Monday, March 26, 2007
Passing time
...another week begins. I put Van on the last train back to London and wanted to wave at her from the station platform, but a pillar was in the way. We spent an enjoyable weekend walking the walls of Chester. The sun was out and it made our weekend that much more enjoyable: long bouts of coffee punctuated by bookstore browsing, walking, the occasional meal, and just enjoying each other's company. I never enjoyed the town as much as I did these past couple of days.
view from the Clock Tower by harrymoonNow I'm passing time, watching emo remix videos of Avatar: The Last Airbender on YouTube; wishing that the third Book (Fire) would finally air; that I was home watching all the previous episodes with Van, with a big cup of coffee and maybe some eclairs; and that I wasn't here, waiting for another week to begin.
Labels: chester, travel, update
Monday, March 19, 2007
1001 Arabian Nights: The Night Watchman's Tale
This is a strange one, because this post covers three nights and three different venues. I thought the nightlife deserved a bit of a mention because otherwise I would just tack on "...and we went clubbing" at the end of what are already pretty long winded posts.
The Skyview Bar, Burj al Arab
...yikes.
First, the most disappointing and tacky one of them all, the Skyview only merits a mention because it is the little projecting structure that sits at the very top of the Burj hotel. We were allowed entry to the "seven star hotel" and, to be honest, I was completely disappointed. A billionaire's idea of luxury, perhaps. Definitely not understated, the hotel was covered in dark marble and gold, with neon lights cascading and a musical fountain in the center courtyard. Up the elevator to the Skyview, and it was more of the same. We couldn't even look out at the water that night (there were few lights, and the floor to ceiling glass was reflective and threw back only reflections of our fellow poseurs). We swigged our overpriced chocolate martini and got out off there double quick.
The Apartment, Jumeirah Beach Hotel
This was the venue for the company drinks, right after the company meeting day. I came late thanks to my dalliance with the Skyview, and was dismayed to find a cover charge even though we had booked the VIP room. Luckily I was able to blag my way past the clipboard lady from Tondo, and into... a mass exodus of consultants. Turns out plenty of our number decided that sweaty, crowded teenagers pulsating to (not very good) R&B and hiphop was Just Not Their Thing. I left with the crowd, and came back here after we were kicked out at closing by the fat bouncer at 360. Had enough time for a couple of drinks and a smoke, then, amazingly, got kicked out at 3 by the same fat bouncer. Serendipity, Randel and I agreed. Rather pleasingly, he recognized us from earlier. The Apartment was meant to be one of Dubai's hottest night spots. To be honest, it wasn't as bad as they said it was, but inside I could have been in any anonymous club in central London. I'm sure the old BBC crowd would have loved it - shame about the closing time.
360, Jumeirah Beach
Ahh, 360. The vibe was Ibiza's, the view was 100% Dubai. A golf cart takes you across a slender ribbon of concrete to the entrance queue. Flash your best smile at security (or grab a random partner if it's couple's night), and waltz right in. Inside you'll find extremely danceable tunes pumping from the mezzanine, couches and bean bags to welcome your tired ass and buckets of champagne. Of course, the omnipresent shisha pipes are there as well. You can either sit and chill or take your chances at the upper level bar; either way you'll be glad you ditched the tired pretentiousness of the other clubs. I know we were. Over the course of our stay I managed to come to 360 three nights in a row (sad but true - I failed to score a bean bag on any of those nights). Each time all I had to do was look out over the water back to the lights of Jumeirah, lift my glass, and be thankful I was there.
the view from the upper bar @ 360
Almost as good as being there, was walking home. Invariably we'd stay until fat bouncers asked us to leave, then we would take the slow way home; the sea on either side of us, yachts and lights and luxury, and we were there, in the center of it all, slightly drunk and footsore. Nights like this, well.
regular service re-commences tomorrow. Dubai can wait; I've had enough travelogging for now.
The Skyview Bar, Burj al Arab
...yikes. First, the most disappointing and tacky one of them all, the Skyview only merits a mention because it is the little projecting structure that sits at the very top of the Burj hotel. We were allowed entry to the "seven star hotel" and, to be honest, I was completely disappointed. A billionaire's idea of luxury, perhaps. Definitely not understated, the hotel was covered in dark marble and gold, with neon lights cascading and a musical fountain in the center courtyard. Up the elevator to the Skyview, and it was more of the same. We couldn't even look out at the water that night (there were few lights, and the floor to ceiling glass was reflective and threw back only reflections of our fellow poseurs). We swigged our overpriced chocolate martini and got out off there double quick.
The Apartment, Jumeirah Beach Hotel
This was the venue for the company drinks, right after the company meeting day. I came late thanks to my dalliance with the Skyview, and was dismayed to find a cover charge even though we had booked the VIP room. Luckily I was able to blag my way past the clipboard lady from Tondo, and into... a mass exodus of consultants. Turns out plenty of our number decided that sweaty, crowded teenagers pulsating to (not very good) R&B and hiphop was Just Not Their Thing. I left with the crowd, and came back here after we were kicked out at closing by the fat bouncer at 360. Had enough time for a couple of drinks and a smoke, then, amazingly, got kicked out at 3 by the same fat bouncer. Serendipity, Randel and I agreed. Rather pleasingly, he recognized us from earlier. The Apartment was meant to be one of Dubai's hottest night spots. To be honest, it wasn't as bad as they said it was, but inside I could have been in any anonymous club in central London. I'm sure the old BBC crowd would have loved it - shame about the closing time.
360, Jumeirah Beach
Ahh, 360. The vibe was Ibiza's, the view was 100% Dubai. A golf cart takes you across a slender ribbon of concrete to the entrance queue. Flash your best smile at security (or grab a random partner if it's couple's night), and waltz right in. Inside you'll find extremely danceable tunes pumping from the mezzanine, couches and bean bags to welcome your tired ass and buckets of champagne. Of course, the omnipresent shisha pipes are there as well. You can either sit and chill or take your chances at the upper level bar; either way you'll be glad you ditched the tired pretentiousness of the other clubs. I know we were. Over the course of our stay I managed to come to 360 three nights in a row (sad but true - I failed to score a bean bag on any of those nights). Each time all I had to do was look out over the water back to the lights of Jumeirah, lift my glass, and be thankful I was there.
the view from the upper bar @ 360Almost as good as being there, was walking home. Invariably we'd stay until fat bouncers asked us to leave, then we would take the slow way home; the sea on either side of us, yachts and lights and luxury, and we were there, in the center of it all, slightly drunk and footsore. Nights like this, well.
* * *
regular service re-commences tomorrow. Dubai can wait; I've had enough travelogging for now.
Friday, March 16, 2007
1001 Arabian Nights: the Adrenalin Junkie's Tale
I stumbled home at some time past 3. It was generally accepted that missing the 9:15am start time for the next day's conference was the kiss of death for any consultant's prospects. Thankfully, the two alarms and the hotel wake up call I set proved to be (just) enough. I staggered out of bed and into the shower at 5 to 9, jumped into the nearest pair of trousers and ran to the conference venue.
There were many, many casualties. Some managed to sneak their way in during the half time coffee break. Those who didn't were named and shamed at the end of the half day affair by Dora, a fierce firebrand of a lady who had put the whole trip together. The conference itself was interesting, full of announcements and presentations that would change quite a bit about the company's direction. I can't say more than that, obviously, but even the hung over amongst us were paying attention.
The view of the hotel, from the hotel.
At lunch, many of us flinched at the sunlight, but still managed to wolf down quite the treats at the buffet. It was then time to retire until 4pm, when the company-sponsored safari would begin. I found myself a nice beach towel in the shape of a beach chair, and sat in that and read Reggie Nadelson and drank iced tea by the growing shadow of the Tower of Araby. People like me, conference rats, would walk by and say hi. I was in a perfect environment to reflect on life, my career, my future with the company. So instead I slept.
At 4pm Zahir, the nice man from Arabian Adventures, came to take us to the Dubai Desert Conservation Area in a nice 4x4 Toyota, to do some very unsafe things at high speed over the rolling dunes. The area was not quite the deep Sahara – you could even get decent cellphone reception – but it was as close as we would get to the real thing. Zahir took us over ridges, plunged us down steep tracts of soft sand, and bounced over the hard compressed wakes of the other 4x4s. It was all too much for Andy P, and while we got some fresh air I took photos of the others launching themselves into obscene angles at the dunes.
Scarier than it looks.
Our 4pm start was because others had gone earlier to try a bit of dune driving. I deeply regretted not having the international license to join in, but nevermind. We rejoined the main group at the bottom of a very steep dune indeed. The second life and limb activity involved strapping yourself to a board and sliding down this dune at high speed. It sounds easy – especially as we had done some snowboarding just the day before – but it was nothing of the sort. Combrink, one of our Tech Ops guys, broke a collarbone going down. That sobered up the atmosphere, though not really by much (less catcalls, same number of incriminating photos). I learned later he was airlifted to the best hospital in the city and subsequently flown back to London.
We piled back into our Toyotas and drove to a “sunset watching area” with cushions and champagne and salted nuts. I made small talk with the Filipino waiters and drank and watched the sun fade into the distant haze.
That done, we were taken to another reserved area (I get it, the desert is big enough, but why have all this driving about? Why have a “not really important but let’s just drive you here to look at the camels area”?) where the evening program would be. I managed to catch a 5-minute camel ride before catching dinner and getting a henna tattoo done (a crappy one of a scorpion, my star sign).
Post sunset, pre-shisha.
We tucked into yet another buffet (good one this time – lamb with rice ftw), watched a belly dancer drag fat consultants onto the stage, and sat around smoking shisha and watching the stars. Although the lights were on the whole time, I cupped my hands and watched for shooting stars. I spotted two before realizing I had lost my camera in all my wanders round the desert. I managed to find it wedged under one of the shisha cushions, so All Was Well.
It was very quiet outside the camp. The desert seemed as romantic and eerie as all the desert literature promised it would be. Too bad it was all a bit - artificial and soulless. After close to 800 words, I still have an ocean of them inside, so... to be continued.
There were many, many casualties. Some managed to sneak their way in during the half time coffee break. Those who didn't were named and shamed at the end of the half day affair by Dora, a fierce firebrand of a lady who had put the whole trip together. The conference itself was interesting, full of announcements and presentations that would change quite a bit about the company's direction. I can't say more than that, obviously, but even the hung over amongst us were paying attention.
The view of the hotel, from the hotel.At lunch, many of us flinched at the sunlight, but still managed to wolf down quite the treats at the buffet. It was then time to retire until 4pm, when the company-sponsored safari would begin. I found myself a nice beach towel in the shape of a beach chair, and sat in that and read Reggie Nadelson and drank iced tea by the growing shadow of the Tower of Araby. People like me, conference rats, would walk by and say hi. I was in a perfect environment to reflect on life, my career, my future with the company. So instead I slept.
* * *
At 4pm Zahir, the nice man from Arabian Adventures, came to take us to the Dubai Desert Conservation Area in a nice 4x4 Toyota, to do some very unsafe things at high speed over the rolling dunes. The area was not quite the deep Sahara – you could even get decent cellphone reception – but it was as close as we would get to the real thing. Zahir took us over ridges, plunged us down steep tracts of soft sand, and bounced over the hard compressed wakes of the other 4x4s. It was all too much for Andy P, and while we got some fresh air I took photos of the others launching themselves into obscene angles at the dunes.
Scarier than it looks.Our 4pm start was because others had gone earlier to try a bit of dune driving. I deeply regretted not having the international license to join in, but nevermind. We rejoined the main group at the bottom of a very steep dune indeed. The second life and limb activity involved strapping yourself to a board and sliding down this dune at high speed. It sounds easy – especially as we had done some snowboarding just the day before – but it was nothing of the sort. Combrink, one of our Tech Ops guys, broke a collarbone going down. That sobered up the atmosphere, though not really by much (less catcalls, same number of incriminating photos). I learned later he was airlifted to the best hospital in the city and subsequently flown back to London.
* * *
We piled back into our Toyotas and drove to a “sunset watching area” with cushions and champagne and salted nuts. I made small talk with the Filipino waiters and drank and watched the sun fade into the distant haze.
That done, we were taken to another reserved area (I get it, the desert is big enough, but why have all this driving about? Why have a “not really important but let’s just drive you here to look at the camels area”?) where the evening program would be. I managed to catch a 5-minute camel ride before catching dinner and getting a henna tattoo done (a crappy one of a scorpion, my star sign).
Post sunset, pre-shisha.It was very quiet outside the camp. The desert seemed as romantic and eerie as all the desert literature promised it would be. Too bad it was all a bit - artificial and soulless. After close to 800 words, I still have an ocean of them inside, so... to be continued.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
1001 Arabian Nights - The Cigar-smoker's Tale
Note: I'll never be able to blog my entire Dubai stay. Past travelogues have shown that I usually fizzle out at day 3, after an excited binge of photo posting and commentary. Fingers crossed though...
Things never seem good after a 7 hour flight. After some confusion with phones getting lost and people randomly leaving behind bags, we were out of Dubai airport and into a coach which crawled into the traffic. On the horizon we evenntually saw the outlines of the Burj al Arab come into view, and then our own hotel - the Jumeirah Beach. Looking like a frozen wave facing the sea. We had arrived early which meant bags on the patio and breakfast in the back. Only the patio was an enormous star shaped verandah overlooking the beachfront; and breakfast was at a restaurant that served over 140 dishes and ranged from Sushi to stew, smoked salmon to cereal.
We had to leg it to catch the next shuttle to the Mall of the Emirates, so that we could make our 12pm snow boarding discovery lesson on the artificial ski slope. What I discovered about snowboarding: turning around is very hard. Removing your board when you've face planted is very hard. Everything else was quite easy. Lunch followed, a brief stroll round the mall then it was back to the hotel to (finally) check in.
The view from the 20th floor. 360 is the little round building at the top. Yeah baby.
What can I say - the rooms were fantastic. All sea-facing, all huge (though the low ceilings made them a bit less so), opulent and very comfortable. The biggest kick for me was being 20 floors up and watching the tiny people move about on the beach and pool area. After a brief swim, a drink, and a game of dama with Randel, we all retired for a rest before dinner on the North Beach. Our outdoor buffet had welcome cocktails, was lit by torchlight, and featured a Pinoy band.
Oh yes, the entire hotel was nearly 100% staffed by Filipinos. It was nice to see their pleasantly surprised reactions when I met them with a "kumusta?" and to chat with them about Dubai. But more on this later. I sat at a table with the HR girls and with Andy B. (who was determined to out eat me at the buffet table) and shivered in my inadequate beach wear against the wind.
Sand, sea and Seventies music - a recipe for disaster.
By the end of dinner we had red wined and rum and coked sufficiently to warm us against the chill. By this time, as well, Steve T and the other senior managers had thrown away all semblance of shame and danced to old AC/DC and Pink Floyd standards the band was playing. A few of us sat on cushions and smoked cigars (Jamie magically produced them just as the night was winding down). Someone jokingly suggested we proceed to a club. I thought longingly of my warm bed, and was on my way there when I was intercepted by Lyna and others who hijacked me onto a waiting golf cart that whisked us out to 360.
360 was - is - a club which deserves a post of its very own. (And will get one, I promise) The Dubai experience had only just begun, and already I'd done more in one day than I have in weeks.
to be continued.
* * *
Things never seem good after a 7 hour flight. After some confusion with phones getting lost and people randomly leaving behind bags, we were out of Dubai airport and into a coach which crawled into the traffic. On the horizon we evenntually saw the outlines of the Burj al Arab come into view, and then our own hotel - the Jumeirah Beach. Looking like a frozen wave facing the sea. We had arrived early which meant bags on the patio and breakfast in the back. Only the patio was an enormous star shaped verandah overlooking the beachfront; and breakfast was at a restaurant that served over 140 dishes and ranged from Sushi to stew, smoked salmon to cereal.
We had to leg it to catch the next shuttle to the Mall of the Emirates, so that we could make our 12pm snow boarding discovery lesson on the artificial ski slope. What I discovered about snowboarding: turning around is very hard. Removing your board when you've face planted is very hard. Everything else was quite easy. Lunch followed, a brief stroll round the mall then it was back to the hotel to (finally) check in.
The view from the 20th floor. 360 is the little round building at the top. Yeah baby.What can I say - the rooms were fantastic. All sea-facing, all huge (though the low ceilings made them a bit less so), opulent and very comfortable. The biggest kick for me was being 20 floors up and watching the tiny people move about on the beach and pool area. After a brief swim, a drink, and a game of dama with Randel, we all retired for a rest before dinner on the North Beach. Our outdoor buffet had welcome cocktails, was lit by torchlight, and featured a Pinoy band.
Oh yes, the entire hotel was nearly 100% staffed by Filipinos. It was nice to see their pleasantly surprised reactions when I met them with a "kumusta?" and to chat with them about Dubai. But more on this later. I sat at a table with the HR girls and with Andy B. (who was determined to out eat me at the buffet table) and shivered in my inadequate beach wear against the wind.
Sand, sea and Seventies music - a recipe for disaster.By the end of dinner we had red wined and rum and coked sufficiently to warm us against the chill. By this time, as well, Steve T and the other senior managers had thrown away all semblance of shame and danced to old AC/DC and Pink Floyd standards the band was playing. A few of us sat on cushions and smoked cigars (Jamie magically produced them just as the night was winding down). Someone jokingly suggested we proceed to a club. I thought longingly of my warm bed, and was on my way there when I was intercepted by Lyna and others who hijacked me onto a waiting golf cart that whisked us out to 360.
360 was - is - a club which deserves a post of its very own. (And will get one, I promise) The Dubai experience had only just begun, and already I'd done more in one day than I have in weeks.
to be continued.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The Ghosts / Traveller
I will be going with some workmates to see The Ghosts tonight in Liverpool. One of our crew "knows the band", as it were, and we'll be catching the uber slow train into the city to see them play. Being well into old age myself, I can't help but be nostalgic for the good old days of grunge when rock was rock and there was none of this achingly hip "guitar pop" bullshit. Still, it'll be a night out and, who knows, they might even be good.
While work on the whole has been same-y up in Chester, there are times when being up here has its advantages. I've already taken enough first class train commutes to qualify for Virgin's Traveller program. The only REAL advantage to this is the free weekend train travel (hence our excessively long journey up to Edinburgh a couple weeks ago).
Not all first classes are made equal, of course; top of the heap are the Pendolino leaning coaches (known to some as the Vomit Express) with their "gourmet" meals, drink all you can and free newspapers. Then there's the Voyager coaches with the prepackaged meal boxes (a la BA Europe) and ungodly schedules. If you're really unlucky, the train won'e have a first class at all; you'll be stuck riding in cattle class with the peons. In times such as these one must make do.
* * *
While work on the whole has been same-y up in Chester, there are times when being up here has its advantages. I've already taken enough first class train commutes to qualify for Virgin's Traveller program. The only REAL advantage to this is the free weekend train travel (hence our excessively long journey up to Edinburgh a couple weeks ago).
Not all first classes are made equal, of course; top of the heap are the Pendolino leaning coaches (known to some as the Vomit Express) with their "gourmet" meals, drink all you can and free newspapers. Then there's the Voyager coaches with the prepackaged meal boxes (a la BA Europe) and ungodly schedules. If you're really unlucky, the train won'e have a first class at all; you'll be stuck riding in cattle class with the peons. In times such as these one must make do.
Labels: music, random stuff, travel
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Van and I, on a slow, early morning train to Edinburgh, lost in a suddenly unfamiliar world of snow and fog.
The train soldiers on towards Crewe, regardless. It's 7am. We will get there eventually.
The train soldiers on towards Crewe, regardless. It's 7am. We will get there eventually.Labels: travel
Monday, July 31, 2006
All yesterday's parties
[random stuff, london]
Got back from Budapest last Friday night, picked up Van and went to a housewarming party with some Filipino friends of friends. Most of those in attendance were also professionals or soon-to-be-professional grad students in London. None of us could get the professional-level Magic Mike above a score of 85. (Damn you and your low 60s, Magic Mike!)
A few of our guests still indulged in the "what school are you from" level of party conversation that I detest. Obviously, if you're not UP / Ateneo / La Salle, the golden Trifecta of higher education in the Philippines, the discussion moves quickly on. I foxed them with my outlandishly coño alma mater, CRC, a school so chic it's known publicly by an entirely different name.
That night our mains power was fried by an exposed wire that was burning through the insulation underneath our bathroom floor. Luckily Van heard the sparks and we managed to shut it down. We still have lights but no power save for the kitchen and have had to resort to an extension cord to keep the TV up and running. Screw life support, I want my Scrubs episodes!
The next day Van and I moved the bedroom furniture around and chucked out the slowly rising tide of cardboard boxes from all our wedding presents and various purchases of the last 6 months. What this means is that our bed now sits about 2 feet closer to the window, and we can see the night sky above the office buildings.
Saturday night we celebrated Yusi's birthday at Sin. Frequent snatches of déjà vu that night as we saw people from the old 2004 party crowd (Alan, Kevin, etc) mingling with Andrew's girlfriend's friends. Has it been two years already? Even the music seemed old, though we'd never heard it before.
Sunday we spent in the sun and shadows of Suburbia. The cafe, not actually outside town. It was nice. I also bought a new shirt & tie at Hawes and Curtis for £49... that, too, was nice, though only because Van got to fuss over my dress sense with the shirt seller man. Perhaps this is how the years pass; in a blur of coffee and sunlight and receipts for things you never intended to buy. We went home and I cooked a nicely turned roast pork and the evening sky grew metallic blue from our window and we turned in before the first stars came out.
That was our weekend.
Got back from Budapest last Friday night, picked up Van and went to a housewarming party with some Filipino friends of friends. Most of those in attendance were also professionals or soon-to-be-professional grad students in London. None of us could get the professional-level Magic Mike above a score of 85. (Damn you and your low 60s, Magic Mike!)
A few of our guests still indulged in the "what school are you from" level of party conversation that I detest. Obviously, if you're not UP / Ateneo / La Salle, the golden Trifecta of higher education in the Philippines, the discussion moves quickly on. I foxed them with my outlandishly coño alma mater, CRC, a school so chic it's known publicly by an entirely different name.
That night our mains power was fried by an exposed wire that was burning through the insulation underneath our bathroom floor. Luckily Van heard the sparks and we managed to shut it down. We still have lights but no power save for the kitchen and have had to resort to an extension cord to keep the TV up and running. Screw life support, I want my Scrubs episodes!
The next day Van and I moved the bedroom furniture around and chucked out the slowly rising tide of cardboard boxes from all our wedding presents and various purchases of the last 6 months. What this means is that our bed now sits about 2 feet closer to the window, and we can see the night sky above the office buildings.
* * *
Saturday night we celebrated Yusi's birthday at Sin. Frequent snatches of déjà vu that night as we saw people from the old 2004 party crowd (Alan, Kevin, etc) mingling with Andrew's girlfriend's friends. Has it been two years already? Even the music seemed old, though we'd never heard it before.
Sunday we spent in the sun and shadows of Suburbia. The cafe, not actually outside town. It was nice. I also bought a new shirt & tie at Hawes and Curtis for £49... that, too, was nice, though only because Van got to fuss over my dress sense with the shirt seller man. Perhaps this is how the years pass; in a blur of coffee and sunlight and receipts for things you never intended to buy. We went home and I cooked a nicely turned roast pork and the evening sky grew metallic blue from our window and we turned in before the first stars came out.
That was our weekend.
Labels: london, random stuff, travel
Friday, July 28, 2006
Alone on the Danube
[travel]
You know it's been a busy month when the prospect of leaving your airconditioned spa hotel to go home to a heat wave is something you actually look forward to. Two cities over three weeks and I'm starting to see the world in beige. Beige curtains, walls, the color of the hotel sheets and of the permalit architecture of Budapest.
Which I mostly got to see from afar.
Between dinners with a twice-divorced, fiftysomething colleague whose only wish is to retire early (imagine the fun!) and running repeated tests on SAP email, the days just FLY by. I didn't get as many chances to wander round as I did in Prague - nor did I have the inclination, unlike in Prague, when I at least had someone to walk around with. Thank god for the luxuries in life: a decent swimming pool (finally! with a jacuzzi even), a good book (from Hazel) and a free(loaded) Wifi connection in the hotel.
Which was just as well, because the whole week I've been having trouble sleeping - the Corinthia Aquincum beds being nowhere near as comfortable as the Renaissance Prague. I should get that Travelodge bloke to tell them off. One pillow is nowhere near enough, especially if it's as thin and fluff-less as bathroom tissue.
Ah but I'm rambling. Yes Budapest is beautiful. I would have loved to be in it, instead of admiring it from a taxi window.
You know it's been a busy month when the prospect of leaving your airconditioned spa hotel to go home to a heat wave is something you actually look forward to. Two cities over three weeks and I'm starting to see the world in beige. Beige curtains, walls, the color of the hotel sheets and of the permalit architecture of Budapest.
Which I mostly got to see from afar.
Between dinners with a twice-divorced, fiftysomething colleague whose only wish is to retire early (imagine the fun!) and running repeated tests on SAP email, the days just FLY by. I didn't get as many chances to wander round as I did in Prague - nor did I have the inclination, unlike in Prague, when I at least had someone to walk around with. Thank god for the luxuries in life: a decent swimming pool (finally! with a jacuzzi even), a good book (from Hazel) and a free(loaded) Wifi connection in the hotel.
Which was just as well, because the whole week I've been having trouble sleeping - the Corinthia Aquincum beds being nowhere near as comfortable as the Renaissance Prague. I should get that Travelodge bloke to tell them off. One pillow is nowhere near enough, especially if it's as thin and fluff-less as bathroom tissue.
Ah but I'm rambling. Yes Budapest is beautiful. I would have loved to be in it, instead of admiring it from a taxi window.
Labels: travel
Thursday, July 06, 2006
What happened on Monday.
[tag: _travel]
Prague in Summer: I wake up at 4:45am (3:45 by my body's reckoning) to go count stock in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. We are each paried up with a DHL expert and ride off in cages attached to forklifts. The detritus of the digital age surrounds me: dusty DVD blanks; video cassettes; discs of every description (mini, DVD, UMD). Brand new PSPs in their boxes. 2 Gigabyte memory sticks blisterpacked, worth their weight in gold. 50" TVs and an enigmatic "Jumbo Pack", shrouded in white, so large that a pallet holds only one. We tote them up on our clipboards, counting across, down, and around. The crows nests' soar to the top shelves, 30 feet in the air. I try not to look down.
For my diligence I am rewarded with the afternoon off and I soak my tender feet for an hour before retiring to Tyn Square's Legends Bar in a quiet and largely tourist-lite corner of old Prague. Bohemia crystallized (and commercialized), Prague now lives off its wealthy stag nighters and transient rich kid artiste wannabes. In winter the streets should be the color of absinthe. In summer they are the amber and deep brown of aged wood. They smell of marionettes and cheap beer. Fat genial americans and pimply english youths pass me in binary succession, a string of 1s and 0s encoding a secret fascination that all tourist cities hold, the magnetic pull of the ancient and wondrous.
Prague in Summer: I wake up at 4:45am (3:45 by my body's reckoning) to go count stock in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. We are each paried up with a DHL expert and ride off in cages attached to forklifts. The detritus of the digital age surrounds me: dusty DVD blanks; video cassettes; discs of every description (mini, DVD, UMD). Brand new PSPs in their boxes. 2 Gigabyte memory sticks blisterpacked, worth their weight in gold. 50" TVs and an enigmatic "Jumbo Pack", shrouded in white, so large that a pallet holds only one. We tote them up on our clipboards, counting across, down, and around. The crows nests' soar to the top shelves, 30 feet in the air. I try not to look down.
For my diligence I am rewarded with the afternoon off and I soak my tender feet for an hour before retiring to Tyn Square's Legends Bar in a quiet and largely tourist-lite corner of old Prague. Bohemia crystallized (and commercialized), Prague now lives off its wealthy stag nighters and transient rich kid artiste wannabes. In winter the streets should be the color of absinthe. In summer they are the amber and deep brown of aged wood. They smell of marionettes and cheap beer. Fat genial americans and pimply english youths pass me in binary succession, a string of 1s and 0s encoding a secret fascination that all tourist cities hold, the magnetic pull of the ancient and wondrous.
Labels: travel
Monday, January 30, 2006
Riga nights
[tags: _travel]
Old Riga from the Skyline Bar, Reval Hotel Latvija
We've just come back from a long weekend in Riga, the capital of Latvia. Lots of Brits on booze cruise mode in the plane, but otherwise we spent a very enjoyable three days walking round the old city, taking photos, gorging on some delicious Baltic and Japanese food, and of course, downing unhealthy amounts of alcohol (try the Black Balzams if you dare...!)
Before the fall of the Soviet Union (but after the war... pick any war, they had lots) Riga used to be known for its Art Nouveau (Jugendstijl) architecture, buildings with intricate decorative faces, "natural" columns and intertwining leaves... now the capital of Latvia, along with its sisters Tallinn and Vilnius, are gaining reputations for hot women and cheap booze, which are drawing Scandinavian and British yobs in droves to its icy streets.
Art, Architecture and Nekkid Women.
As with the best sorts of holidays, it's the photos we DIDN'T take that are the best ones (cue memories of the Velvets club off St Paul's Basilica - pole dancers and champagne with cherries!), but the other 298 pics we took aren't too shabby either. (As an aside, I really enjoy partying it up with my fiancé. It was nice to hang out in the I Love You cafe just doodling and drinking wine and coffee without any sense of irony whatsoever.)
Meanwhile, in the REAL world... things are settling down nicely in our new flat. After coming back early in January Van and I took a while to clean it up and get some of the furniture sorted. We still have a corner full of stuff to dispose but that can wait. It's back to work for us in the meantime.
Old Riga from the Skyline Bar, Reval Hotel Latvija
We've just come back from a long weekend in Riga, the capital of Latvia. Lots of Brits on booze cruise mode in the plane, but otherwise we spent a very enjoyable three days walking round the old city, taking photos, gorging on some delicious Baltic and Japanese food, and of course, downing unhealthy amounts of alcohol (try the Black Balzams if you dare...!)
Before the fall of the Soviet Union (but after the war... pick any war, they had lots) Riga used to be known for its Art Nouveau (Jugendstijl) architecture, buildings with intricate decorative faces, "natural" columns and intertwining leaves... now the capital of Latvia, along with its sisters Tallinn and Vilnius, are gaining reputations for hot women and cheap booze, which are drawing Scandinavian and British yobs in droves to its icy streets.
Art, Architecture and Nekkid Women.As with the best sorts of holidays, it's the photos we DIDN'T take that are the best ones (cue memories of the Velvets club off St Paul's Basilica - pole dancers and champagne with cherries!), but the other 298 pics we took aren't too shabby either. (As an aside, I really enjoy partying it up with my fiancé. It was nice to hang out in the I Love You cafe just doodling and drinking wine and coffee without any sense of irony whatsoever.)
Meanwhile, in the REAL world... things are settling down nicely in our new flat. After coming back early in January Van and I took a while to clean it up and get some of the furniture sorted. We still have a corner full of stuff to dispose but that can wait. It's back to work for us in the meantime.
Labels: travel
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
While I was away...
I am guiltily pointing out the huge black hole of blog entries in what turned out to be a very eventful November. My only excuse is that being homeless (and telephonically harrassing my solicitor to get our flat done and dusted) occupied my waking days back then. However, Pusangpalaboy gives a great intro to our long weekend in Marrakesh, and I hope she continues the narrative (hint, hint!) in future entries.
Labels: random stuff, travel
I keep coming back to Manila
[tags: _travel ¦ _philippines]
My body says 8am, but my watch says 4 in the afternoon. Welcome back to the Philippines, the acid whispers of exhaustion on my tendon strings tell me. After being in one position, more or less, for 25 hours straight, I don't blame them at all.
We landed at about 0530, just short of six hours behind schedule, and had a cheap laugh at the entry gate when a bold blue sign announced "Welcome to BIRD FLU FREE Philippines!" I guess they make all the birds walk on the "disinfecting" carpet before flying into territorial waters. Good job, guys! Maybe you can tackle AIDS next.
Nanay and Tatay met us at the exit and we drove home. Aggie is now almost five foot tall and Gikoy is scraping the 5'10 mark. My siblings are getting the growth spurt I never had. Even oreo the lab puppy is now big enough to knock us all over. Ain't I supposed to feel TALLER back home? Ah well.
All this time I'm chilling out in the cafe, and the quality of light here in Manila is different - somehow less bright, as if daylight struggles to get through the poison cloud permanently above the city - a lesson to Londoners who are now being blanketed by the spume of a recent oil fire.
Just had lunch with Heda and some of her Med friends. Heda spent two months in the US and came back the day before I did. She still has her friends, her familiar hangouts and her habits to fall back on, automatically. Three years on, and I'm totally adrift, the day stretches out before me and I can't connect to anything concrete. I remember, as though in another life, hanging out in these same malls, driving down the same roads, but the memory seems totally unrelated to the NOW. It's less a homecoming than a sightseeing.
I've been here before though. In time, as the days pile on, the old habits will settle on me like blankets, and I will no longer feel the need to wash the dishes after a meal, nor complain about the heat, I will lose my patience in traffic and I will be shoving in with the rest of them on the MRT. Given enough time (and two and a bit weeks is never enough time), I will even start bitching about the prices again, and lay about in the house watching cable all day, because one can get used to ANYTHING, even things you swore you would never do, because you fit the life you're in, and not the other way round. I'm happy to come home, but happier that at the end of our visit, another home awaits, one with only five channels. And bright sunlight over water.
My body says 8am, but my watch says 4 in the afternoon. Welcome back to the Philippines, the acid whispers of exhaustion on my tendon strings tell me. After being in one position, more or less, for 25 hours straight, I don't blame them at all.
We landed at about 0530, just short of six hours behind schedule, and had a cheap laugh at the entry gate when a bold blue sign announced "Welcome to BIRD FLU FREE Philippines!" I guess they make all the birds walk on the "disinfecting" carpet before flying into territorial waters. Good job, guys! Maybe you can tackle AIDS next.
Nanay and Tatay met us at the exit and we drove home. Aggie is now almost five foot tall and Gikoy is scraping the 5'10 mark. My siblings are getting the growth spurt I never had. Even oreo the lab puppy is now big enough to knock us all over. Ain't I supposed to feel TALLER back home? Ah well.
All this time I'm chilling out in the cafe, and the quality of light here in Manila is different - somehow less bright, as if daylight struggles to get through the poison cloud permanently above the city - a lesson to Londoners who are now being blanketed by the spume of a recent oil fire.
Just had lunch with Heda and some of her Med friends. Heda spent two months in the US and came back the day before I did. She still has her friends, her familiar hangouts and her habits to fall back on, automatically. Three years on, and I'm totally adrift, the day stretches out before me and I can't connect to anything concrete. I remember, as though in another life, hanging out in these same malls, driving down the same roads, but the memory seems totally unrelated to the NOW. It's less a homecoming than a sightseeing.
I've been here before though. In time, as the days pile on, the old habits will settle on me like blankets, and I will no longer feel the need to wash the dishes after a meal, nor complain about the heat, I will lose my patience in traffic and I will be shoving in with the rest of them on the MRT. Given enough time (and two and a bit weeks is never enough time), I will even start bitching about the prices again, and lay about in the house watching cable all day, because one can get used to ANYTHING, even things you swore you would never do, because you fit the life you're in, and not the other way round. I'm happy to come home, but happier that at the end of our visit, another home awaits, one with only five channels. And bright sunlight over water.
Labels: philippines, travel
Monday, August 29, 2005
Fest & Pest
[tags: _travel]
After Juliette and her Licks rocked Sziget, we had dinner and listened to the Mali band Tinariwen from the comfort of our tents. Then we headed off to the main stage again, to listen to the Main Event, Franz Ferdinand. The sea of people became impassable about a hundred yards from the stage. They immediately launched into their ultramegahyperglobo hits with frightening competency.
Zoom x10: Franz Ferdinand, and fog machine.
The rest of the night went by in a fatigued blur. We (finally) met up with Cydne and her friend Sally, went back for seconds to the muddy dance tent, and tramped round sampling the late night delights of the festival - more absinthe, more music, more everything. Met up with some gregarious Hungarians. Went to the Superstar DJ tent, took some late night espresso shots to prop us up for another hour, and finally wandered home to the tents at about 4pm.
I said goodbye to Van and her friends, and headed off for the Hotel Gellert and its mineral baths, where I would have a long, long soak in the 40 plus degree water and the menthol steam showers; do a few laps in the shared pool; and generally relax my sore aching muscles. After another quick coffee it was time to say goodbye to the city and head back to reality.
peace
After Juliette and her Licks rocked Sziget, we had dinner and listened to the Mali band Tinariwen from the comfort of our tents. Then we headed off to the main stage again, to listen to the Main Event, Franz Ferdinand. The sea of people became impassable about a hundred yards from the stage. They immediately launched into their ultramegahyperglobo hits with frightening competency.
Zoom x10: Franz Ferdinand, and fog machine.The rest of the night went by in a fatigued blur. We (finally) met up with Cydne and her friend Sally, went back for seconds to the muddy dance tent, and tramped round sampling the late night delights of the festival - more absinthe, more music, more everything. Met up with some gregarious Hungarians. Went to the Superstar DJ tent, took some late night espresso shots to prop us up for another hour, and finally wandered home to the tents at about 4pm.
* * *
The next morning we awoke just as the Festival Police were rounding up yesterday's day ticket holders. We trudged out happy but bitin, me trying to stay upright with the weight of the tents. Van had to fly out at 2pm, so we trammed our way to Kalvin ter and found lunch at a rather upmarket cafe who were nice enough not to notice our festival rags and rather muddy sneakers. Perfectly good coffee, though the food, as we were beginning to realize here in Budapest, was again on the salty side.I said goodbye to Van and her friends, and headed off for the Hotel Gellert and its mineral baths, where I would have a long, long soak in the 40 plus degree water and the menthol steam showers; do a few laps in the shared pool; and generally relax my sore aching muscles. After another quick coffee it was time to say goodbye to the city and head back to reality.
* * *
It's been almost two weeks now since our taste of Budapest; it feels like a world away. So much has happened since which I probably won't have time to talk about - our relentless hunt for a new place to live, plus Van's new job, and - just this bank holiday - my second stab at the MG Regency Run (London to Brighton via every nice country road in Surrey), and our glorious afternoon on the Brighton seafront where there was hardly a cloud in the sky. But I still look back fondly at Budapest, a riot of sights and sounds and tastes we'd love to come back to, some time next year.peace
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Das Festival
[tags: _travel]
So it's Sunday morning, and we've recovered from the previous night's excesses. Van, Marie and I pack up our stuff and, after a cake and coffee breakfast head out into the gray(ish) morning for Sziget 2005. Sziget literally means "island" in Hungarian, the island in question being directly north of Margaret Island (Margitsziget, strangely enough...). Having survived V Fest last year Vanessa and I were prepared for, well, a festival experience (no running water, plenty of mud and bugs, etc). Boy, were we surprised.
First of all, the queues were incredibly non-existent at the gate. You lined up at one of the many booths at the entrance, paid your 2000 HUF, and went in. You DO have to put on your wristband ticket correctly (sorry Van and Marie...), and we waited as we were set straight by the guards. Then we looked for camping space. We walked practically to the other side of the island where the world music tent was, pitched up in some random space, and finally, at 1230, went for a wander round the festival grounds.
Sziget is huge. Stalls were everywhere selling the usual festival fare (shirts, tattoos, alcohol) to the unusual (bungee jumping, EU membership). We ate sausages, gulyasz and potatoes and beer at one of the many feeding stops and walked the rest of the day, round the different venues. At this point the sun was out in full force; it felt great to have the afternoon to laze round with a kaffe in one hand and your camera in the other. After checking out the main tent area we stumbled across one of the dance tents, a veritable arena of mud since the dance floor was liberally showered from above to keep the ravers cool. Fan-fucking-tastic. We spent the better part of an hour there.
Van and me at the main stage - we're the ones looking at the camera.
Afterwards, we lazed about in a freetrade tent (free coffee too, though they had run out at this point); lazed about in a shisha tent; and lazed about in a smoothie tent. Oh yes, a lot of lazing was done, my Internet friend. That, and checking out the musical acts. This was the first world music festival I'd been to which actually lived up to its name. Tents and stages everywhere were packed with people setting up for the evening's shows, or just had random people strumming guitars, holding salsa lessons (Van danced at one while Marie slept the afternoon away), getting high (I was offered pills, maybe twice, in one tent) or getting horizontal (ehrmm... kids these days!). And the music ranged from techno to trance to folk to classical (yes I heard the distinct strains of a string ensemble) to headbanging Hare Krishnas. I kid you not.
At around five-ish Marie's friend Mathilde and her brother showed up, and we went back to our tents to make space for them. We headed off to the first of the main events that night, Tarace Boulba, a ska/fusion band with a bewildering array of performers dancing up and down the stage, and one weirdo who just provided comic entertainment with his hairdo. Like Put3ska, only Frencher.
Juliette Lewis wakes up, sees audience ogling her in night-shirted glory. Guitar guy hides head in shame.
We danced, laughed, nipped out early to catch Juliette Lewis and the Licks on the main stage. Now that was something special. Despite the crowd not knowing any of her songs, something she cheerfully admitted, she absolutely blew everyone away with her singing - like the Pretenders on crack - showmanship, and plain old fashioned sex appeal. Too many prepubescent males melted with her grrly antics. Too many wannabe rock chicks swooned when she crowd surfed for her band's finale. The band itself was "suspiciously handsome" as Van put it, but played blisteringly fast punk rock like it was 1982. Amazing.
We took a breather after this one, and so will I.
So it's Sunday morning, and we've recovered from the previous night's excesses. Van, Marie and I pack up our stuff and, after a cake and coffee breakfast head out into the gray(ish) morning for Sziget 2005. Sziget literally means "island" in Hungarian, the island in question being directly north of Margaret Island (Margitsziget, strangely enough...). Having survived V Fest last year Vanessa and I were prepared for, well, a festival experience (no running water, plenty of mud and bugs, etc). Boy, were we surprised.
First of all, the queues were incredibly non-existent at the gate. You lined up at one of the many booths at the entrance, paid your 2000 HUF, and went in. You DO have to put on your wristband ticket correctly (sorry Van and Marie...), and we waited as we were set straight by the guards. Then we looked for camping space. We walked practically to the other side of the island where the world music tent was, pitched up in some random space, and finally, at 1230, went for a wander round the festival grounds.
Sziget is huge. Stalls were everywhere selling the usual festival fare (shirts, tattoos, alcohol) to the unusual (bungee jumping, EU membership). We ate sausages, gulyasz and potatoes and beer at one of the many feeding stops and walked the rest of the day, round the different venues. At this point the sun was out in full force; it felt great to have the afternoon to laze round with a kaffe in one hand and your camera in the other. After checking out the main tent area we stumbled across one of the dance tents, a veritable arena of mud since the dance floor was liberally showered from above to keep the ravers cool. Fan-fucking-tastic. We spent the better part of an hour there.
Van and me at the main stage - we're the ones looking at the camera.
Afterwards, we lazed about in a freetrade tent (free coffee too, though they had run out at this point); lazed about in a shisha tent; and lazed about in a smoothie tent. Oh yes, a lot of lazing was done, my Internet friend. That, and checking out the musical acts. This was the first world music festival I'd been to which actually lived up to its name. Tents and stages everywhere were packed with people setting up for the evening's shows, or just had random people strumming guitars, holding salsa lessons (Van danced at one while Marie slept the afternoon away), getting high (I was offered pills, maybe twice, in one tent) or getting horizontal (ehrmm... kids these days!). And the music ranged from techno to trance to folk to classical (yes I heard the distinct strains of a string ensemble) to headbanging Hare Krishnas. I kid you not.
At around five-ish Marie's friend Mathilde and her brother showed up, and we went back to our tents to make space for them. We headed off to the first of the main events that night, Tarace Boulba, a ska/fusion band with a bewildering array of performers dancing up and down the stage, and one weirdo who just provided comic entertainment with his hairdo. Like Put3ska, only Frencher.
Juliette Lewis wakes up, sees audience ogling her in night-shirted glory. Guitar guy hides head in shame.
We danced, laughed, nipped out early to catch Juliette Lewis and the Licks on the main stage. Now that was something special. Despite the crowd not knowing any of her songs, something she cheerfully admitted, she absolutely blew everyone away with her singing - like the Pretenders on crack - showmanship, and plain old fashioned sex appeal. Too many prepubescent males melted with her grrly antics. Too many wannabe rock chicks swooned when she crowd surfed for her band's finale. The band itself was "suspiciously handsome" as Van put it, but played blisteringly fast punk rock like it was 1982. Amazing.
We took a breather after this one, and so will I.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Buda, bless us.
[tags: _travel]
Vanessa and I fell in love with Budapest in general and with the Sziget festival in particular, and I've been meaning to write in about the whole experience but Real Life keeps getting in the way. Suffice it to say, the weekend made up for the trials and tribulations of Friday (when Heathrow decided to fall over and die because no one could serve the crap canapes and sandwiches on board).
I first met up with Marie and Van after a nondescript flight out on Saturday and a bus and tube ride into the city center (Ferenciek tér station). A quick shower and change later, and we hit the streets and walked to the Chain Bridge (Lánchid). My first sight of the Danube, with Buda Castle in the background and the old style tram running past, was amazing.
A roaring sound in the distance, as we walked towards the bridge, turned out to be a helicopter shooting a scene for a movie, on the Chain Bridge itself. We thought it might have been Steven Spielberg's latest movie, although I really don't know anything about it - for all I know it could have been the climax to Jean-Claude Van Damme's comeback action flick. In any case the main bridge section was closed off and we had to walk on the side, the downdraft of the copter's blades was terrific and we couldn't hear a single thing.
Once we crossed over to the Buda side - as any guidebook would happily repeat, Buda and Pest used to be two cities until they were joined by the first Chain Bridge - we had some sausages, fries and veg from the roadside cafes and sat down on the bridge pilings for an alfresco dinner. The food in Hungary, is cheap, cheerful and hearty - full of good stuff like salt and cholesterol to get you through a festival weekend. After a couple of beers (and some necklaces which my two female companions lusted after), we eschewed the cable car and climbed the hill to Buda Castle.
The view from the castle was spectacular, the view from the nearby Fisherman's Bastion was even better. At night the ramparts of the Bastion were lit up and we stood on the walls and looked down on the Danube and felt, well, pretty fucking good.
Later on the chopper was gone from the Bridge and we enjoyed a gypsy jazz band who had gathered a crowd to themselves. Then it was back to the Pest side where yet another was being filmed, this time taking up the entire Andrassy street and causing us to detour. We stopped at a cafe for drinks (the aforementioned absinthe drilling a cavity into my forebrain) and staggered home with said Riesling and chips. A good night, and we haven't even gotten to the festival yet...
_travel
Vanessa and I fell in love with Budapest in general and with the Sziget festival in particular, and I've been meaning to write in about the whole experience but Real Life keeps getting in the way. Suffice it to say, the weekend made up for the trials and tribulations of Friday (when Heathrow decided to fall over and die because no one could serve the crap canapes and sandwiches on board).
I first met up with Marie and Van after a nondescript flight out on Saturday and a bus and tube ride into the city center (Ferenciek tér station). A quick shower and change later, and we hit the streets and walked to the Chain Bridge (Lánchid). My first sight of the Danube, with Buda Castle in the background and the old style tram running past, was amazing.
Once we crossed over to the Buda side - as any guidebook would happily repeat, Buda and Pest used to be two cities until they were joined by the first Chain Bridge - we had some sausages, fries and veg from the roadside cafes and sat down on the bridge pilings for an alfresco dinner. The food in Hungary, is cheap, cheerful and hearty - full of good stuff like salt and cholesterol to get you through a festival weekend. After a couple of beers (and some necklaces which my two female companions lusted after), we eschewed the cable car and climbed the hill to Buda Castle.
The view from the castle was spectacular, the view from the nearby Fisherman's Bastion was even better. At night the ramparts of the Bastion were lit up and we stood on the walls and looked down on the Danube and felt, well, pretty fucking good.
Later on the chopper was gone from the Bridge and we enjoyed a gypsy jazz band who had gathered a crowd to themselves. Then it was back to the Pest side where yet another was being filmed, this time taking up the entire Andrassy street and causing us to detour. We stopped at a cafe for drinks (the aforementioned absinthe drilling a cavity into my forebrain) and staggered home with said Riesling and chips. A good night, and we haven't even gotten to the festival yet...
_travel
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Morning in Budapest
[tags: _travel]
As I write this, we are freshening up after a night of exploring the gothic wonders of Budapest from both sides of the Danube. Thanks to Marie, we are holed up in an impressive flat minutes from the city district, making coffee out of an ancient espresso pot and packing up for tonight's Sziget festivities.
I thought I'd never make it, with BA scuttling my travel plans for Friday. That's another story entirely. For now, I'm just happy to be here. It's a fantastic city, the castles on the Buda side even more amazing at night, the cafes on the Pest side as gauché as anything in Paris or Amsterdam (don't tell Marie that!)
This morning, I just need to recover from that diabolical flaming absinthe served up to me last night... washed down with Riesling and chips. Ü
As I write this, we are freshening up after a night of exploring the gothic wonders of Budapest from both sides of the Danube. Thanks to Marie, we are holed up in an impressive flat minutes from the city district, making coffee out of an ancient espresso pot and packing up for tonight's Sziget festivities.
I thought I'd never make it, with BA scuttling my travel plans for Friday. That's another story entirely. For now, I'm just happy to be here. It's a fantastic city, the castles on the Buda side even more amazing at night, the cafes on the Pest side as gauché as anything in Paris or Amsterdam (don't tell Marie that!)
This morning, I just need to recover from that diabolical flaming absinthe served up to me last night... washed down with Riesling and chips. Ü
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Celebrity
It's been a while since I've read Neil Gaiman's blog, but Nanet recently informed me that he'd just been to Manila, where over 3000 people attended one of his readings / signings. Gaiman is a minor deity (an American God?) there due to the overwhelming popularity of his early comic work and later novels.
The funny thing is, I remember mentioning two years ago when I attended one of his signings in London how people in the Philippines would go mad if ever he came there. His answer was, "I've never been invited". Imagine that.
I like to think that my questions to him at least brought last weekend one step closer to reality. Celebrities who've never been there are always bowled over (Pearl Jam called it their most favorite venue for the Vs. tour). Plus, apparently our calamansi juice is vastly underappreciated.
In the Tent
posted by Neil 7/09/2005 12:54:00 PM
In the Philippines, the people are enthusiastic on a level that makes the Brazilians look reserved and polite. They shout very loudly when they're happy, too. There's a noise that a few thousand of the locals make when they all shout at once to let you know they're happy to see you that made me finally understand the idea of a wall of sound...
The funny thing is, I remember mentioning two years ago when I attended one of his signings in London how people in the Philippines would go mad if ever he came there. His answer was, "I've never been invited". Imagine that.
I like to think that my questions to him at least brought last weekend one step closer to reality. Celebrities who've never been there are always bowled over (Pearl Jam called it their most favorite venue for the Vs. tour). Plus, apparently our calamansi juice is vastly underappreciated.
In the Tent
posted by Neil 7/09/2005 12:54:00 PM
In the Philippines, the people are enthusiastic on a level that makes the Brazilians look reserved and polite. They shout very loudly when they're happy, too. There's a noise that a few thousand of the locals make when they all shout at once to let you know they're happy to see you that made me finally understand the idea of a wall of sound...
Labels: books, greece, london, news, philippines, random stuff, travel, USA
Saturday, May 21, 2005
And so it goes.
[tags: _travel]
A single friend of ours asked whether it was worth going to Venice. My answer, sadly, was "not if you're single". It's true; the conspiracy against singletons is at its peak here in "romantic" venice, where every bridge is made for sighing, the very streets seeming to hold hands across the water. Venice was also made for mystery, and darkness; McEwan's The Comfort of Strangers takes place in an ur-Venice where every shadow is suspect; the Death story of Endless Nights also invokes its strange history. And then, of course, there are the masks.
A sheet of rain greeted us at the entrance; showers came and went and so did we. The weather rewarded us with rainbows (it was almost British in unpredictability) and fantastic shots of the sinking sun against the canals.
After dinner, we roamed round the opposite bank from San Marco and took pictures of the imposing Cathedral there. We then crossed over to the Square again, where people gathered near Florian's cafe and its rival Danieli to listen to the musicians. The crowds had mostly lessened, but the chilly night air didn't dampen our spirits. We finally came home at 1:30am, fully worn out but utterly satisfied.
A single friend of ours asked whether it was worth going to Venice. My answer, sadly, was "not if you're single". It's true; the conspiracy against singletons is at its peak here in "romantic" venice, where every bridge is made for sighing, the very streets seeming to hold hands across the water. Venice was also made for mystery, and darkness; McEwan's The Comfort of Strangers takes place in an ur-Venice where every shadow is suspect; the Death story of Endless Nights also invokes its strange history. And then, of course, there are the masks.
Bridge of Sighs
A sheet of rain greeted us at the entrance; showers came and went and so did we. The weather rewarded us with rainbows (it was almost British in unpredictability) and fantastic shots of the sinking sun against the canals.
Sunset from Ponte Tre Archi
After dinner, we roamed round the opposite bank from San Marco and took pictures of the imposing Cathedral there. We then crossed over to the Square again, where people gathered near Florian's cafe and its rival Danieli to listen to the musicians. The crowds had mostly lessened, but the chilly night air didn't dampen our spirits. We finally came home at 1:30am, fully worn out but utterly satisfied.
San Marco at Night
Venezia, rapidamente
[tags: _travel]
(first part here).
Saturday morning, we were up early to sort out our breakfast (cream croissants and cappuccinos). We wandered up Canareggio district to the Ponte Tre Archi and admired the view of the mainland. Van raved about the flower boxes in every window and the colorful, sea-faded look of the houses.
Sadly, we fell at the first hurdle and bought Venetian carnival masks at the very first souveneir shop we saw. Thankfully, they didn't rip us off too badly and were very friendly as we tried on various configurations of Arlecchino and cat's faces.
On our way to the main attractions (the Rialto and San Marco) we ducked into the Franchetti Gallery in the Ca' d' Oro (the house of gold?) Local favorite Titian (Tiziano) was on display here, as was a stunning portrait of St Bartholomew being pierced by arrows. From the grandly sculpted balconies, we watched the vaporetti cruise along the Canal. In the courtyard of the museum the tiled floors were fantastic in the morning sunshine.
After the Franchetti, we followed the signs to the Rialto like the growing horde of tourists behind us. The wonderful thing about Venice is that you forget you are on a fantasy island, as you wander the shops and get lost in the crowds, then you turn left and a canal winds away into the open lagoon beyond. At the Ponte Rialto we stopped for gelato, then crossed over into the sights and smells of the fish and veg market and sat down for a breather. We watched cheerful gondolieri steer fat American ladies with cameras away from the water; and locals chatting away over bundles of asparagus and sugar beet.
Continuing our slow way to San Marco, I began to appreciate the timelessness of the place, at once endangered and eternal. Everywhere you looked - in the adjustable flood barriers, the takeover of the tourist industry from actual Venetians - you could see the death of a city that should never have been in the first place.
Finally, we arrived at St. Mark's Cathedral and Square. At first I was a bit underwhelmed - sure, the square itself was a fantastic sight; and the Cathedral equally so; but as squares go, it was dwarfed by Tiananmen and out-splendored by Brussels' Grand Plaza. Maybe it was the long walk in preparation for it; or the lack of sun by the time we got there; or the tourists and pigeons, symbiotically dancing with breadcrumbs in every available space. However, inside the Cathedral my spirits lifted. Intricately tiled floors, bronze and beaten gold on the walls and vaults; the Byzantine glory of a place where the eastern and western churches bid for power. The altar screen of the church alone was inlaid with thousands of jewels of every concievable size and variety.
After buying a few more trinkets from the handy trinket shops outside the Doges Palace, we looped round to the Bridge of Sighs (nice, but nothing special - the tourist crush was really getting to me) and took a well-deserved lunch break with sandwiches and wine in a nearby cafe.
(first part here).
Saturday morning, we were up early to sort out our breakfast (cream croissants and cappuccinos). We wandered up Canareggio district to the Ponte Tre Archi and admired the view of the mainland. Van raved about the flower boxes in every window and the colorful, sea-faded look of the houses.
Sadly, we fell at the first hurdle and bought Venetian carnival masks at the very first souveneir shop we saw. Thankfully, they didn't rip us off too badly and were very friendly as we tried on various configurations of Arlecchino and cat's faces.
On our way to the main attractions (the Rialto and San Marco) we ducked into the Franchetti Gallery in the Ca' d' Oro (the house of gold?) Local favorite Titian (Tiziano) was on display here, as was a stunning portrait of St Bartholomew being pierced by arrows. From the grandly sculpted balconies, we watched the vaporetti cruise along the Canal. In the courtyard of the museum the tiled floors were fantastic in the morning sunshine.
from the Ca'd'Oro
After the Franchetti, we followed the signs to the Rialto like the growing horde of tourists behind us. The wonderful thing about Venice is that you forget you are on a fantasy island, as you wander the shops and get lost in the crowds, then you turn left and a canal winds away into the open lagoon beyond. At the Ponte Rialto we stopped for gelato, then crossed over into the sights and smells of the fish and veg market and sat down for a breather. We watched cheerful gondolieri steer fat American ladies with cameras away from the water; and locals chatting away over bundles of asparagus and sugar beet.
Continuing our slow way to San Marco, I began to appreciate the timelessness of the place, at once endangered and eternal. Everywhere you looked - in the adjustable flood barriers, the takeover of the tourist industry from actual Venetians - you could see the death of a city that should never have been in the first place.
en route to San Marco
Finally, we arrived at St. Mark's Cathedral and Square. At first I was a bit underwhelmed - sure, the square itself was a fantastic sight; and the Cathedral equally so; but as squares go, it was dwarfed by Tiananmen and out-splendored by Brussels' Grand Plaza. Maybe it was the long walk in preparation for it; or the lack of sun by the time we got there; or the tourists and pigeons, symbiotically dancing with breadcrumbs in every available space. However, inside the Cathedral my spirits lifted. Intricately tiled floors, bronze and beaten gold on the walls and vaults; the Byzantine glory of a place where the eastern and western churches bid for power. The altar screen of the church alone was inlaid with thousands of jewels of every concievable size and variety.
After buying a few more trinkets from the handy trinket shops outside the Doges Palace, we looped round to the Bridge of Sighs (nice, but nothing special - the tourist crush was really getting to me) and took a well-deserved lunch break with sandwiches and wine in a nearby cafe.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
La Serenissima
[tags: _travel]
We came in the dead of night, after a long and tiring trek across London, into Stansted and out again; flying through grey cloud towards Treviso airport. Then a bus ride through suburban streets punctuated by neon signs advertising the "F.A.R.T. Club" and Eastern European hookers winking from gas stations and streetcorners. We came in the dead of night, over the long bridge from Mestre and into Venice.
Instantly as we left the bus station on foot, the air changed, the night became clearer and quieter, and the only sounds we heard were footsteps. The glassy waters of Venice at night are even more serene and beautiful than I had hoped for. Van was just as giddy as I was; the exhaustion seemed to fall away from our shoulders.
We eventually found our (extortionate but conveniently placed) hotel and checked in before heading out again to have a drink and a look round. Other backpackers wandered past, some of them more than once, trying to find a hostel on the island in vain. This was the weekend of the voga longa (one of the largest of 100+ regattas held in Venice each year) - there were simply no rooms to be had for love or money. Silently I thanked the stars that we were able to reserve only a week in advance.
In the chill night air, we made our way to the Grand Canal and took photos of the passing vaporetti. Past midnight, and still an occasional flash of cameras from the water taxis. The locals, sensibly, had all gone to sleep, leaving us tourists to walk with the ghosts of the city.
We came in the dead of night, after a long and tiring trek across London, into Stansted and out again; flying through grey cloud towards Treviso airport. Then a bus ride through suburban streets punctuated by neon signs advertising the "F.A.R.T. Club" and Eastern European hookers winking from gas stations and streetcorners. We came in the dead of night, over the long bridge from Mestre and into Venice.
Instantly as we left the bus station on foot, the air changed, the night became clearer and quieter, and the only sounds we heard were footsteps. The glassy waters of Venice at night are even more serene and beautiful than I had hoped for. Van was just as giddy as I was; the exhaustion seemed to fall away from our shoulders.
We eventually found our (extortionate but conveniently placed) hotel and checked in before heading out again to have a drink and a look round. Other backpackers wandered past, some of them more than once, trying to find a hostel on the island in vain. This was the weekend of the voga longa (one of the largest of 100+ regattas held in Venice each year) - there were simply no rooms to be had for love or money. Silently I thanked the stars that we were able to reserve only a week in advance.
In the chill night air, we made our way to the Grand Canal and took photos of the passing vaporetti. Past midnight, and still an occasional flash of cameras from the water taxis. The locals, sensibly, had all gone to sleep, leaving us tourists to walk with the ghosts of the city.
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