More about Life

Christmas is a time for family, buying stuff and remembering the world's most famous magical Jew. Many of us cram onto planes, spend hours queuing in shops and feel very lucky not to have to spend the holidays giving birth to babies, surrounded by animals because we'd forgotten that the Holiday Inn Beth Lehem is always booked up this time of year.

A few days before the famous day itself, we crept early out of our flat, leaving our feline family to fly to see my human one. My parents live near Brighton, the British Florida. The main difference is, of course, that the British sun retired a long time ago to the American Florida.

With a few days before Christmas, we used our time wisely: We shopped amidst the crowds and pockets of hopeful carol singers; pretty much the way early Christians did, although there was less tinsel in those days.

We did much of our shopping in the nearby town of Lewis. Lewis is a pretty, historic town populated by people who only read first editions of ancient books. This is based on the fact that there are two small shops selling new books, two small second hand bookstores and about a dozen antique bookstores. All of the rest of the shops are charity shops which is a well-recorded phenomenon in the UK.

The main shopping area was filled with seasonal busking, often done by kids who of the age when they really ought to be out hanging round bus shelters. Most notable being one young guy playing carols mournfully on a clarinet. I enjoyed it because, for me, it summed up the pathos of the season and was a nice break from the otherwise relentless good cheer.

We also used our time to grab some kultcha. Cath is a fan of Mark Rothko who was having a retrospective at the Tate Modern (formerly Battersea Power Station). For those of you know don't know, Rothko is famous for his huge works such as Black Square on Red Background; Red Square on Black Background and Black Square on Black Background.

The pieces are not only impressive in their size, but also in the work that went into them. It may seem like a simple shape painted on top of a painted canvas, but it took a surprising amount of planning and experimentation. Even the often rough edges of the shapes are very deliberately and specifically so. And they do have an impact when you see them in the flesh that a tiny little reproduction in a book or on a computer screen doesn't convey. It is however a very homageable style, and I have tried my own emulations. One of my efforts now hangs in a millionaire's villa in Southern France.

Christmas period itself was the usual mix of too much traditional British Christmas foods (minced pies, Christmas cake, sausages wrapped in bacon), traditional British Christmas television (James Bond, Morecombe and Wise. Wallace wrapped in Grommit) and the local village's annual Boxing Day pram race.

A couple of days after the festivities, it was time to return home. Our flight back was delayed a little. They tried to hide this for a while by not telling us, but sooner or later the cat was let out of the bag.

As usual the flights to Amsterdam are serviced by Sterile Island, a block of gates separated from the main terminus by a bridge into which is piped bird noises and new age music. As I have said before, standing on the conveyer belts in this bridge, with this calming audioscape coming at you and arriving at a half-empty, cold, remote, sterile place increasingly makes me think of a Soylent Green-style old folk reprocessing plant. It explains why 90% of the time, airline meals are "chicken." Old people taste of chicken. If you get "beef" or "lamb," you've got a Mediterranean labourer.

I wrote in my notes that we got upgraded to Club. This was so many flights ago and so short a flight, I don't recall it. And it wasn't as exciting as the time I got upgraded temporarily because I was allocated a seat where the stewardesses sleep. Actually that was more disappointing than exciting, and a different story.

For once the plane landed close to the terminal instead of in Utrecht, where it normally seems to land; there was no queue at immigration; so that meant the last possible delay to getting home was, yes of course, waiting for Schiphol's computer system to stop contemplating the meaning of life and deliver our luggage. Anyway, Merry Magical Jew Day!

Labels: Anthropology, Art, Christmas, Food, Music, Religion, Shopping, Transport, Travel, TV, UK

The usual breakfast maid must have been off today as the coffee was very weak indeed. Or they were expecting British people.

Apres le breakfast, we walked to the end of the hotel grounds and hopped over a disused gate onto a quiet country road. At the end of that, we recalculated and realised the forest we were heading for was further than anticipated, so decided to head up a narrow wooded path. But this soon began showing signs saying, "Private Property," or the French equivalent, and something about dogs. The signs were hand-written, which is always more ominous. After all, people who can afford fancy signs almost certainly have them there to keep you away from their nice stuff. Signs daubed on rough offcuts of wood seem to say, "please don't tempt me."

There was thick woodland all around us, but we found no paths in. The only one we did find ended in a small flat area of overgrown grass that was circled by bags on sticks. All very Projet De La Sorcière Blair.

We headed back along the country road. It took us to the outskirts of the village. At one point, we stopped off at one of those French cemeteries filled with concrete houses and ornate family tombs. In France, the dead often have better homes than many of the living.

One of the great finds this trip was cabécou, a goat cheese that Catherine does very well with. She has problems with cow's milk and sometimes even milks from other dairy creatures. She's not tried aphid milk. Once we found the main part of the village, we hunted around for places to buy this cheese in order to bring it back home and feast on it for the limited period it would keep.

As well as an inordinate number of hairdressers, the town has a vast collection of immobiliers, or estate agents, or (if you are American) real estate agents. I like the suggestion in "immobiliers" that they actually try to stop you moving.

Back at the hotel, our room was being cleaned so we sat and ate chocolate, watching the stream and admiring the bamboo forest. We were somewhat surprised to see a bamboo forest in Europe. Our conclusion was that the owner misses the colonial days of Vietnam or is harbouring a strange and terrible beast from South East Asia. (Perhaps a Malaysian vampire, a Myanma mummy or a Kung Pao Panda.)

After taking showers (pictures withheld) we wandered back into town. We made some young lass's day by spending a small fortune on French glamour in her cute little boutique and in return she told us her aspirations and long-distance relations. We then wandered and settled down by the riverside to paint and write. The sun was out, as it had been most of the day, and the scene was very conducive to artistic pursuits.

However, as we walked back, the rain started to do its thing. I also realised I was a little sunburnt. I burn very easily. My skin has the sunscreen factor of tissue paper. It is made almost exclusively of photolopustre cells that go instantly from bright off-white to a scary shade of lobster.

For dinner we ate at a place we'd seen earlier whose name I don't seem to have written down. However, I noted what we consumed because it was sumptuous: duck gizzards, filet mignon, cabécou, caramel d'Espelette (which I believe were something like caramelised hash browns). For dessert we had pear in wine and a great fruit and sorbet.

One of the key local fruits is the walnut. They use it to make cakes, oil and a great liqueur that we managed to have before pretty much every meal. If it had been available, we'd have had it at breakfast as well.

Wandering back past the Irish bar, we became fully aware of its lack of Irish credentials. The bar was open weekdays and nights, except Friday when it was only open during the day. Saywhatnow? An Irish bar that's not open Friday nights? Are they teetotallers? Is it a kosher thing? We were perplexed.

We walked back through the grounds of our hotel. One old stable had been converted into a games room and inside stood a fine table tennis table (where one could play table tennis tennis). The building was locked, although I'm sure we could have got the key. The trouble is it was so eerily dark and quiet in and around the almost certainly haunted stable, that we decided not to play. Instead we went skinny dipping at the old abandoned quarry. (That last bit wasn't true: we actually simply went to bed at the top of the old, old house.)

Labels: Anthropology, Drink, Europe, Food, Movies, Shopping, Sport, Travel, Wildlife

The main reason for our wee trip to Texas was to help celebrate Cath's parents 50th wedding anniversary. They've been married for longer than I've been and seen a lot of the world as well as some big shifts in the American socio-political landscape.

Unfortunately, preparing a shindig of this importance requires an awful lot of shopping. Fortunately, the US is a country designed around the concept of shopping. We went to Sam's Club which is a kind of wholesale warehouse where members (who pay the nominal joining fee) can buy anything from CDs to cakes. The Sam in question is the founder of Wal-Mart.

We next took in a pet superstore (the size of a large human supermarket in the Netherlands but just selling stuff for pets). Cath bought various cat-related things whilst I checked out the snakes and lizards. As ever the snakes and lizards were adorable. They sat in tanks surrounded by cheerily chirpy crickets. The crickets were of course oblivious to the fact their sole purpose in this new environment was to be a tasty treat for the reptiles. No lunch ever sang so contentedly.

Ourselves, we lunched at Schlotzsky's where they do Jewish-deli-inspired fast food. Every fast food place has to have a gimmick and Schlotzsky's is that is sells things like what a Jewish deli would sell, only made quicker and with more salt and sugar. The Mexican wait-staff only added to the air of authenticity.

Next we trawled around hobby and craft shops in buildings the size of aircraft hangers. The sewing and knitting sections of some of these stores are bigger than whole craft stores in the Netherlands.

In Hobby Lobby, whole shelves were given over to carved figurines all of which carried a label stating "for decorative use only." Really? What other use could there possibly be for them? I can only assume these were added after the store lost a law suit in favour of someone who tried to use one of their decorative objects for a dangerously functional task. The American legal system is a sort of Robin Hood apparatus, taking money from rich stores to give to the poorly intelligenced.

One quarter of the Hobby Lobby seemed to be given over to objets d'art that were inscribed with one of the following words: "Dream", "Hope" and "Faith." Apparently it’s a common thing in churches to have banners and things inscribed with similar things. Had there been one indefinable thing on which were carved large letters spelling "Object," I might have been tempted. But a box that says, "Hope?" What on earth would be in there. Now a little, black telephone book inscribed "Hope," that might sell.

Everywhere we went, we encountered black crow-like birds. They seem to like to stalk around car parks. Or it may just be that in Texas the place you spend most time outside in is car parks. Anyway they do a lot of wandering around car parks, cawing noisily and threatening to gang up and menace in a Hitchcockian style.

Church of the day (seen on a sign on the side of a pick-up truck): "Shiloh Cowboy Church." I know nothing about this church, but I have a very vivid image of what the congregation and services look like.

Labels: Anthropology, Food, Netherlands, Shopping, Travel, US, Wildlife

There is some controversy about Marriott hotels that I did not know about. Apparently the owners are Mormon. In theory you'd think they'd then not allow alcohol or porn. Mormons I know even look down on tea and coffee as stimulants. But no, you can get tea, coffee, alcohol AND porn in Marriott hotels. What would be the ultimate in hypocrisy would be if they then did not let you check in because you arrived with two wives. I've yet to try them out on this.

Obviously the controversy is that as 10% of the earnings of these top people goes to their church (by holy decree) and a % of this comes from porn, it means part of the splendour of the headquarters of Mormonism in Salt Lake City is paid for by alcohol and porn sales. But I assume it is okay if the porn has a Mormon flavour. I didn't look, but I assume the titles available are things like "The Book of Mammon", "The Story of Bring'em Young", "Seven Brides for One Brother", "Latter-Lay Saints" and "Salt Lake Titties."

The second and final day of Cath's conference. In posh hotels such as this, checking out is easy and can even be done over the phone. So Cath went off to the conference and left me with the luggage. Footballers' entourages include WAGS – wives and girlfriends; Internet Marketers' have BAHS – boyfriends and husbands. Although I found no others like me to form a club, so I had to go shoe-shopping on my own.

At home having to walk (or in fact cycle) over to the bank seems a chore and is met with apathy or even recalcitrance. But when you are on holiday, you will happily walk the few blocks to the bank. It's mainly to do with the fact the route is new to you.

Having done my research, I knew almost exactly where the Barnes and Noble was and how to get there from the bank. Even this wasn't enough to locate it first go. Normally these bookstores are visible from miles away - sometimes even from space - this one was more subtle and I really only stumbled upon it. The book store was mostly in the very large basement, see tomorrow for a history of that.

It took a while but eventually I arrived back at Pike Market and found a place to have breakfast. It was a French-style bakery. I ordered a pain au chocolat. Now the nice thing about pains aux chocolats is that they have this thin line of chocolate running through them which gives them a sweet kick. Obviously in America this isn't enough. This one had three thick strips of chocolate which totally took over the flavour of the thing. I didn't enjoy it. One of the school-kids on a trip to learn French (it being cheaper to take the kids to a bakery than to France) declared it as the greatest thing he's ever had. One day he'll go to France an have a real pain au chocolat and be disappointed. But by that time he'll be as fat as a house and the painier will just sneer at him.

I also ordered a coffee, but it took a while to get to me owing to the dishwasher suddenly flooding the place. I was on the outskirts of the water and quick enough to save my laptop bag from getting damp and threatening my new writing laptop, but the confusion consumed the whole of the staff for many minutes. I read and watched the good-natured mayhem.

Eventually the teacher of the kids came over and spoke to them in French. She had such a strong American accent that I could barely understand her. These poor kids are so going to get sneered at when they go to French. But I expect they are prepared for Canada.

I wandered along the piers and found myself outside of Ye Olde Curiosity Shop. It's THE place to buy shrunken heads, mummified bodies, stuffed Siamese-twin calves and random Native American memorabilia. They had totem poles for every occasion as well as jokes, t-shirts and dead creepy crawly paper weights. One favourite was a sign of a pirate saying "all ye who enter here, surrender the booty." Even the patrons had great gift ideas. The most Seattle gift I saw was a coffee holder that fits onto your pram or push chair. Just because you are walking your kids doesn't mean you don't want coffee. Sure coffee suspended above the feet of young children presents some health risks, but they should have thought of that when they asked to be born.

Labels: Anthropology, Books, Drink, Food, Language, Sex, Shopping, Transport, Travel, US

Today was the first day of Catherine's conference. I dutifully stayed back in the hotel and tidied the room. Chores done, I went for a wander. I had a greasy but pleasant breakfast sandwich at a pseudo-Italian snack bar. It wasn't really Italian as it didn't even have its own coffee. I had to go next door to a branch of Seattle's Best Coffee. And thank Java I did. I ordered a medium latte. I was expecting something the size of a thimble like you would get in Italy but instead got something that was the size of a car you would get in Italy. It was delicious, so I drank it all. A few minutes later I was buzzing in that healthy way too much caffeine gives you.

I had decided today was for shopping. I was partly walking/hiking shoes so first tried the near-by Army Surplus store. It was a great place for ex-army boots, Israeli gasmasks and camouflage bikinis. (I almost but didn't ask if they had any of the latter in Catherine's size. They seemed to be for display purposes only) Then I moved on to REI, outdoor recreation specialists. Their flagship store was on the other side of town. It seemed like a good walk. I figured if you can't walk (or wheel) to the hiking boot store, you shouldn't be allowed in.

I was unusually in a shopping mood. The mood doesn't take me often. I expect it was the influence of being in the US, where shopping is the number 3 national pastime after watching TV and eating. (Shooting sprees are down to 5 this year.) I bought walking shoes, a laptop case and even considered a moose backpack (as a gift you understand). I also nearly bought some wildlife puppets because they were so expressive and would be great for a puppet show. What stopped me was the question, "when the hell am I going to have time to put on a puppet show?"

I walked back the slightly longer way nearer the space needle. The space needle is easily the most distinct building in Seattle. It looks exactly like a space needle. Or a UFO on a launch post. Or that strange pattern on the side of the Frazier logo.

Seattle has an abundance of street people. They are certainly more visible than in other cities. But they are not threatening. In fact they seem entirely genial.

When nearly home, I was rewarded with an overly friendly decaf mocha from Tully's, another Seattle coffee chain. I swabbed it down with a sugar-rush apple thing. Not only were the staff super friendly, but even the young high dude who appeared at the door, waved and mouthed "hi, how ya doing?" to me. Once in, he asked a random question of the staff and called "leave her alone, dude" to someone on the phone as he left. Another hippy-cum-street person who left later said "hi" also to me as if he knew me. Maybe I have a double in Seattle living on the street. This would explain why I was acknowledged elaborately by at least one other person. It could also be explained by the fact that Seattle is the route into the US for heroin.

My next quest was to find a replacement power adaptor for Cath's laptop. Hers being sat on her desk back in Amsterdam. Here I will cut a long story short and simply say "nada." People in Seattle are very helpful. There are even people who are hired to stand on street corners and help you out with directions. So when someone tried to tell me where Barnes and Noble was, I gladly added my name to his list of helpees (which helps them be paid) and my country. As I told him was from London, he made me put this down as my country. It didn't matter that as he gave me two possible routes (or rowts) I got confused and failed to locate the shop.

That night we took another taxi to International Town (formerly Niptown, Chinkville and Oriental Express Freeway, according to the poster shop) and dined at the Shanghai Garden, I believe it was. It was very pleasant and the pepper squid had an unexpected kick to it.

Labels: Anthropology, Drink, Food, Shopping, TV, US, Wildlife

Some more last minute shopping to get those last few gifts. All of the towns around where my parents live seem to have one thing in common. Every other shop is a charity shop. From Oxfam to Help the Aged to Wieners without Schnitzels, every charity is represented. I don't really know why there should be so many but one thing is for sure, January is probably the best month for receiving second-hand things to sell.

Labels: Christmas, Shopping, Travel, UK