Gardening with a Historian and an Anthropologist...

... makes for very slow work, it turns out!

Even though it was cold and windy out, I managed to convince Scott to help me dig up the garden (with the promise of a homemade dinner afterwards).  Theoretically, it should be pretty quick work, especially with two people going at it.  All you have to do is cut the sod into strips, roll it up, and cart it away.  This went well for the first strip--I was pleased to see that the soil had a good consistency and that there were plenty of worms and grubs to help turn over the soil.  This gardening stuff might turn out to be a good idea, after all!

When I started to pull up the next strip, however, I noticed a small white and blue object.  Upon further inspection, I realized that it was a piece of painted ceramic!  Of course now that I knew there were interesting objects in the ground, this meant that I had to painstakingly comb every strip before taking it away.  Scott laughed at my enthusiasm at first, but once I started pulling out more pieces, he started looking too!  We ended up finding pieces from at least two or three different objects.  I'm a little rusty with my ceramics knowledge (not that I had much to begin with), so I really don't have any idea if they're all that interesting or not.  If anyone has any inklings, let me know!

We managed to get about three-quarters of the yard stripped off, except for bits near the fencel ine that were difficult to cut into.  I tried to dig into one area only to discover a row of bricks buried just below the surface.  The outside edge of the garden it lined with bricks, since the sidewalk is slightly beneath the soil line.  I figured that this row was just from an older garden perimeter that was eventually forgotten and let to grow over.  They would have to be pulled out before we could start planting, so I grabbed the spade and starting digging.  I pulled up about three intact bricks, and went to try to find the next one in line.

This time when I went to pull out the brick with my shovel, I noticed that it wasn't quite as heavy as the other bricks.  I figured that perhaps it was broken, or maybe it was just a stone that got placed instead of a brick.  When I finally did manage to pull it out, it turned out not to be a brick at all!  It was a bottle neck, with the cork still intact (very rotted, but still there).  Our garden is right next to the sidewalk that leads to and from the neighboring villages, so I just figured that it was litter that had been thrown over by a passerby some years ago (although it was strange that they would have left the cork in!).  I put the fragment to the side and continued digging.

My spade hit upon another hard object, so I reached down to pull it out.  It was another fragment of a bottle, but it was a different color than the bottle neck I had just pulled out.  I looked more closely at the hole I had dug and realized that there were dozens of fragments of bottles of all sorts of different colors!  The archaeologist in me started to get excited, and I expressed this excitement to Scott.  Again, he laughed at my enthusiasm, took his obligatory glance at the fragments I'd pulled up, and continued working on his patch of the garden.  I was so excited, though, that I continued to make celebratory noises with each new fragment I pulled out.

Finally, Scott couldn't take it anymore and came over to see what all the fuss was about.  Of course, he insisted that his excavation skills were far superior to mine, took the hand shovel from me, and proceeded to start digging himself.  Turns out he's a natural--he pulled up a large can (maybe a small paint can?), with a small, intact glass bottle inside of it.  This discovery convinced him of the archaeological significance of the site, so he put away his large tools and sat down to excavate with me.  Our gardening plans all but forgotten, we spent the next half hour or so pulling up more objects from the ground.  Once I realized that it was more than just a few pieces of litter, I even started try to map the locations of the objects!

By the time we were forced inside by rain, we'd pulled up an entire bucket full of bottle fragments, four cans, a small intact bottle, a large intact bottle, five bottle necks with corks still inserted, and two more pieces of ceramic.  Scott said we should recycle them, but right now they're sitting in the kitchen waiting for me to clean and date them, just in case they are something to get excited about.  I found a website that might help--it's for dating American bottles, but maybe I can find some good references there to give me an approximate age of the bottles.  It's still really strange that so many of them were unopened, and in the same place.  Someone's forgotten secret stash?

The answer to this mystery must remain for the moment, because the sun has returned (for the moment), which means its time to get back to the garden!

Endeavours in Gardening

So a few weeks ago, whilst staring out the window at the falling snow (in a place where I was assured that it rarely snowed--no, I am not going to let that go!), I decided that it would be a good idea to start a vegetable garden in the back yard.  I do have some experience with gardening, if you count helping my dad with his when I was about 12 years old.  Other than that, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

Luckily, there are perks to living in the old servant's house on an estate--there is a groundskeeper for the whole estate who knows a thing or two about tending to a garden.  I actually met the groundskeeper, Bob, during my first week here when a package meant for Hildersham Hall (the estate owners' home) was accidentally delivered to our house.  I wasn't quite sure what to do, but I just happened to look out the window and see a man clearing the snow on the driveway.  Since I hadn't met our landlord, I assumed that that was who it was.  Turns out I was wrong, but luckily Bob is really awesome and agreed to give the package to the landlord when he saw him.  We ended up talking for over an hour, even though I was standing outside with only my slippers and sweatshirt.  Bob is a really interesting guy, and seems to know a little bit about everything!

A few weeks later when I told him that I wanted to start a garden, Bob helped me scout out the best location in the yard, and even agreed to put down some weedkiller so that I wouldn't have to pull up all the grass.  He came over on a warm, sunny day to spray it.  He finished within about 15 minutes, but once again he ended up staying and chatting for over an hour.  In fact, the only reason he ended up leaving was because I got stung by a bee!  It figures that would happen on the first warm day of the year!  Very strange circumstance, too--I put my hands inside the pocket of my sweatshirt, and was stung on my palm by the bee that had apparently been napping in there!  It's been about a week, and I'm proud to say that my hand is healing quite nicely.  It was starting to itch quite a bit, but it turns out that a nice rubbing of mud really helps with that!

Anyways, after Bob sprayed the yard to kill the grass, he told me that if the weather stayed dry, everything should be gone within a week or so.  Of course, it has rained and/or snowed pretty much every day since he said that.  So, unfortunately, the grass and weeds are still very alive and I now get the oh-so-fun task of pulling them all out.  Luckily, Bob has started a little bit of it for me, because he had to dig up one side to put in the new fence that he graciously offered to install around the perimeter of the vegetable garden to keep out the rabbits.  He even put in a nice gate and painted everything, too!  Have I said that I think Bob is pretty much the most awesome person ever?

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After a week of watching the rain fall and nourish the grass that I was attempting to kill, I finally gave in and decided to pull up the grass myself.  This doesn't seem like that big of a deal, but it turns out that a plot of 25 by 15 feet is actually pretty big.  Also, I only had a spade to work with.  I started to dig up a bit with that, but after an hour of work I'd only managed to sort of move the dirt around in about a 4 by 4 area.  Luckily, Bob tends to also have great timing, and he showed up just in time to see me ready to give up in my attempts.  He showed me how to use my spade to cut the sod into strips, and even lent me his antique sod lifter to make rolling it up even easier!  With this new tool, I was able to remove about a third of the grass in just about an hour!  Even still, I definitely got my work out and can assure you that I'll get a good night's sleep tonight!

My progress so far.  I'm pretty proud of myself!

Now, I think I'm going to wait until Scott can help this weekend to pull up the rest of it.  Turns out that dirt and grass can be quite heavy, so he also gets the honorable task of moving the rolls of sod that I've created.  He'll be so excited to hear the news!

Escape to Portugal

www.guardian.co.uk

Because we stayed so close to the airport, we "slept in" until 5:00 a.m.  We actually managed to get up and going fairly efficiently, considering the hour.  We were checked out and ready to go just a little past 6:00.  Unfortunately, the snow hadn't let up all night and there was a nice covering of the stuff all the way up to the airport.  I really wasn't too excited about sitting on a cold airplane with wet feet, so I went into the bathroom and snagged some of the extra garbage bags from the corner.  I tied them around my feet over my sneakers to prevent some of the water from getting in.  And to make a fashion statement, obviously.  Scott commented that it was an improvement over my normal attire, although the other people we passed by didn't quite seem to have the same opinion.

Regardless of their fashion, the bags served their purpose and my feet were only slightly damp by the time  arrived at the terminal.  As I peeled the bags off, Scott did some reconnaissance to see where we needed to go to get our tickets.  We'd already checked in and were only bringing carry-on baggage, but we would still have to wait in line because we don't have a printer at home to print the tickets.  I'm actually almost tempted to buy a printer just to avoid the hassle of waiting in line at airports!  It would totally be worth it.  Especially because just as we got into the hideously long line, we heard an announcement over the loudspeaker saying that it was the last call for our flight!  Granted, it was an international flight so we probably should have arrived more than an hour before boarding, but last call at 6:20?!

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There was no way we were going to get to the front of the line anytime soon, so Scott left the line to go ask for help at the ticket counter.  Luckily, the staff are apparently used to lots of traveler arriving late and having similar panic situations.  In fact, there was a special check-in line designed especially for those travelers.  We rushed to join that line, willing it to move quickly as we heard the repeated "last call" for our flight.  As soon as the agent gave us our tickets, we ran to security and were once again faced with a mile-long line.  This time, there wasn't any "fast-track" service, so we just had to grit our teeth and hope we made it.  As we stood in line we started to organize the things that needed to be taken out or put in bags (electronics and liquids).  As we did, Scott reaching into the bottom of his bag and realized that he had forgotten to take out his multi-tool before packing for the trip!  For those of you unacquainted, a multi-tool is basically just a bunch of knives and other sharp objects all tacked together.  Not such a good thing to try to bring into an airport, especially if you're planning on getting anywhere fast.

I know that some airports have last minute mail services near security, so I was hoping that we might just be able to mail it home.  I did a quick scan, but didn't see anything in the vicinity.  We showed it to the guard in the corner of the room.  He let us keep it for the moment, but warned us that it probably wasn't going to be able to go much further.  When we got to the x-ray, Scott showed it to the security agent to see what options he might have.  He didn't have any, so was forced to hand it over before going through the machine.  But at least we got to leave our shoes on!

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We got through security by about 7:10, which is the time that our tickets said that the gate was closing.  Hoping that my watch was a little fast, we ran as fast as we could to our gate.  We were welcomed by a massive gathering of about 100 other people who probably had also made a mad dash to the gate after hearing the "last call."  Apparently those calls they'd been giving out for the past half hour had merely been a suggestion, because the door to the waiting area for the gate hadn't even been opened yet.  So glad we nearly ran down an old crippled lady in our quest to get there on time.  It actually turned out pretty well that we were at the back of the line, because the waiting area was no more than a covered area right next to the runway--not the most comfortable place to stand around and wait when it's snowing.  Because of our tardiness, we were some of the last people ushered in and only had to endure it for about 15 minutes.

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Not to say that I was too excited about those 15 minutes, either, but I suppose I'm glad it wasn't any longer. When we finally did make it to the airplane (around 8:00, 20 minutes after the scheduled departure time), we looked at our tickets to see that we would be seated towards the back of the plane.  And by "towards the back" I mean "the absolute last row right next to the bathrooms."  And of course we were in the window and middle seat.  I'm usually pretty OK with small places, but the one exception to that is on airplanes, where I always insist on being in the aisle.  I usually manage to reserve one but if not, the plane often has extra seats that I can move to once we're in the air.  Not today.  At least the person sitting next to me was very respectful and even offered to let me use the armrest!  Now that is chivalry at 30,000 feet!

Luckily for our seatmate, he got to have the armrest and even a little bit extra butt room, because I leaned over and slept on Scott's shoulder for nearly the whole trip.  Except for the last half hour or so, during which time I decided to try a new game on my iPod called "Temple Run."  It is the most addictive game ever; you've been warned!  It was a little difficult to catch on to the rules (because reading the instructions would have been too easy), and of course just as I figured it out was when the captain made the landing announcement and we had to power down all electronics.

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The landing was much more efficient than boarding and take-off, and we headed right inside to customs.  Usually, being the foreigner means longer lines and more questioning at the border, but this time it was actually an advantage being a non-EU citizen!  There was one line for EU and UK passport holders, and one line for "everyone else."  Luckily for us, it was only us and one other couple that qualified as "everyone else," so we got right to the front of the line.  The lady barely even looked at our passport before stamping it and waving us through.  I was so excited to have my first European stamp in this passport!  I am a little disappointed that all the European stamps are now basically the same since becoming part of the EU but, oh well.  I'll continue collecting anyway.

After getting through the border, we headed straight out to the transportation area.  I hadn't really researched the best way to get to our hotel, but I did know that it was supposed to be fairly close to a metro stop.  We decided to find a map and try to find our way to the nearest metro, hoping that there wouldn't be too many busy roads to cross to get there.  Luckily for us, it turns out they had just built a new metro stop right inside the airport!  Plus, the tickets were electronic so we could buy a reusable card that could be used all on modes of transportation during our entire stay.  We did have a little trouble buying the ticket from the electronic kiosk, until we discovered that there was a button to translate everything into English.  Amazing how much easier that made things!

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The airport was at the far north of the city, while our hotel was at the southernmost end.  We also had to transfer lines once, so it took us about 45 minutes to get to our stop.  Luckily, we got to have our pick of seats since we had gotten on at the first stop of the line.  We got off at metro Baixa-Chiado (easy to remember, since the name of our hotel was "Borges Chiado").  After going up what seemed an infinite number of floors--thank goodness for escalators--we finally emerged into a large, bustling square.  The directions I had gotten to our hotel weren't very specific, so we walked around to the other side of the exit to see if we could find a map with a more precise location.  Unfortunately, the dispaly that we had believed to be a map was empty.  So, like the confused tourists that we are, we just looked around like deer in the headlights.  This actually turned out to be quite a good strategy, as it turned out that our hotel was just across the square!

It was just a few minutes until noon, so we figured that it would be the perfect time to check in and start exploring.  Of course, the first thing on our mind was lunch.  Being the "economical" travelers that we are, we hadn't eaten breakfast because it wasn't free at the hotel, and there also weren't any snack provided on the airplane.  There was quite a crowd in the lobby, so we ended up waiting about 15 minutes before we managed to grab anyone's attention.  When we finally did, we were told that check-in time actually wasn't until 1:00 p.m., so we would have to do something else until that time.  They did let us leave our bags in a locked closet so that we didn't have to much to carry, at least.  

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We decided to use the time to go out in search of something to quench our appetites.  There were a few cafes right next to the hotel, but we wanted to be a bit more adventurous so we headed up the big hill to our right and down a small cobblestone street on our first Portuguese adventure.  There were quite a few tourists at the plaza from where we'd come, but as we moved further down the narrow street, we noticed a change in the ambiance.  There were decidedly fewer foreigner accents, and many more "regular" people just going about their daily activities.  We walked past a small restaurant with all sorts of fresh fish on display in the window.  Scott was a little unsure at first, but we took a quick glance at the menu and, with our elementary grasp of Portuguese combined with some educated guessing, we surmised that there were at least a few non-fish options and that the prices were fairly reasonable.

We ventured inside and used hand gestures to indicate that we wanted a table for two.  That was our first indication that this was going to be a good meal--no one spoke English! We muddled through the menu for a few minutes before the waiter realized our difficulties and brought us an international menu.  He tried to speak to us in German, but when that didn't work out, he reverted back to handle signals.  Apparently, we don't look very American, because this was only the first of many instances in which someone would first attempt to speak to us in German.  Maybe I should have chosen a different language in high school!

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Although some of the translations on the English menu were a bit strange, we cross-referenced between the Portuguese and Spanish translations to get the best idea of what it was we were ordering.  Scott ending up getting a meat platter with pork and liver, while I got a traditional Portuguese dish made with corvina.  I wasn't really sure what that was, but I knew I wanted something Portuguese and the waiter assured me that that was a good choice.  Good thing I was really hungry, because corvina is apparently a giant fish (the best translation in English is "seabass," although I don't think it's exactly the same).  The dish I got was a stew of sorts made of potatoes and vegetables in a tomato sauce, with a huge slab of this giant fish plunked right on top.  It was served in something similar to a casserole dish, with a bowl on the side to dish the portions into.  I was told that it was a single-serving portion, but I'm pretty sure that this "single" they're talking about is a 300-pound Portuguese fisherman.  Normally, Scott helps me finish any extra portions of food that I can't get to, but he is really anti-fish.  He did brave one (very tiny) bite, declared it "very fishy," and refused to look at it anymore.  I'm proud to say that I ate the whole thing but two potatoes all by myself!  I'd forgotten my camera at the hotel, but this picture from another website gives you an idea of what the dish was.  Just multiply that by about 6 servings.  Yum!

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After lunch, we waddled back to our hotel to check in.  The receptionists were much more attentive this time, and we were sent up to our room in no time.  We were on the third floor, and after walking down what seemed like endless corridors, we found our room towards the back of the hotel.  Apparently, the hotel was made by combining four or five different buildings all into one giant one, so some of the halls were somewhat labyrinthine.  We did eventually find our room, though, and were pleasantly surprised to see a large window that could let in the warm sunshine.  Upon opening it, we realized that we had a wonderful view of... the wall of the other side of the building.  This ended up working to our advantage, though, because the outside rooms all faced right onto the busy street and were quite noisy at all hours of the night.  While we didn't get our beautiful view, we did get quite a bit of sunshine and definitely appreciated the peace and quiet at night.  We unpacked our stuff and relaxed for a few minutes before heading out into the "warm" weather (50° F!) to explore our surroundings.

Half Term Travels

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So after about three days in "sunny" England, I decided that was just about enough of that and it was time to start looking for a more temperate climate.  Luckily, Scott's school was letting out for half term during the second week of February, so I didn't have to wait long.  The only problem was that there are so many awesome places to visit so nearby, we didn't know how to narrow it down!  Scott graciously let me have the honors of finding the ideal location, so the first thing I did was sign up for as many discount travel sites as possible.  This only served to magnify the conundrum, as I was now receiving almost hourly updates on the new *amazing* deals to some exotic location, but only if I bought the tickets right now!  So, I did the most logical thing in this situation: I randomly clicked on a link to see where it would take me.

This particular link took me a to a deal with for a week in Portugal.  I didn't know much of Portugal and never really had too much of an interest to learn more, but the price was good (and the weather was forecast to be pretty nice), so I asked Scott what he thought about going.  To my surprise, he was very enthusiastic; apparently, he had always wanted to go to there!  So, I booked the deal and got to daydreaming about the nice, warm weather.

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Because we got the tickets for such a good price, they departure flight was from a different airport than the return flight.  The return flight came in to Gatwick, one of the two major London airports, so I wasn't too worried about finding transportation from there.  The outgoing flight, however, left from "Luton Airport," which neither Scott nor I had ever heard of.  Luckily, we found a company that runs shuttles from Cambridge to all the London area airports.  At £15 per person for the ride, I thought the fare was a bit steep, but Scott told me that the U.K. is known for having expensive transportation because it is not run or subsidized by the government as it is most countries.  This has been somewhat of an adjustment from me, coming from Chile where I could travel halfway across the country for $30, moving to the U.K. where that money might get me as far as London (if I can find a discount fare).

Our flight to Lisbon was schedule to leave Luton at 7:40 on Monday morning., so to avoid the hassle of getting lost and possibly missing the infrequent early morning buses from our house, we booked a room at the airport hotel.  The website said it was only a ten minute walk away from the terminals, so we could get some extra sleep and just head over by foot in the morning.  Theoretically, this was a good plan.  We relaxed and got some household chores done on Sunday, and went into Cambridge around 5:00 to catch the shuttle.  We found the bus stop easily enough, but had some trouble finding the right bus to get on.  We tried to ask one of the bus drivers, but she looked confused and told us "that bus doesn't usually leave from here," and suggested we go to the main terminal.  We were fairly certain that our tickets were for the stop that we were at, so we went to look at the route map just to make sure.  Sure enough, Luton was on the list.  We figured that maybe the driver was new to this route or something, so we went to ask another driver.

He too gave us an odd look and told us that we should probably go to the other terminal.  Confused, we pulled out the electronic text message we had received as out ticket and showed it to him.  After wading through the garbled mess that occurs when you use a standard phone to receive smartphone messages, he finally found the actual message, and a light bulb went on in his head.  "Oh," he said, "you're going to Luton!" Scott and I looked at each other, befuddled--isn't that what we'd been saying all along?!  We expressed this to the driver, who told us that we had been asking for London!  Apparently, Luton should be pronounced with a long "u" sound, whereas we had been using a short "u" sound.  This, combined with our highly exotic American accents, produced some confusion. 

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With the help of the second driver, we eventually figured things out.  He helped us decipher the text message tickets and told us that we had actually purchased a later trip, scheduled to leave at 8:30 p.m.  It was only just 6:00 at the time, and we really weren't looking forward to waiting outside in the cold for another two and a half hours.  Luckily, the driver was very accommodating, and agreed to let us on to his earlier shuttle.  We were especially grateful for his generosity when we looked out the window ten minutes later and saw that it had begun to snow significantly!  By the time we got near the airport about an hour later, there was a good couple inches of snow on the ground.  Turns out, a ten minute walk seems significantly longer when you're wearing "breathable" sneakers.  It also didn't help that we started out on the other side of the road and walked halfway to the hotel before we realized we wouldn't be able to cross the street and had to backtrack back to the airport again.

But we finally made it to the hotel and got checked it.   We were very grateful for the fact that each room had its own heater, and took full advantage.  We settled into the room, got out of our wet clothes, and just huddled up next to the heater for a while.  Eventually, hunger won out so we went to the lobby restaurant to grab a quick dinner.  Scott had an authentic English pie and I had some (probably also English) fish.  We also shared some cider (yes, we're lightweights and can only handle one pint between the two of us).  We then headed up to our room to get some rest and hope that the snow would let up before our flight the next morning.  

"Welcome to Sunny England!"

... that's the first thing that Scott said to me when he came to pick me up at the airport.  Which, incidentally, happened almost two hours later than it was supposed to.  Because the entire country was in the middle of a freak snowstorm that delayed/stopped most modes of transportation for more than a week.  They'd actually only re-opened the airport a few hours before I arrived!  Somehow, I wasn't quite convinced of this whole "Sunny England" thing.  And I must say, it hasn't done much of a job convincing me in the past two weeks either.  It was sunny yesterday, and I was actually a little confused when I first woke up before I realized what it was!  But at least the mountains of snow have melted...!

When I first arrived, the first thing I noticed was all the snow!  There was more of the stuff here than I had left at home in Wisconsin!  And I distinctly remember being told (multiple times!), "oh, don't worry; it hardly ever snows in Cambridge!" I was also told that it rarely gets below freezing, too.  So imagine my shock when we got nearly a foot of snow on my first day in the country, and spent the rest of the week at about freezing temperatures.  Some welcome that was!  But it is really going to make me appreciate the spring when it comes.  Again.  I feel like I've been experiencing more than my fair share of winters lately...

So far, I've mostly been stranded at or near our house.  First of all, I didn't realize how difficult it would be to buy water-proof boots in a country that is famous for its precipitation!  This made it difficult to go anywhere during the first week because I only have my "breathe-easy" sneakers, which aren't really the best for walking in snow.  I did come up with the ingenious plan to wrap a plastic bag around my feet before inserting them into the shoes.  This actually worked quite well in fending off the cold and wet.  Plus, maybe I've started a new fashion trend!  Especially the day when I wore different-colored bags with the handles poking out of my pants.

We tried to go into Cambridge the first Sunday I was here (I arrived on Saturday the 19th), but that was the day of the big snowstorm and all the buses were cancelled.  Unfortunately, we didn't bother to look that up before going out to the bus stop, and ended up sitting out in the cold for nearly 45 minutes before deducing the truth.  Scott was insistent on showing me something, though, so we walked the 15 minutes to the nearest town, Abington, so that we could pick up some supplies from the little convenience shop there.  It's actually two towns, Great Abington and Little Abington that is collectively known as "The Abingtons."  Together, they have a population of almost 1,400.  Apparently the division dates back 4,000 years, and who are we to change it now?  I haven't seen much of the town, but from what I have seen, it looks very charming.  Quaint even.

My favorite part of these little towns in England is that there are hardly any house numbers.  Nope, we're too good for that--each house has its own name!  Most of them are named for the original owner or initial purpose of the building.  For example, the houses nearby to us have names like "The Windmill," and "The Old Bakery."  Our house was actually originally built as groundskeepers' quarters for a large country estate, known as "Hildersham Hall."  The estate is still there, although the associated land has diminished over the years.  There's still enough to have a good-sized herd of sheep, though!  They do make good neighbors.  Our house is situated at the southern-most end of the grounds, and is therefore called "South Lodge."  There is now a small town on the other side of the grounds named, would you guess, "Hildersham."

Last weekend it actually warmed up and the snow all melted, so we managed to do a little bit more exploring.  We walked through Hildersham (which has a population of around 200 and consists primarily of a church and a pub), and continued on the country road until we reached the next village, Linton.  This is the "big" town in the area, with a population of nearly 4,500.  They even have a full-scale grocery store!  Well, it's actually a co-operative, which turns out to be much better because the prices are good and the food is fresh (and often organic).  On our visit, we picked up some ingredients to make pizza (we didn't realize at the time that we didn't have a rack in the oven yet, but we got creative and it all worked out in the end).

We even got to spend the day in Cambridge (finally) on Saturday!  It was the warmest day since I arrived, although the sun still didn't really want to show his face.  Scott wanted to show me as many of the sites as possible, so he took a very convoluted route through the city.  As a result, I am thoroughly confused as to where anything is.  Except the candy store.  I can absolutely tell you where the candy store is.  It's right next to the round church, obviously!  I've taken some photos of the places, but I'm not very pleased with them.  We're planning to go back again this weekend, so I'll see if I can get some better shots.

While the weather was warmer than it had been, it was still pretty cold.  I was bundled up in an undershirt, long-sleeve t-shirt, sweatshirt, and coat.  It worked well enough until the wind started to come or until we got into the shade.  We first stopped at a market that is held daily in the center of town (is it called a square, or do I just want English cities to be like Spanish ones?).  The market is huge and there are vendors of all sorts--crafts, clothing, food; there was even a bicycle repair shop set up in one of the tents!  Scott's favorite stands were the cheese shop and the sauce shop.  There were samples of all sorts of different sauces.  We held back and only bought two kinds--a spicy red tomato pesto, and a more mild traditional pesto.  That was less than a week ago, and they're already pretty much gone.

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The most exciting part of the day for me, however, was going to the bike shop!  We can't really afford a car right now, so the next best thing is a bike.  Actually, a bike might be better than a car, especially in Cambridge!  There are so many bikes in the city that they are literally chained right on top of each other.  With so many options, I was amazed to find the perfect bike in the first place we looked.  It's used, but in excellent condition.  It even comes with a basket, back carrier, and a lock!  The only thing is that I won't be able to get it until this Saturday.  We're still working on finding a safe route to bike from our house to Cambridge (it's about 17 miles), but it will be great to have a fast way to get around between the little towns around here.  I'm so excited!

Anyways, I just heard Scott come through the gate on his bike, so I guess I'd better go make final dinner preparations.  We're having curry!!!

Here We Go Again...

I’ve gotten behind on my blog updates, but what else is new?  Hopefully I can fill you in on our trip to Pucon soon, although you might not get every juicy detail like you’re used to (due to the fact that it’s been a while since the trip, and also the fact that my notebook with all the notes to help me remember said details is currently smooshed between some couch cushions at my parents’ house in Wisconsin).  Hey, at least I got the Facebook photos uploaded!

Well, right now I am once again sitting in an airport waiting for my next adventure.  I must say, though, that this is by far the most elegant terminal I’ve ever been to.  I arrived to Minneapolis from La Crosse at around 4:30, and my flight to London doesn’t leave until almost 10:00, so I’ve got a bit of time to kill.  Luckily for me, I get to wait in the newly-remodeled “G” terminal!  A small section of the waiting area is “normal,” in that it has a few rows of traditional row seats lined up against the wall.  The rest of the waiting area is taken up by small 1-2 person booths and larger bar-style tables, each with a comfortable white leather chair and an individual iPad for each seat!  There is also a snack bar in the corner, but you don’t even have to get up from your seat—just select a picture of your favorite food from the menu on your iPad, and it will be delivered fresh to your table within 15 minutes!  I was almost tempted to try it out, but the luxury is definitely one that you must pay for.  A small, plain coffee here at the gate goes for nearly $4.  Walk a few feet to the entrance of the terminal and get a “fancy” coffee for just over $2!  Of course you know which option I chose!

It’s currently 6:15 pm, and I’m already pretty hyped up on caffeine.  I had two cups of it this morning before leaving, too!  Now, with the addition of my “fancy” coffee, I’m hoping that the combination of insane amounts of caffeine and sugar will lead to a great crash in about 4 hours or so (just the time I’ll be settling in for my transatlantic flight).  Of course, this plan could totally backfire and I’ll just be wired the entire 9 hours, too.  Luckily, I’m pretty sure there are power outlets on the plane, so that just means I get to spend more time with you lovely people!

There’s actually not free wi-fi in this section of the airport (they want you to use the iPads and be tempted by all the pictures of delicious food that they have strategically placed in the background of all your favorite websites).   I finally figured out how to change the date/time on my blog posts, though, so you won’t even know that I wasn’t publishing on the spot!  Well, I guess except for the fact that I just told you.

flvrd.com

Since Mauricio showed it to me a couple months ago, I have been completely addicted to Foursquare!  Unfortunately, I’m a little bit behind the times and only had a second generation iPod—it was so old, in fact, that I couldn’t even update the programs anymore!  I did manage to download the app, but it was pretty glitchy.  Luckily for me, I managed to convince Mom to trade me for her (slightly newer but still not cutting edge) generation four iPod.  She mostly uses hers to play “Angry Birds,” and was super excited to see that I had unlocked about 9 different themes for the game.  I’d say we both came out ahead in the switch.  Actually, I probably came out a bit better, because there is nothing quite as entertaining as watching Mom play “Angry Birds.”  She really lets it live up to its name!

socialmediaexaminer.com

Anyways, back to Foursquare.  Now that I’ve gotten a new iPod that is more reliable, I’ve been checking in constantly!  It has taken me a while to learn how to see information on a place without checking in—there was one interesting blunder during that learning process in which I checked in at a strip club!  And of course all of the check-ins are published publicly to Facebook.  I wonder what my students thought of that one… It’s all part of the intrigue, I suppose!  I’m so addicted to Foursquare that I’ve already checked in to 6 different places here in the airport.  I would check in to more, except that because I have a lowly iPod (and not an iPhone that can connect to the internet anywhere), I can only check-in at places that have or are near to free wi-fi connections.  I know, that is so 2007!  (Can you tell that I’ve had a bit more coffee than usual today?).

I’m actually not really sure why I’m writing a blog post right now.  Mostly to tell you how cool this terminal is.  Also because I’ve had more caffeine in the past 8 hours than I normally do in an entire week.  I would say both are equally valid reasons.  But alas, I must now leave you for the time being.  The little ladies’ room is calling my name.

Changes Coming?

As you may have heard from me over the years, glasses/contacts really annoy me.  I remember when I was first told that I needed glasses at age 8--I ate only carrots for about two weeks, hoping that my eyes would miraculously improve and I could forgo the glasses.  Unfortunately, the eye-health properties of carrots may be somewhat overrated, so a week after my initial eye exam, I was fitted for my first pair of glasses.  At first, my prescription was pretty low so I tried to get away with not wearing the glasses.  I was finally convinced that I really needed them when I went on a road trip with some other kids in my class.  We played "the alphabet game" to pass the time, and I didn't manage to get one letter in the whole 2-hour drive.  After that, I finally accepted the sad truth that I would be wearing glasses for the rest of my life.

I did think I caught a break in 7th grade when my optometrist cleared me for wearing contacts.  I was excited at first, but I quickly learned that contacts weren't necessarily better than glasses.  Apparently, my eyes are actually smaller in size than average, and I have a tendency towards dry eyes.  These two things combined make it difficult to keep contacts in my eyes, especially after a long day or during dry weather.  It definitely got annoying losing and throwing out so many ripped contacts--I could almost see my money going down the drain with them.  I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I'd be dealing with annoying glasses and contacts forever.

Ever since I learned of its existence, I've wanted to get LASIK surgery.  I looked into a little bit when I heard about it in high school, but put it on the back burner when I learned that the average cost is over $2,000 per eye.  I also heard that some of the most common side effects are dry eyes and halos at night, problems that I already dealt with and certainly didn't want to make any worse.  I once again resigned myself to the fact that it would probably never actually happen, and did my best to make the most of life with contacts.  Every couple of years I would re-check prices and side effects, but they didn't change much.

Then, in November 2012 on a whim, I emailed the vision center at Gundersen Lutheran to get some more information.  I knew that I would only be in La Crosse for a little over three weeks, and really didn't expect much more than the generic FAQ answers that I usually find on the internet.  But I sent my schedule anyway, just to see.  The very next day I received a reply from Dianne, telling me that they had a space open for the surgery if I could come in on the certain days that they reserved for me. She also needed a decision quickly, so that she could give the appointment times to someone else if I didn't want them.  I was shocked--I hardly expected a response at all, much less the offer for surgery in only a couple weeks!  Plus, I was nearing the end of my tenure in Chile, so wouldn't have the income to pay for the expensive surgery.

I immediately called my parents and told them about it.  They were very supportive, and encouraged me to go for it!  They even offered to loan me some money so that I could pay for it all at once (and not accrue interest on making payments).  Even still, I was a bit hesitant to reply, thinking about all the possible side effects that I'd heard about it.  I spent a couple days gathering stories from friends who had had it done, and the overwhelming consensus was that I should go for it.  So, I sent an email to Dianne letting her know that I would come in for the consult on December 28.   That's when I really started to get nervous.  One word of advice: NEVER Google videos of the surgery you are about to have, no matter how strong of a stomach you think you have!