A Friendly Match

Tuesday evening some London friends and I bought tickets to attend the England/Ghana football (American soccer) match at Wembley Stadium. We decided to meet around 5:30 and eat since the match wasn't until 8. However, we still managed to be a little late. I've decided being late is a way of life for me in London. Distance travel and time are concepts I can't seem to fully grasp and understand here.

The spring forward time change happens several weeks after the change at home and just took place on Sunday. It's nice to have another hour of sunlight in the evenings and it was breathtaking walking up to the already iconic stadium with the sun setting around it. Once in our seats we were able the enjoy the match. We were in a mixed crowd area in the nosebleed section but the view was good. I never quite understood the term "friendly" match. I knew it didn't count for points but I had no idea that people would be cheering both ways. One guy had his face painted with the Ghana flag on one side and the England flag on the other. Many people wore scarves with each team on different ends, cheering for whoever was doing best at the moment. So many Americans are such die hard fans of the team they support that even the "friendliest" of matches could get messy. However, the 80,000 plus fans in the stadium Tuesday night just seemed happy to be there enjoying a very pleasant atmosphere.

After a hard fight from both teams England managed to score in the last minutes of the first half. My heart was a little disheartened having chosen to pull for Ghana (quite obviously for those of you who know me well); however, the whole place roared - Ghana fans included. I couldn't help but feel and enjoy the excitement. The second half was a hard fight between both teams and some very close goals for both sides. With four minutes to spare many people started to leave in order to beat the crowds to the tube station. However, a friend suggested we test our chances and stick it out until the end of the game. Two minutes later Ghana player, Asamoah Gyan, kicked a tricky goal kick and by a stoke of luck the ball soared straight by the England goalie into the awaiting net below making the score England 1 Ghana 1. The whole place roared, Ghana flags were flown and dances were done. The game ended with a tie making both sides happy and friendlier than ever.

I must admit the thought of 80,000 celebrating fans rushing toward the same tube line was a little overwhelming when leaving the stadium but the area planners and traffic officials had done a wonderful job designing and leading the crowds and effectively getting people safely out of the area and to home sweet home. Granted, the ride was rather tight and several arm pits were unintentionally shoved into faces, bad breathe was smelled and some accidentally passed bodily gasses; but all can be expected when traveling at a busy time on public transport.

Now that I've gotten my feet wet with European football, maybe I'm ready to brave a not so friendly local team game. Should the opportunity present itself I’d be hard pressed to turn it down.


Pictures by my boyfriend, Eastern Boy

“Are you a horny person?” A Southern Girl’s Experience in Ireland

This past weekend I took the opportunity to visit my good high school friend, Blondie, in western Ireland where she is student teaching this semester. The adventure started on Thursday morning when another friend from London and I boarded a Ryanair flight from London to the Shannon airport. The weekend was jam packed with shocking, surprising and hilarious experiences. However, I'll try to share only the best with you.

The Irish people are by far some of the friendliest people I have ever met. Being from the southern United States I experienced major culture shock when I realized Londoners don't talk to strangers. I often miss the random conversation with someone while standing in the line at the grocery store; but the Irish are the opposite and the change was quite pleasant.

The first night we spent in Limerick in a wonderful four star hotel, located within walking distance of the city center, where we had received a very great deal (hint - allowing us to stay within our student budget). Being it was St. Paddy's day we decide to follow Irish tradition and have a pint. The first bar we entered we could have heard a needle drop when we walked in (it is very much a local bar and we very obviously were not locals). We turned around, without getting a pint, and tripped on a few baby strollers on our way out the door. The second bar didn't serve food (something we all wanted desperately) and looked a little like it had an "underage" crowd, but the third pub was the charm! We probably would have missed it since it was hidden down a little side alley if the Irish music hadn't been spilling into the street luring us in. Inside the room was small and dimly lit but was the definition of what I always pictured as an Irish pub. All the tables were taken so we decided to gather in a back corner and wait. The first men to offer us the seats were probably old enough to be our grandfathers (however, we had the feeling they'd rather be our lovers). Sweet as it was, we didn't realize when we accepted the table that they would be joining us for the pint. Between the music and their slurred Irish accent (from old age, lack of teeth and far too much Guinness no doubt) the whole scene was rather comical. Somewhere between "please take our seat, I can't stand to leave a pretty lady standing" to "I'm a professional, can I take your picture" (with their point and shoot camera) to "can I have your email? I'll send you the pictures" we decided it was time to go. Giggling we walked around exploring Limerick before deciding it was safe to go back - thankfully they were gone. When we walked back in it was clear that everyone else in the bar knew that we were the American girls who had sat at the old men's table. I’ve had friends tell me that St. Pat’s in Ireland is not as big of a deal we make it in the States, but I must say I was not disappointed in the least. It was everything I expected and much more.

Now I’ve mentioned before that the London weather and my immune system don’t really get along and before this weekend the spring blooms had already set my allergies on full alert. Over the course of the weekend my symptoms worsened and between my spring cough and talking over Irish tunes I have completely lost my voice. Friday morning we took a bus to Listowel, my high school friend’s current “home” location. Listowel is one of the most pleasant places I have ever been. It’s quaint, bustling but quiet, surrounded by gorgeous landscapes, and decorated with bright colorful houses and shops.

Blondie has a lovely one bedroom flat in the city center and during her time she has become friends with the employees of the local bar across the street. She took us over to meet them on Friday evening. Over the course of the evening we found many of the (again) older local men chatting us up. And all of them had the cure for my struggling voice. My favorite advice came from a man with a thick Irish accent. He told us the same two stories (around 20 times) about when he’d been ill and the home remedies which worked for him. When the hot whiskey and honey he’d bought me didn’t do the trick on the spot he suggested I go to the local health food store and buy some honey. He insisted that the honey was made by “turbo bees” and that the bee farmers must give them extra “turbo” vitamins (when I questioned what turbo vitamins were he exclaimed “well I don’t know but they work!”) because they were the miracle drug. He caught me off guard when he paused and asked very seriously, “Are you a horny person?” My face displayed total shock for a good five seconds when the bartender said, “honey” and we all burst into fits of laughter. The difference in accent proved to be comical more than once.

Saturday we made our way back to Limerick for the night to be closer to the airport for our flight the next day. We weren’t as lucky to stay at the same place as before but found the budget hotel clean, comfortable and a good distance outside of the city center. I should pause here to explain Limerick doesn’t have the best reputation of Irish cities and is often referred to as a place a little rough around the edges. The teachers had warned Blondie and we were being careful but had had no problems so far. We decided to brave the less than reliable bus system (I feel so blessed to live in London where transport is so readably available, even if I curse it on many occasions). When the bus was 10 minutes late we should have given up and hailed a taxi, but determination had set in and we were patiently waiting when a car of teenage boys pulled up to the bus stop. They rolled down the window but said nothing. We heard a pop and they stared shocked at us before speeding off. It took us a moment to process what had happened and notice the smashed egg on Blondie’s leg. Now most people would be furious at the situation (and maybe it was lack of good sleep we had suffered over the last couple of days or the complete irony in the situation) but we just began to laugh and couldn’t stop. We kept replaying the occurrence – the boys’ shocked (maybe even disappointed) faces and our lack of reaction until after they’d gone were too much. We were walking to the nearest gas station to clean up the mess when the bus showed up (figures)! However, the evening was far from ruined and we sucked up our pride and decided to ask the gas station attendant to call a taxi instead. Dinner more than made up for the “bad eggs” (and yes, that is a pun). We chose a lovely little sit down restaurant with a very pleasant and attentive waiter who served us a chicken salad bread cracker hors d'oeuvres (compliments of the chef), homemade bread with homemade tomato butter, potato leek soup and a side house salad with balsamic vinegar dressing (extra for me; the waiter seemed to giggle every time I mentioned this request). And for dessert we decided to share, with his recommendation, carrot cake and thoroughly enjoyed wiping the plate completely clean. One more taxi ride back to the hotel, a good night’s sleep and a perfect end to a great weekend full of memories with good friends to last a lifetime.

Are We Ever Alone?

Technology has always been an important part of my generation’s life experience. When I was three Dad brought home our first home computer. I remember how I loved pushing the keys and how I was banned from doing so once it was set up in the office. The screen was green and it was clear that it was “not a toy” and definitely not one of my toys. Then came the rush of technology: bag car phones, dial-up internet, beepers, mobile phones (the ones that fit in your pocket), DSL and today there is so much more! So, I only vaguely remember a time when I wasn’t completely and utterly “connected” to anyone at any point of time. However, after a frustrating day I was sitting by myself in my room and I felt the sudden urge to be alone. I needed to get out. It was then that I started to realize that while I was completely alone in my room I didn’t feel that way. I was sharing the room with people virtually invading my space – friends chatted with me on Facebook, Gmail and Skype, e-mails and virtual messages flooded my inboxes (yes, plural) and my cell phone was just sitting there waiting to vibrate with a call or message. I needed to get away from all of it.

Putting on my jacket and shoes I couldn’t help but debate whether I should leave my cell at home. “What if I need it? Why would I need it? I’m just going for a walk.” I wasn’t sure I could “disconnect” myself from my “virtual” world.

England is one of the most watched countries in the world. London is completely “watched” by CCTV cameras. During my walk I spotted a CCTV camera on almost every corner. Some person in a room full of screens was probably watching my “alone” time and wondering why I just kept walking up and down the same (well lit) street in my neighborhood. I couldn’t help but think about it until the point that I realized maybe being truly alone isn’t a luxury that is available any more (at least in the modern world).

For my Sustainable Cities course I was required to go to the EcoBuild conference and attend a seminar as part of my research for the course. I chose to take part in a section titled “Reinventing Cities – looking to the future.” One of the speakers was an American academic anthropologist who is teaching at a leading University in Central London. He spoke about how our “digital” world is now our center and the elements (he suggested social, natural surroundings and spiritual lives) of our lives are in some way being related back to technology. Internet is available on phones, computers, free wifi computer spots around a city, and cyber cafes. We use the internet to find directions instead of using maps (and why not when it removes the need to think; Google even supplies pictures of the final destination and what to see along the way). We use the internet to create 3-D spaces and worlds; games that transport us to another time and place, online experiences that create an escape without even leaving the bedroom (or bed for that matter)!

There is even an application that allows your phone to connect to a server and post personal information about your whereabouts at any particular time to all your “social worlds.” “Joe Blow has just checked-in to INSERT YOUR FAVORITE LOCATION HERE.” Not even mentioning Joe Blow becomes virtual friends with anyone who sends him a request. Frankly, I find it all a little bit disturbing.

Since living in one of the most popular tourist destinations I have begun to wonder just how many times I am randomly photographed a day as part of someone’s holiday memories or maybe I’m doing something out of some other culture’s ordinary and someone grabs a camera phone to snap a shot and show friends. Did you know that Big Ben is the most photographed place in the world (which I find humorous since Big Ben is really just the machine that runs the clock and not the clock itself, but I digress)? The speaker also drew on this point before concluding that my generation really doesn’t know how to be alone or what it means to be alone. He also acknowledged that future generations are going to lose this concept of being alone or disconnected all together.

When I moved to Columbia for undergrad one of my biggest struggles was being in the city and not having a quiet place of my own. In high school I would enjoy going for a drive out to High Bridge or the old abandoned river lock just to sit, read, write, and think. My mom also reminded me of how I would go sit on my swing set everyday after school in first grade and just … be. This was time I looked forward to and valued. So is having time alone something people still value? How can we re-insert this concept back into the technology age? Where can we go to be alone? Where do you go to be alone?