Category: Travel

My actual travels, those I aspire to, and those of others

Leaving Oxford in 36 hours; reaching Vancouver in 53

My flight to Vancouver leaves Gatwick at 5:55am GMT on Wednesday, which is actually 9:55pm of Tuesday in Vancouver. Assigning three hours to the bus ride and three more to be sure of clearing security on time, I will be leaving Oxford – suitcases in tow – at midnight local time tomorrow. While that is setting up England-Tuesday / Canada-Wednesday to be a kind of uber-day, such is the character of the flight plan. I just hope that my brain is back on its bearings by the time we will be leaving for Tristan’s cabin on Friday morning.

Everything from now until Tuesday night is likely to be about consolidation. Packing, organizing, and otherwise preparing. The prospect of the forthcoming journey is an exciting one, indeed.

[Unrelated, but unfortunate] Steve Irwin, the self-styled ‘Crocodile Hunter,’ was killed by a stingray in Queensland today. He was frequently a model for characters generated by the Handsworth Improv Team, in which both of my brothers performed for years, and generally struck me as a decent sort of fellow. My sympathies to his family, friends, and two young children.

On Esperanto

One of the world’s more interesting examples of a market failure is the general inability of Esperanto to secure its intended role as a universal second language. If a great many people spoke Esperanto, it would be reasonably worthwhile to devote one’s time to learning it. Knowing that there was even a 30% chance that a random person encountered in Estonia or Italy or Japan would speak it, the energetic traveller or businessperson would have a pretty good incentive to learn at least a bit. If few people do, conversely, it is not worth anyone’s time. This is what economists call a network effect: having a fax machine when nobody else does is not very useful. Likewise, having a telephone or internet connection. The more people subscribe to any such network, the more valuable the network becomes to everyone. Such networks tend to explode in usage once they cross a critical threshold of popularity. Since the development of a base of speakers generally depends on such individual choices, it remains perpetually stuck at a low level of usage.

The idea of an invented universal second language is appealing for many reasons. While English has certainly emerged as a world language, it is not without significant cultural baggage. The forces that spread English – from the British empire to American ascendancy and the dominance of English cultural and technological materials – are inevitably connected with structures of dominance and submission in the world. While Esperanto does borrow from other languages, it seems sensible to say that it is free of at least a good portion of this kind of baggage.

Another serious issue related to second languages is how quickly they shrivel when not used. Much as I would like to avoid forgetting French, it is very hard to maintain in the absence of a need to use it. My French has never really been good enough to read French newspapers or literature without the aid of a dictionary. Now, in an environment where I am virtually never exposed to the language, my knowledge is fading quickly indeed. If everyone spoke one common language, it is quite likely that you would be exposed to it often enough to gain and maintain facility in its use.

The message is simple, then: Rest of the world, please learn Esperanto. Once two billion or so of you have, I will set upon the task myself.

PS. I promise this will be the last post during this slightly over-active day of blogging.

Desert Island Discs

A friend of mine challenged me to come up with the collection of items that I would submit to ‘Desert Island Discs’ – a British radio show in which interview subjects are questioned about what they would bring along to soften the experience of being stranded on a desert island:

“Created by Roy Plomley in 1942, the format is simple: each week a guest is invited by Sue Lawley to choose the eight records they would take with them to a desert island.

The discussion of their choice is a device for them to review their life. They also choose a favourite book (excluding the Bible or other religious work and Shakespeare – these already await the “castaway”) and a luxury which must be inanimate and have no practical use.”

First off, I must complement the erudite Gideons who have already stocked the world’s islands not only with Bibles, but also with Shakespeare’s works. Am I allowed to bring Paradise Lost or a book with spiritual importance for me as my “Bible or other religious work?”

Music

Starting with the choice of musical albums, this is no easy matter of selection. I have 667 albums in iTunes alone, and this is a time at which the term ‘album’ is rapidly losing meaning. Thinking about, for instance, how often artists have taken to re-organizing, re-mixing, and re-combining their tracks, the medium of album is becoming more like that of the playlist, of which I have only a few dozen. Of course, each of those is rather too long to fit on a CD (even as data files) and would most definitely not fit on a record, so I am back to the contemplation of albums.

One natural way to proceed would be to choose eight critical artists and then simply select either their best work, or the work that you think would stand up best to very frequent re-listening. In the interests of fairness, I will treat two-disc albums (such at Tori Amos’ To Venus and Back or the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie) as two albums, if chosen.

I have long treated music partly as a mechanism for altering moods. Given the dire desert scenario, it seems wise to think that way when planning.

In no particular order, then, my albums would be:

  1. Jason Mraz – Live at Java Joe
    This quirkly live album has an unusual ability to cheer me up, despite the fact that I have heard it so many times I know not only the words, but the timing of all the instruments, by heart. I expect this will be true of all the selections. This is a somewhat difficult thing to choose, because I think five of the thirteen songs are no better than mediocre, but I am going to stick with it for the moment.
  2. Spirit of the West – Save this House
    When going mad in the heat, it seems to me that it would be important to have some record of where you came from. Since Spirit of the West is from Vancouver, they get one such point. Given that they are a band and a style of music introduced to my brothers and I by my father when we were children, they get another. The fact that it’s an excellent album in and of itself cements the choice.
  3. The Doors – The Doors
    Choosing which Doors album to bring is awfully difficult. This is one of those situations where playlists are superior to albums. Likewise, it seems inappropriate to choose one of their many ‘best of’ collections. Despite the absence of some of their best songs, I would have to go with their 1967 debut album.
  4. Simon and Garfunkel – Bridge over Troubled Water
    Choosing a S&G album is even harder than selecting from among those of The Doors. Practically each has a song or two I would put on my own custom desert island disc. Choosing from among their original albums, this would be the one.
  5. Idan Raichel – Mimamakayim
    Bringing at least one album that isn’t in English seems well advised, and this is probably the best one I have heard. While I may not be able to speak a word of Hebrew at the moment, perhaps hundreds of hours of desert island listening would elevate my consciousness – or my imagination – to the point where I think I know what it is about. Even if such a thing doesn’t happen, it can be treated as a piece of classical music with an unusually versatile and emotionally engaging instrument.
  6. Led Zeppelin – IV
    This is an album that I feel myself growing into, to some extent. When I first got it, ‘Stairway to Heaven’ was the only song I could stand, and then only the relatively melodic bits. I would bring it in hopes that my steadily growing appreciation for the album as a whole would mature. I am almost tempted to bring an album that I flat-out do not like, but which friends rave about, but unfortunately haven’t the space for such an experiment.
  7. Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here
    Not their longest or most celebrated language, I think it is their most sophisticated and intriguing. There is no denying that one would have time to sort out all the complexities given days and weeks.
  8. Tori Amos – To Venus and Back (Live Disc)
    All my friends will have seen this one a mile off. While I maintain that Tori Amos is a musical genius in general, she is especially capable as a live performer. While a recording cannot capture the energy of a concert, this one does an appreciable job.

Naturally, lots of albums were very close to making the cut. It is not necessarily that I think these are my eight best albums – the circumstances of where they are to be enjoyed have been taken into consideration. I have intentionally not considered classical or opera albums, because that would make the selection too daunting.

Book

This is a tough one indeed. The first obvious choice is between taking something you have read and enjoyed or bringing something new. I would opt for the former. Chances are, you will read this book many times. As such, however many times you read it before arriving will soon be trivial. Out the window goes Ulysses, then, which I have tried to read four times but never managed to progress more than fifty pages into.

I am fairly sure attempts to bring something like The Encyclopedia Britannica would defeat the purpose of this exercise, but if I could bring a really massive reference book on scientific, literary, and historical themes, I would definitely do so. I have always wanted an undisturbed chance to brush up on classical and art history, music, botany, and the many other topics about which I know little or nothing.

Given the length of time, the book should be a thick and complicated one. Much as I adore Lolita, it really doesn’t have the kind of physical bulk a person would want for a desert island book. In the end, I think I would go with Anna Karenina. I’ve only read it twice, so there is plenty of depth into which I could yet descend. Also, there might be a good market for an autobiography of someone who slowly went mad reading Anna Karenina, provided he is at some point rescued in a condition sane enough to write subsequently.

Luxury

To me, this is by far the least important. Luxuries are not useless items, but useful ones that are unusually fine. A fancy pen is a comprehensible luxury, as is a fine meal or expensive audio equipment. I assume, if I am being allowed to bring albums, that the audio gear is provided and acceptable.

Ultimately, I think I would choose a musical instrument. I have never learned to play one, and have long wanted to. Naturally, doing so alone on a desert island is not ideal. I would have no scores, no instruction, and no audience. Nonetheless, it would certainly help pass the time – and perhaps express the many longings and madnesses that are certain to arise in such a place. As for which one, the relevant considerations would be resistance to sun and sand, and a low need for maintenance. Anything that needs tuning or new parts is out. Given that I cannot think of any instrument that I would trust to survive the conditions and trust myself to learn, I am abandoning this idea in mid stride. The idea of myself stranded with a clarinet that I have no idea how to play is actually quite heartbreaking.

No musical instruments, then. Writing materials are both useful and not a luxury (at least in this day and age). A fruit tree would be both useful and animate, while the same goes for an olive bush.

Perhaps the thing to bring along is a corrosion resistant razor of a variety that will not dull for many years. In the first instance, it would provide a daily ritual that would help in the recording of the passing of time. In the second, imagine the surprise of your rescuers when they find you clean-shaven and very well versed in Shakespeare!

[Update: 25 February 2007] Since so many people were looking for them, some Idal Raichel lyrics translated into English have been added.

Vancouver timeline

For the sake of organization:

  • 6 Sept – Arrive in Vancouver at 9:35am PST
  • 8 Sept – Cabin Fever 2 begins
  • 9 Sept – Drew Sexsmith’s birthday
  • 10 Sept – Cabin Fever 2 ends ; Nick Ellan’s birthday
  • 15 Sept – Meet with former profs at UBC
  • 16 Sept – Party in North Vancouver
  • 17 Sept – Petgill Lake hike, following pancake breakfast
  • 20 Sept – Dentist appointment
  • 22 Sept – Hilary McNaughton’s birthday
  • 23 Sept – Depart from Vancouver at 8:55pm PST

List subject to revision and addition. Finding space for these items is particularly important. Also, does anyone know exactly when these parties are to occur?

A coast mountain hike in September

One thing I definitely want to do while in Vancouver is one of the more beautiful mountain hikes. For logistical reasons relating to an excellent potential guest at the party on the 16th, it would be best to do so either that morning (time permitting) or one one of the days before or after.

The four possibilities that stand out to me are:

  1. Crown Mountain: Accessible by climbing Grouse Mountain and continuing onwards, Crown Mountain offers an even better view of both Vancouver and the Coast Mountain range. All told, the hike probably takes about six hours (such as I recall from when I last did it with Sarah Pemberton) and can be a little bit tricky at the top, especially if it is windy. One advantage is that no cars or drivers would be needed to get there.
  2. Petgill Lake: Located beside the sea-to-sky highway up to Whistler, this hike includes both an alpine lake at 750m elevation and a subsequent overlook with a grand view of Howe Sound. It is among my favourite hikes ever. It took about six hours when last I did it with my father.
  3. Stawamus Chief: Climbing the centre and northern peaks of the chief offers two nice views for a reasonable amount of legwork. While a bit crowded and a bit of a drive, the view over that sheer face is an inspiring one. Six hours is a reasonable timescale to climb both, as I recall from when I last did it with Jonathan and my father.
  4. Mount Gardner: A bit of a dwarf compared to some of these others, Gardner has the advantage of being on Bowen Island, which means a nice twenty minute ferry ride from Horseshoe Bay. Because Bowen is between North Vancouver and the Sunshine Coast, the climb affords numerous excellent views of both. It only took about four hours when last I did it with Meghan.

Who is interested in coming along? Also, could those who are please vote for one of the above. Suggesting alternatives is also welcome. My vote is for Petgill Lake, provided transport can be arranged.

PS. My injured camera has been returned, restored to health. Curiously, it seems like they opted to both clean the CCD and replace the lens assembly. That must have been where the leak introducing the dust was located. One nice feature of it being repaired rather than replaced is that the numbering of the photos will not start at zero. If it had, many of the new images would have filenames identical to those already on here. The camera is slightly noisier zooming in and out than it was before, but it seems to be dust-free. The money I had set aside to replace it if necessary has been added to the dSLR fund.

Update: 27 August: The hike is to take place at a sensible time on the morning of the seventeenth (the day after the big party in North Van). The destination remains undecided.

Last Dublin meal

Gruel restaurant, Dublin

Having just returned to a rainy Wadham College, after a journey as effortless as the outgoing one was tedious, I feel I should relate the last things that happened to me in Dublin. I decided to spend my last few minutes before the airport trek having an early lunch at Gruel: an informal restaurant at 68a Dame Street, near Dublin Castle and the Guinness Storehouse. It is also my favourite spot to eat in Dublin, having gone their four times in the last week for their atmosphere and reasonably priced and excellent vegetarian food. Those who visit should have a look at the seating downstairs, as it is non-obvious and quite comfortable.

In this case, I had their fresh orange juice and a large combination of their four delectable salads of the day – topped with a kind of sweet pesto dressing that complimented it nicely. As I was leaving, the manager said that the meal was on him, “for a friend of the house.” Call me a friend of Dublin, also.

Final, literary, Dublin day

The slave from Waiting for Godot thinking

I tried to make my last day in Dublin as literary as possible – the bits not spent traveling back from Galway, at least. I finally found a decently priced copy of Joyce’s Dubliners and an assembly of Wilde’s more political works. This happened within a few minutes of my return to Dublin, a city that seems enormously grimier after having spent a day in Galway and another on Inis Mór.

Books in hand, I wandered to Merrion Square. Beside the grotesque statue of Oscar Wilde in one corner, I read his Ballad of Reading Gaol. As an appreciator of Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, I saw the many thematic and poetic semblances. That said, I think Coleridge’s theological position – based on the virtue of appreciating all living creatures – is rather more promising that Wilde’s despairing hope that God will set it all right in the end. God as a balancer of worldly injustices is very appealing, since it saves us from the need to ever fight for our beliefs, insofar as that means forcing them on others. When we no longer have that conceptual crutch, difference becomes much harder to deal with. In any case, I had to use my hostel earplugs to reduce the strain from a massive throng of talkative Spanish tourists on my ability to appreciate this most sonic poem acoustically.

I had dinner at a place called Cornocopia, on Wicklow Street, recommended as an all-vegetarian restaurant. I had a kind of sweet potato curry dish and their red pepper soup, both dishes I was likely to appreciate, but found both uninspiring. The service was curt, bordering on sharp, and the general atmosphere was one of hasty expulsion for the milking of new customers. Vegetarians in Dublin should steer clear; try Gruel, on Dame Street, instead.

After dinner, I read half of Dubliners on the grounds of Trinity before attending quite an excellent performance of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot at the Player’s Theatre, within that campus. It was an emphatic, emotive, and effective production. P.J. Dunlevy was especially effective as the bald-headed and over-emphatic Pozzo. At several points, he struck the exact expression of the despairing mayor from The Nightmare Before Christmas. I had never seen the play before, but the interplay between Vladimir and Estragon reminded me both of the drama of Steinbeck and Tom Stoppard.

All told, it was a worthwhile day of additions to my Dublin set of memories. I might be able to squeeze one quick final visit in before my bus to the airport tomorrow, but that depends somewhat on my ability to fight of the demons of sleeplessness for another morning.

I should be back in Oxford late tomorrow.

Final Galway adventure

Sea cliff on Inis Mor

As I am in the mad world beyond the strange world beyond tired, I can only summarize. I left the hostel in search of traditional Irish music. This, I found in a place called The Spanish Arch. I was drawn in by an attractive combination of voices and instruments and remained there for the entire set. The band was called CuChulainn and, on the basis of both their songs and my conversation with them afterwards, I endorse them wholeheartedly.

Walking along after that, I saw a young man playing a guitar and a young woman with red curly hair singing along: buskers on one of the commercial streets. I engaged the young woman in conversation to the point where she eventually disengaged from the young man and led me to a multi-level pub with a beer garden, somewhere across the river that divides Galway. After hours of conversation there, I was further led to a bohemian residence reminiscent of the dirty house, where there was discussion of travel, ecology, the India period of The Beatles, and much else.

Recognizing that I need to be awake to catch a bus in less than five hours, I politely begged my leave of Roisin (the young woman who I met with the busker), and promised that I would pass along certain songs and poems mentioned during the night’s discourse.

An excellent concluding night in Galway, regardless of how many new holes have burst open in my much abused brain. I will try to describe it better when time and brain cells are more ample.