An analog life: January 2008

It took two whole years (during which everyone else I know has seen him multiple times, and he apparently lives in my neighborhood), but today, while walking in University Parks, I had my first Thom Yorke sighting. He jogged past me, inches away, wearing royal blue shellsuit-style trousers and what looked like a royal blue football jersey. He was red-faced and sweaty, and seemed to be a good foot shorter than I am. But I finally saw him! I have also seen the actress who plays Hermione in the Harry Potter films in my neighborhood, in case I haven't mentioned it before. Quite remarkable that I noticed her, given that I'm usually too oblivious for celebrity sightings. You know who else I would like to see? Kirsty and Phil from Location, Location, Location (and Relocation, Relocation). They're all over the country ... it's bound to happen sooner or later!

January is almost over, which is a good thing. Here, the payback for too-early sunsets and rising damp all winter long is that in February you start to get those spring flowers out. In fact, because it's been fairly warm here, the flowers started to come up a few weeks ago. Crazy to one morning be in a land where it's -25 Celsius and your plane wings need de-icing, and the next be in a land where winter never seemed to have happened. But the rains have been unrelenting, and many parts of England are under water again. High ground is not something I would ever have worried about in buying a house, but it's on my list of criteria now!

Nothing exciting happening here ... just waiting for sunnier weather. Hoping to plan a bit of travelling, have a few more visitors, and spend a lot more time in beer gardens (at least on the nice days). Had a chance to take the wellies out for a spin in the completely flooded Port Meadow last weekend. I can't believe I haven't had proper wellies since I was a kid - they're so much fun. And we needed them just to get into the meadow, as anyone without sufficiently tall boots had to be carried or else turned back.

This is as close as I could zoom in, given that there was an ocean of water between us, but this lump in the distance is, according to a kindly local, one of the Roman burial mounds I'd been trying to find out in the meadow for ages (there is apparently also an Iron Age earthwork out there somewhere, but while you can apparently see them from the air, they're nearly impossible to spot when the meadow is dry and grassy).

And this weekend it was sunny and glorious, and everyone was out, including the Oxford University Medieval Battle Recreation Society. At least, I'm guessing that's what they would be called. I see them out there a lot. I love that they are not at all embarrassed to be mock swordfighting in ragtag faux medieval armour in a public park where they would likely be spotted by their peers. Where I'm from, membership in the Medieval Club wasn't exactly a badge of honour, not as far as social standing, anyway.

Crocuses!

Beer in the sunshine ... the end to every good Sunday afternoon.

Happy new year!
Hope 2008 is great so far, even though it's a crap time of year. Our 2008 had a bumpy start, what with Jeff coming down with norovirus (which is epidemic here at the moment) before the jet lag even had time to wear off. Despite the gloomy predictions of every pharmacist I came into contact with, I have so far (touch wood) managed to evade it, and Jeff has more or less made a full recovery, thankfully. But work has been brutal. And we have had some truly nasty days, during which I was hit with WALLS of water splashed up by speeding trucks every time I left the flat. Indeed, my January had been all doom and gloom until, on my way home from work after the third ten-hour workday this week and feeling mightily sorry for myself, I saw a beaming ray of hope. Across the street, next to the lacklustre Co-op grocery store, they are putting in ... a Starbucks! Oh happy day! I may have jumped up and clicked my heels with joy. The cafe's evening hours will likely be nonexistent - it is Oxford, after all - but I am very much looking forward to recreating my Toronto morning routine of picking up a chai latte and walking to work. On the very same day, in a cosmic convergence of what I like to think of as good karma, Jeff's parents informed me that they had found a much lamented mitten, which I had given up as lost forever. (Seriously - I've had those mitts forever and they are the best, cosiest mittens in the world.) Tonight I survived my first football match in at least two months without injury despite muscular atrophy and the extra baggage I brought back from home (around my middle). So things are looking up indeed!

I've realized I never posted any photos from our trip to Portugal in December. We had a really nice time, though were typically overambitious and spent less time relaxing than we'd planned. We had a lovely hotel in a great location (which I care more and more about the older I get), gorgeous weather, and lots to explore. It's pretty easy to get around, people were friendly, and when we were in the Bairro Alto they thought I looked young enough to be interested in purchasing recreational drugs. That always wins me over. (Though I am guessing they just hit up anyone who looks like a tourist, just like in Amsterdam.) The night we arrived, we joined a queue for taxis at the airport. All the taxis were posh shiny new white Mercedes, so we were excited until we counted back and realised that the single, solitary battered 1980s-vintage taxi was the one we would be getting. With the axe-murderer-looking driver. Everyone around us in the queue gave us pitying looks. Remember those kiddie amusement park rides with lots of little cars shaped like different animals, but always one or two that were just plain boring old benches? And you stood in line waiting, hoping for a unicorn, but realising you'd be getting the bench? That's what it was like. We warily got into the car with the completely silent axe-murderer, who gave us inscrutable looks in the rearview mirror and was a terrifyingly reckless driver, and we bounced around on seats with no shocks but lots of uncomfortable metal springs and things sticking up. Then that warbly 'Are You Going To San Francisco?' song incongruously came on the radio. Now every time I am in a Tim Horton's (or some such place) and that song is played, I will immediately be transported to Portugal in December, hurtling down boulevards lined with palm trees and crumbling pastel-stuccoed buildings, with the windows down, and wondering whether the driver was in fact taking us to our hotel or to some back alley to rob and kill us, because we honestly wouldn't have known better. (He didn't, obviously, though we later discovered that he had totally ripped us off on the cab fare.) That's the best thing about travelling, those weird incongruities.
Lisbon was lovely. Normally the lack of a Starbucks wouldn't be a plus, but it was refreshing to be in a place that felt like someplace different. No chain cafes and restaurants - only little local places with remarkably homogenous menus. Lots of people out and about in squares and on patios. An atmospheric faded, crumbling elegance. Sun shining off intricately tiled sidewalks (the sidewalks amazed me - so much work! you don't get that in a country that gets a hard frost) and intricately tiled buildings. When we took the train out to Sintra, though, I was surprised by the endless dense swaths of apartment buildings that stretched almost all the way there. Paris is like that too, and, I suspect, lots of other European cities what with borders opening within Europe and with former colonies. The city centre is kind of sanitized and touristy, and generally only the affluent live there, but there are miles and miles and miles of high-density and often pretty grim apartment blocks spreading out in all directions. Europe is at a really interesting point in time, I think.
I'm sure while we were there I had a million things I wanted to write about, but that holiday feels a bit like ancient history now. So I'll just bang up a few photos ...

Lisbon from the top of the Elevador da Santa Justa