On the way back from the UK....
Jul. 23rd, 2002 10:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mangosteen[Ed Note: This is the journal entry I wrote a week ago, when I actually did return from the UK, but it got pre-empted. Vaya con dios, Rich.]
So, I find myself in a speeding aluminum cylinder again.
Observation: People can be put in miserable, cramped situations, but if you keep them sufficiently distracted, and there is a definite end in sight, they really don't seem to care. Virgin Atlantic Airways has made a business out of it.
My family and I landed in LHR (London, Heathrow airport) on Friday morning, and were transported from the airport to the hotel by someone who knew London like the back of their hand, but couldn't seem to find his way out of Heathrow airport. In any event, as soon as I got to the room and did the ceremonial five-minute collapse on the bed, I took stock of things. The room was small. No surprise, really. One of the things that one has to get used to when going from the US to the UK is that people are used to taking up less space. It's crowded over there. It's just a fact of life. Either way, I got out of the hotel immediately, and made my way over to King's Cross station to head up to Cambridge.
As soon as I got to the station, I felt a pang of familiarity. I had been in this place before. Quite a few times, in fact. It wasn't the feeling of "I'm home", for I never have called London "home". It was more like "I'm back." I have returned, and it's great to be back. I got on the train, got up to Cambridge, wandered around a bit, and then made my way over to the pub where the standard Friday night Geek Pub Gathering was. It was fun. Lots of good beer, and surprisingly decent food. Lots of people who walked in, recognized me, and shook my hand telling me how good it was to see me again. There's an undeniable sense of continuity that comes from seeing people in the same setting over and over again, regardless of how long it has been between meetings. The "Brigadoon Effect", as it were. This is what causes large regional sci-fi conventions to endure, I suppose.
Helpful Safety Tip: Lager Kills Vindaloo. Remember this. Your life may depend on it someday.
After stumbling off to a friend's place and sleeping off the effects of losing a round of "get the Yank drunk", I took my own sweet time getting out of bed. I had no doubt that my family was embarking on yet another cultural blitzkrieg down in London, as they had all the other times they've been here, but I had other plans. Like sleep. Lots of it. Got up, put my face on, and then headed out with N to go punting down the Cam. Translation: going down a relatively shallow river in a flat-bottomed shallow-beam boat (aka "the punt"), using a pole (aka "the pole") that you stick in the water as the primary means of propulsion and steering. N drove. I just slouched down in the boat in abject terror. He was a great driver. I was just terrified about falling into a very rich aqueous ecosystem.
Observation: In certain circumstances, ducks do get the fever for the flavor of Pringle's Potato Chips. Particularly "sour cream and onion" flavor. I have proof.
After returning to the dock, and making it to the train station barely on time, I headed back down to London to meet up with my family to see The Lion King at the Lyceum Theatre. The costumes and set design were works of true genius. The music was really good. The drama... well, it was an adaptation of a Disney movie. It was as good as could be expected, and certainly not bad, but suffice it to say that that's not the reason I saw the show.
The next morning was the family reunion. Me, my parents, and my siblings were the only family from the US in attendance. Everyone else was from the UK. They are all thin-to-average build. So is the rest of my immediate family. I was the only fat guy there. This was vaguely embarrassing, most likely because of the "big fat American" stereotype I'm used to hearing on a regular basis when traveling overseas. This is my neurosis. There are many like it, but this one is mine. The family were all quite happy to see me, although most of them hadn't seen me in 27 years or so. It was like a class reunion, but you all felt like you should be really happy to see each other. For the most part, actually, I was happy to see the UK crew. This is my extended family, far-flung as it may be.
One somewhat unnerving thing was that I picked up what passed for a London accent within about three days of my visit. Not just some really atrocious parody of one, an actual real live "what are these words that are coming out of my mouth" London accent. Genuinely credible, to the point where my standard issue Northeast US accent actually sounded nasal and grating.
Exposition: One of the most interesting things about accents, at least when compared relative to a single language (let's say English), is that it all comes down to a "default positioning" of the teeth, lips and tongue. This is to say that there is a neutral position for your sound-producing apparatus, and that all sounds come from moving from that neutral point. Change the neutral point, and the sounds that are the easiest to make, and the method for making them, are significantly different. A Chicagoan has a different neutral position from a New Yorker, who has a different one than a Londoner. Find the neutral position for an accent, and you're about 75% of the way to getting it. The rest is handling diphtongs that Just Don't Exist in your accent, a couple of contortions for making certain vowels (e.g. the retroflex "d" and "t" in an Indian accent), and general pacing.
The next day, I went with my sister to see a few sights that were of mutual interest. One thing I've learned on past trips to the UK is that I didn't want to take the cultural blitzkrieg approach so much, that I didn't see much of anything at all, even though I did a lot of walking around. It was still fun, but I didn't do as much as I wanted to. There's a happy medium. Yeah, I know. "Quelle suprise, Batman". Work with me, I'm still new to this "tourist" thing. My little sister provided an appropriate foil. We went to Covent Garden, walked around Soho, and later hung out with my brother at the pub near the hotel. My siblings are good people. More's the pity that we only regarded each other as human beings within the past three years or so.
The next day it was me, my brother, and my sister, going to the Tate Modern, which was fascinating, going to Covent Garden again to actually do the shopping we planned to do previously, and then I went off to hang out with someone I knew from the US, because this was the only time that our schedules meshed. All that, followed by more hanging out at the pub, and then prepping for the trip home.
So here I am. In a canister hurtling along at 550 knots. I had fun. Lots of it. The next trip I take will not be to London, though. Mind you, any more international travel is predicated on me being re-employed. Optimistically, I see a trip to Amsterdam in my future. There's an incredible amount to see, and it would be nice to hang out and bond with the siblings again.
Two hours until landing. Time for a quick nap before dealing with immigration at JFK. Another stamp in the passport for the semi-intrepid international traveler.
So, I find myself in a speeding aluminum cylinder again.
Observation: People can be put in miserable, cramped situations, but if you keep them sufficiently distracted, and there is a definite end in sight, they really don't seem to care. Virgin Atlantic Airways has made a business out of it.
My family and I landed in LHR (London, Heathrow airport) on Friday morning, and were transported from the airport to the hotel by someone who knew London like the back of their hand, but couldn't seem to find his way out of Heathrow airport. In any event, as soon as I got to the room and did the ceremonial five-minute collapse on the bed, I took stock of things. The room was small. No surprise, really. One of the things that one has to get used to when going from the US to the UK is that people are used to taking up less space. It's crowded over there. It's just a fact of life. Either way, I got out of the hotel immediately, and made my way over to King's Cross station to head up to Cambridge.
As soon as I got to the station, I felt a pang of familiarity. I had been in this place before. Quite a few times, in fact. It wasn't the feeling of "I'm home", for I never have called London "home". It was more like "I'm back." I have returned, and it's great to be back. I got on the train, got up to Cambridge, wandered around a bit, and then made my way over to the pub where the standard Friday night Geek Pub Gathering was. It was fun. Lots of good beer, and surprisingly decent food. Lots of people who walked in, recognized me, and shook my hand telling me how good it was to see me again. There's an undeniable sense of continuity that comes from seeing people in the same setting over and over again, regardless of how long it has been between meetings. The "Brigadoon Effect", as it were. This is what causes large regional sci-fi conventions to endure, I suppose.
Helpful Safety Tip: Lager Kills Vindaloo. Remember this. Your life may depend on it someday.
After stumbling off to a friend's place and sleeping off the effects of losing a round of "get the Yank drunk", I took my own sweet time getting out of bed. I had no doubt that my family was embarking on yet another cultural blitzkrieg down in London, as they had all the other times they've been here, but I had other plans. Like sleep. Lots of it. Got up, put my face on, and then headed out with N to go punting down the Cam. Translation: going down a relatively shallow river in a flat-bottomed shallow-beam boat (aka "the punt"), using a pole (aka "the pole") that you stick in the water as the primary means of propulsion and steering. N drove. I just slouched down in the boat in abject terror. He was a great driver. I was just terrified about falling into a very rich aqueous ecosystem.
Observation: In certain circumstances, ducks do get the fever for the flavor of Pringle's Potato Chips. Particularly "sour cream and onion" flavor. I have proof.
After returning to the dock, and making it to the train station barely on time, I headed back down to London to meet up with my family to see The Lion King at the Lyceum Theatre. The costumes and set design were works of true genius. The music was really good. The drama... well, it was an adaptation of a Disney movie. It was as good as could be expected, and certainly not bad, but suffice it to say that that's not the reason I saw the show.
The next morning was the family reunion. Me, my parents, and my siblings were the only family from the US in attendance. Everyone else was from the UK. They are all thin-to-average build. So is the rest of my immediate family. I was the only fat guy there. This was vaguely embarrassing, most likely because of the "big fat American" stereotype I'm used to hearing on a regular basis when traveling overseas. This is my neurosis. There are many like it, but this one is mine. The family were all quite happy to see me, although most of them hadn't seen me in 27 years or so. It was like a class reunion, but you all felt like you should be really happy to see each other. For the most part, actually, I was happy to see the UK crew. This is my extended family, far-flung as it may be.
One somewhat unnerving thing was that I picked up what passed for a London accent within about three days of my visit. Not just some really atrocious parody of one, an actual real live "what are these words that are coming out of my mouth" London accent. Genuinely credible, to the point where my standard issue Northeast US accent actually sounded nasal and grating.
Exposition: One of the most interesting things about accents, at least when compared relative to a single language (let's say English), is that it all comes down to a "default positioning" of the teeth, lips and tongue. This is to say that there is a neutral position for your sound-producing apparatus, and that all sounds come from moving from that neutral point. Change the neutral point, and the sounds that are the easiest to make, and the method for making them, are significantly different. A Chicagoan has a different neutral position from a New Yorker, who has a different one than a Londoner. Find the neutral position for an accent, and you're about 75% of the way to getting it. The rest is handling diphtongs that Just Don't Exist in your accent, a couple of contortions for making certain vowels (e.g. the retroflex "d" and "t" in an Indian accent), and general pacing.
The next day, I went with my sister to see a few sights that were of mutual interest. One thing I've learned on past trips to the UK is that I didn't want to take the cultural blitzkrieg approach so much, that I didn't see much of anything at all, even though I did a lot of walking around. It was still fun, but I didn't do as much as I wanted to. There's a happy medium. Yeah, I know. "Quelle suprise, Batman". Work with me, I'm still new to this "tourist" thing. My little sister provided an appropriate foil. We went to Covent Garden, walked around Soho, and later hung out with my brother at the pub near the hotel. My siblings are good people. More's the pity that we only regarded each other as human beings within the past three years or so.
The next day it was me, my brother, and my sister, going to the Tate Modern, which was fascinating, going to Covent Garden again to actually do the shopping we planned to do previously, and then I went off to hang out with someone I knew from the US, because this was the only time that our schedules meshed. All that, followed by more hanging out at the pub, and then prepping for the trip home.
So here I am. In a canister hurtling along at 550 knots. I had fun. Lots of it. The next trip I take will not be to London, though. Mind you, any more international travel is predicated on me being re-employed. Optimistically, I see a trip to Amsterdam in my future. There's an incredible amount to see, and it would be nice to hang out and bond with the siblings again.
Two hours until landing. Time for a quick nap before dealing with immigration at JFK. Another stamp in the passport for the semi-intrepid international traveler.
