Norwegian Wood

Up until about 5:00 PM, the weather here in Bergen was making London look the Caribbean. Nothing but rain, wind, and I'd say around 50 degree temperatures all around. I had a great time walking 2 miles from Edvard Grieg's home to a stave church in a downpour. I mean, my umbrella has pretty much become my best friend, but it can only do so much. Needless to say, I was soaked.

Grieg's house was really cool, mainly because it wasn't too crowded, and this tour guide lady basically gave me a private guided tour for free. It was fantastic. Rater like an idiot, I hadn't heard any of Grieg's music before I went to his house, but the woman was very accommodating. Great fun.

Probably the best thing I did today though was to ride the funicular up this large hill overlooking the harbor. On the top, there's some sort of city park/wilderness area, where I went hiking for about an hour before walking back down to the city. It was everything I was looking for; the opportunity to get out into nature without seeing or hearing anybody else. In retrospect, it's amazing I didn't break my ankle off walking on the slick rocks. However, in a stunning moment, the sun came out. This was the first time I've seen the sun since I've been in Norway, so it was extremely welcome. It helped to wipe away the watery hell I was in just hours previously.

Among today's culinary delights, I tried a piece of whale, and had a reindeer hot dog* for dinner. The reindeer hot dog was pretty good, I must admit. The whale, eh, I left unimpressed. I'm typically not in the business of eating whale, and I don't support whaling in general, but I figured you might as well try everything once. Moral of the story, if you're in Bergen, get the reindeer, not the whale.

So yes, in a little over an hour, I'll get on the night train to Oslo. Tomorrow, I hope to see the Viking Ship Museum, since Marv Slind told me to, check out some art, and maybe even have my sole European McDonald's of the summer. Now that I think of it, I haven't had a burger since I arrived in London.

I can accomplish those three goals. You just need to set low standards...

*People here love hot dogs/sausages. It is a little unnerving, to tell you the truth. Who eats this many sausages?

Fjording

Hi folks. I wish this were a joke, but every single American I have run into in Norway thus far has been from Minnesota. Seriously, every single person. It's starting to get a little ridiculous, but I suppose I call attention to myself with the Twins hat. It must be that "Minnesota Nice" that prompts everyone to introduce themselves.

Speaking of the Twins, GM Bill Smith is worthless at his job.

Anyways, I took a "Norway in a Nutshell" tour today, which was highlighted by a 2 hour boat ride through a fjord whose name I cannot pronounce. Before you gasp in horror at the prospect of me taking a guided, organized tour, let me allay your fears slightly. First of all, the "tour" was more just a series of train, bus, and ferry tickets. There wasn't anyone holding up a cat umbrella, yelling at us about prosaic information. In fact, there wasn't any commentary at all, which was great. The day didn't start well however, since I accidentally bought both decaf coffee AND a raisin pastry. Oh yeah, and the train was delayed, but I was much more concerned about my coffee/pastry mishap. It ended up with me throwing both away, and starting over.

Everything you've heard about Norway's fjords is true, and then some. Any hesitation I had about dropping all that money on a tour was destroyed by the sheer majesty of the surroundings. I took a ton of photos: I fear none will do them justice, but I'll be sure to post when I get home. It was rather chilly and rainy on the boat, which made me extremely glad for the "Nor-wear" jacket I bought on Wednesday. If I was left with the clothes I came with, I think I would have been stuck below decks for the entire boat ride. I forgot my nautical themed pashmina afghan, but I dealt (SNL reference for older readers).

But yes, if you're in Norway, you must go to the fjords.

The other really memorable part was this train ride through this spectacular valley, which ended up with something like a 1,600 foot climb. It was wild.

One thing that kept popping into my head is how rugged Norway is. To modern folk, to comfortable Western tourists, the landscape is beautiful. Gorgeous mountains, fjords, rivers, etc. We can approach them from a certain level of power, knowing that we're comfortable on a boat, or on a train, or whatever. However, I think the Norwegian landscape can also justifiably be described as terrifying, in the most grandiose sense of the term. I mean, it is raw nature, and it is unforgiving terrain. If I were a 16th century farmer, I think I would be much more cognizant of the "terror" aspect.

Going along with that, I cannot imagine the shock that must have confronted Norwegian emigrants first arriving in Minnesota, or the other Plains states. The contrast between this landscape and the Minnesotan one is like comparing Antarctica to the Sahara. I suppose I should have better insight into this question, having had to read "Giants in the Earth" for Paideia.

Speaking of Per Hansa and Paideia, I made a nightcap of a long and fruitful day by purchasing a bottle of "Hansa" pilsner and smoking a Cuban (not inhaling) in a park overlooking the Bryggen (wharf). It would have been better with friends, but it was pretty alright just by myself too. Did a little souvenir shopping, and here I am again at the hostel.

Two more days left in Norway, then a long Sunday that will take me back to the States. I definitely feel a lot more at ease having my baggage situation seemingly resolved, but it's going to be nice to head home. My primary motivation right now is monetary in nature. In London, I budgeted in pounds sterling, and I had plenty of money to make it through the month. This little adventure to find my heritage is basically consuming the fumes of what was left of my London budget, and fumes is pretty much the correct term right now. But as the old Minnesotan woman who sat next to me on the bus said, you'll never regret doing what you have to do to travel. I think I'll listen to her.

In Bergen

Well folks, I'm in Norway. And conveniently enough, it's even raining. Unwittingly, I've discovered that it rains in Bergen some 270 days a year. At least I have an umbrella.

I arrived last night in Oslo in less than spectacular spirits. I think I was just a little bummed with the realization that while all of my friends from Hamline were headed home, I was setting out by myself, not going home. When you've been consistently surrounded by people for 5 weeks, it's a bit of a shock when suddenly that familiarity is gone. Plus, I suppose leaving London was a little bittersweet as well. I even found myself on the train this morning thinking about arbitration, for ever so slight a second. To top it all off, it didn't help that I'm confronted with some issues relating to my connecting flight on Sunday in London. British Airways, you may have a mean free mini-bottle of wine, but you sure are a bitch when it comes to easing my travel plans...

Waking up this morning though, and getting on a train helped raise my tone considerably, I think. Only then to have it dampened by how ridiculously expensive everything is here. I have literally survived thus far on a cup of coffee, a bottle of mineral water, and three chocolate chip buns. If that's how it has to be, that's how it has to be.

The Oslo-Bergen train ride is billed as one of the most spectacular in the world. I would agree, it's pretty nice. However, I think I missed out on a lot of it, since I happened to be on the side of the train which faced the inside of the mountain, most of the time. And a giant horde of Japanese tourists took up the other side. But nonetheless, it was pleasant. This is a very rugged country, to be sure. It's quite beautiful, but I don't think I'd say it's more beautiful than other places, per se. I'm of the opinion that natural landscapes are pretty much equal in attractiveness; it all depends on context. But in the context of Norwegian fjord-land/mountains, I would say Norway lives up to its billing.

Tomorrow I hope to take a fjord tour, and I might (a big might) meet a Norwegian guy I knew from Hamline on Friday for a bit. I don't know for sure, but I'm sure I can figure stuff out. Although I loathe hostels, I must say, getting a bottom bunk, having a large locker, and getting free wi-fi gives this one some perks.

I think it stopped raining. Time to explore.

Last Leg

Well folks, tonight is the last night in London. Tomorrow I'm going to get my arbitration on with Erik in a mock hearing, have some lunch, and then board the Underground for the last time to take me to Heathrow. But I'm not going home, well, at least not to Minnesota. I decided now was as good a time as any, while I'm still young, vigorous, and not tied down, to visit my ancestral homeland. Yes, I'm going to Norway.

I'm not secretive about my historical tendency to downplay my Norwegian heritage. I'm much more apt to trumpet my 1/8 Irish-ness. I think this is because of a couple of reasons, which basically all stem from wanting to be unique. First off, being from Minnesota, everyone is either Norwegian or Swedish (I am both). Second, I went to a college founded by Norwegian immigrants, located in the most Norwegian city in the entire world (Yes, that includes actual cities in Norway). Decorah is ridiculously packed full of people who are so tied down to their Norwegian heritage, it seemed to me to go beyond what was healthy. The wrongly labeled "Nordicfest" only confirmed this to me each July.

But I must admit, I did sort of miss going this year.

Quite reasonably, I think, when asked what my nationality is, I respond with "American." I don't qualify it with "Norwegian-American," or "Swedish-American," or "Irish-American." That seems to me to be a bit disingenuous, since I have little real connection to any of those places. Sure, like so many of my countrymen, my distant ancestors came over in a ship, but that rings somewhat hollow in today's "melting pot" society.

But lately, I think I've been re-evaluating my Norwegian-ness. I'm not about to go Nordic dancing, or put on traditional costume like the crazies in Decorah. But in deciding what I wanted to do as a final hurrah to this European adventure, I felt a sudden, almost primal need to go and see where I came from. I don't have any real accurate genealogical data, so I can't claim to go to the actual room where my great-great-great-great grandfather was born or anything, but I can at least see a bit. Time and money have prevented me from going up to the northern reaches of the country, where I guess my family came from, so I'm just going to Oslo and Bergen instead. I'm hoping to take a boat tour of a fjord on Thursday or so. And if all goes well, I'll return back to America with some sort of knitwear to remember it by.

It seems so prosaic to say I'm going to Norway to find out who I am, or something ridiculous like that. I joked around with some friends that I was on a "vision quest" of sorts, but that's probably not what will happen either. I think I'll just try to think a lot about where I am, why I'm there, and what that means in the grand scheme of life.

I mean, when you think about it, Norway seems like a great place for me to be from. It has spectacular natural wonder, a well-educated population, a commitment to carbon neutrality, and one of the most progressive social democratic welfare states in the world, funded by outrageously high taxes. How can you not love that?

Ha det!

Top 10 Things I'll Miss About England

1 - Pret a Manger - specifically the "super club" sandwich
2 - The Underground - can't put a price on great public transit (wait, yes you can - £25 a week)
3 - English pubs with Real Ale
4 - Clearly visible crosswalks
5 - Caffé Nero and their loyalty cards
6 - Not having to drive
7 - The English countryside
8 - Walking the south bank of the Thames
9 - Scotch eggs
10 - Cadbury chocolate bars

Greenwich (Updated)

Hi folks. I suppose I could have posted earlier about yesterday's activities, but I got lazy, and decided instead to hang out and have a Kronenbourg 1664.

But yes, after Thursday's excrutiatingly simply investment dispute exam, myself and Erik decided to take the Docklands Light Railway (DLR) down to maritime Greenwich, which is somewhat southeast of central London. The DLR is part of the London transport network, so our tube passes worked fine. In heading down to Greenwich, we passed through an area of London called Canary Wharf, which is sort of on a bit of a peninsula into the Thames.

Anyways, the Canary Wharf development could not have been more different than central London. It consisted entirely of high rise glass skyscrapers, built right up next to a series of canals. I mean really, while we were on the DLR through the development, it felt like we were in an entirely different city. Chicago, actually. The DLR itself is above ground, kind of like the "L," so that added to the Chicago references. It was pretty wild.

We spent probably about 5 hours at maritime Greenwich, which was fantastic. Let me give you a tip, if you are ever in London, and have an afternoon to spare, make the trip to Greenwich. It is absolutely fantastic, interesting, and much less crowded than the typical London sights. Greenwich, as in "Greenwich Mean Time," is the home of the Royal Observatory, where the prime meridian is located. So yes, I have a photo of myself straddling two hemispheres. The observatory was simply great, because it had a ton of information both on the establishment of the prime meridian, as well as its importance to maritime navigation. It was really a great time, and best of all, completely free!

Aside from the Royal Observatory, Greenwich also has a superb old Naval College, which was originally designed by Sir Christopher Wren (he designed St. Paul's Cathedral). We saw a wicked dining room, as well as a chapel. It was really neat to see such a concentration of English Baroque buildings. In central London, you get such a hodgepodge of styles, so the similarity of the buildings was striking. Best of all, the buildings currently hold a music college, and there was some sort of summer jazz education program going on, so the 200+ year old rooms echoed with the sweet, sweet sounds of America's original art form.

We also went to the National Maritime Museum, and a smallish palace called the Queen's House. I think the most impressive thing I saw was the actual jacket worn by Admiral Nelson during the Battle of Trafalgar, complete with the fatal bullet hole in the left shoulder. Of course, Trafalgar was perhaps Britain's greatest naval victory, where the Royal Navy defeated Napoleon's fleet off the Spanish coast in 1805. The aptly named Trafalgar Square (right down the way from Parliament) has a giant column with a statue of Nelson at the top, gazing towards Trafalgar, surrounded by bronze lions which were cast from melted down French cannons. Nelson himself is like George Washington to the British. To see his actual jacket was pretty unbelievable, in fact, I couldn't really quite believe it was happening. Along with his coat, the museum also had Nelson's blood stained stockings, as well as his sword (I think). Absolutely incredible.

Unlike a lot of tourist destinations in London, there was actual tangible and informative exhibits at Greenwich, and I couldn't recommend it enough to any traveler bound for England. Furthermore, compared to the crush of tourists that you'll find in central London, Greenwich was comparatively abandoned. Great afternoon.

To top it off, we traveled via Underground to the O2 Arena, just to say we had been there, and then walked down the river a bit to see the giant Thames barriers. The barriers are some sort of modern engineering masterpiece, and function to protect London from any storm surge coming up the Thames. We didn't get too close, but it was still fairly impressive to think about. When you think about all the incredible structures in London built right at the banks of the Thames, you realize how important such a flood control structure is.

So yes, last weekend in London. I won't say I'm not a bit sad, but all good things must come to an end. I will post some photos from Greenwich soon, since I took a ton. Also, tomorrow I'm going to visit the Tower of London, so hopefully I will have some photos from there as well. Until then, cheerio, toodles, au revoir...

UPDATE - Photos have been posted from Greenwich on the photo site.

Abbey Road

The Rubicon, we know, was a very insignificant stream to look at; its significance lay entirely in certain invisible conditions.

George Eliot

Me, myself, and I undertook a condensed Beatles tour tonight. Check it.


The zebra crossing.


Abbey Road Studios.


Yes.


Me crossing the Rubicon. Many thanks to a Portuguese woman for graciously taking this photo. If only she could have added hair and fixed my pullover so it doesn't look like I weigh 500 pounds.



For good measure, I thought I'd go to 3 Savile Row, where Apple Records used to be headquartered, and where the Beatles played their last public concert. On the roof.

I suppose it's not much to look at, and there were a ton of really lame tourists trying to pose in the middle of the street. And it is a quite busy street. You'd think the locals would get super pissed with all these assholes always trying to pause in the middle of the crosswalk for photos.

But nonetheless, I'm really glad I went. For someone my age, this may be as physically close as I can ever get to the Beatles. Plus, St. John's Wood is a very pleasant area of London, a lot greener than Mile End. Beatles and green trees, can't go wrong.

St. Paul's

We have a final exam coming up tomorrow morning. Typically, this would equate to a day spent throwing back pots of coffee while desperately trying to memorize notecards on terms like "ICSID Additional Facility." However, it's really hard to get motivated when the professor literally tells you that even if you didn't study, and didn't ever read the assignments, you could probably still get an "A."

The thing about this class, is that everything is so condensed. I'm basically getting 4 separate crash courses in US arbitration, international commercial arbitration, international investment dispute arbitration, and arbitration advocacy in 5 weeks time. Any of these subjects could easily take up a semester or two. So, it's a little overwhelming to say the least; there's no possible way you can absorb everything. As interesting as some of the subject matter is, 4 hours of class a day is pretty soul-crushing. But I suppose that's what you sign up for.

However, this didn't deter me from traveling down to St. Paul's this morning to have a cup of coffee, write down some arguments for the impending advocacy class, and attempt to review said ICSID convention. I really like going down to St. Paul's because it has a very nice open urban space, with lots of coffeeshops, cafés, and places to grab a bite to eat. It is also crawling with London professionals, who hurriedly rush about in their suits while talking on mobile phones. In my ever present quest to blend in to this city, it probably wasn't my wisest choice to wear sandals, shorts, and a Blues Brothers t-shirt. In fact, I daresay that I looked pretty much like an idiot.

Time is starting to wind down now, in a week, I'll no longer be in England. Which is, I don't know, perhaps a little bittersweet. It will be nice to be back home, to have the cultural familiarity, to be able to wear shorts without feeling like a jackass. But on the other hand, I've realized that unless I get a job with a posting in a different country, my days of extended global adventuring are probably numbered. The real world is going to start calling very soon. Which will be great; but as a person who has been fortunate enough to travel a bit, it's going to take some time to come to that realization. But I suppose that's okay. When I do decide to go somewhere, Delta apparently has my back.

Tonight I'm going to take the tube up to Abbey Road Studios. I think as a Beatles fan in London, I could never forgive myself if I didn't go. I need to walk across that zebra crossing. Since I don't have a white suit, maybe I'll just go barefoot.

Moon Landing

Hello folks. I don't know who is aware, but today marks the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing. Like most young boys growing up in America, I used to dream of being an astronaut. What else would you want to be when you grow up seeing videos of men walking on the moon? Certainly not a lawyer.

I wish I could have been there, in 1969, to see it happen. I'm a person who appreciates competition, who probably does my best work when I know I need to beat someone else. I guess maybe that's why I've had some success in law school; it's founded upon that principle. So I think I can relate to the "space race," having to beat the Soviets to the moon. Above all, it stands for what we can accomplish if we have a goal, some motivation, and above all, belief in ourselves. So, I only think it appropriate to commemorate this day.

Now, I'm not a math or science sort of guy (although I have been inside an iron molecule). But, I think it's a shame we've rather neglected our space program since that fateful day. I guess I'm more of the opinion that exploration is important for the sheer sake of exploration, although I know it has tremendous practical advantages. It just seems like a tremendous waste of space if we just sit here on one planet. I wish Barack would take a bit more initiative towards the space program. I read this article in GQ about the Constellation program, and NASA is building some crazy shit right now to return to the moon, but they're doing it with only a fraction of the budget they had in the 1960's. They have this machine, where you can pee or sweat into it, and it will pump out pure drinking water. Imagine what they could do if they were properly funded! At the very least, some sort of tremendous common purpose would be nice. Like say, go to 50% renewable energy by 2025 or something.

Anyways, in English news, I went and bought some new shoes today. My old ones have become quite worn out, and they hurt my feet something terrible. I was dying in Brussels. Considering that I have to walk around Norway for 4 days next week and climb a fjord, I figured I needed to get some new kicks. Conveniently enough, I got a very nice, contemporary pair of Clarks on sale for £29.99. I was pleased.

Afterwards, I got bored, so I walked a block down the road to Selfridges, which is London's second department store after Harrod's. I just kind of marveled in awe at some of the products: £1,750 bottles of wine, £2,000 Armani suits, £150 cigars. I kept wondering, "Who can actually afford this? Who buys it? What do they do, and why do they do it?" I mean, the wine I buy typically costs around £10, if even that. It's just stunning, I mostly walked around in a kind of stupor. I won't say that I didn't wish I had one of those nice suits, but I decided for now, I'm just fine with the one I have.

For a bit of comic relief, I walked into the food hall, and came across a "Food from America" cooler. It was overflowing with boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese, Lucky Charms, huge jars of Jif peanut butter, and Oreos.

I always find it interesting to see how we (Americans) are perceived abroad, aside from being warmongering cowboys. The humdrum aspects of American life, like being fat and watching baseball. I'm happy to say that the UK Lonely Planet travel book to the USA recommended going to Minneapolis on the back cover, because it's a "hip, progressive city!" If there's anything Europeans like, it's hip, liberal, pretentious cities filled with coffee, organic groceries, and people who vote for Barack Obama.

Anyways, a bit of a scattershot post. But in the above vein, I'm happy to announce that English folk seem to associate the moon landing with the tolerable side of America.

All You Ever Wanted to Know About Belgium Through Aaron Colored Lenses

Well, I just got back from approximately 31 hours in Brussels. A trip that very nearly didn't happen, since (relatively), I nearly missed my train from London yesterday morning. They had to rush me through the check in/security line. Damn tube...

When someone says the word "Belgium," certain things come to mind. I would venture to say that beer, chocolate, and waffles are at the top of the list. Also, french fries are Belgian. I'm happy to say that I consumed all of these. In fact, it feels like all I did all weekend was eat. In retrospect, it was probably rather disgusting. I was shocked to open up my bag back in Mile End, only to notice that along with my other belongings, I had crammed in four bottles of Belgian trappist ale, one bottle of which is of a giant wine bottle size. Of course I knew I bought them, but still, I couldn't believe I fit everything in. I also have about 500 grams of Leonidas chocolates.

Speaking of beer, the first thing I did in Brussels yesterday was visit a traditional brewery, the Chatillon. It was a really good deal, as I paid 5 euros for a self guided tour, as well as two tastings. And unlike American brewery tours, here you could get up right next to all of the equipment. Chatillon is famous for making gueuze, a traditional Belgian style made of blending 1, 2, and 3 year old lambics. Apparently, it's the only spontaneous fermentation beer in the world, and it has a very unique sour taste. Needless to say, I have a bottle of it.

I don't know, I drank my fair share of Belgian beer this weekend. I'm kind of a beer snob, but didn't know a lot about Belgian styles, so I decided to try as much as possible. I wouldn't say I became an expert by any sense, but I think I appreciate it a lot more. I really wanted to buy a beer glass, but I didn't know how that would work transporting it back to the States. Every different brand of Belgian beer has its own unique glass, so some of them are pretty wild.

Anyways, probably the coolest thing I did was take a four hour bike tour. I had read about it on Trip Advisor, and it came pretty highly recommended. It turned out to only be three of us on the tour, plus the guide. The guide was a young German student, who seemed like he was just waiting to get done so he could go get drunk. A really nice guy, don't get me wrong, and he knew his stuff, but I just thought it was funny. Then there was Laura, who was Spanish, and Chris, who was from Boston. We rode around these big, intense, Dutch-style bikes, and it was crazy. Thankfully, the traffic is light on summer weekends, but it was still pretty wild, darting in and out of cars on cobblestone streets. It took a little getting used to, that style of bike, but it was a blast. I got to see a lot of the more out of the way parts of the city that otherwise, I probably wouldn't have seen. I guess the best example would be the huge European Union complex. Plus, we went to a frittur (french fry stand), that according to the New York Times, makes the best fries in the world. I must admit, they were rather tasty. In Belgium, the frites are fried twice, so they're very crispy on the outside, and soft in the middle. The only qualm I have is that I got probably three pounds of fries, and that was the small. I don't really consider fries/chips/frites a meal, but I guess I didn't quite get the memo.

So yeah, the bike tour was wild. Well worth the 22 euros. After the tour, Laura, Chris, and I went around looking for chocolates. Then Laura left, and Chris and I went on a bit of a pub crawl. He was kind of a beer snob as well, so we had a good time. I'm not usually one to be very outgoing and meet new people, but he was a solo traveler as well, so it worked out great. I was quite impressed with myself.

This morning, I took the metro out to the Atomium, which is this gigantic atom sitting on the outskirts of the city, built for the 1959 World Expo. I went up in it, since I thought the chance to be inside an iron atom was too great to pass up. Did you know that every single iron atom has a food bar in the 4th molecule selling Duvel? And that it has tiny exhibitions on the optimism and modernism of the 1950's? Well, they do my friends. Think of that next time you're passing by a construction site.



I thought the whole concept of building a gigantic atom quite strange. But then again, Brussels itself was kind of strange. I don't know exactly how to explain it. I guess I expected some sort of French speaking colony, but that certainly wasn't the case. I guess it was Belgian, that's the only explanation. I tried my best to communicate en français, but I was always sorely disappointed when people would automatically respond to my overtures in English. When I stopped to get moules and frites and the waiter actually kept talking to me in French, I was sure to tip him.

As always though, it was nice to come back to England. I was glad I went to Brussels, but if I only had two weeks in Europe, I don't know if I'd make the stop. There are certainly more impressive and interesting places to go, but it is a charming place. Everything cliché Belgium you can think of, I'm fairly certain I did, and I think I have a newfound respect for the country.

But like I said, it was nice to get on the train (with plenty of time), and come back. I came out of the Mile End tube stop, only to come face to face with eight Metropolitan Police officers frisking a chav. Ah England, c'est chez moi.

(Many photos are posted on the photo site, under "Brussels 2009." Check it out)

Foreign Accents

You know, when you think of England, you don't really conceptualize it as a foreign country. Be it the common language, the common history, the "special relationship," England just seems like a little outpost of Anglo-American culture over there next to Europe. Emphasis on the "Anglo," of course. Sure, it has its quirks, like driving on the left hand side of the road, the Queen, tea, and softcore porn on page 3 of readily available newspapers. But on the whole, not too far from America.

I think for me, this was especially so, given my history with this place. But in walking around the past month or so, I've come to be explicitly reminded that this is a foreign country. And for all that I try to blend in, I am explicitly and immediately recognizable as a foreigner. I think a good example of this came yesterday at a coffeeshop before class.

Me: I'll have a small skinny mocha please. To take away.

Lady: Milk?

Me: No, mocha

Lady: You want a glass of milk? (incredulous look)

Me: No, I want a caffe mocha

Lady: Oh, mocha. Cream?

Me: Sure, whatever

I ended up with a ceramic mug of mocha, topped with about 5 feet of whipped cream. And not redi-whip, I mean thick whipped cream. Mind you, I had to be in class in 10 minutes. I was in no mood to draw more attention to myself, and there was a huge line behind me, so I just threw it back like a champ and walked to class. Consuming that much sugar and caffeine in about 2 minutes is never a good idea. I kind of had these tremors going on for the next two hours, and it surely wasn't because investment dispute resolution is riveting.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that I kind of have a prozac-ish/Garrison Keilor voice going on. It's not exactly amenable to yelling at people, which probably explains the daily trials I have in noisy coffeeshops or bars. But I think I speak fairly clearly. Hell, I even have a hint of a British twinge in some of my pronounciations. But a hint doesn't cut it here. The second I open my mouth, I may as well have planted a giant Perkins size American flag on my head. And as you can imagine, those giant flags do impede communication.

Also, in fairness, the woman at the coffeeshop sounded like she was eastern European. But I also think it's fair to say that a lot of our trouble came from my apparently ridiculous American accent. Two countries separated by a common language, that is a true statement.

What is really hilarious is hearing European folks trying to do an American accent. I mean, American speech sounds so bland in comparison to all these different accents, but of course, that's because I speak it. We met these two Irish guys at Ye Olde Trip in Notts last weekend, and we all attempted our best Irish accent for them. In return, one guy gave us his American accent, which consisted of him bitching out an imaginary flight attendant.

"Where is my blanket? I asked for that blanket 10 minutes ago! I want a coca-cola and a hamburger!"

I wish I made that last sentence up, but I'm pretty sure it happened. Needless to say, it was pretty damn funny. And pretty good, I must admit.

Anyways, in about 8 hours, I'll bring my traveling roadshow of mangled Franglais to Brussels, capital of Europe. A responsible traveler would probably bring a French phrasebook. Myself, I'll just rely on the French that I last studied four and a half years ago. I really do regret the deterioration of my French skillz. I had really hoped to become fluent. But I think Madame Deer would humor my attempts. Hopefully Belgique will do so too.

If all else fails, there is always the fallback phrase: une biére, s'il vous plait. It worked in Austria.

Blah de blah blah blah

I've been trying really hard the past day or so to think of some witty topic to blog about, but I think I've hit a bit of a wall. Blogger's block, if you will. I thought about writing a long post about coffee here, but it can really be distilled down to three points.

1 - The drip coffee is shitty.
2 - No mint moose triple choco-splosion mochas.
3 - If you want legitimate coffee, order a latte, cappuccino, or espresso.

There you have it. Saved you a lot of time.

I went back to the British Museum again today. Second time this week. I think the thing that fascinates me the most, is simply how old everything is. For example, there is a gigantic hall absolutely packed full of Egyptian sculptures, most of which are around 4,000 years old. I mean, seriously, think of that. It's amazing. I think it puts a lot of perspective on life, maybe how short everything is. I would make some sort of comment about how insignificant a single person is in the grand scheme, but of course, that's defeated. If one person, or multiple persons, can create some of the items I saw, it's obvious that life is a rather enduring thing. I wonder what sorts of artifacts people will have from our society, thousands of years from now. I hope it's going to be more impressive than plastic grocery bags or styrofoam containers.

Like I said earlier, I'm going to Brussels this weekend. Why Brussels, you ask. Why go to Belgium in general? Well, a couple reasons. First of all, why not. Second, I'm under budget, and it would just be ridiculous to responsibly save any excess money. Third, I've never been to Belgium. Fourth, all my friends are in Edinburgh, where I've already been. Plus, Scotland is expensive. Fifth, Belgium is the home of french fries. I'm particularly intrigued by that last one. Apparently the best fries (frites) in the world are Belgian. I will report back on that.

Museum Musings

Yesterday after class, I really didn't know what I wanted to do, but I surely didn't want to come back to Mile End. So since our classroom is just a short walk from the British Museum, I strolled over there and ended up hanging out for about 2 and a half hours. I spent quite a bit of time in the North American and African galleries, before heading over to look at some Egyptian sculpture and Assyrian wall reliefs.

The African galleries were really quite fantastic. The museum's collection of African artifacts isn't anything like the Egyptian or Greek wings, but they've very tastefully displayed it according to cultural categories. Plus, they also have these contemporary artworks done by modern African artists which are right next to all the artifacts.

There was this one just stunning installation. It was a large metal sculpture of a tree, complete with various jungle animals running up and down it. The entire thing was made out of cut up guns. Apparently, some charity in Mozambique after the civil war had this program where, if you would turn in your armaments, they would give you practical stuff like farm equipment. So they gave all these handed over guns to this group of local artists, who cut them apart and welded them into a tree. It's supposed to symbolize the resiliance and creativity of Africa. Not only was it extremely thought-provoking, but the sculpture itself was hauntingly beautiful.

Not much else to say. We've moved on to international investment dispute arbitration in class, as well as a more hands on arbitration advocacy course. I've decided to take a 34 hour trip to Brussels this weekend. Everyone else is going to Edinburgh, a place I've been. I looked online, and found I could get a relatively cheap train ticket from London to Brussels if I leave really early on Saturday and come back on Sunday evening. Slapped that sucker on my AmEx, now I'm good to go. I'm looking forward to being surrounded by Francophiles.

Off to class.

Nottingham

Saturday morning, I was sitting in Starbucks in Nottingham, the same Starbucks that I had so often frequented in college. I was sitting at my table, in my chair, severely victimized by having far too much fun at Ye Olde Trip the night before. Gingerly sipping coffee and force-feeding myself a banana nut muffin, for one second, I became infested with a bout of self-pity. All I really wanted to do was walk outside, catch a 77 bus, and head home. But since I couldn't, I shoved that muffin down, grabbed my coffee, and walked out to find my two other companions.

Of course, such feelings were to be anticipated in Nottingham, my home for nearly 9 months. I'm happy to say that the entire weekend wasn't spent in self-pity and faux-homesickness, far from it actually. It felt so wonderfully liberating to be comfortable in a city, to know the ins and outs, to know what to do and where to do it. I didn't have to carry around a map, I didn't need to consult bus schedules, it was just great. And although it felt incredibly wrong to stay in a hostel when I was only a short bus ride from the flat, the inconvenience was made up a little by the fact that the hostel was run by the most gorgeous woman in all of England.


Saturday, we took a Transpeak bus into the nearby Peak District, which is a huge national park. Getting off at Matlock, we found a public footpath which lead up into the cliffs above the River Derwent. Up on the cliffs, we spotted this huge castle looking building in the distance, and we spent a very sweaty, very steep, hour or so struggling to reach the summit. Only when we descended back down into the valley did we realize just how high we had climbed. The joy of being outside, of being in a green countryside, was more than I can express in words. London is a fantastic city, really it is, but if you really want to experience England, you really need to get into the countryside. It is quite stunning, especially when you've been locked in the greyness of London for a good 2 and a half weeks. I think the best part was that we couldn't hear any cars. A great way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

This morning, I took the tram to the flat, like I did so many times before. It was a bit surreal to stand in the flat courtyard, unable to get inside. But as I thought about it, the more I concluded I wouldn't have wanted to go in anyways. Simply put, the flat was a home for a certain family, and it wouldn't have been right to enter without that family. So I took a few photos, thought of all the memories, and left. It was nice.

For sure though, today's highlight for me was being able to go to The Lion for a couple pints of local real ale, a fantastic Sunday roast lunch, and some live jazz. I had unequivocally stated to Kevin and Erik my belief that The Lion was the greatest bar/pub/drinking establishment/social place in the entire world, and I felt extremely vindicated this afternoon.

In conclusion, it felt so good to get out of London. That trip into the Peak District was just what the doctor ordered, both physically (my legs are still aching) and mentally. And although Nottingham was certainly full of old memories, it wasn't bittersweet or anything like that. It just felt like home. I was disappointed to learn that Starbucks' muffins weren't nearly as good as I remembered, and it appears that Thirsty Boozers is no more. But other than that, it's still the same, still hanging on.

BTW, I uploaded some photos onto my photo site, linked to the left. They're under the album "Nottingham 2009."

Weekend Update

Well, tomorrow is our first set of exams. It's hard to explain the vibe surrounding them. Class has up to this point been an afterthought in relation to "being in London." Not to say it isn't interesting, or that I haven't been prepared, or anything like that. It's just the reality. It seems like all of the professors understand that. Nonetheless, these are classes for credit, and there are exams. Open book, open note, etc.

My morning was spent outlining U.S. arbitration law. I took the tube down to St. Paul's, and studied at a Caffe Nero for about an hour, then walked through the financial district to Tower Hill, where I caught the tube back here. I decided to stop into a pub and brainstorm some arbitration questions for a while, when Kevin and Erik walked in. So I had lunch with them, and now find myself here. Apparently we have a study session in about 5 minutes.

Regardless, I feel we are all going to be overly prepared.

This weekend, myself and the aforementioned Kevin and Erik are going to Nottingham. I had originally planned to go alone, thinking no one would be much interested in a run of the mill East Midlands city, but the desire to leave London was strong, and my descriptions of Peak District walks, real ale meccas, and the advantage of an experienced guide gathered interest. Robin Hood mythology may have also played a part. As you may know, I lived for about 9 months in Nottingham during college, and it's a place rather dear to me. I'm excited to go back.



But first, have to get these exams out of the way.

Arb...arbitrability...arbitrator...arbitration...whatever

Sorry for the lack of blogging activity lately, I just haven't been able to muster up the motivation to write much. I thought about writing about the LSO concert, but all I had to say was how I've never heard an instrument played the way this German violin soloist played Sibelius' Violin Concerto. Seriously, he could have probably made that damn thing speak Japanese if he wanted. It was a 1711 Stradivarius, once owned by Fritz Kreisler. Probably cost more than my entire existence up to this point. Needless to say, it was nuts.

There's a lot of animosity in the flat right now, stemming from our "dress-up day" and visit to the London Court of International Arbitration (LCIA). The LCIA is an independent provider of arbitration services for international business transactions, meaning they will select an arbitrator and help administer the actual arbitration, thus expediting proceedings and making them more efficient. I had been told prior to departing the US that this visit required formal business wear. So I packed up my suit, a dress shirt, a tie, dress socks, and one very bulky (and expensive) pair of shoes for this sole occurrence. The course materials seemed to indicate that there would be a rather extensive tour, maybe a lunch, and hopefully some sort of meet and greet with local arbitration lawyers and/or actual arbitrators. Sure, I'll bite, I'll pack the suit.

Of course, that was not the case. Our extensive visit consisted of the class sitting in a cramped conference room for a 45 minute presentation by one very awkward Englishman, extolling the virtues of the LCIA and rehashing general arbitration elements that we've exhaustively covered in class. No business lunch, no meetings with arbitration lawyers, nothing. To add further insult, we were by far overdressed in comparison to the rest of the LCIA staff. In a word, frustrating.

I'm no stranger to complaining about how education officials handle foreign tours/classes. Anyone who traveled to Japan with the LCCB in 2005 can attest. It seems Hamline isn't immune either. I'm now faced with the prospect of slogging full business dress through Norway for 5 days, just so I could spend 45 minutes sweating to a power point presentation. Lame.

I suppose there always must be a positive though, and the sole positive in this case was the opportunity to look like an actual professional in Europe's largest metropolis. It was fairly gratifying to have an Englishwoman ask me to direct her to Lincoln's Inn Fields, to which I happily obliged.

I suppose for the sake of making this post worth anything, I should probably explain what exactly arbitration is anyways. Simply put, it is a private judicial process. Say you and I are two business people, and we don't want to go to court, because going to court is costly and time consuming. So in our contract, we insert an arbitration clause. This means that if we have a dispute, we have waived our legal right to go to court. Rather, we will enlist a group like the LCIA (or more likely in America, the American Arbitration Association), to help us choose an arbitral tribunal, and figure out how to run our proceeding. We'll present our cases, just like in court, and the arbitrator will make a ruling. However, unlike a court, there is no right to appeal that decision. Barring some exceptional circumstances, the arbitrator's decision is absolute and final.

The idea is that arbitration is more cost-effective and efficient than litigation, and the U.S. has an emphatic policy towards encouraging arbitration in practically every setting. Unless it is a criminal case, chances are any dispute can be arbitrated. If you have a credit card, you've agreed to arbitrate.

Any questions?

Last Night

Fourth of July Recap

I posted some photos from our Fourth of July celebration on my photo site, accessible through the links to the right. I think they're under "Independence Day in London." As you can see, we had quite the day.

We started out by checking out the American Embassy, which we had sort of hoped would have something cool happening. It turns out we were sorely mistaken, as the place was just dead. A couple interesting statutes (FDR and Eisenhower), as well as a nice 9/11 memorial garden thing.

Next, we headed to a pub way on the southwest side of London called The White Horse, which was hosting an American beer festival. And by American beer, I mean Real American beer, not Budweiser or Coors or anything. The place was absolutely packed for the whole time we were there, and that was understandable. They had a plethora of American craft brews, and a lot of them were apparently casks, being pulled in the traditional English fashion. My Fourth of July was made complete when I noticed they had Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on the pull. The pub had a blues/folk group playing inside, they were grilling burgers and sausages (not hot dogs) outside, and random Americans filtered in an out. Automatically distinguishable by the various MLB hats or US Soccer jerseys.

Anyways, after that, our group kind of disintegrated. Erik and I wandered around Southwark near London Bridge for a while before stopping into a pub to grab some fish and chips. This pub was definitely advertising-savvy, as they had a featured ale called "Uncle Sam's Independence Ale." Of course, we got it, only to realize it tasted like water. Another American in this pub noticed my subtle Barack Obama shirt, and we toasted to the Fourth of July and Sarah Palin's recent (incoherent) resignation.

So yes, that was my day. No fireworks, no sparklers, not even a hot dog, but a good Fourth of July nonetheless. I am definitely guilty at times of disparaging the US for various reasons, but being abroad will surely temper that with a healthy dose of what is great.

I think today I'll head off to the Tate Modern. I also purchased a ticket to go hear the London Symphony tonight, courtesy of Aunt Ruth. I figured she would have wanted me to hear Brahms 2 and the Sibelius Violin Concerto. Thanks.

Independence Day

Happy birthday America. We rule.

Haircut

When in a foreign country, I'd imagine the last thing a person ever would want to do is get a haircut. A couple times on music tours in college, I have witnessed the unfortunate effects of a cross-cultural hair collision. Fortunately, I have never been a victim. Today, I tested fate.

Being a person not blessed with, what's the appropriate word, permanent hair, I've become quite aware that it behooves me to keep it quite short. It had become about that time where looking at myself in the mirror was painful. Thus, a haircut was in order. I decided to try a haircutter near the university in Mile End, which seemed to have a reasonably large Anglo-Saxon clientele. The only reason I make a distinction is that, of course, hair styles between stout English folk and equally stout Indian or African folk vary considerably. However, that shop seemed to be quite busy, so I continued walking down the road. Fortunately enough, less than 4 storefronts away was another haircutter, conveniently labeled as a "gents hairdresser," or something to that effect. So I walked in.

The most charitable way to describe the place was as your traditional North African/British hybrid barber shop. Have any idea what that's like? Me neither, but I'm sure this place was indicative. There was a calendar from the nearby mosque, some various photos of London and what looked like Casablanca, and some ancient looking tins of hair pommade scattered about a vast wooden cabinet. An elderly looking Arab man wearing an Islamic cap was shaving a customer's neck with a straight edged razor while he chatted amiably with a friend in some incomprehensible language. I've never seen any of those barbershop movies, but imagine that sort of scene in Morocco transplanted to London, and there you have it. As I sat down to wait my turn, it crossed my mind that maybe I didn't quite belong. No Anglo-Saxon hairstyles to be found.

Anyways, my turn comes up, and I go and sit in the chair. The larger African man sitting down tells me that he is just a friend of the haircutter, so I didn't have to worry about budging in line. I sit down, and the haircutter asks me what sort of cut I want. I explain that I want it short, but not that short (pointing to the closer than buzz cut just given to the previous customer). The next question is, what language do I speak. A bit confused, I told him English, and as an aside to make myself feel better about being a monoglot, that I knew a little bit of French. The haircutter then proceeds to chat me up in flawless French for the duration of my cut. I, possessor of four years of high school French and one semester of college, stumbled my way through awkward sentences as I tried to answer his questions. I think we came to the mutual understanding that I was an American who was studying law, hadn't spoken French for a long time, and had been to England before.

Whenever confronted with such cross-cultural situations, I always try to be somewhat overtly friendly and respectful, to try and dispel any negative connotations of Americans. After my haircut, the haircutter's friend started asking me questions. The same old general thing, where I was from, what I was doing, etc. I asked him where he was from, and he said Sudan. The haircutter was Moroccan. We had a friendly chat, I paid, bid them both good day, and was off. I left with a fine cut, avoiding the pitfalls of many foreign coiffeurs, complete with razored neck.

Point being, I don't know what the point of this story is. At the least, it's a mundane account of my haircut, that most fascinating and exotic of activities. At the most, it's potentially a tale of the sort of friendly encounters that one can have if they ignore stereotypes. Of course, I didn't know the nationalities of the men in the salon, but I would venture to say that most Americans would think twice about an Islamic looking man with a straight edged blade cutting their hair. I'm not trying to say that I'm some sort of golden boy, springing forth with tolerance and understanding or anything. That's not the point. The real point I suppose, is that it is best to encounter others as actual people, not as caricatures.

Bad Idea

I like to think that I have fairly good ideas, on the whole. Usually I have a good head on my shoulders, and don't do anything irrational or stupid. However, I think this afternoon that all went down the tube. Or rather, the tube would have been preferable.

Meaning, I decided to take the number 25 bus from central London way back out here to Mile End. On the tube, it's probably a 15 to 20 minute ride. On foot, most likely an hour. So you know, it's not a quick jaunt or anything. Prior to my ride, I had spent a fruitless hour and a half walking around Oxford Street in searing heat, searching vainly for a pair of affordable, khaki, American shorts. It was hot as hell, swarming with people, and all the shorts cost a minimum of £25. I only had a bottle of lukewarm water, was craving one of the frappucinos I kept seeing people carry about, and was generally bitter towards the heat. Especially despairing was the shorts situation. I stopped into a Gap, thinking that the Gap, of all places, would have a quality pair of khaki, American shorts. I was foiled, and I must say, my confidence in the Gap to provide me with quality clothes has been severely shaken.

Keep in mind, the tube gets ungodly hot in this sort of weather. Not as much concern for ventilation in the early 1900's when the tunnels were dug. I figured the bus might be cooler, maybe it would even have air conditioning. I was wrong on both fronts.

I spent a burning half an hour on the bus. And let me tell you folks, it was miserable. All along the route, I saw happy people sucking down frappucinos, sitting near fountains, eating ice cream, etc. All the things that normal people do in the midst of a hellish heat wave, which I had been cruelly denied for the previous two hours. I even saw a Gregg's from the window, which is a fantastic food outlet that I've been searching for. To make matters worse, the bus wasn't even a double-decker bus, which would at least have added some novelty to the experience. I wasn't even cheered by the "blending in" aspect, or the diversity of the clientele. I was more preoccupied with avoiding the scent of the man who decided to sit next to me. To put it charitably, he smelled like shit.

I finally escaped at the Whitechapel stop, got some more cereal, and decided the 20 minute walk back to Mile End would be far more worthwhile than the bus. Finally, a wise choice.

Wow

Concert Review: Spinal Tap

Hello folks. First off, a big round of applause for the Minnesota Supreme Court and a newly realistic Norm Coleman. It feels good to have our state be constitutionally whole again.

Back to the subject matter, yesterday's Spinal Tap concert was a fantastic success. I accidentally overpaid for a tube ticket by £4, but not even that could stop a great night of music. Yes, I actually say music. Regardless of the cinematic origins of the band, the actors are actually accomplished musicians, and for the vast majority of the night, played all of the instruments.

Because Spinal Tap was originally a movie, it was a bit surreal to see them play as an actual band, live and in person. The best analogy I have come up with is that it was akin to seeing a real dinosaur. We've all heard of dinosaurs, we know what they look like, they're actually quite familiar. But to see an actual dinosaur in your backyard, you'd be a bit taken aback. Same for Spinal Tap. It was a bit shocking to see the movie come alive.

Aside from the general ridiculousness of the lyrics, which swim in that sort of 1980's arrested development pseudo-sexuality, I thought the music was actually played very well. They definitely knew that the audience was there because of the movie, so they did a good job of playing the music people would recognize. I'm fairly certain every song you hear in the movie was played in full version last night. I did wish they had a bit more witty banter on stage, but I also realize that people came to hear the music, not a play. Every once in a while, David St. Hubbins would drop out of his accent, but Nigel Tufnel and Derek Smalls were spot on.

It was kind of nifty, the venue (Wembley Arena) was right next door to Wembley Stadium, which is a massive football stadium. The size of this stadium just seemed to dwarf the Metrodome, and it was capped off with this huge metal archway, which you could see from miles away. So yes, quite impressive. The actual Wembley Arena was kind of like a smaller Target Center. It wasn't nearly so deep, but probably the same dimensions lengthwise.

Anyways, I haven't gotten to posting any of the numerous videos I took last night, but you can check out photos of the concert (and some others) at the newly added "My Photos" tab on the links to your right. Check them out, I will post the videos hopefully tomorrow.