Tag Archives: markets

CHOCOLATE FORESTING

Well, at last I have something interesting to write about.

This past Saturday was another school day trip, this time to Stonehenge and Salisbury. The school-sponsored trips have started to become a bit of a disappointment, unfortunately–one or two hours somewhere else, a few hours somewhere less satisfying. That’s how it was with Stonehenge. I was circling the monument, watching the crows land on all the big, roped-off rocks, dodging people with cameras,

wondering why we couldn’t have a little while longer here. Wondering why, for example, the school couldn’t have paid for us to use one of those neat audio tours that looks like a cell phone and tells you all about the place you’re visiting.

I stepped in on a couple guided tours. The guides were fascinating. The place was beautiful. It was proper English weather the whole time: windy, chilly, with a bit of mist, but not enough to freeze your bones like in New Hampshire. Everything was a muted shade of green, grey, blue or brown–exactly the kind of ominous atmosphere you want when visiting a paleolithic (or is it neolithic?) monument with the kind of presence that Stonehenge has.

Salisbury was, luckily, not such a disappointment. The town itself is old, and it rambles. There is a huge Gothic (I think) cathedral there, even more impressive than the Bath Abbey–great flying arches, giant stained-glass windows and the like. Tucked away in a little corner, they kept one of the original four copies of the Magna Carta; that was something to see.

Down a narrow and creepy alleyway, we also found an open-air market, with stands selling most everything: clothes, shoes, used books, fruit and veg

(GET YOUR BANANAS HERE, A POUND A BOWL, GET ‘EM WHILE THEY LAST, GET YOUR BEST BANANA, A POUND FOR A BOWL BEST BANANA),

coats, and best of all army surplus.

You might ask why “army surplus” should be best of all. Well, it’s because I finally found myself a pair of boots. Having already made the decision to get rid of my horrible desert boots (the things cut me up something awful), the extraordinarily nice couple in fatigues and green coats sold me on a pair of black boots, having held their own feet out to demonstrate that the boots I wore were their boot of choice.

I later discovered my new boots are called German paratrooper boots. Huge, heavy, and black. I could stand in them all day without feeling it.

Sunday was my day to go back to Camden Market. To be more specific, my roommate and I walked down to the 99p store, because I had seen something resembling Nutella, except half again as much product for only half the price.

The place is a feast of cheap stuff. Dollar stores, the college student’s dream shop!  The two huge rolls of digestive biscuits I got there did not disappoint. Neither will, I hope, the cans of ravioli.

But when I got home with my new jar of  discount “chocolate hazelnut spread” a quick tasting showed that it was nothing like the sweet, chocolatey ambrosia man has named “Nutella”. It was more like…

How shall I describe it…

Lard frosting. That’s it. Evidently, %0.5 hazelnut is enough to call something “chocolate hazelnut spread”.

The rest of the week has been relatively uneventful; I’ve been working on various papers and reading things. Yesterday I got free ticket to go see “As You Like It” at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre tonight. It was a happy coincidence, as just that day I had bought a groundling ticket for “Love’s Labours Lost” the very next night. More on those in a couple days!

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A WEEKEND IN

Well, sort of. Most people in Reid Hall and beyond had gone off to either Dublin (to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the creation of Guinness) or Munich (to celebrate Oktoberfest) last weekend, while me and my budget stayed here in London. Most of the weekend I spent in my room, though Saturday I went to Stratford-Upon-Avon and Warwick Castle, both of which were relatively fun. A tour of Shakespeare’s birthplace would have been more interesting to me than a tour of Warwick Castle, medieval fortress/victorian estate-turned-capitalist venture, but perhaps that’s just because I’ve seen better castles. Yes, since you ask, I am excited to visit Ireland again.

I’ve been putting this post of for more than a week; I can’t seem to gather thoughts in a structure comprehensive enough for a single long post on one or two subjects. So here are a bunch of short subjects, in the interest of putting off something else. At least I’m writing while I procrastinate on my latest story.

Chocolate wrappers in the hallway. I guess I’m not eating that much chocolate. Had a sausage roll today. “Meat sweats” are a real thing. Got sick on Friday from the seafood casserole I had Thursday night. Note: stay away from octopus tentacles in a casserole. Just thinking about it makes me queasy.

I’m drinking tea right now from my new mug of Shakespearean insults (by far the best thing to come out of the weekend). Tesco tea, which, surprisingly, is quite good. At least compared to what we drink in the states. For 80p (about $1.50), I get eighty tea bags. At least something is cheap in London. That and curry chicken slices. Mmmm.

Know what’s relatively cheap, and absoutely delicious? Lamb Kebab. Döner. Shawerma. Whatever. Lamb on a stick, carved off the spit and served in pitta with lettuce and what have you. Everything I dreamed of and more. For once, I felt like I was living one of the culinary fantasies I regularly experience when watching Anthony Bourdain.

Got a pedestal fan near Camden Town for drying the clothes. Now, what would take a day (maybe longer) takes at most a night to line dry. Well worth the £12 I paid.

Got some new shoes. They were horrible. Sending them back and going to a shoe store on Friday. A London shoe store… fancy that. More after I go.

I have decided I love the way pictures taken with my old Minolta look. I’m going to buy a new, updated body (I can get an X-700 on ebay for around $50) once I get back from this place. Maybe this time I can load the damn film right.

what am i doing it is 11:10pm and i have to hand in a story tomorrow if i don’t quit this now i will be handing in a half done story here is a poster what do you think

mockup for next semester's film festival, not final

THE STORY IN PICTURES

You can hover over the pictures with your mouse for a little extra information.

charles de gaulle terminal, paris.

charles de gaulle terminal, paris.

baker street station exit.

baker street station exit.

my lovely room.

my lovely room.

lost on the way to camden I

lost on the way to camden I

lost on the way to camden II

lost on the way to camden II

lost on the way to camden III

lost on the way to camden III

a walk in regent's park I

a walk in regent's park I

a walk in regent's park II

a walk in regent's park II

imperial war museum I

imperial war museum I

imperial war museum II

imperial war museum II

imperial war museum III

imperial war museum III

I’ll have pictures as actual parts of posts from now on, so this doesn’t happen again.

CAMDEN, CARLSBERG AND CHARITY

Where to begin?

Thursday turned out to be more fun than I thought it would be… the pub was quite crowded with about fifty Americans coming in at once, so I went out to a quiet place on a distant corner and got a doener kebab (finally!), and it was delicious. Everything I dreamed of and more. So there’s your ending for last post’s cliffhanger. Now,

let’s see… lots of things can happen in a weekend, so I’ll try and include just the interesting bits.

This Weekend

is when I got most of my touristy impulses out of the way. I went on the ‘Jack The Ripper’ tour of the City and the East End, which turned out to be fun but a little disappointing, because it was right at sunset and there was no fog. The chap was a great storyteller, though. I thought I heard a far-off actress screaming in agony, and expected to find a made-up corpse and for the guide to look all surprised, but it turned out to just be some people at a bar.

Saturday, I took a free (paid-for by our kind adviser, Eleanor Hight) bus tour of London with some other UNHers. A recorded narration was followed by a kind of annoying live narrator, a stop at the pub, a boat ride, and then a different, more calm narrator.

Sunday

was especially an adventure. The day began with a walk to the art store, and a pair of much sexier sunglasses purchased from an Asian knock-off vendor. Tortoise-shell. Better-fitting. Eight pounds. Oh yeah.

An outing to Camden Market became a grand adventure when I got cut off from my group–I rode two or three tube stops in the wrong direction, and ended up walking about an hour through some residential neighborhoods until finally finding my way to the road that leads there. The benefit is that I saw some lovely buildings…

AND the English equivalent to the Dollar Tree: the 99p store! More like the $1.60 store, but there you have it. Got me some laundry powder.

Camden Market itself was massive and warren-like. New Englanders: imagine the biggest flea market you’ve ever been to, and multiply by a bajillion. Tunnels and tunnels of cramped-together stands selling knock-off bags, fashionable jackets, costume jewelery, music, t-shirts, shoes, electronics, carpets, hand-crafted goods, antiques, massages… and every so often, a large clearing would appear with twenty similarly-priced food stalls to choose from, each with its own wonderful smell to tease my poor cheap stomach and at least six vendors shouting at me to try some of their food. Every time I turned a corner, expecting the labyrinth to end, I found another endless line of shops and curios ahead of me. All I bought was a juice, but it was still an amazing place to explore. I felt like I was in the pilot episode to Firefly, only more cramped. If this is anything like the Portobello Street and Notting Hill markets, then fella, sign me up. I hear one of them has cheap fruit and veg, too, so more the better.

That night

I went out drinking with some new friends from back home. It’s strange; a lot of my new friends would have otherwise been far out of my social sphere, but here we are, stuck at Regent’s, lonely and homesick.

I warmed up once someone offered to buy me drinks.

We went down the pub and had some Pimm’s. I felt like I needed to give some return to others’ charity (I’m no sponge!), so I tried my best to make good conversation, and surprisingly, it worked. Good people, all. Later, we smoked shisha (flavored tobacco in a hookah) with a Lebanese man–who my friends called Moe, short for Mohammed–running a food shop next door.

It was odd to accept so much for which we would usually pay, but my friends had hung out with him before, and Moe, being poor and lonely, didn’t mind serving us free tea and shisha, merely in exchange for our company.

I can honestly say I was out of my comfort zone all night. It was a good day. Am I finally starting to become an intrepid traveler, like I’ve always dreamed?

Finally, Today

classes began. Fiction Writing seems like standard writing workshop stuff, and Drawing lasted all of twenty minutes before he let us go. Both classes seem exciting. After art class, Michael from New Jersey invited me to go to the Imperial War Museum with Horatio from Dubai. It was a long walk, but an interesting place (and free!). Michael turned out to be a world war II/tank/history buff. Man was like a kid in a candy shop around all those tanks and machine guns.

After that, my feet hurt too much to do much else but eat dinner and get ready for bed. Four hours later, here I am.