I had a nice afternoon that day, having a picnic in St. Andrews Square, and that evening we took the students to Monster Mash which was hilarious—we have a lone male student, “Moose,” on the trip, and he ate everyone’s leftovers. Watching people experience things for the first time is such a joy, (I know, I know, super nerdy) and I bet that’s part of what it is like to be a parent? You parents out there tell me. Speaking of parents, did you know that Jean Jacques Rousseau gave all five of his children away to a foundling hospital just after their birth?
Here’s where it gets REAL nerdy. On Wednesday I gave the students three options for their excursions: The Museum of Surgery, a hike up Arthur’s Seat, or a lecture on the portraits of Rousseau and Hume that led to their falling out. I showed up to the lecture (in an air conditioned hall, thank you God) and wasn’t all that surprised to find myself the lone attendee from our group. I used to go to these free lunchtime lectures at the galleries when I lived in Edinburgh, and this was a winner—the lecturer was great. None of my students showed up, and, of the seventy-odd people in the crowd, I was the only person under sixty. I loved it. At one point I became aware that I was leaning forward in my seat because I was so excited about the lecture, and I was just sort of overcome by how fortunate I feel to live in a world where I have the leisure time for learning. Anyway, I hung out afterwards, like a lecture groupie, and just today, as I returned to internet access, I got a nice email from the lecturer WHO SAID SHE WAS IMPRESSED WITH MY QUESTIONS. Awesome.
Ben and I met Shan, Esme and Steve for dinner and drinks on Wednesday, and Esme and I cooed over Callie, Shan’s baby, all evening. We had a great time and a nice walk home with Esme.
The Bad and The Ugly: On Thursday, my students hit the wall. I’d seen it coming: The need for alone time, the increased anxiety about papers and exams, the frustration over the lack of ice and refills…Ben and I had quietly chuckled about it all week prior to Thursday, with the smug condescension of seasoned travelers. On Thursday morning, during my lecture, I tried to convey to my students that I understood, and recalled tearing up once I’d found Mexican food in Edinburgh six years ago. This led to a passionate discussion about the value of good nachos, and I tried in vain to make it work for class (a cognitive map of the components of nachos, anyone?) but in the end I agreed to make nachos for everyone while they studied for their final exam on Friday morning. It ended up being a really fun evening, and a good way to say good bye to Edinburgh.
The Ugly Americans: That afternoon, though, we hit the wall. It was 29 C that day (84 F) and, remember, we’re walking everywhere and there is virtually no air conditioning. We spent the afternoon on the Royal Mile at a museum, (now that we are smug and condescending we hate the Royal Mile, that’s where the tourists go, ugh) and the students were getting snippy with each other. Ben and I practically marched down the hill, and, after an irritating errand for bus passes, happened upon the Chinese buffet where Moose had eaten earlier in the week (we’d made fun of him for it.) The lure of big portions, ice, refills and air conditioning proved to be too strong. Well, the food was gross, the air conditioning was broken, and the ice (all three pieces) melted immediately. We were not impressed. Remind me, friends: Chinese buffets are never a good idea. We left with me muttering about “God d*%@ country, no frickin’ ice!” On the walk home, I informed Ben that I was probably going to die in the heat, here, just two days before my 31st, and that I was moving to Iceland. I also suggested that we get a taxi for the four blocks between us and the grocery store, and Ben wisely kept quiet, and patiently walked with me while I pouted.
Enough, enough. Will write soon about our restorative weekend in the Highlands.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
This may be a post you’ll want to skip reading if you still want to like me, even a little bit, but I figured I need to be honest about the whole experience.
The Great and Good: Teaching has still been fun and, to their credit, the students have (mostly) really engaged themselves, which makes it extra fun. Most mornings I come into the classroom and find something written about me the chalkboard like “1978: The Year of the Bird” or “Robyn Long: Also the Pretender” that is a play on something I’ve taught the day before. They make me laugh. One of the students asked if she could just take me out for queso in lieu of having to take the final exam. I nearly said yes.
On Tuesday afternoon we had a great tour of the National Gallery with a very competent tour guide, after the students’ incompetent teacher (that’s me, folks) took them to the Portrait Gallery only to find it was closed for TWO YEARS. I’ve been communicating with the tour director there for six months about our visit, and never a mention of the renovation, I swear. The students have made fun of me since, but I like to chalk it up to a lesson on the ambiguities of travel. Ben and I had a nice afternoon that day, having a picnic in St. Andrews Square, and that evening we took the students to Monster Mash which was hilarious—we have a lone male student, “Moose,” on the trip, and he ate everyone’s leftovers. Watching people experience things for the first time is such a joy, (I know, I know, super nerdy) and I bet that’s part of what it is like to be a parent? You parents out there tell me. Speaking of parents, did you know that Jean Jacques Rousseau gave all five of his children away to a foundling hospital just after their birth?
Here’s where it gets REAL nerdy. On Wednesday I gave the students three options for their excursions: The Museum of Surgery, a hike up Arthur’s Seat, or a lecture on the portraits of Rousseau and Hume that led to their falling out. I showed up to the lecture (in an air conditioned hall, thank you God) and wasn’t all that surprised to find myself the lone attendee from our group. I used to go to these free lunchtime lectures at the galleries when I lived in Edinburgh, and this was a winner—the lecturer was great. None of my students showed up, and, of the seventy-odd people in the crowd, I was the only person under sixty. I loved it. At one point I became aware that I was leaning forward in my seat because I was so excited about the lecture, and I was just sort of overcome by how fortunate I feel to live in a world where I have the leisure time for learning. Anyway, I hung out afterwards, like a lecture groupie, and just today, as I returned to internet access, I got a nice email from the lecturer WHO SAID SHE WAS IMPRESSED WITH MY QUESTIONS. Awesome.
Ben and I met Shan, Esme and Steve for dinner and drinks on Wednesday, and Esme and I cooed over Callie, Shan’s baby, all evening. We had a great time and a nice walk home with Esme.
The Bad and The Ugly: On Thursday, my students hit the wall. I’d seen it coming: The need for alone time, the increased anxiety about papers and exams, the frustration over the lack of ice and refills…Ben and I had quietly chuckled about it all week prior to Thursday, with the smug condescension of seasoned travelers. On Thursday morning, during my lecture, I tried to convey to my students that I understood, and recalled tearing up once I’d found Mexican food in Edinburgh six years ago. This led to a passionate discussion about the value of good nachos, and I tried in vain to make it work for class (a cognitive map of the components of nachos, anyone?) but in the end I agreed to make nachos for everyone while they studied for their final exam on Friday morning. It ended up being a really fun evening, and a good way to say good bye to Edinburgh.
The Ugly Americans: That afternoon, though, we hit the wall. It was 29 C that day (84 F) and, remember, we’re walking everywhere and there is virtually no air conditioning. We spent the afternoon on the Royal Mile at a museum, (now that we are smug and condescending we hate the Royal Mile, that’s where the tourists go, ugh) and the students were getting snippy with each other. Ben and I practically marched down the hill, and, after an irritating errand for bus passes, happened upon the Chinese buffet where Moose had eaten earlier in the week (we’d made fun of him for it.) The lure of big portions, ice, refills and air conditioning proved to be too strong. Well, the food was gross, the air conditioning was broken, and the ice (all three pieces) melted immediately. We were not impressed. Remind me, friends: Chinese buffets are never a good idea. We left with me muttering about “God d*%@ country, no frickin’ ice!” On the walk home, I informed Ben that I was probably going to die in the heat, here, just two days before my 31st, and that I was moving to Iceland. I also suggested that we get a taxi for the four blocks between us and the grocery store, and Ben wisely kept quiet, and patiently walked with me while I pouted.
Enough, enough. Will write soon about our restorative weekend in the Highlands.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Friday, July 3, 2009
E.T.A.
Hiya Folks,
All is well, and this post is short. I've been formulating my next post for a couple of days but haven't had the chance to put fingers to keyboard yet--and am giving a final as we speak. Soon, soon. This is crazy fun work, but, no doubt, it is still work.
We leave this afternoon for the Highlands and will probably be offline for about three days or more. More if we get eaten by the Loch Ness Monster or a Hairy Cow (Coo.) Will give you the great, good, bad and ugly upon our arrival in Glasgow next week.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
All is well, and this post is short. I've been formulating my next post for a couple of days but haven't had the chance to put fingers to keyboard yet--and am giving a final as we speak. Soon, soon. This is crazy fun work, but, no doubt, it is still work.
We leave this afternoon for the Highlands and will probably be offline for about three days or more. More if we get eaten by the Loch Ness Monster or a Hairy Cow (Coo.) Will give you the great, good, bad and ugly upon our arrival in Glasgow next week.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Monday, June 29, 2009
Finding the Holy Grail
Hiya—a quick post after a great day. Today was our last day before I resume teaching, and Ben and I, and one of my students, elected to use it for a short road trip. We took an Edinburgh bus about seven miles south of Edinburgh, to Roslin, to visit the Rosslyn Chapel. I’d like to say that I chose to see it for the beautiful and plentiful stone carvings, but I was really in it because of The Da Vinci Code, which you have no doubt read, and, if you are anything like me, you thought it was a very poorly written book, but it still totally captured your imagination. I’m embarrassed by how much I enjoyed reading it. It was the most-discussed book in my Georgia book club, and we all agreed that it was the book we “hated to love.”
But I digress.
The weather was beautiful here today—sunny and seventy-ish, and we are anticipating uncharacteristically hot weather at the end of this week (91 F in Edinburgh.) Good news for our crew is that we are headed to the Highlands on Friday, and then on to Glasgow on Sunday evening. Most of the students have already said they are sad to leave Edinburgh and I agree, but I will muster the energy to be enthusiastic about Glasgow. Ben and I are lucky that we get to come back to Edinburgh for about a week at the end of the month, before journeying on to Italy to see Kate.
Anyway, phew, off topic. Rosslyn was beautiful—intimate and impressive. We spent about an hour inside and a second hour outside. It was built in the 15th century by the St. Clair family, cousins to William the Conqueror, joining him on his invasion of England in 1066. Sometime later, Will and the St. Clair’s had a falling out, and Malcolm “Big Head”, who was at the time the King of what would be Scotland, gave them some Scottish land so that the St. Clair’s could move north. Big Head’s wife was Margaret of Hungary, who would later be canonized (the oldest building in Edinburgh Castle is the chapel that Margaret’s son David built for his mother) and she had a piece of the crucifix at the time of her death, or part of the “Holy Rood.” The ultimate destination for that relic is unknown, but many believe that it is the crypt (sealed still today by the St. Clair family) of the Rosslyn Chapel. There were so many things that I loved about Rosslyn Chapel, amongst them the carvings of three plants found in America, probably found in what is now Massachusetts, earlier than 1492, by a St. Clair who traveled to North America as part of the Knights Templar.
Okay, okay, I know. Too much history. As many of you know, I LOVE churches and cathedrals. Always have, always will. Rosslyn moved into the top three today, though: Rosslyn Chapel, York Minster, and Concord United Methodist Church in Temple, Georgia.
Must teach myself all about the Jacobite wars now, as I have to teach it to eleven mildly-interested minds in about eleven hours. Tomorrow is teaching, an afternoon at the portrait gallery, dinner with the students, and a quiz. A good day.
The pics are from the walk way along the Water of Leith, very near us, and of a thistle on said walk. No pics of Rosslyn allowed, probably because of the Holy Grail/Audrey Tautou.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Weekend in Auld Reekie
The weather has delivered this weekend—four seasons each day. We’ve enjoyed it anyway. We’ve spent the weekend with friends—visited Camera Obscura and the Scottish Storytelling Center, had a killer meal at Monster Mash, and, after taking a walk through the Meadows, rediscovered a pub I’d liked on my last visit to Edinburgh.
After brunch this morning, (I love Sundays, everywhere in the world) we spent the afternoon watching cricket while Ben explained the sport to one of my students and I graded the students’ first exams. The students did very well, which was great, and it was fun to spend a lazy afternoon at the cricket. We met Shan and Callie for coffee so that I can fuss over Callie, and are cooking in tonight, getting ready for the week ahead.
This was a week of birthdays for my family: Grandma, Jodi and Aaron, and my brother, tomorrow. Happy Birthday, fam. Missing you all.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
After brunch this morning, (I love Sundays, everywhere in the world) we spent the afternoon watching cricket while Ben explained the sport to one of my students and I graded the students’ first exams. The students did very well, which was great, and it was fun to spend a lazy afternoon at the cricket. We met Shan and Callie for coffee so that I can fuss over Callie, and are cooking in tonight, getting ready for the week ahead.
This was a week of birthdays for my family: Grandma, Jodi and Aaron, and my brother, tomorrow. Happy Birthday, fam. Missing you all.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Friday, June 26, 2009
Week One is Done...
Hello, hello, hello…it’s late and I’m tired, and not feeling very creative, but it’s been five very eventful, fun days, and I need to think about it before it passes me by, already too quickly.
I’m still loving work—I lectured for three hours on Thursday morning and it felt like twenty minutes. I think that is a mark of loving what you are teaching. On Sunday evening, after we’d visited Stirling, we had the first of three SUPER yummy meals this week, a cauliflower and broccoli bake at Portcullis (the best of what pub food has to offer, methinks), a sweet potato and goat cheese salad at Circle Café in Canonmills this week, and a kick butt vegetable risotto tonight at The Orchard, also in Canonmills.
I’m still loving work—I lectured for three hours on Thursday morning and it felt like twenty minutes. I think that is a mark of loving what you are teaching. On Sunday evening, after we’d visited Stirling, we had the first of three SUPER yummy meals this week, a cauliflower and broccoli bake at Portcullis (the best of what pub food has to offer, methinks), a sweet potato and goat cheese salad at Circle Café in Canonmills this week, and a kick butt vegetable risotto tonight at The Orchard, also in Canonmills.
On Monday, I took the students to the Scottish Parliament for an afternoon tour—I think the building is beautiful, but my friend Shannon insisted that I was “joking” when I told her so. I think most of the students were a bit bored, but my dorky-little historians’ heart loved it. It was the castle on Tuesday (five visits, was, surprisingly, enough) after a lunch in my old hood of Portobello (at my local, The Blue Bean.) On Wednesday night, I spent the evening with Shan and Esme, and six hours were gone in about six minutes. Last night, the Literary Pub Tour (and a knock at the door at midnight from students upset about Michael Jackson.) Tonight, a visit from a friend from our Georgia days, Sabrina, who introduced us to her lovely partner Andrew. Andrew’s a Kiwi, and I only made it about six minutes before asking him about Flight of the Conchords. Sabrina and I haven’t seen each other for three years, but remarked to ourselves tonight that we’ve seen each other in four countries: U.S. during our Athens days, Amsterdam in 2005, England in 2006, and Scotland tonight. We decided that we’d start referring to ourselves as the Jet-Set.
When we knew this adventure was a go, Ben and I had big weekend plans for Spain, or Guernsey, or Stockholm, but financial realities and now desire have kept us in Scotland. Seeing friends, relaxing when we can…we spent most of the afternoon yesterday watching the pond in Stockbridge and sleeping in the sun.
Sounds good as I write it. Let’s have more of that.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
I’m not going to talk much about work on this thing, because I love my job, and blogging about work is recipe for disaster, but leading a study abroad group makes work very personal too—I feel so fortunate to watch 11 people experience Edinburgh and Scottish culture for the first time. Nine of those 11 are traveling internationally for the first time as well. They love the accent. The miss the free refills. They talk WAAAYYYY to loudly but just like Americans do. They ask me if men’s knees get cold in kilts. They complain about the reading. They marvel at fish and chips, and ask me what “mushy peas” are. They are delighted with brown sauce. They are sure that I should know the bus route automatically for every bus in Edinburgh and withhold this information to torture them. They have already made big declarations about moving here as soon as possible. They complain about the walking, (which, phew, me too) and they remind me of me eleven years ago. It’s humbling.Ben is loving his gig as sidekick, kept man, fellow traveler…he takes a lot of photos and tells dirty jokes that my position prevents me from telling (but I can’t help laughing). I run a lot of my lecture material by him and he’s a thorough critic. They are pretty engaged in class but that might just be the cheese platter I brought from cheese scored at the Farmer’s Market.
We’ve been back to The Elephant House, sent the students on a scavenger hunt, and visited St. Giles and Stirling, but the best bit has been catching up with friends and just being HERE, shopping in Stockbridge, finding this killer organic ice cream in Peckham’s, hitting the Farmer’s Market at Castle Terrace, having a snakebite at The Bailie, walking the Water of Leith…this gig is heavy with memory. We’ve introduced the students to pub food (a yummy pub in Stirling called The Portcullis), Irn Bru and our old gig, The Rose St. Brewery, which had FRESH FLOWERS and new carpet and wasn’t nearly the dive I loved and remember.
It’s fun to teach what is basically a directed readings course—they are doing a blog (http://www.esuinscotland.blogspot.com/) which is fun to read (I don’t edit the content, so you are getting it straight from their mouths)—especially about something I love so much, and their travel skills are really improving already. It is difficult not to mother-hen them to pieces, but so far, this is a great group of students, independent and curious and fun.
Our accommodation is great—a real score, and about a fifteen-minute walk to the city center, which puts the students in a real neighborhood, not some hostel on the Royal Mile. That view of the castle above is the view from our window.
We were at Stirling on the day of the Scottish Fashion Awards. Ben was impressed. See models above. I think that one in the middle is THIS CLOSE to picking a bat out of the cave, if you know what I am saying.
Picture us eating the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had, or walking through the Royal Botanical Gardens, and have a look at a heap of photos taken over the last couple of days.
Off to read, then to sleep…
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Robyn and Ben
Friday, June 19, 2009
Edinburgh
The first time I went to Edinburgh, I stayed on the floor of my former RA’s flat that she shared with a group of strangers. We got along because she bought me beer and let me break the rules at Baker in exchange for information about my best friend, A.J., upon whom she had a major crush. By pimping out A.J. (not LITERALLY) I was able to score us free accommodations in Edinburgh for a long weekend.
I was nineteen, studying abroad in the spring of my sophomore year. We arrived late at night in February. It was raining and cold, and we had the start of a plague that would linger for over a month. We came out of Waverly station, saw the castle, and I was in love, at home in a place that I was seeing for the first time.
I didn’t take full advantage of Edinburgh that trip. I remember drinking a lot of overpriced test-tube shots on a pub tour and talking the RA off the ledge in the bathroom when A.J. flirted with someone else at the bar. I did make really sophisticated decisions while shopping, however: a packaged, whiskey-flavored condom that I later glued to my scrapbook when I got home.
That scrapbook is EM-BAR-RASS-ING.
I had my quarter-life crisis when I was 23, a few weeks after being accepted into a doctoral program. Dyngus talked ourselves into a year abroad, a year in Edinburgh, and, after much drama and the last-minute advocacy of the man who would become my major professor, I was given a deferment and free reign to take a year off of graduate school.
THEN I got scared: I was going to be behind everyone in my program. My parents would never get over it. I was going to have to ask them if I could move home for a few months to save money. I was walking away from a sweet assistantship and two jobs. I would probably end up homeless. ALMOST everyone thought it was a bad idea.
Not my grandmother. My grandmother thought it was a great idea and for that I will always be grateful.
And, defying all logic, I also thought it was a great idea, but I didn’t know why. That move was the riskiest decision I’d ever made.
I worked two miserable jobs in Wichita, one overnight in a group home where I had to deal with a lot of plumbing issues created by grown men. I’ll leave you to speculate. The other was at a live-in drug and alcohol facility directed by a seriously mentally-ill woman who used to call me crying late at night. I earned every magic bean I was paid.
We moved to Edinburgh in early December, stayed in a hostel with a broken window and nearly got pneumonia. We got a flat on Christmas Eve and ate canned spaghetti for Christmas dinner. The night after we moved in, our neighbors called the police citing “hysterical laughter” (fair) and another neighbor yelled at us for using her rubbish bin (unfair). We frequently embarrassed ourselves, in a myriad of ways (Cockburn street is pronounced co-burn) and told people we were Canadian. We saw charming, almost unbelievable things (like a man dressed like Sherlock Holmes) and frustrating things (like hooliganism) and hysterical things (like the time Andrea got solicited by a 12 year old.)
We made some of our dearest friends, who I get to see in just a couple of days.
We had crappy jobs that made us either miserable or deliriously happy, depending on the day. We didn’t act like tourists. I joined a book club. We had a local quiz night. We travelled. We fought. I threatened to kill a twelve year old who threw a snow ball at me. We found nachos after a three-month search and almost cried. Shannon had a line on some Ro-Tel. We drank a lot. Sometimes I walked eight miles and didn’t even think about it.
I fell in love for the first time. Then a second time. It was all very dramatic.
The second love moved to America to live with me. We got married four years later.
I volunteered and did counseling with people who were very culturally different from me. I nearly stayed, going as far as sitting in a real-estate office with a lease in front of me. I lived broke. Really broke. I asked a couple of people out.
I took risks. I laughed AND cried, mostly laughed. Once I locked myself in a bathroom to get away from Andrea and Autumn. They will give you a different version of that story.
I was the most adventurous, least-stressed version of myself I’ve ever known, and, for all these reasons, but that especially, those nine months in Edinburgh were a watershed for me. I still miss that Robyn, and look for her every time I travel, but especially in Edinburgh.
I’ll let you know if I find her again.
I was nineteen, studying abroad in the spring of my sophomore year. We arrived late at night in February. It was raining and cold, and we had the start of a plague that would linger for over a month. We came out of Waverly station, saw the castle, and I was in love, at home in a place that I was seeing for the first time.
I didn’t take full advantage of Edinburgh that trip. I remember drinking a lot of overpriced test-tube shots on a pub tour and talking the RA off the ledge in the bathroom when A.J. flirted with someone else at the bar. I did make really sophisticated decisions while shopping, however: a packaged, whiskey-flavored condom that I later glued to my scrapbook when I got home.
That scrapbook is EM-BAR-RASS-ING.
I had my quarter-life crisis when I was 23, a few weeks after being accepted into a doctoral program. Dyngus talked ourselves into a year abroad, a year in Edinburgh, and, after much drama and the last-minute advocacy of the man who would become my major professor, I was given a deferment and free reign to take a year off of graduate school.
THEN I got scared: I was going to be behind everyone in my program. My parents would never get over it. I was going to have to ask them if I could move home for a few months to save money. I was walking away from a sweet assistantship and two jobs. I would probably end up homeless. ALMOST everyone thought it was a bad idea.
Not my grandmother. My grandmother thought it was a great idea and for that I will always be grateful.
And, defying all logic, I also thought it was a great idea, but I didn’t know why. That move was the riskiest decision I’d ever made.
I worked two miserable jobs in Wichita, one overnight in a group home where I had to deal with a lot of plumbing issues created by grown men. I’ll leave you to speculate. The other was at a live-in drug and alcohol facility directed by a seriously mentally-ill woman who used to call me crying late at night. I earned every magic bean I was paid.
We moved to Edinburgh in early December, stayed in a hostel with a broken window and nearly got pneumonia. We got a flat on Christmas Eve and ate canned spaghetti for Christmas dinner. The night after we moved in, our neighbors called the police citing “hysterical laughter” (fair) and another neighbor yelled at us for using her rubbish bin (unfair). We frequently embarrassed ourselves, in a myriad of ways (Cockburn street is pronounced co-burn) and told people we were Canadian. We saw charming, almost unbelievable things (like a man dressed like Sherlock Holmes) and frustrating things (like hooliganism) and hysterical things (like the time Andrea got solicited by a 12 year old.)
We made some of our dearest friends, who I get to see in just a couple of days.
We had crappy jobs that made us either miserable or deliriously happy, depending on the day. We didn’t act like tourists. I joined a book club. We had a local quiz night. We travelled. We fought. I threatened to kill a twelve year old who threw a snow ball at me. We found nachos after a three-month search and almost cried. Shannon had a line on some Ro-Tel. We drank a lot. Sometimes I walked eight miles and didn’t even think about it.
I fell in love for the first time. Then a second time. It was all very dramatic.
The second love moved to America to live with me. We got married four years later.
I volunteered and did counseling with people who were very culturally different from me. I nearly stayed, going as far as sitting in a real-estate office with a lease in front of me. I lived broke. Really broke. I asked a couple of people out.
I took risks. I laughed AND cried, mostly laughed. Once I locked myself in a bathroom to get away from Andrea and Autumn. They will give you a different version of that story.
I was the most adventurous, least-stressed version of myself I’ve ever known, and, for all these reasons, but that especially, those nine months in Edinburgh were a watershed for me. I still miss that Robyn, and look for her every time I travel, but especially in Edinburgh.
I’ll let you know if I find her again.
Thanks to the lot of you who have posted such nice comments on this blog. My readership is generally limited to Nadine, (a better sister-in-law is never to be had) but it’s good that it’s expanded to about four people.
I’m concerned, though, that you say such kind, ego-stroking things. I was temporarily worried that my ego would expand beyond its already bulbous boundaries.
But then I remembered that I once wet my pants in Atlanta traffic, about fifteen minutes before I was going to teach a class. I had to blow my pants dry under the hand dryer. Or, that on another day of teaching, my first at the same university, I fell backwards over a podium and landed spread-eagle on the linoleum. Or that, on my last trip to Australia, I projectile vomited into a lifeboat in front of thirty tourists. Or that, in high school, some people called me Hoover because some bizo named Erin started a rumor that I had sex with a vacuum cleaner.
The first three have occurred within the last three years. The latter never occurred, but ALLEGEDLY occurred in seventh grade, the same year that my idiot math teacher kept me after school for “gang activity” after he found the notes I’d made on gangs for my CHURCH YOUTH GROUP PRESENTATION.
I still wore side pony-tails at this point, mind you!
In high school I also did a dance routine in a bear mask to “Leader of the Pack” and thought I was in love with a boy who once ate a pound of fudge in a single sitting.
Clearly, I was misguided.
I could go on forever… Seriously. All that is to say thanks for the kind comments, folks. This has been fun.
Lots of people on the home front have been champions for us, too—mail, bills, mowing the lawn, trips to the airport, etc…and we are grateful, grateful, grateful. Thanks to all of you who have done all of these good, good things for us.
I’m concerned, though, that you say such kind, ego-stroking things. I was temporarily worried that my ego would expand beyond its already bulbous boundaries.
But then I remembered that I once wet my pants in Atlanta traffic, about fifteen minutes before I was going to teach a class. I had to blow my pants dry under the hand dryer. Or, that on another day of teaching, my first at the same university, I fell backwards over a podium and landed spread-eagle on the linoleum. Or that, on my last trip to Australia, I projectile vomited into a lifeboat in front of thirty tourists. Or that, in high school, some people called me Hoover because some bizo named Erin started a rumor that I had sex with a vacuum cleaner.
The first three have occurred within the last three years. The latter never occurred, but ALLEGEDLY occurred in seventh grade, the same year that my idiot math teacher kept me after school for “gang activity” after he found the notes I’d made on gangs for my CHURCH YOUTH GROUP PRESENTATION.
I still wore side pony-tails at this point, mind you!
In high school I also did a dance routine in a bear mask to “Leader of the Pack” and thought I was in love with a boy who once ate a pound of fudge in a single sitting.
Clearly, I was misguided.
I could go on forever… Seriously. All that is to say thanks for the kind comments, folks. This has been fun.
Lots of people on the home front have been champions for us, too—mail, bills, mowing the lawn, trips to the airport, etc…and we are grateful, grateful, grateful. Thanks to all of you who have done all of these good, good things for us.
Catching our Breath?
Melbourne is a fantastic city; vibrant, pretty, multicultural, energizing. In fact, my cousin-in-law tells me that it is the “second most livable city in the world” after Vancouver.That’s nice.
I was hearing none of it, because my energies were consumed by this lovely child:
She is AWESOME. Check that smile:
This was our third visit to Melbourne, and we saw it proper on the first two; this trip was really just about catching up with family and friends. We had great times with the Melbourne Gerrards and I had the chance to meet Ben’s uncle Mark and his wife Gwynn. We caught up with ABC chums Jude (and her lovely little boys) and Belinda, all of whom are fun and warm…the best kinds of people. For these and lots of other reasons, it is difficult to ignore the siren’s song that is Melbourne.
Plus, they had this cute café in an old tram station (Mart, which is Tram backwards) where we had brunch with Ben’s Aunt and Uncle. If I have a design aesthetic (doubtful, very doubtful), they achieved it. Bonus: The corn fritters rocked my socks off.
Our trip home was uneventful, and we even scored a bulkhead seat with lots of leg room and exit rows on our two domestic flights, so clearly the travel fairy was on our side. I also, finally, got to watch much of the new season of Flight of the Conchords and was not afraid to laugh out loud. I couldn’t help it.
I must be getting older, if not maturing, as this was the first time I can remember my tailbone hurting from sitting so long.
I asked Ben if he still liked me after three weeks in constant company and he said yes. I think he meant it, but maybe it is because I had a Violet Crumble candy bar in my possession and he knew it.
My folks were at home to greet us, having been at a wedding in Kansas City; they had pizza and lots of good stories from their Alaskan cruise for us, and it was great to see them. It’s so great to have parents who will meet you at the door, dinner ready, after 24+ hours in airplanes and airports.
Sunday was devoted to laundry, thank-you-notes, bills, and an awesome surprise birthday dinner with Dyngus, David and Ben—well played Dyngus, well-played. Andrea cooked the meal from our “Everyday French” cooking class and Autumn scored a DQ ice-cream cake, and it was great to see them.
Ben and I hit work on Monday and Tuesday—we are not accustomed anymore to things like “work” but it was good to get caught up a bit, and to check in with clients and students. I love my job. And speaking of work, I’m toiling away in the Newark airport just now, guiding a group of 11 students, most of who are flying internationally for the first time, on a study abroad program to Scotland.
Oh, the drudgery.
In a few hours we wing our way to Edinburgh. I’ll try to write a bit about Edinburgh soon. She’s like going to see an old, very dear friend (in fact, there are dear friends living there) but flying into Edinburgh is still, always a bit magical for me.
We’ll post when we can.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Monday, June 8, 2009
Tassie, Tassie, Tassie OY OY OY
We’re watching a second episode of Good News Week (a re-run) and this show cracks me up. We spent our only full day in Tassie eating well and catching up with good friends. This was my brunch (a proper English breakfast, had in Australia, why are baked beans for breakfast so delicious?) :
We ate with our friends at this enclosed atrium in a former jam factory, and then spent a couple of hours browsing shops and art galleries at Salamanca Arts Center, before meeting up with an old friend of Ben’s, Tracy, who has lived in Hobart for about ten years. It was great to meet her as I’d heard lovely things, all of which were true.
Tonight we had FRIED SCALLOPS FOR DINNER which I’d been remembering with longing for three years, since our last visit to Hobart. Dude, they are the best, best, best thing EVAH. They will sustain me until our next visit.
Off to Melbourne tomorrow afternoon—
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Robyn and Ben
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Tasmania and Wee Ben
Check this guy out:
I was relieved to see how adorable he was since all previous pictures were from Ben's late teens and early twenties when he looked like Kenny Rogers. It's good to see those dark years were booked-ended by cuteness.
We're in Tasmania and, though we arrived in the dark, it's still lovely.
Tasmania is one of the two places I've ever been where, though I was visiting for the first time, I felt like I was at home.
More adventures soon...for now, sleep!
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Live from the Adelaide Hills
I apologize for this video. It was late at night, and there is some mildly-filthy language. Upon review, we probably would have re-done it, but, alas, we ate ourselves. To death. Like Pizza the Hut.
Not Sweating the Technique
I’m tucked in for our last night in the Adelaide Hills, and, even with a week behind us here, I’m sad to go.
On Wednesday night Ben’s Dad suggested we have lunch the next day, so we headed back into Stirling on Thursday, this posh community about 30 minutes from Ben’s parents’ place, where we’d spent the day before. To accommodate my dorky self, the family agreed to have lunch at LocaVore, a new-ish restaurant in Stirling that follows the “100-mile diet” plan whenever possible, and had SUPER yummy lunches all around. I had local salmon, smoked very near the farm, Ben had his second lot of bangers and mash, and the in-laws had the daily moussaka special that featured a “Manchego Cheese Crust.”
Which reminds me: Manchego cheese is basically the best cheese in the world. In my heart, it’s a picture-finish between smoked gouda, manchego, and, while basic, an English cheddar. Call me a simpleton, but, dammit, those cheeses rock.
Ben got to have sticky toffee fig pudding, his favorite dessert for all time, and thusly approved retroactively of my choice of restaurant, expanding my X-Men mutation beyond my ability to pick the best thing on the menu to picking the best place to have lunch. You can see why he married me, right?
We spent the afternoon pottering about Stirling, and then Ben and I had dinner with his former boss/mentor and his wife that have become dear friends. We had dinner at a local Indian place where we’d first met them five years ago, on my first trip to Australia. They have two lovely children who are doing interesting things with their young lives, including this cool thing in Australia called “Pedal Prix” where kids build and train to pedal-power small, Indy-like race cars. Cool, right? Anyway, I won’t list names here, because they the humble sorts of people who would be embarrassed by what I’m going to say, but they’ve mastered that ability to deserve your respect and admiration while still being totally relatable and fun, and we both agree that no trip to Australia is complete without time with this crew.
They also have a sulfur-crested cockatoo who is in love with Ben’s mentor and sometimes attacks his wife in a fit of jealousy.
Which reminds me: Ben’s maternal grandparents once lived in India and his grandfather, Peter, had a pet monkey there, who would sit on his shoulders while he did office work and eat crackers all day. The monkey hated Ben’s grandmother, Ann, and used to throw books at her when she would come into the office to see Peter.
Also, the above-mentioned cockatoo ovulates when she has enough quality time with Ben’s mentor. If I hadn’t read this in Barbara Kingsolver’s book last year, I would not believe this kind of stuff happens.
Which reminds me: I would not tolerate that sort of crap.
Yesterday we went in search of this yummy liqueur, Island Sting, that Suzanne had tried at LocaVore the day before. It’s made from this honey produced by bees on Kangaroo Island that are the only “pure” bees left in the world, meaning they’ve never mated with other, “lesser” bees. They come from the Ligurian region of Italy, but apparently got “polluted” there. Anyway, the liqueur: I love that vacations afford you the time to try something new and then search it out. We took about an hours’ drive through the Adelaide Hills and went to Gummeracha, a wine district, where we did a wine tasting at a local winery, had super yummy antipasto for lunch, and scored the liqueur and chocolates we’d set out for. On the way, we encountered these awesome red toad stools, a bunch of llamas, and, because we were with my mother-in-law, stopped on the roadside to check the pouch of a dead kangaroo to make sure there was no joey.
There was no joey. The dead kangaroo was a dudearoo.
As we left the winery, we saw a kangaroo hopping between the vines. She’s hard to see, but do you see her?
Last night we went to some neighbors/ friends of the in-laws, and had a nice evening talking, sharing yummy treats, and kicking an eight-year-olds ass at Uno, (me), despite the fact that he was a wicked cheater.
I also saw a spinafex (sp) hopping mouse, which they keep as pets at the house. He’s a zookeeper and she’s a Montessori school teacher, so they’re just fun to talk to. He whittles spoons for fun and got out his spoons to show me, and she talked with me about her latest class project of recycling paper into combustible paper bricks that you can burn in winter.
Today we spent the whole day with some of Ben’s best friends, Gill and her son Finlay, Tash, Krys and their son Josh, Pete and Kath, and had a long, chatty lunch. Last time we saw them, Tash and Krys were getting married, and Fin was only two, not yet talking. Josh was only a figment of his parents’ imagination.
Fin and Josh are gorgeous children, and, can I just say, children with Australian accents are adorable.
We’re on the road again tomorrow. Sad to say goodbye to South Australia and the people in it, but on to the friends in Hobart, Tasmania, and, while not as important as the friends, the deep-friend scallops that still have their gonads.
I give the gonads to Ben.
Love,
Robyn and Ben
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Morton Bay Bugs OR Slipper Lobsters
Are delicious. They look gross, but I assure you, they are delicious. We had them for dinner last night. They taste like tiny lobsters.
This morning we drove past old haunts for Ben in Aldgate and Stirling, and picked up lunch to go from this yummy and super cute organic market.
Then, we went to join Ben's Dad for his Wednesday model sailboat sailing club. It was fun! Seems like mostly the other guys (there are about ten) stand around and insult one another. I overheard, "your boat just got passed by a duck, Colin" and a heap of other insinuations and insults. We sailed.
I'm posting from the Mt. Barker Public Library. We have a sailing video and one other, but apparently "wireless" is still a new-ish concept in The Land Down Under, and all signals are "low" at best. Ben is pirating music from same library. It's a lazy, lovely, vacation-y day.
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