Just Found

Here's a blog post from the bus station in Heathrow I forgot to post. Oh silly me ^^ :

Trip typically horrible. Both my tapenade and my St. Nectaire were stolen by the hyper-paranoid security guard, who informed me that it wasn't just liquids and gels that had to be confined to under 100mL, but “mushy/soft pastes” as well. Apparently almost all types of cheese (except for “tome” and “gruyere,” she explains) fall into this category. It goes without saying that ground-up bits of olives do too. I think I must be tired because as she explained this to me I started to get all teary-eyed and choked up, and I felt like punching something.

I tried to spend the duration of the trip “businessman style.” I always thought it would be cool to sit down in the plane and not move until the plane touched down. No entertainment of any kind except for people-watching, reading newspapers over strangers' shoulders, and thinking. After a mild hour and a half of this, I realized it's really not all it's cracked up to be.

After a Caffe Nero panini for lunch (man, bread is just such a wonderful food/tastes so good), I'm currently waiting at the bus station to meet up with my friend to take the bus to Oxford. It's so strange to think that I've been in this exact place three months ago, with no idea what it was like where I was going/what I had gotten myself into. Sitting here people-watching all the foreigners, I can't help but smile about how much less foreign I feel here compared to back then.  

Second Beginnings

It's strange to be back in Oxford. I feel somehow simultaneously too busy to post on my blog, but too aimless and distracted to do any work. Hopefully both of these feelings will subside soon. 

Lots has happened since I left France. I've moved into my new room, a cute little lonely single. I've visited Christ Church and Windsor Castle on organized trips with the rest of the Stanford bunch. I've "gotten lost" with R.Mata in London (he doesn't like his world to feel small. No plans or maps allowed). In between the more noteworthy events, I've been:

...trying to get back into the swing of things with trips to the library. 

...getting addicted to a TV show which I objectively feel like I shouldn't be enjoying as much.

...exploring some of the culinary options that I missed first time around (read: there are delicious             bagels within walking distance, and although the vegan salad bar in Covered Market comes alarmingly close to self-parody, the food makes you forgive them immediately).

...cooking food with N.Avery (today we might've been a little ambitious with the flop of a fried rice, but it was still okay).

...waiting for the Oxford kids to get back and fill this semi-dead town. 

The Stanford kids this time around seem to generally be of a different vibe. Calmer, tamer, more timid. It's strange to be the one that knows my way around; the first couple days I was bombarded with all sorts of questions. It felt like I had turned overnight into some sort of tour guide or ambassador. But I didn't mind at all. Answering those questions made me realize how much I've come to like this place. I can't wait for another great quarter. :) 

Nothing very "photography" to see, but here are a few standard touristy pictures to serve as hard evidence that I'm alive. 

Christ Church dining hall, famous for its affiliation with the one in the Harry Potter films (it's fuzzy on whether it was actually the one filmed, or whether the one filmed was just inspired from it). This would have been a nicer visit without the massive throngs of French middle-schoolers swarming everywhere.

Windsor Castle. The flag means that the queen is in!

Changing of the guard. I wonder how old that dog is...these musicians must get tired of the playing the same piece everyday. Or maybe there's a rotation of pieces. 

R.Mata and A.Reyes, adventuring in London. We had to go into the Disneyland store. 

Meet my new roommate, Stitch. I splurged 7 pounds on him but it was worth it. Took pictures of him hanging out in London all through the afternoon. This is just an indicative one; I'll spare you all of them. (at a clothing shop on Oxford Street, waiting for R.Mata to decide between two ca-ute shirts.

Hyde Park stroll. Sunny but windy!

We're getting better! This was legitly a two course meal. Although nothing we make is ever fancy, it's usually yummy.  :)

Leaving L'Artaudie, and Oxford Pt. II

Wow. Tomorrow will be the beginning of Oxford, take 2. Although it's already been three weeks of break, it will be surreal to be back. I'm very thankful to have a second chance at this study abroad thing. Hopefully I can kick my now-mushy brain back into shape so as to be competent at my schoolwork. 

A little checklist of things to do:

1. Spend a bit more time in London. 

2. Go to Atomic Burger.

3. Have a Bee Sting from Far from the Madding Crowd.

4. Find a cello and join Corpus Christi's orchestra

5. Take dance lessons. 

6. Make my tutor like me. 

7. Amsterdam? Paris? Berlin? Dublin? Any of these?

8. Go to the pizza truck and eat food from said pizza truck. 

9. More tea. 

L'Artaudie says goodbye in typical glorious sunset fashion. Zero tweaking necessary here; it's perfect non-doctored. Have a strange sinking feeling that it'll be a while before I see this place again, but trying not to think about that right now...

Did Someone Say It Was April? (Une P'tite Balade)

Frank, the neighbor, using a device on the back of his tractor to chop wood. 

Me, serious.

As the snow melts off tree branches, you get something that resembles christmas tree lights.

Baren trees. 

Grass, frozen in action.

Ice crystals gathered on a tree branch.

My uncle, thinking about how to best proceed when the path has become a stream. 

That's the house, with a tree branch in focus.

It's April?

Me, not so serious.

L'Artaudie, the view from the road. My uncle's house is the one to the left of the one in the middle, with the four windows visible.

Saint-Tropez, Menton, Monaco

The best of the trip pictures below!

The backyard of the house we stayed in on Monday night, in Saint-Tropez. The coastal town is soaked in wealth; it's the kind of place were people casually park their yachts while they're shopping at Hermes, where people like Beyonce go on vacation (but actually). My uncle's friend, a more-than-mildly-sketch businessman, lives there.

$ everywhere. The charming little pedestrian streets might seem cuter to me if all the huge brand names would be less conspicuous. 

My uncle's friend's adorable car that he zips around town with so that people smile at his rude style of driving rather than getting worked up when he almost runs them over (he explained this to us). 

At the farmer's market with the gangstar himself.

In this town, you gotta have a boat to be in the cool club, even if it's just a small one.

Menton on the one sunny day. The buildings are a hodge-podge of colors piled up, rickety-like, on the hillside.

In Monaco, a seagull takes off.

Architecture in front of the prince of Monaco's palace.

Monaco (or as my grandma says, "Monaco-co-co"). The city-country is only a 15 minute drive from the apartment in Menton.

The Lifespan of a Sunset

Obviously I'm still alive, having successfully copy-pasted my March 30th word document after returning from my trip last night. I have a few more pictures to post from our trip, but before that I want to post about something entirely more important: tonight's sunset.

I think this must be the thousandth time I've taken this exact picture from the same spot. This is the first time the trees have been bare. 

Every L'Artaudie sunset is different. There's one almost every night that unfolds before you like some sort of slow-moving painting, but you have to be careful to not miss the surprisingly narrow window of time. I can tell already that this one is going to be a subtle and un-assuming one, but beautiful nonetheless. 

The colors deepen as the sun begins to dip below the band of dark cloud.

Three layers of tree-line as the sun begins to dip lower.

The last glimmer of sun, as the clouds above light up with a bright orange. The sunset for the tonight is over. Some beautiful lighting remains in the clouds for at least 10 more minutes. 

March 30th

Writing to you all from the internet-less lands of Menton, France. I've decided to shift modes from reading to writing because last night, I finished the one English book that I was able to find worth buying: Super Sad True Love Story. I recognized the title as something my uncle had liked and suggested a while ago, so I decided to give it a try. In the end I'm not sure it was really worth buying.... it only gripped my attention for a solid third of the 350ish page length. Although at first I appreciated the quirkiness of the writing style, I quickly tired of it and began to find it, instead, rather pretentious. The only thing missing from author Shteyngart's glamour shot on the inside of the back cover is an #instragramfilter to complete the vibe he seems to be going for. If you're looking for literary subtlety, you won't find it in this book; the tropes of turbulent-inter-generational-immigrant-family-dynamics and a crippling fear of death all but hit you over the head over and over in a cumbersome way that reaches out from the story rather than pulls you into it. Overall I'd give this book a measly 2 out of 5.

Anyways, I'm not sure if my bad review is entirely due to the book itself or is being polluted by the general tone of this trip thus far. What could have been a relaxing Mediterranean get-away has turned into a dreary unhappy monotony. The weather in Menton is Oxford-status abysmal, and what's all the more depressing is that it's never supposed to be this way. I was promised California-status sunshine and instead we've had virtually nothing but gray skies and cold rain. Hrmph!

To top things off, I caught some weird illness that seems to be the combination of all symptoms at once (except God has managed to spare me from a runny nose. Can we hear a “yay” :| ). I've been rather melodramatic about the whole affair, but my grandma and uncle just shoved some pills at me and said it'd go away quickly. They kept saying it was probably just a tiny “angine,” no big deal at all, etc etc. Unfortunately with no internet in this house and no pro-bilingual at hand I had no clue what their diagnosis actually was – until, that is, I talked to my dad on the phone today. Through my mom's translating I learned that the english equivalent was “strep throat.” Woop dee doop, no big deal! Hoping there's some miscommunication involved here because I'd rather not have that particular illness. In third grade, I spent my birthday in bed with it and missed the walkathon. Bad times. It's even worse being sick around old people because it makes you feel both a bit scared and a bit prematurely guilty. My grandma just seems to smile and nod matter-of-factly when she tells me “angine” is super contagious, and a few minutes later she complains of a soar throat. Ugh.

The unhappiness of the sickness is augmented by my hunger for bread. I feel that the thorough lack of carbohydrates is withering me away. With no access to even the most laughable of the carbs, that infamous old buddy matzah, this is surely the hardest Passover I've ever passed over. Tuesday night I will eat all the things.

Only two solidly good things have come out of this trip. This picture, which I took during a quick late afternoon gelato-run to Italy. I changed nothing about it except I tilted it a bit for a straight horizon, yet there's a pastel-y-ness to the background contrasted with a sharpness to the peoples' silhouettes that somehow came out. What do you think? Or is it too cliché?

Second happy thing: the fact that the apartment we're staying in has a hallway that smells slightly like PEZ. I can't quite put my finger on where the smell is coming from (their detergent? the heat radiators?) but in any case it's one of the better smells I've smelled in my life. It's one of those smells I wish I could bottle up and save and have around because it makes me smile.