Look, it's just plain hard to keep up with this blog. Now, instead of the having the problem where I'm not sure what to write about, I simply can't find the time to write about what I've been doing. I last posted about day two of a trip I took about a month ago. I interjected a breif note while in an airport on the way to another trip. Here I sit, thinking about my (potentially nonexistent) blog followers on day three of yet another Highland trip. This time, we are in the western Highlands. I'll have to catch up quickly on the other trips because next week the whole family is off to Greece for a week. The thing is, with all these kids, and all these trips, I'm trying to squeeze a lot of work in to a little time when I'm back in Edinburgh. I promise to get Days 3 and 4 of Highland Trip 1 (Speyside), possible in abridged form, out this week. Then, in Greece, maybe I can write one about Denmark and then one or two about the Western Highlands.
As a teaser, we went to Oban on day one and I toured the distillery. On day two we went to Loch Ness. On day three we went to Skye and I toured the distillery. Tomorrow, we'll head home, but probably take a short boat trip first.
Saturday 11 September 2010
Monday 6 September 2010
A Tour of Speyside
So this week got away from me. I didn’t follow my own prescription of writing something. Here are some notes I typed up after drinking five whiskies with the proprietor of the Glen Livet cottage that we stayed in. He used to work in a whisky store in Dufftown after a full length career as a Royal Air Force Officer. We tried five malts. You can imagine that since I made the notes after five malts, they’re pretty bad.
Interesting thing he taught me: recall that I decided that color was a stupid category. It turns out that the trained whisky eye can evaluate the length of time a whisky was in a certain kind of cask by the color. Obviously, older is usually darker, but sherry casks make for darker whiskies than Bourbon casks and such. Anyway, still too much for me. I think if I learn that much about whisky as to be able to spot what wood they aged in, I will likely be single again.
These five whiskies made up my tour of Speyside.
Tamdhu, no age statement. (This was mothballed in 2010.)
Nose: smells pleasant, not too complicated, not too dull, but nothing effectively interesting. It is a nice to smell single malt.
Palette: intriguing and gentle, just a little bit of whiskey warmth and the right amount of flavor. Again, it isn't spectacular with ideas leaping out at me, but it tastes very nice and I wouldn't begrudge having another!
Finish: smooth, easy, light.
Overall: I guess the point of this whiskey is to reduce production cost (8 yrs) to make a nice whisky which can be sold for a bit less. If so, congrats to them. (It is certainly worth every penny I spent on it.)
Benromach Origins , first bottling 10yr (This is brand new, can’t yet put out a 12YO.)
Steve says this is a Speyside who went old school and tried for a smoky flavor, with 4 parts per million of peat, compared to 0 ppm for regular Speysides and 80 ppm for Islay. Also, the peat is local just like the peat on the Islay whiskies. Local to the Islay whiskies is sea air which gives them their sea-salty/medicinal overtones. This peat was Speyside peat giving off the flavor of the Highlands, flowers and fruits.
Nose: the smoke is present but not overwhelming. You can tell the smoke is there, but it doesn't smell the main point of the whisky. It also smells of cinnamon, and sugar.
Palette: The smoky flavor is much more present on the initial palette, giving me a happy feeling of a formidable smoky whiskey and the comforting feeling of a more gentle drinking malt like the traditional Speysides. The follow on palettes ease the smoke (I guess you're just no longer surprised) and emphasizes the trademark Speyside qualities of fruits and cinnamon.
Finish: Um, I don't remember. I (was) writing this too many whiskies later.
Overall: I like this one and was happy to be drinking a formidable newcomer who is looking for a niche market.
Glenburgie 12yr 50%
Smelled sweet like candy
First taste intense next just great, lovely
A perfect winter whisky
Mortlach 17yr (bottled by the wine society) 57%
It was a deep, deep brown. Smoother than I anticipated but had a metallic finish.
Glenrothes - Select Reserve
Nose: high powered nose, lets you know you'll drinking something enchanting; second nose, able to make nostril burn, but in a good way; it doesn’t smell of alcohol per se; later sweet.
Palette: The first taste is a spicy kicker that’s loads of fun. This is not just warm, but heated as you drink it and unlike some others, it never seems to leave the first drink impressions, always spicy
Finish: the finish is quick, with deep warmth lingering from the spiciness, it still tastes nice long after it's gone
Overall: a unique one in its ability to maintain its intensity. I'd be happy to have a bottle of this one on my shelf as it appears a very versatile friend to have around, light enough for a hot summer evening, but a spicy warmth giving it credibility around a wood burning stove.
So, very little editing (mostly spelling) was done to those notes from that night a few weeks ago. I fell like a wee dram!
Interesting thing he taught me: recall that I decided that color was a stupid category. It turns out that the trained whisky eye can evaluate the length of time a whisky was in a certain kind of cask by the color. Obviously, older is usually darker, but sherry casks make for darker whiskies than Bourbon casks and such. Anyway, still too much for me. I think if I learn that much about whisky as to be able to spot what wood they aged in, I will likely be single again.
These five whiskies made up my tour of Speyside.
Tamdhu, no age statement. (This was mothballed in 2010.)
Nose: smells pleasant, not too complicated, not too dull, but nothing effectively interesting. It is a nice to smell single malt.
Palette: intriguing and gentle, just a little bit of whiskey warmth and the right amount of flavor. Again, it isn't spectacular with ideas leaping out at me, but it tastes very nice and I wouldn't begrudge having another!
Finish: smooth, easy, light.
Overall: I guess the point of this whiskey is to reduce production cost (8 yrs) to make a nice whisky which can be sold for a bit less. If so, congrats to them. (It is certainly worth every penny I spent on it.)
Benromach Origins , first bottling 10yr (This is brand new, can’t yet put out a 12YO.)
Steve says this is a Speyside who went old school and tried for a smoky flavor, with 4 parts per million of peat, compared to 0 ppm for regular Speysides and 80 ppm for Islay. Also, the peat is local just like the peat on the Islay whiskies. Local to the Islay whiskies is sea air which gives them their sea-salty/medicinal overtones. This peat was Speyside peat giving off the flavor of the Highlands, flowers and fruits.
Nose: the smoke is present but not overwhelming. You can tell the smoke is there, but it doesn't smell the main point of the whisky. It also smells of cinnamon, and sugar.
Palette: The smoky flavor is much more present on the initial palette, giving me a happy feeling of a formidable smoky whiskey and the comforting feeling of a more gentle drinking malt like the traditional Speysides. The follow on palettes ease the smoke (I guess you're just no longer surprised) and emphasizes the trademark Speyside qualities of fruits and cinnamon.
Finish: Um, I don't remember. I (was) writing this too many whiskies later.
Overall: I like this one and was happy to be drinking a formidable newcomer who is looking for a niche market.
Glenburgie 12yr 50%
Smelled sweet like candy
First taste intense next just great, lovely
A perfect winter whisky
Mortlach 17yr (bottled by the wine society) 57%
It was a deep, deep brown. Smoother than I anticipated but had a metallic finish.
Glenrothes - Select Reserve
Nose: high powered nose, lets you know you'll drinking something enchanting; second nose, able to make nostril burn, but in a good way; it doesn’t smell of alcohol per se; later sweet.
Palette: The first taste is a spicy kicker that’s loads of fun. This is not just warm, but heated as you drink it and unlike some others, it never seems to leave the first drink impressions, always spicy
Finish: the finish is quick, with deep warmth lingering from the spiciness, it still tastes nice long after it's gone
Overall: a unique one in its ability to maintain its intensity. I'd be happy to have a bottle of this one on my shelf as it appears a very versatile friend to have around, light enough for a hot summer evening, but a spicy warmth giving it credibility around a wood burning stove.
So, very little editing (mostly spelling) was done to those notes from that night a few weeks ago. I fell like a wee dram!
Sunday 29 August 2010
Highland Trip, Day Two, Fort George and Elgin
That stupid baby started crying at about six in the morning. Somehow, Amy convinced me to go to him, a rare event. I wandered down the hall and scolded him for being up so early telling him I was to get him a bottle and he was to return to slumber. I walked out into the kitchen of the cottage and was making a bottle when I looked out the sliding glass doors to this scene!
So the baby was forgiven (mostly because of the above scene and the fact that he went back to sleep) and we were able to sleep for another fifty minutes or so. Then, we all got up, breakfasted, Amy packed a lunch, and we got in the van headed for Fort George. Fort George is an old military installation, which still houses the 3rd Scots, an infantry battalion. The drive was lovely and the arrival uneventful.
We gaily raised our hands when walking into the fort as an attendant asked if anyone was members. Even she knew this was a bit much and said, “Oh wow, we’re raising our hands!” If the girls were three years older they would have died from their embarrassing parents’ hand raising. We got inside the fort just in time for the grand entrance. There were re-enactors for the Romans through modern times. That was all well and good, but not overly amazing. What was very cool was the fort itself, the arrival of the Golden Lions (UK Military Parachute Team), their complete lack of reserve in letting you handle weapons, and a ridiculous bombing/strafing raid demonstration by a Spitfire.
Here are a few photos for you to get an idea of the fort. It was used to protect the strategic city of Inverness and the north of Scotland.
When I lifted this guy up to see over the wall, he said, “Awesome, a beach!”
There was an interesting ease with which the two boys approached and handled the weapons. They were never afraid of them, needed no instruction (well, “Don’t drop the sniper rifle” but…), and were only hampered by their lack of size (both from an inability to fit to the weapon and from other bigger boys “caring to a have a go").
You’ll notice that only one daughter has pictures here with weapons. That is not surprising to anyone who knows the younger of the two at all. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with touching them, but she did climb around in the vehicles.
Spotting and getting effects on target (MPMG, UK equivalent to the M60)
Manning the comms
GET DOWN ON THE GROUND YOU ... ...
Hell hath no fury like a woman with an RPG. (This was confiscated in Iraq.)
Three days in, the sniper continues to wait patiently for the right target, the right shot.
The British Kevlar looks this stupid on them too. They told me they were getting new ones. This looks exactly the same as putting a US Kevlar on backward.
Damn, Dad, we got branched Transpo!
I was waiting for a young girl to emerge from the water closet when I heard a big roar. It dawned on me that this must be a plane and then suddenly, like out of every WWII movie you have ever seen, between the buildings of the barracks came the Spitfire. It couldn’t have cleared the rooftops by fifty feet. It was surreal, eery, unsettling, and totally awesome. I am certain that the civilians of European cities witnessed this exact thing but with far more terror and destruction. The spitfire flew around demonstrating all sorts of attacking and defensive maneuvers for about fifteen minutes. It was easily the most impressive thing I have ever seen in the air. (Okay, actually it is tied with the time I called in close air support from Apaches in a training exercise and watched them annihilate the target we were painting with our GVLLD.)
After the Spitfire demonstration of which I took no pictures as my jaw was hanging open, we headed to the car where we waited for the second and final jump of the parachute team. It sure was cool and the kids thought it was almost as awesome as I did. The best part was in the afternoon jump, the last guy to jump had a smoke canister burning off his bott as often is the case. But, this time, he decided to dive straight down for as fast and as long as possible, pulling his chute very late. It was pretty cool, the others had their canopies over their heads well before he pulled his chute and he was at least 80% of the way to the ground from their canopies. I tried to sound cool and reminded the kids that I had jumped before to which the eldest queried, “Like that?” “Well, no, Honey, … not like that.”
From there we headed to Elgin and the Spynie Palace ruins. This was a great introduction to ruins in Scotland. The reason is that we had never seen one before. This was incredibly impressive with a tower you could still climb and amazing views. We just didn’t know that was not nearly as amazing the ruins to come.
After those Ruins, we headed into Elgin to the Cathedral ruins. The gates were closed but the ruins clearly present.
We then drove back to the cottage for dinner and a whisky tasting. I’ll write about that next.
So the baby was forgiven (mostly because of the above scene and the fact that he went back to sleep) and we were able to sleep for another fifty minutes or so. Then, we all got up, breakfasted, Amy packed a lunch, and we got in the van headed for Fort George. Fort George is an old military installation, which still houses the 3rd Scots, an infantry battalion. The drive was lovely and the arrival uneventful.
We gaily raised our hands when walking into the fort as an attendant asked if anyone was members. Even she knew this was a bit much and said, “Oh wow, we’re raising our hands!” If the girls were three years older they would have died from their embarrassing parents’ hand raising. We got inside the fort just in time for the grand entrance. There were re-enactors for the Romans through modern times. That was all well and good, but not overly amazing. What was very cool was the fort itself, the arrival of the Golden Lions (UK Military Parachute Team), their complete lack of reserve in letting you handle weapons, and a ridiculous bombing/strafing raid demonstration by a Spitfire.
Here are a few photos for you to get an idea of the fort. It was used to protect the strategic city of Inverness and the north of Scotland.
When I lifted this guy up to see over the wall, he said, “Awesome, a beach!”
There was an interesting ease with which the two boys approached and handled the weapons. They were never afraid of them, needed no instruction (well, “Don’t drop the sniper rifle” but…), and were only hampered by their lack of size (both from an inability to fit to the weapon and from other bigger boys “caring to a have a go").
You’ll notice that only one daughter has pictures here with weapons. That is not surprising to anyone who knows the younger of the two at all. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with touching them, but she did climb around in the vehicles.
Spotting and getting effects on target (MPMG, UK equivalent to the M60)
Manning the comms
GET DOWN ON THE GROUND YOU ... ...
Hell hath no fury like a woman with an RPG. (This was confiscated in Iraq.)
Three days in, the sniper continues to wait patiently for the right target, the right shot.
The British Kevlar looks this stupid on them too. They told me they were getting new ones. This looks exactly the same as putting a US Kevlar on backward.
Damn, Dad, we got branched Transpo!
I was waiting for a young girl to emerge from the water closet when I heard a big roar. It dawned on me that this must be a plane and then suddenly, like out of every WWII movie you have ever seen, between the buildings of the barracks came the Spitfire. It couldn’t have cleared the rooftops by fifty feet. It was surreal, eery, unsettling, and totally awesome. I am certain that the civilians of European cities witnessed this exact thing but with far more terror and destruction. The spitfire flew around demonstrating all sorts of attacking and defensive maneuvers for about fifteen minutes. It was easily the most impressive thing I have ever seen in the air. (Okay, actually it is tied with the time I called in close air support from Apaches in a training exercise and watched them annihilate the target we were painting with our GVLLD.)
After the Spitfire demonstration of which I took no pictures as my jaw was hanging open, we headed to the car where we waited for the second and final jump of the parachute team. It sure was cool and the kids thought it was almost as awesome as I did. The best part was in the afternoon jump, the last guy to jump had a smoke canister burning off his bott as often is the case. But, this time, he decided to dive straight down for as fast and as long as possible, pulling his chute very late. It was pretty cool, the others had their canopies over their heads well before he pulled his chute and he was at least 80% of the way to the ground from their canopies. I tried to sound cool and reminded the kids that I had jumped before to which the eldest queried, “Like that?” “Well, no, Honey, … not like that.”
From there we headed to Elgin and the Spynie Palace ruins. This was a great introduction to ruins in Scotland. The reason is that we had never seen one before. This was incredibly impressive with a tower you could still climb and amazing views. We just didn’t know that was not nearly as amazing the ruins to come.
After those Ruins, we headed into Elgin to the Cathedral ruins. The gates were closed but the ruins clearly present.
We then drove back to the cottage for dinner and a whisky tasting. I’ll write about that next.
Tuesday 24 August 2010
Drinking to Denmark
After security, a lady was asking you to taste her whisky if you would give her your email address for a chance to win a huge collection of whisky. I not only wanted to win the prize, I wanted to do a little tasting. I asked for the Balvenie Doublewood (I own some, but I haven’t tasted it) to which she suggested I try the airport duty free store exclusive: Glenfiddich Rare Oak. To be sure, there was nothing “rare” about the oak, but the bottling is probably exclusively bottled for the duty free whisky store. It was ten years in an American Bourbon cask followed be four years in a Spanish Sherry cask. It was really rather good. It was sweet, but smelled strongly of bourbon. Although, remember, I am standing up drinking this out of a very small plastic sampler just past security in the airport.
I sweet talked the lady into a taste of the Balvenie Doublewood. After the sooth and sweet Glenfiddich I had just had, I must say I was mildly disappointed. It tasted a little harsh, but I won’t pass full judgment until I can I get a wee dram in an arm chair.
I walked over to look at the purchases they had available and, well, to trick the tasters. So I made it to the front and looked longingly at a few bottles until I was invited to taste something. I selected the Aberlour since we had just missed visiting there last week on the Highland trip. Anyway, the Aberlour was really nice. Again, I’ll need a better, more thorough investigation, but this was good.
I checked on my boarding time and headed for the gold star alliance lounge where I hoped free wifi awaited me. I was happy to see that free lots of stuff awaited me, like free Jameson and a Budweiser. So I had a bit of Budweiser and then a little taste of the Jameson. This is super smooth, but the nose is totally disappointing. It didn’t have a solid smell to it all, which has become my favorite part of the Single Malts from Scotland. Maybe I didn’t give the Irish standard a fair shake, but on this trial I wish it smelled of something, anything at all.
So, I got to the airport a little early and managed to sample three single malts, drink a little Irish whiskey, have a beer, and do a little work, including writing this little piece here. I never did manage to get online, even after asking for help (which wasn’t very helpful). I then slept like a champ on the plane.
So I am in Aalborg for a conference and a presentation. Maybe I’ll have enough time to write about Days 2-4 on the Highland trip.
I sweet talked the lady into a taste of the Balvenie Doublewood. After the sooth and sweet Glenfiddich I had just had, I must say I was mildly disappointed. It tasted a little harsh, but I won’t pass full judgment until I can I get a wee dram in an arm chair.
I walked over to look at the purchases they had available and, well, to trick the tasters. So I made it to the front and looked longingly at a few bottles until I was invited to taste something. I selected the Aberlour since we had just missed visiting there last week on the Highland trip. Anyway, the Aberlour was really nice. Again, I’ll need a better, more thorough investigation, but this was good.
I checked on my boarding time and headed for the gold star alliance lounge where I hoped free wifi awaited me. I was happy to see that free lots of stuff awaited me, like free Jameson and a Budweiser. So I had a bit of Budweiser and then a little taste of the Jameson. This is super smooth, but the nose is totally disappointing. It didn’t have a solid smell to it all, which has become my favorite part of the Single Malts from Scotland. Maybe I didn’t give the Irish standard a fair shake, but on this trial I wish it smelled of something, anything at all.
So, I got to the airport a little early and managed to sample three single malts, drink a little Irish whiskey, have a beer, and do a little work, including writing this little piece here. I never did manage to get online, even after asking for help (which wasn’t very helpful). I then slept like a champ on the plane.
So I am in Aalborg for a conference and a presentation. Maybe I’ll have enough time to write about Days 2-4 on the Highland trip.
Friday 20 August 2010
Highland Trip, Day One, Abernethy Highland Games
The previous post laid out a tentative itinerary for a family trip to the highlands. We had first made a plan, then looked for a place to stay. This turned out to be a bit tricky as the highlands are apparently popular so we switched to finding a place to stay followed by making a plan. The previous post was the result. In the next few posts (possibly interrupted a time or two) I hope to tell you a bit about this trip. The trip lasted four days. Day one was spent traveling to and attending the Abernethy Highland Games, and finally settling in to our cottage. The second day included a trip to Fort George for the reenactment followed by ruins near Elgin and finishing with a lovely Speyside themed tasting at the cottage. Day three started at the Glenlivet Distillery, moved on to the Balvenie Castle, and finished with a trip to the Adventure Playland in Tomintoul on the Glenlivet Estate. The final day started at the Glenfiddich Distillery, moved to the Huntly Castle, and the trip home included the Kildrummy Castle and some intense driving on “single track” roads through the moorlands.
Day One: Highland Games
We wanted to get on the road early enough to make it to most of the events at the Abernethy Highland Games in Nethy Bridge. The drive was not so long, maybe three and one half hours and provided the disconcerting experience of driving over the Firth of Forth on a see-through bridge (the shoulders and center of the bridge were just grates and you could see the one hundred fifty feet down to the water). High speed left side driving took a bit of getting used to, for example cruising in the left lane. We arrived a little later than desired and the parking was starting to fill up. We were redirected to a new parking lot that was not doing so well after weeks of rain. For fun, the attendants directed us to the soupiest mud hole in the field where we spun our wheels for some time. (Ultimately, I went back during a bit of sunshine and moved the van without assistance, but passed several vans and a camper with drivers, passengers, and parking attendants all scratching their heads wondering who was going to pull them out.)
The games were rather entertaining, especially the “Heavy Events” of the traditional highland sort: shot put, weight for distance, weight over bar, Scots hammer, and caber. All these Heavy events must be performed in a kilt. We saw a junior “smash” an 11 year old record in the weight over bar, besting the old record by a foot with his sixteen feet nine inches. It was surprising how thrilling it would be to watch an enormous 18 year old fling an anvil up in the air. The caber (or caber toss) is probably the most recognizably Scottish Highland Game. The athlete tossing the caber (no jokes please) would run with a judge running just behind him and another two on the sides. The point is not to throw this for distance, but to toss the caber skillfully so that it flies straight, lands directly on its end, and arcs over for a flat landing on the gound. Speed is also important. I can only assume this was invented during the days of illicit distilling when the cask-strength whiskies were probably around 80% ABV.
There was a bag pipe competition, with eight pipe and drum bands attending. Throughout the day, the massed pipe band (all eight bands in one, or seven if one was competing) would just enter the field and march around the track. The band actually marched out onto the track in the middle of the women’s 800m. This was too bad for the ladies who had run 400m of that race already.
There was a Scottish dancing competition. Now I didn’t watch too much of this, but apparently some of the dances were different than others as there were many categories. I think without training, you would not be able to tell. My favorite part of this competition was the music. The dancers, in every dance, for the entire day, on two different stages, were dancing to a piper piping. They rotated about six pipers between the two stages, but one would play for an entire event. I guess this was for fairness. If the piper stunk, everyone in a single competition would have the same stinky piper. The massed pipe band entering the field and drowning out your singular piper was not cause for a do-over.
The High Chief of the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma was the Chief of the games. It seems the clans of Scotland and the tribes of Native Americans have many similarities. The clan of the games was the Clan Grant, and the High Chief of the Cherokee Nation, Chad Smith (Really, that doesn’t very Indian?) was the sixth great grandson of a pioneer from the Clan Grant. The Cherokee in attendance put on a demonstration of their battle sport called stick ball. In ancient times, two bickering tribes would agree to settle disputes via stick ball rather than wage war on each other. There were few rules and much bloodshed. In modern times, the game is men and boys versus women and girls. The men must use the sticks to touch the ball and cannot hit, while the women are not obliged to follow any rules whatsoever. The oldest kid played in this demonstration.
The largest event was the Abernethy 10 mile run, a trail racing event that drew roughly 120 participants. When I found out about it a few days before leaving, I certainly regretted my lack of running in recent weeks. Had I been running regularly, I would have run this race.
The fee to enter the games was also your entry fee for all the events. I had hopes of winning the 100m, but failed to sign up in time. I went to the registration tent and asked if I could sign up for the 100m. I was told I could only sign up for events beginning after the 800m because all the other events were already out with the officials. My choices were caber toss, 1500m, 400m (handicap). With no kilt for the caber and having not run in a few weeks, I thought a full out 1500m would be a bit harsh on my body and ruin our trip, so I opted for the 400m. I had to enter as a scratch. The handicaps that were awarded were 30m to two runners and 60m to another. That’s 7.5% and 15% of the race, quit a head start in a sprint. I wouldn’t have won a fair race, but I would have placed second I think. Instead, I came in fourth running my 400m in 68.83s. That’s not going to make the high school track team, but it does meet the gold standard for the German Sports Badge for 30-39 year-old males.
After the games, we drove for another hour or so and followed the GPS to our cottage. After about fifteen minutes on a single lane road that the GPS called simply “road”, Amy mentioned that she had found our cottage available on the web page “undiscovered Scotland.” It was as remote as one might get in Speyside. The best part was when the GPS (street speaking) lady said to us, “Navigate off-road for .5 miles.” So, Amy made some dinner, kids ran around, and the owner pointed out the Glenlivet Distillery in our panoramic view.
Day One: Highland Games
We wanted to get on the road early enough to make it to most of the events at the Abernethy Highland Games in Nethy Bridge. The drive was not so long, maybe three and one half hours and provided the disconcerting experience of driving over the Firth of Forth on a see-through bridge (the shoulders and center of the bridge were just grates and you could see the one hundred fifty feet down to the water). High speed left side driving took a bit of getting used to, for example cruising in the left lane. We arrived a little later than desired and the parking was starting to fill up. We were redirected to a new parking lot that was not doing so well after weeks of rain. For fun, the attendants directed us to the soupiest mud hole in the field where we spun our wheels for some time. (Ultimately, I went back during a bit of sunshine and moved the van without assistance, but passed several vans and a camper with drivers, passengers, and parking attendants all scratching their heads wondering who was going to pull them out.)
The games were rather entertaining, especially the “Heavy Events” of the traditional highland sort: shot put, weight for distance, weight over bar, Scots hammer, and caber. All these Heavy events must be performed in a kilt. We saw a junior “smash” an 11 year old record in the weight over bar, besting the old record by a foot with his sixteen feet nine inches. It was surprising how thrilling it would be to watch an enormous 18 year old fling an anvil up in the air. The caber (or caber toss) is probably the most recognizably Scottish Highland Game. The athlete tossing the caber (no jokes please) would run with a judge running just behind him and another two on the sides. The point is not to throw this for distance, but to toss the caber skillfully so that it flies straight, lands directly on its end, and arcs over for a flat landing on the gound. Speed is also important. I can only assume this was invented during the days of illicit distilling when the cask-strength whiskies were probably around 80% ABV.
There was a bag pipe competition, with eight pipe and drum bands attending. Throughout the day, the massed pipe band (all eight bands in one, or seven if one was competing) would just enter the field and march around the track. The band actually marched out onto the track in the middle of the women’s 800m. This was too bad for the ladies who had run 400m of that race already.
There was a Scottish dancing competition. Now I didn’t watch too much of this, but apparently some of the dances were different than others as there were many categories. I think without training, you would not be able to tell. My favorite part of this competition was the music. The dancers, in every dance, for the entire day, on two different stages, were dancing to a piper piping. They rotated about six pipers between the two stages, but one would play for an entire event. I guess this was for fairness. If the piper stunk, everyone in a single competition would have the same stinky piper. The massed pipe band entering the field and drowning out your singular piper was not cause for a do-over.
The High Chief of the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma was the Chief of the games. It seems the clans of Scotland and the tribes of Native Americans have many similarities. The clan of the games was the Clan Grant, and the High Chief of the Cherokee Nation, Chad Smith (Really, that doesn’t very Indian?) was the sixth great grandson of a pioneer from the Clan Grant. The Cherokee in attendance put on a demonstration of their battle sport called stick ball. In ancient times, two bickering tribes would agree to settle disputes via stick ball rather than wage war on each other. There were few rules and much bloodshed. In modern times, the game is men and boys versus women and girls. The men must use the sticks to touch the ball and cannot hit, while the women are not obliged to follow any rules whatsoever. The oldest kid played in this demonstration.
The largest event was the Abernethy 10 mile run, a trail racing event that drew roughly 120 participants. When I found out about it a few days before leaving, I certainly regretted my lack of running in recent weeks. Had I been running regularly, I would have run this race.
The fee to enter the games was also your entry fee for all the events. I had hopes of winning the 100m, but failed to sign up in time. I went to the registration tent and asked if I could sign up for the 100m. I was told I could only sign up for events beginning after the 800m because all the other events were already out with the officials. My choices were caber toss, 1500m, 400m (handicap). With no kilt for the caber and having not run in a few weeks, I thought a full out 1500m would be a bit harsh on my body and ruin our trip, so I opted for the 400m. I had to enter as a scratch. The handicaps that were awarded were 30m to two runners and 60m to another. That’s 7.5% and 15% of the race, quit a head start in a sprint. I wouldn’t have won a fair race, but I would have placed second I think. Instead, I came in fourth running my 400m in 68.83s. That’s not going to make the high school track team, but it does meet the gold standard for the German Sports Badge for 30-39 year-old males.
After the games, we drove for another hour or so and followed the GPS to our cottage. After about fifteen minutes on a single lane road that the GPS called simply “road”, Amy mentioned that she had found our cottage available on the web page “undiscovered Scotland.” It was as remote as one might get in Speyside. The best part was when the GPS (street speaking) lady said to us, “Navigate off-road for .5 miles.” So, Amy made some dinner, kids ran around, and the owner pointed out the Glenlivet Distillery in our panoramic view.
Friday 13 August 2010
Off to the Highlands
Last weekend was parades and this weekend, we are off to the Highlands. I'll post more about when it is over, but a brief itinerary for you to wonder about over the next several days:
I'll let you know how it all goes.
- Highland Games (I hope to compete in some event)
- Military History reenactment & parade
- Distillery Tour (Glenlivet and I hope another)
- Some Castles and churches
- Some hiking in the Scottish country
- A decent view of the ongoing meteor shower
- Enjoying our cabin (ten minutes from the Glenlivet Distillery)
- Too much scary driving
I'll let you know how it all goes.
Thursday 12 August 2010
Cavalcade
The day after bagpipes and the castle was the parade we intended to attend that opening weekend of Festival, the Cavalcade. This parade has most of the bands involved in the Edinburgh Military Tattoo and floats from many of the shows in town for the festival. Due to construction of a totally unnecessary tram in Edinburgh, the Cavalcade was in Holyrood Park last year and again this year.
We went early thinking this was wise to get good vantage point. Turns out, this wasn’t so necessary. We arrived ninety minutes early to a completely empty parade route excluding roughly nine other people. Still I laid down a blanket and spread out on it for a nap while Amy and the kids went to the entertainment area (carnival?). I sort of assumed that Amy knew how far a way it was.
They made it all the way to the entrance, but not one step further. Blocking there steady advance was a few chaps on stilts dressed as though they were riding an ostrich. I’m not sure if you have met our second daughter, BC, but if so, you already know that this spelled doom for her; she simply turned around and left. No fits, minor tears, but a full force “about face” and “forward march” back to Dad and the absence of ostrich-stilt people. So, Amy and the crew had to follow due to legal obligations.
This was an all out parade, not just bagpipes. In fact, our children cheered and yelled out, “Yeah, a REAL marching band!” when a bagpipe free crew passed by. The parade started with 150 motorcycles and some sports cars. Many kids would think this was cool, but ours just covered their ears and waited for the exhaust and noise to clear. They were happiest with the bands. The very first float was the Lady Boys of Bangkok, which Mary caught on to right away. She, however, thought they were just being silly.
All was fun and games until the Chinese dragons came down the path. This put BC into full out tears and a face-down-in-the-picnic-blanket hiding spot. But, she kept coming back for more. Dancers, fine; show songs, fine; anything in a (non fairy) costume, horror!
At the end of the parade we were told by two children, “That was awesome.”
We went early thinking this was wise to get good vantage point. Turns out, this wasn’t so necessary. We arrived ninety minutes early to a completely empty parade route excluding roughly nine other people. Still I laid down a blanket and spread out on it for a nap while Amy and the kids went to the entertainment area (carnival?). I sort of assumed that Amy knew how far a way it was.
They made it all the way to the entrance, but not one step further. Blocking there steady advance was a few chaps on stilts dressed as though they were riding an ostrich. I’m not sure if you have met our second daughter, BC, but if so, you already know that this spelled doom for her; she simply turned around and left. No fits, minor tears, but a full force “about face” and “forward march” back to Dad and the absence of ostrich-stilt people. So, Amy and the crew had to follow due to legal obligations.
This was an all out parade, not just bagpipes. In fact, our children cheered and yelled out, “Yeah, a REAL marching band!” when a bagpipe free crew passed by. The parade started with 150 motorcycles and some sports cars. Many kids would think this was cool, but ours just covered their ears and waited for the exhaust and noise to clear. They were happiest with the bands. The very first float was the Lady Boys of Bangkok, which Mary caught on to right away. She, however, thought they were just being silly.
All was fun and games until the Chinese dragons came down the path. This put BC into full out tears and a face-down-in-the-picnic-blanket hiding spot. But, she kept coming back for more. Dancers, fine; show songs, fine; anything in a (non fairy) costume, horror!
At the end of the parade we were told by two children, “That was awesome.”
Tuesday 10 August 2010
Bagpipes and Castles
Amy and I had decided we needed to take the kids downtown for a day of home town tourism. August is the month of the Edinburgh Festival and the population of the city supposedly doubles to one million. So we decided to go for it, head down to High Street with the Festival goers on opening weekend. There would certainly be no parking, so let’s take the bus. Our children absolutely love the double-decker buses.
We took the bus to High Street (although I made us get off one stop too soon and walk) and turned up hill from George IV Bridge toward the Castle. We had decided to purchase a membership in the Scottish historical society so we could get into all the castles in Scotland with no further fee, and the place to buy such a thing is the castle. As we got closer, we noticed that the steps along the sides of the streets were filled with people waiting but we couldn’t tell what they were waiting for. When we got around the bend, we saw a few bagpipers and decided to stay for the parade. We didn’t really consider when the parade would start, but found a spot on the route in the front and planted the children on the steps to eat their lunch. The parade started roughly one hour later. It was the festival bagpipe parade. Have you ever heard Scotland the Brave?
Whenever a new bagpipe band approached I’d ask the girls, “Hey, what song do you think they’ll play?” They thought this was funny twice, but there were a lot of bagpipe and drum bands.
After the parade, we headed to the castle and decided to go on in and tour the place. I think the kids thought it was pretty cool. Aaron was out cold from the jarring of the cobblestones when we got to the cannons and waited for a tour to start. Amy had the other three up on a cannon when one of those super annoying photo company asked if she could take their photo. I recognized the Aussie accent (with the previous knowledge that Kat from the Heatherlea was one of these photo people) and went and gave her a hug. This was disconcerting to my wife and children. We did however score free pictures, although we’ll have to pretend that Aaron is IN the cannon. (They look something like this, although this is not one from Kat and the photo people.)
After a tour the three ladies went in to see the crown jewels. Upon emerging from the chambers, I excitedly asked the girls if they liked the Stone of Destiny. They looked at me and said, “What’s the Stone of Destiny?” So then I just asked if they saw a big square stone in with the crown jewels. “Um, I don’t think so, why?” Nevermind. Amy ensured me that the Stone of Destiny was still there.
We left the castle and headed to the Fringe. I’d like to explain what the Fringe is, but it is totally unclear to me (and the link won't help you either). What we experienced was a massive number of people handing out flyers to their shows and very bad street performers lining High Street. Oh yeah, and about 100,000 people irritated that I kept jamming the stroller into them when they wouldn’t move.
We decided to leave to meet some friends for lawn bowling. Seriously, we finished the day with lawn bowling at the Falcon and a picnic dinner. Very relaxing. One can best understand the day by this guy…
We took the bus to High Street (although I made us get off one stop too soon and walk) and turned up hill from George IV Bridge toward the Castle. We had decided to purchase a membership in the Scottish historical society so we could get into all the castles in Scotland with no further fee, and the place to buy such a thing is the castle. As we got closer, we noticed that the steps along the sides of the streets were filled with people waiting but we couldn’t tell what they were waiting for. When we got around the bend, we saw a few bagpipers and decided to stay for the parade. We didn’t really consider when the parade would start, but found a spot on the route in the front and planted the children on the steps to eat their lunch. The parade started roughly one hour later. It was the festival bagpipe parade. Have you ever heard Scotland the Brave?
Whenever a new bagpipe band approached I’d ask the girls, “Hey, what song do you think they’ll play?” They thought this was funny twice, but there were a lot of bagpipe and drum bands.
After the parade, we headed to the castle and decided to go on in and tour the place. I think the kids thought it was pretty cool. Aaron was out cold from the jarring of the cobblestones when we got to the cannons and waited for a tour to start. Amy had the other three up on a cannon when one of those super annoying photo company asked if she could take their photo. I recognized the Aussie accent (with the previous knowledge that Kat from the Heatherlea was one of these photo people) and went and gave her a hug. This was disconcerting to my wife and children. We did however score free pictures, although we’ll have to pretend that Aaron is IN the cannon. (They look something like this, although this is not one from Kat and the photo people.)
After a tour the three ladies went in to see the crown jewels. Upon emerging from the chambers, I excitedly asked the girls if they liked the Stone of Destiny. They looked at me and said, “What’s the Stone of Destiny?” So then I just asked if they saw a big square stone in with the crown jewels. “Um, I don’t think so, why?” Nevermind. Amy ensured me that the Stone of Destiny was still there.
We left the castle and headed to the Fringe. I’d like to explain what the Fringe is, but it is totally unclear to me (and the link won't help you either). What we experienced was a massive number of people handing out flyers to their shows and very bad street performers lining High Street. Oh yeah, and about 100,000 people irritated that I kept jamming the stroller into them when they wouldn’t move.
We decided to leave to meet some friends for lawn bowling. Seriously, we finished the day with lawn bowling at the Falcon and a picnic dinner. Very relaxing. One can best understand the day by this guy…
Tuesday 3 August 2010
“Look kids, Big Ben, Parliament”
After being in Edinburgh for ten days, we took the kiddos to London. I wanted to take the kids to London of course, and I was considering driving there. I also wanted to take them on some train journeys, and then East Coast Trains offered a ridiculous deal: £9 each way. Seriously, I couldn’t drive to London for this price, so for £108 we had six table-reserved seats on the 5 hour train to London. I think the kids loved the train travel.
In London we did most of the obligatory tourist stuff, save the museums. You see, four kids don’t all agree simultaneously on when you should go inside a museum. We also didn’t go inside anything else, because in London they charge you for everything. Seriously, we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral only to see that it would cost us roughly $50 to take the family into the church. A CHURCH! I went in as far as I could. It was nice, but it was no $50 church. I’ll take der Dom for free, or Notre Dame, or St. Peter’s, or, well, any church not in London. Okay, I got sidetracked. Point is, we really saw everything from the outside due to the need to pay our mortgage.
We took the train on Saturday and found our hotel. It was interesting with incredibly uncomfortable beds but worked. Sunday, we took the tube (not handicap or stroller compliant in 2010) to St. James Park and scampered to the changing of the horse guards. Then, we walked back through the park to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Aside from the baby nearly choking to death (for real, people around us were very scared) the kids waited like champions for the festivities to begin.
I didn’t see too much of it, but the kids saw short bits when I would hold them up over the crowd. Okay, two guard changes, then we went back into the park to the playground. We had a picnic. We saw a pigeon rescued from the algae on the pond. We returned to the horse guards to catch a photo with a guard.
I wanted to go to 10 Downing Place so we headed that way. When I saw the radical Islamist protest, I thought that might be a fun experience for the kids. Then I saw police pulling some of them down and things getting thrown back and forth across the street so we turned around and headed for Trafalgar Square. No kidding, vans filled with riot police went by for about twenty minutes.
Later that day we took a boat on the Thames. It was fun and a good way to see a lot of the city in a fashion the kids found to be entertaining.
The next day, we asked the girls what they wanted to do. Without hesitation, “Ride a double decker bus and an 18 meter bus.” We were able to work that into the plan with the double decker taking us to St. Paul’s Cathedral (where one girl had a 40 minute nose bleed) and catching an 18 m bus (one of the extended flexible mid-section buses) when the boys were in bed. So that day we did the outside of Tower Bridge, Tower of London, St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Parliament, the Eye, and Kensington Gardens. We spent the longest time at the Diana Princess of Wales Playground, the most amazing playground we have ever been to.
The baby spent most of the trip in the backpack which has carried all four kids to many interesting places. He didn’t complain too much, but he was probably still reeling from the pain of getting a granola bar ripped out of his throat by parents’ hoping to save to his life.
Oh yeah, he also had a low grade fever the entire trip. Sadly, this made him lethargic and easier to have along.
The train back was at first horrible. The car we had reserved seats in was about 100°F. Then, they announced that the AC was broken in the car and we should move to a different car. This gave us a trip home in First class as you can see on the seat back (if you are able to see past the hair).
In London we did most of the obligatory tourist stuff, save the museums. You see, four kids don’t all agree simultaneously on when you should go inside a museum. We also didn’t go inside anything else, because in London they charge you for everything. Seriously, we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral only to see that it would cost us roughly $50 to take the family into the church. A CHURCH! I went in as far as I could. It was nice, but it was no $50 church. I’ll take der Dom for free, or Notre Dame, or St. Peter’s, or, well, any church not in London. Okay, I got sidetracked. Point is, we really saw everything from the outside due to the need to pay our mortgage.
We took the train on Saturday and found our hotel. It was interesting with incredibly uncomfortable beds but worked. Sunday, we took the tube (not handicap or stroller compliant in 2010) to St. James Park and scampered to the changing of the horse guards. Then, we walked back through the park to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Aside from the baby nearly choking to death (for real, people around us were very scared) the kids waited like champions for the festivities to begin.
I didn’t see too much of it, but the kids saw short bits when I would hold them up over the crowd. Okay, two guard changes, then we went back into the park to the playground. We had a picnic. We saw a pigeon rescued from the algae on the pond. We returned to the horse guards to catch a photo with a guard.
I wanted to go to 10 Downing Place so we headed that way. When I saw the radical Islamist protest, I thought that might be a fun experience for the kids. Then I saw police pulling some of them down and things getting thrown back and forth across the street so we turned around and headed for Trafalgar Square. No kidding, vans filled with riot police went by for about twenty minutes.
Later that day we took a boat on the Thames. It was fun and a good way to see a lot of the city in a fashion the kids found to be entertaining.
The next day, we asked the girls what they wanted to do. Without hesitation, “Ride a double decker bus and an 18 meter bus.” We were able to work that into the plan with the double decker taking us to St. Paul’s Cathedral (where one girl had a 40 minute nose bleed) and catching an 18 m bus (one of the extended flexible mid-section buses) when the boys were in bed. So that day we did the outside of Tower Bridge, Tower of London, St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Parliament, the Eye, and Kensington Gardens. We spent the longest time at the Diana Princess of Wales Playground, the most amazing playground we have ever been to.
The baby spent most of the trip in the backpack which has carried all four kids to many interesting places. He didn’t complain too much, but he was probably still reeling from the pain of getting a granola bar ripped out of his throat by parents’ hoping to save to his life.
Oh yeah, he also had a low grade fever the entire trip. Sadly, this made him lethargic and easier to have along.
The train back was at first horrible. The car we had reserved seats in was about 100°F. Then, they announced that the AC was broken in the car and we should move to a different car. This gave us a trip home in First class as you can see on the seat back (if you are able to see past the hair).
Saturday 31 July 2010
“n I coulda blogged if it wasn’t for those meddlin’ kids!”
I want to post things here. It’s fun. Not fun like blowing something up or a rollercoaster, but fun nonetheless. However, I went back to Iowa a few times, and the blogging died with each trip. It shouldn’t be surprising that when I brought these wonderful people (I love them all, I really do) back with me to Scotland that the blogging would fall considerably on the priority list. Also, kids in a whisky bar attract unwanted attention. I haven’t sipped a drop since their arrival. (Well, that’s not perfectly honest; I did exploit the airline status upgrade and drink Dewar’s on the flight to Utah).
I have thought to myself that I owe it to my fan(s) to post things and I want to do so. I just need a new approach. As the priority dropped for blogging, so shall the quality! I think I will try to get ten minutes out of my fingers every day or so. I am going to try that now for a bit and hope it all works out.
Flat update: all the work inside is complete, they gave me £500 back from our deposit, and they are looking into giving us 10 days rent. I think they are getting off easy. By the way, a flat is an apartment.
So, we went to London, I went to Utah for three weeks, we went to the Beach, we got Iterative Hard Thresholding running on a GPU, and more. I’ll start with some snippets about those things, but hey, my ten minutes is up.
Happy Anniversary to my parents.
I have thought to myself that I owe it to my fan(s) to post things and I want to do so. I just need a new approach. As the priority dropped for blogging, so shall the quality! I think I will try to get ten minutes out of my fingers every day or so. I am going to try that now for a bit and hope it all works out.
Flat update: all the work inside is complete, they gave me £500 back from our deposit, and they are looking into giving us 10 days rent. I think they are getting off easy. By the way, a flat is an apartment.
So, we went to London, I went to Utah for three weeks, we went to the Beach, we got Iterative Hard Thresholding running on a GPU, and more. I’ll start with some snippets about those things, but hey, my ten minutes is up.
Happy Anniversary to my parents.
Monday 5 July 2010
The Angry Journey, Part III
We’re finally on our flight to Edinburgh, the boys in car seats with me in the middle, the three ladies in the row in front of us. With some work, the baby falls asleep as people board the plane. The clock is ticking. We need to get off the ground to start the seven hour flight since the baby may not have seven hours of sleep in his plans. Instead, the passengers board and the door is closed. Fifteen minutes pass and the plane finally backs up. It taxis a bit and the safety briefing takes place. Then there is an announcement that we are tenth for takeoff and should be off the ground in twenty minutes. Forty five minutes later, the plane finally accelerates and lifts off. This was another highlight of the journey as the kids were fabulous, both boys sleeping for the vast majority of the flight. I even caught about ninety minutes of sleep.
We land, clear immigration, and collect our baggage. Surprisingly, all thirteen pieces of luggage arrives. This is blessing and a curse. On our own, how are Amy and I going to move this immense amount of luggage and the children? We knew this problem would arise, but I had no real plan. So the oldest pushes the baby in the stroller, while Amy and I each push an overloaded luggage cart while pulling another overloaded luggage cart. At one point, a kind Scotsman takes pity on Amy and pushes her cart all the way to the taxi queue. The six seater taxis refuse to take us with the luggage. Two five seater taxis agree to take us, fully loading one taxi with luggage and the putting some luggage in the other. I ride with the loaded cab while the rest of the family rides in the other. In the taxi, I call and text the property manager to meet us at the flat with the keys. Remember, we’re arriving roughly 23 hours later than planned.
At the flat, we unload the luggage, pay the £52 ($78) in cab fare and move the luggage into the overgrown front garden. The state of the garden lets me know that the immense amount of work that was supposed to be done before our arrival was likely not complete. Also, there is no one present with keys and the agent isn’t answering his phone. To top it all off, the kids are in summer clothes, but it is roughly 45°F. Amy unpacks some jackets, but the cold children are tired and not thrilled with the Edinburgh summer. The six year old tells me, “This is all your fault.” True enough.
A few more phone calls and keys arrive after roughly an hour. Yeah, we’re inside our temporary home. Precisely none of the promised work is completed. If I have the energy, I might comment on all that, but the fact is the flat turns into a construction zone and remains one today.
To take the family anywhere, we’ll need the van I bought us before heading home. I walk the mile to where the van is parked, but guess what? It doesn’t start. I walk to the Heatherlea, get the bike I bought, and ride back to the Blackford flat. “Good news,” I tell Amy when she answers my knocking. “My bike works.” The car was jumped later that day, I moved it to Blackford, and told the family to get ready to go to the store. When we loaded up, the van was dead again. (It would be three days before the battery was replaced.) We all get out and walk one and one half miles to the grocery store. If you are roughly three feet tall, that’s a long walk.
So that was my family’s introduction to Scotland. Not exactly what I had planned.
We land, clear immigration, and collect our baggage. Surprisingly, all thirteen pieces of luggage arrives. This is blessing and a curse. On our own, how are Amy and I going to move this immense amount of luggage and the children? We knew this problem would arise, but I had no real plan. So the oldest pushes the baby in the stroller, while Amy and I each push an overloaded luggage cart while pulling another overloaded luggage cart. At one point, a kind Scotsman takes pity on Amy and pushes her cart all the way to the taxi queue. The six seater taxis refuse to take us with the luggage. Two five seater taxis agree to take us, fully loading one taxi with luggage and the putting some luggage in the other. I ride with the loaded cab while the rest of the family rides in the other. In the taxi, I call and text the property manager to meet us at the flat with the keys. Remember, we’re arriving roughly 23 hours later than planned.
At the flat, we unload the luggage, pay the £52 ($78) in cab fare and move the luggage into the overgrown front garden. The state of the garden lets me know that the immense amount of work that was supposed to be done before our arrival was likely not complete. Also, there is no one present with keys and the agent isn’t answering his phone. To top it all off, the kids are in summer clothes, but it is roughly 45°F. Amy unpacks some jackets, but the cold children are tired and not thrilled with the Edinburgh summer. The six year old tells me, “This is all your fault.” True enough.
A few more phone calls and keys arrive after roughly an hour. Yeah, we’re inside our temporary home. Precisely none of the promised work is completed. If I have the energy, I might comment on all that, but the fact is the flat turns into a construction zone and remains one today.
To take the family anywhere, we’ll need the van I bought us before heading home. I walk the mile to where the van is parked, but guess what? It doesn’t start. I walk to the Heatherlea, get the bike I bought, and ride back to the Blackford flat. “Good news,” I tell Amy when she answers my knocking. “My bike works.” The car was jumped later that day, I moved it to Blackford, and told the family to get ready to go to the store. When we loaded up, the van was dead again. (It would be three days before the battery was replaced.) We all get out and walk one and one half miles to the grocery store. If you are roughly three feet tall, that’s a long walk.
So that was my family’s introduction to Scotland. Not exactly what I had planned.
Friday 2 July 2010
The Angry Journey, Part II
Now, we have reservations at Crowne Plaza and vouchers for that hotel. So we wait for the shuttle to Crowne Plaza. And we wait. And we call. And we wait, and forty minutes later the Crowne Plaza shuttle stops and opens it doors. We scamper up to board and Emmanuel, the driver blocks the doorway and asks if we have vouchers. We do. “Don’t get on the shuttle, we don’t have any rooms for vouchers,” he tells me. Again, the law against homicide gets more justification. I tell him we have reservations and to call the hotel. So he does. Guess what? They have never heard of us. So Crowne Plaza literally won’t let us come to the hotel; we’re hosed.
It’s midnight and we are waiting with roughly one hundred fifty people for hotel shuttles, but we don’t have a reservation. There is much crying amongst the children and little bit inside Amy and I. Amy goes inside to work the phones while I held the baby and went up to every shuttle driver, forcing them to call their hotel to see if they have a room. Twenty more minutes and Hampton’s driver says there are no rooms anywhere. I tell her to make the call a few times and she does. Then, to both of our surprise, she says get in. She takes us to the Hampton at roughly one in the morning. The clerk is happy that just before we called, someone who had reserved two rooms only checked in to one so there is one last room. We check in. Guess what? They won’t honor the vouchers since they are made out to Crowne Plaza. So that’ll be $179.00. Fine, give us the room.
We get our key and he writes down 318. We go to 318 and the card won’t open the door. In fact, the light it shows is yellow. That seems bad. I return to the desk where the clerk verifies that we should be in room 318 and re-codes the key card. So I try again, squeezing past a balling oldest child who is so tired all she can do is cry. As I aggressively yank on the door handle, the door opens and the lady says, “This isn’t your room.” I can’t really argue with her homesteading, so I return to the desk. Confused the clerk decides that they were sent to the wrong room and should really be in 319. So we got keys to 319. It worked.
With the oldest unable to stop crying, no one seemed excited about six people sharing two queen beds, but everyone finally got in bed, everyone except the baby. He was apparently unimpressed with the room and his parents, so he and I went for a nice walk inside the security gates of this Newark hotel, with the armed security guard patrolling the tiny parking lot in a SUV. We walked around for about fifteen minutes and he finally fell asleep (the baby, not the security guard). We returned to the room and I left him to sleep in the stroller. Essentially, everyone got to sleep just after 2am.
The late night meant we slept through the free breakfast. The children blamed me for this, with one little girl saying, “Dad, next time don’t sleep so much so we can eat breakfast.” There is no restaurant we can walk to as Newark is not so pedestrian friendly near the airport. We have about ten hours until our flight. After much debating and a fair amount of PBS Kids, we decide that the airport and our good vouchers is the best way to spend the rest of the day.
We return the airport, take the circus through security again, and attempt to get reimbursed for our hotel stay. Continental shows off its customer service climate by simply telling us they can’t do anything about it so we have to file a complaint online. The number of people who would shut us down immediately rather than discuss this us was incredible. At one point I told a customer service agent that it was a shame United would be polluting its excellent customer service with Continental employees. Her response was something about being a good airline, to which I explained that absolutely no one was attempting to demonstrate this to us. She stopped talking to me. Here again, if homicide were legal…
At least we have food vouchers. We go to an airport restaurant and order some drinks. “Do you have cups with lids?” They don’t but we order apple juice anyway for all three cup drinking children. They bring 32oz bar cups to the table. Before I can tell the three-year-old not touch his juice, he’s wet, crying, and has no more apple juice.
Anyway, we spend hours in the airport with two highlights. The first was watching Amy’s animation when on the phone with Continental Headquarters customer service regarding our hotel. They told her to file a complaint online. Boneheads! The second was the ridiculous stroke of luck regarding the six-year-old and a certain book. She had read every single Junie B Jones book except one because we couldn’t get it at home. Amy bought it for her in St. Louis. This being her first flight, the poor kid had left it in the seatback pocket of the aircraft. Why would I let her do such a thing? Because I didn’t take the time to help them get ready to de-plane, as we were supposed to rapidly get off and catch the cart supplied by the concierge. Instead, I just told them to stuff all of their things into their backpacks and get off quickly. We went to a bookstore in the airport and they of course did not have the book. But, I had time to kill, so I made the poor girl behind the counter call every other bookstore in the airport. On call number three, we found this book and I took the kids on a walk across the terminal to go buy it. This was my one shining moment on the trip where my children weren’t also considering the legality of offing me.
As it approaches 8 pm, it’s time to spend some more voucher money and eat a bit before boarding our overnight flight.
It’s midnight and we are waiting with roughly one hundred fifty people for hotel shuttles, but we don’t have a reservation. There is much crying amongst the children and little bit inside Amy and I. Amy goes inside to work the phones while I held the baby and went up to every shuttle driver, forcing them to call their hotel to see if they have a room. Twenty more minutes and Hampton’s driver says there are no rooms anywhere. I tell her to make the call a few times and she does. Then, to both of our surprise, she says get in. She takes us to the Hampton at roughly one in the morning. The clerk is happy that just before we called, someone who had reserved two rooms only checked in to one so there is one last room. We check in. Guess what? They won’t honor the vouchers since they are made out to Crowne Plaza. So that’ll be $179.00. Fine, give us the room.
We get our key and he writes down 318. We go to 318 and the card won’t open the door. In fact, the light it shows is yellow. That seems bad. I return to the desk where the clerk verifies that we should be in room 318 and re-codes the key card. So I try again, squeezing past a balling oldest child who is so tired all she can do is cry. As I aggressively yank on the door handle, the door opens and the lady says, “This isn’t your room.” I can’t really argue with her homesteading, so I return to the desk. Confused the clerk decides that they were sent to the wrong room and should really be in 319. So we got keys to 319. It worked.
With the oldest unable to stop crying, no one seemed excited about six people sharing two queen beds, but everyone finally got in bed, everyone except the baby. He was apparently unimpressed with the room and his parents, so he and I went for a nice walk inside the security gates of this Newark hotel, with the armed security guard patrolling the tiny parking lot in a SUV. We walked around for about fifteen minutes and he finally fell asleep (the baby, not the security guard). We returned to the room and I left him to sleep in the stroller. Essentially, everyone got to sleep just after 2am.
The late night meant we slept through the free breakfast. The children blamed me for this, with one little girl saying, “Dad, next time don’t sleep so much so we can eat breakfast.” There is no restaurant we can walk to as Newark is not so pedestrian friendly near the airport. We have about ten hours until our flight. After much debating and a fair amount of PBS Kids, we decide that the airport and our good vouchers is the best way to spend the rest of the day.
We return the airport, take the circus through security again, and attempt to get reimbursed for our hotel stay. Continental shows off its customer service climate by simply telling us they can’t do anything about it so we have to file a complaint online. The number of people who would shut us down immediately rather than discuss this us was incredible. At one point I told a customer service agent that it was a shame United would be polluting its excellent customer service with Continental employees. Her response was something about being a good airline, to which I explained that absolutely no one was attempting to demonstrate this to us. She stopped talking to me. Here again, if homicide were legal…
At least we have food vouchers. We go to an airport restaurant and order some drinks. “Do you have cups with lids?” They don’t but we order apple juice anyway for all three cup drinking children. They bring 32oz bar cups to the table. Before I can tell the three-year-old not touch his juice, he’s wet, crying, and has no more apple juice.
Anyway, we spend hours in the airport with two highlights. The first was watching Amy’s animation when on the phone with Continental Headquarters customer service regarding our hotel. They told her to file a complaint online. Boneheads! The second was the ridiculous stroke of luck regarding the six-year-old and a certain book. She had read every single Junie B Jones book except one because we couldn’t get it at home. Amy bought it for her in St. Louis. This being her first flight, the poor kid had left it in the seatback pocket of the aircraft. Why would I let her do such a thing? Because I didn’t take the time to help them get ready to de-plane, as we were supposed to rapidly get off and catch the cart supplied by the concierge. Instead, I just told them to stuff all of their things into their backpacks and get off quickly. We went to a bookstore in the airport and they of course did not have the book. But, I had time to kill, so I made the poor girl behind the counter call every other bookstore in the airport. On call number three, we found this book and I took the kids on a walk across the terminal to go buy it. This was my one shining moment on the trip where my children weren’t also considering the legality of offing me.
As it approaches 8 pm, it’s time to spend some more voucher money and eat a bit before boarding our overnight flight.
Wednesday 30 June 2010
The Angry Journey, Part I
“We don’t want to get on the flight to Newark if we won’t make the flight to Edinburgh.”
How is that confusing? After packing two large vehicles with people and luggage, we made it to the St. Louis airport to check in with plenty of time. This was good because the 11 pieces of luggage, four car seats/boosters, and the stroller weren’t easy to maneuver. Thankfully, my in-laws were there to help. So I am checking my thirteen pieces of luggage/car seats when they inform me that the flight to Newark is significantly delayed. We had a two hour layover scheduled for Newark, so this might not be a big deal. Then I tell them we have a place to stay in St. Louis, so we don’t want to fly to Newark and then not on to Edinburgh. They say it won’t be a problem and to clear security; if things get worse, we can always bail later.
Things got worse. I went to the agent and told them the situation. The plane to Newark arrives but has to be towed away for maintenance. "Still not a problem," they tell me and rebook us on a different flight to Newark scheduled to arrive at 10:10pm. Hmm, we’re supposed to then change terminals and make our 10:20 Edinburgh flight? I raise this concern when they tell me that they have contacted Newark, a cart will meet us in Newark with a concierge waiting to take us all to the Edinburgh connection which will be held for us. Wow, that’s some good customer service. I remind them I have a place to stay in St. Louis and, oh yeah, we are a party of six, four of whom are under the age of eight. Just in case, they make us a reservation for two rooms at the Crowne Plaza in Newark, print out vouchers for the hotel and a full days worth of meals for 6 people. Just in case. That should have tipped me off. We board the flight and the agent (different agent) scans a boarding pass and says, "Oh, concierge will be waiting for you in Newark."
We scamper off the plane in reasonably good time and get to the end of the bridgeway. I didn’t see a cart. I don’t see concierge. I turn to the gate agent and say, “We’re the party of six going to Edinburgh and we were told a cart would be waiting to take us to the flight.” Clearly, this was the first she had heard of it. She typed a few things into her trusty computer and declared, “Edinburgh pulled away from the gate three minutes ago. Go see customer service.” This was a case where it makes sense to actually have laws prohibiting homicide.
Customer Service? This is not a strong suit for Continental. They seem to be trained to be unhelpful. They asked if I had a hotel reservation and voucher to which I said yes. They directed us to the sky train to catch a hotel shuttle. After verifying that I did not need to pick up our thirteen pieces of luggage, we went to the skytrain. We boarded and went one station. Then the doors stayed open for very long ten minutes as the baby sang a song that sounded like WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Finally, doors close and the sky train heads in the correct direction. Half way to the hotel shuttle stop, the train stopped. It remained stationary for a good twenty minutes. Other children joined the baby in his not so sweet melody. Finally, movement, but this time we are headed in the wrong direction.
We return to the previous station and are told to get off the train. Then, we are told that there is a train stuck on each track going to our stop. Unfortunately, some investigation reveals that skytrain is the only alternative to trekking through swampland to get to the hotel shuttles. So we wait roughly twenty more minutes and re-board the not-so-trusty skytrain. Finally, it delivers us to our stop. All we need to do now is get to the Crowne Plaza…
How is that confusing? After packing two large vehicles with people and luggage, we made it to the St. Louis airport to check in with plenty of time. This was good because the 11 pieces of luggage, four car seats/boosters, and the stroller weren’t easy to maneuver. Thankfully, my in-laws were there to help. So I am checking my thirteen pieces of luggage/car seats when they inform me that the flight to Newark is significantly delayed. We had a two hour layover scheduled for Newark, so this might not be a big deal. Then I tell them we have a place to stay in St. Louis, so we don’t want to fly to Newark and then not on to Edinburgh. They say it won’t be a problem and to clear security; if things get worse, we can always bail later.
Things got worse. I went to the agent and told them the situation. The plane to Newark arrives but has to be towed away for maintenance. "Still not a problem," they tell me and rebook us on a different flight to Newark scheduled to arrive at 10:10pm. Hmm, we’re supposed to then change terminals and make our 10:20 Edinburgh flight? I raise this concern when they tell me that they have contacted Newark, a cart will meet us in Newark with a concierge waiting to take us all to the Edinburgh connection which will be held for us. Wow, that’s some good customer service. I remind them I have a place to stay in St. Louis and, oh yeah, we are a party of six, four of whom are under the age of eight. Just in case, they make us a reservation for two rooms at the Crowne Plaza in Newark, print out vouchers for the hotel and a full days worth of meals for 6 people. Just in case. That should have tipped me off. We board the flight and the agent (different agent) scans a boarding pass and says, "Oh, concierge will be waiting for you in Newark."
We scamper off the plane in reasonably good time and get to the end of the bridgeway. I didn’t see a cart. I don’t see concierge. I turn to the gate agent and say, “We’re the party of six going to Edinburgh and we were told a cart would be waiting to take us to the flight.” Clearly, this was the first she had heard of it. She typed a few things into her trusty computer and declared, “Edinburgh pulled away from the gate three minutes ago. Go see customer service.” This was a case where it makes sense to actually have laws prohibiting homicide.
Customer Service? This is not a strong suit for Continental. They seem to be trained to be unhelpful. They asked if I had a hotel reservation and voucher to which I said yes. They directed us to the sky train to catch a hotel shuttle. After verifying that I did not need to pick up our thirteen pieces of luggage, we went to the skytrain. We boarded and went one station. Then the doors stayed open for very long ten minutes as the baby sang a song that sounded like WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Finally, doors close and the sky train heads in the correct direction. Half way to the hotel shuttle stop, the train stopped. It remained stationary for a good twenty minutes. Other children joined the baby in his not so sweet melody. Finally, movement, but this time we are headed in the wrong direction.
We return to the previous station and are told to get off the train. Then, we are told that there is a train stuck on each track going to our stop. Unfortunately, some investigation reveals that skytrain is the only alternative to trekking through swampland to get to the hotel shuttles. So we wait roughly twenty more minutes and re-board the not-so-trusty skytrain. Finally, it delivers us to our stop. All we need to do now is get to the Crowne Plaza…
Sunday 27 June 2010
LIAR!
Well, crud. I had high hopes for posting about out continental while I was still angry but more crazy bad things prevented me from doing so like a glat that was in utter disrepair and a major inability to get internet access. We have solved some of these problems, but we have not created more time. And to be honest, the world cup has taken a good chunk of time. Oh yeah, and now when I am in Scotland I am not alone and bored. Instead, my wife is here to talk to and kids to chase and play with.
Unfortunately, I have left them stranded in Edinburgh. I post this sitting in the Denver International Airport on my way to Park City, Utah. We can expect a few posts while I am in Park City. I am here for the Park City Mathematics Institute Summer program. I was just about to write the “I hate Continental Airlines” post but I think my flight is about to board. I would write it on the plane, but if you have seen my laptop you’ll realize that although I will be sitting in First Class, there still won’t be room for my portable desktop.
I am very disappointed that USA lost by the exact score line that Ghana put them out of the last World Cup. I simply can’t believe we can’t start a game. I disagree with anyone who is satisfied that we got out of the group. When we won the group, we had the best draw in the tournament and we should have made the semifinals.
I won’t make any more bold promises, but instead state that I hope to be back soon. Also, I had some Dewar’s on my shot from Newark to Denver.
Unfortunately, I have left them stranded in Edinburgh. I post this sitting in the Denver International Airport on my way to Park City, Utah. We can expect a few posts while I am in Park City. I am here for the Park City Mathematics Institute Summer program. I was just about to write the “I hate Continental Airlines” post but I think my flight is about to board. I would write it on the plane, but if you have seen my laptop you’ll realize that although I will be sitting in First Class, there still won’t be room for my portable desktop.
I am very disappointed that USA lost by the exact score line that Ghana put them out of the last World Cup. I simply can’t believe we can’t start a game. I disagree with anyone who is satisfied that we got out of the group. When we won the group, we had the best draw in the tournament and we should have made the semifinals.
I won’t make any more bold promises, but instead state that I hope to be back soon. Also, I had some Dewar’s on my shot from Newark to Denver.
Wednesday 16 June 2010
Patience
I've been gone a while, traveling. The mvoing has found unique and creative ways to present us with unnecessary challenges. The trip was a wee nightmare, aye. The flat is a wreck. I'll be back in the next day or so with a real post providing suitable details. Tell your friends.
Saturday 29 May 2010
A 5 Minute Intro to CS
So, NPR decided to do a story on CS. I am going to write CS here for my research field. The first word is compressed. The second is sensing. I just broke them up because of the target audience for my blog doesn't really include my fellow researchers googling the term. (By the way, if you google "Fettercairn 1824" this blog is on page 7. I run analytics that tell me how people get to the site which made me try that search. Bruichladdich has also brought someone here already.)
Anyway, here's a 5 minute segment from All Things Considered that is about CS. It might help explain what it is that I am doing.
Anyway, here's a 5 minute segment from All Things Considered that is about CS. It might help explain what it is that I am doing.
Thursday 27 May 2010
From the Heatherlea to the Tornado House
The door to the Heatherlea has closed and I no longer have a key. What I do have, is my family. Solid. I left the Heatherlea on Monday and came back to Iowa. We call our house in Iowa the Tornado House. This isn't etched over the door like the house names of Edinburgh, but it might as well be. W named it the Tornado House while we were looking at houses in March of 2009 because it looks exactly like the farm house in all the old movies that gets destroyed by a tornado. (We bought the Tornado House over the Mansion, the Nightmare on Elm Street, and the Money Pit.)
When I return to Edinburgh, we'll be taking up two rows of a jet-liner. Right now, my dear wife is on a well deserved vacation with two friends. She tries to go every year but the first year she missed it because I made her move to New Mexico. Last year she missed it because I made her move to Iowa. This year, she's back.
Right now, I hope she's drinking a single malt, like a Bowmore 17yr or maybe a Balvenie 21yr, and thinking, "Damn I deserve this." However, she's probably drinking a beer or something girly and thinking, "Damn, I hope he remembers how to take care of the kids." Actually, she hasn't called since she left...
I am happy to report that the kids are all asleep, no one bled today, meals of reasonable nutritional value were consumed by all, grocery shopping was attempted, and the downstairs is cleaner going to bed than it was when I got up. Speaking of getting up, I am also happy to report that although the alarm didn't go off, the girls were dressed when they woke me up and said, "Dad, we need to eat breakfast so we can go to school." Not only did they eat breakfast, but they left with lunches and a simple "How 'bout a head band?" compromise sent them off on time.
When I return to Edinburgh, we'll be taking up two rows of a jet-liner. Right now, my dear wife is on a well deserved vacation with two friends. She tries to go every year but the first year she missed it because I made her move to New Mexico. Last year she missed it because I made her move to Iowa. This year, she's back.
Right now, I hope she's drinking a single malt, like a Bowmore 17yr or maybe a Balvenie 21yr, and thinking, "Damn I deserve this." However, she's probably drinking a beer or something girly and thinking, "Damn, I hope he remembers how to take care of the kids." Actually, she hasn't called since she left...
I am happy to report that the kids are all asleep, no one bled today, meals of reasonable nutritional value were consumed by all, grocery shopping was attempted, and the downstairs is cleaner going to bed than it was when I got up. Speaking of getting up, I am also happy to report that although the alarm didn't go off, the girls were dressed when they woke me up and said, "Dad, we need to eat breakfast so we can go to school." Not only did they eat breakfast, but they left with lunches and a simple "How 'bout a head band?" compromise sent them off on time.
Friday 21 May 2010
Bruichladdich Peat, Islay
With all of my working and traveling and drinking beer, I have been slacking on the single malts. This one I had a few weeks ago with some friends.This is from memory, not from notes, although I wrote this one night after drinking it.
I can’t taste all the single malts in Scotland (although I can try), but I do think it is reasonable to taste all the distilleries from Islay. So, I have kissed the fruits of Ardbeg, Lagavulin, Laphraoig, Bowmore, and Caol Ila. That leaves Bruichladdich, Bunnahabhain, and Port Ellen. Since Port Ellen was shuttered 20+ years ago, all the Port Ellen is $200 per bottle. I’m pretty sure I’ll have to skip Port Ellen. But, I did manage to reduce the remaining unknowns of Islay by having a dram of Bruichladdich Peat.
Bruichladdich Peat
Islay
46% abv
(Color has been removed permanently. Stupid category.)
Nose: sweet, smoked bacon but not overwhelming. Very nice.
Palate: the first drink seemed incredibly warm, almost burning. Tastes like a smoky whisky but is balanced very well by sweetness.
Finish: It is incredibly smooth given it smells so substantial. The smoke stays with you but the sweetest is more profound in the finish. If you burned a cinnamon stick and a candy cane in a bowl, the smoke of such a fire would probably accurately portray this finish.
Overall: The first intake made me think it was alright, the second that it was good, but not special. The third changed my mind to very good and a competitor. By the end, I was thinking, “I wonder how expensive this is because it is as good as the Ardbeg and Caol Ila.” (The cheapest one wins.) I would say this is a very enjoyable liquid and certainly worth a try.
That leaves me with me the following Islay ranking:
Tier 1: Lagavulin and Bowmore (Darkest)
Tier 2: Bruichladdich, Caol Ila, Arbeg
Tier 4: Laphroaig
(Yes, I know that’s a 4.)
I can’t taste all the single malts in Scotland (although I can try), but I do think it is reasonable to taste all the distilleries from Islay. So, I have kissed the fruits of Ardbeg, Lagavulin, Laphraoig, Bowmore, and Caol Ila. That leaves Bruichladdich, Bunnahabhain, and Port Ellen. Since Port Ellen was shuttered 20+ years ago, all the Port Ellen is $200 per bottle. I’m pretty sure I’ll have to skip Port Ellen. But, I did manage to reduce the remaining unknowns of Islay by having a dram of Bruichladdich Peat.
Bruichladdich Peat
Islay
46% abv
(Color has been removed permanently. Stupid category.)
Nose: sweet, smoked bacon but not overwhelming. Very nice.
Palate: the first drink seemed incredibly warm, almost burning. Tastes like a smoky whisky but is balanced very well by sweetness.
Finish: It is incredibly smooth given it smells so substantial. The smoke stays with you but the sweetest is more profound in the finish. If you burned a cinnamon stick and a candy cane in a bowl, the smoke of such a fire would probably accurately portray this finish.
Overall: The first intake made me think it was alright, the second that it was good, but not special. The third changed my mind to very good and a competitor. By the end, I was thinking, “I wonder how expensive this is because it is as good as the Ardbeg and Caol Ila.” (The cheapest one wins.) I would say this is a very enjoyable liquid and certainly worth a try.
That leaves me with me the following Islay ranking:
Tier 1: Lagavulin and Bowmore (Darkest)
Tier 2: Bruichladdich, Caol Ila, Arbeg
Tier 4: Laphroaig
(Yes, I know that’s a 4.)
Wednesday 19 May 2010
I'm a Leftist!
On Saturday, I bought a van and drove it straight to Costco!
Seriously, driving on the left is definitely different, but that isn't the hard part. It is a standard, and a diesel. This means, that you MUST wait to turn the ignition until a coil has warmed up. I can't remember to do this and that is going to destroy the darn van. Second, the stick is on the left, but the gears are in the same positions. On one hand, knowing where the gears are might be helpful to some. On the other hand, if you brain works like mine, I think of first gear as close and forward and wish that the gears were a mirror image of what they are in a right handed standard.
The most difficult thing is definitely the different driving styles. The roads are quite narrow and there is literally no parking. So the cars are parked on the narrow roads. There is some etiquette I hope to figure out soon on who gets to go when. For the most part, it appears to be a game of chicken.
I have had zero accidents and only one honking incident involving a roundabout, yet another fun challenge. (I've of course faced roundabouts in Germany and such, but they're a little different here. For example, here you go around them the wrong way!)
The funniest adventure was parking this in the lot behind the Heatherlea. By lot, I mean backyard. By yard, I mean very small area. The lot is at the end of a very old alley, which I believe was designed to allow single file horse caravans. The mini-van had roughly two inches of clearance on either side. I got it in, but then getting it out was a bit of an ordeal. It is a challenge to judge the distance to the left side of a car after 18 years of judging the distance to the right. It really is different. Anyway, I did a 76 point turn, only to realize I was now facing a direction which meant that I could proceed no more. So, I undid the 76 point turn, let some exasperated motorcyclists down the alley, and started over. The second go was reduced to a 23 point turn and a van facing out of the alley. Bulls-eye! (When I got back from Costco, I did the 23 point turn first, and then backed into the Heatherlea. Now I can drive straight out ... at 0.3 miles per hour hoping not to rub a mirror off the van.)
Fortunately, I have insurance!
Seriously, driving on the left is definitely different, but that isn't the hard part. It is a standard, and a diesel. This means, that you MUST wait to turn the ignition until a coil has warmed up. I can't remember to do this and that is going to destroy the darn van. Second, the stick is on the left, but the gears are in the same positions. On one hand, knowing where the gears are might be helpful to some. On the other hand, if you brain works like mine, I think of first gear as close and forward and wish that the gears were a mirror image of what they are in a right handed standard.
The most difficult thing is definitely the different driving styles. The roads are quite narrow and there is literally no parking. So the cars are parked on the narrow roads. There is some etiquette I hope to figure out soon on who gets to go when. For the most part, it appears to be a game of chicken.
I have had zero accidents and only one honking incident involving a roundabout, yet another fun challenge. (I've of course faced roundabouts in Germany and such, but they're a little different here. For example, here you go around them the wrong way!)
The funniest adventure was parking this in the lot behind the Heatherlea. By lot, I mean backyard. By yard, I mean very small area. The lot is at the end of a very old alley, which I believe was designed to allow single file horse caravans. The mini-van had roughly two inches of clearance on either side. I got it in, but then getting it out was a bit of an ordeal. It is a challenge to judge the distance to the left side of a car after 18 years of judging the distance to the right. It really is different. Anyway, I did a 76 point turn, only to realize I was now facing a direction which meant that I could proceed no more. So, I undid the 76 point turn, let some exasperated motorcyclists down the alley, and started over. The second go was reduced to a 23 point turn and a van facing out of the alley. Bulls-eye! (When I got back from Costco, I did the 23 point turn first, and then backed into the Heatherlea. Now I can drive straight out ... at 0.3 miles per hour hoping not to rub a mirror off the van.)
Fortunately, I have insurance!
Monday 17 May 2010
Cambridge, Part II
These are some more pictures of my trip to Cambridge. The point here is that they are a bit lighter than the previous post. Let's get the two serious pictures out of the way. First, we have the Isaac Newton Institute for Mathematical Sciences (had to be shared).
Second, we have the gate of honor. I pulled a cheapo move and listened to a guided tour I wasn't a part of. This gate is for Trinity College and is only opened once a year. There are three gates, Humility (students pass under this everyday), Virtue (students pass under this to go eat I think) and Honor. This is only opened after exams for the graduating students. It is open for one day for them to pass in and out. Best part of that story was after he finished, a janitor came out the small door in the middle carrying a tea kettle. Everyone laughed and the guide was distraught!
Notice that on all sides of the clock tower, the clocks are sun dials. Awesome!
Anyone want to watch a wee match of little league? Yes, indeed, one must take a photo of little league cricket!
Now onto the garb. The students and faculty still where academic gowns regularly, althought I forgot to find out exactly who, when, and why. But, people would be walking around wearing gowns. I thought they looked very Harry Potter as daily wear, so I will henceforth call them cloaks. You can tell by length of sleeve and length of cloak what status a person holds. I knew someone who would like to see this, so I hid in the bushes to take a picture of a lad in a cloak crossing the street. Stupid Taxi.
Then I chased him like paparazzi!
On Thursday night, my host had a conflict so I went and walked around town myself. I took many pictures, but felt the need to share this public lawn bowling green in one of the parks.
I ended up eating fish and chips in a pub, the Baron of Beef, and drinking a few pints. I worked a bit behind the bar; good times!
I had sampled a few ales and had just enough guinness to get lost on the way home. Fortunately, I ran into these two. With those smart cloaks on, I knew they'd know the way. Thanks guy with the GPS ap on his iphone for directions and letting me taking your picture!
Second, we have the gate of honor. I pulled a cheapo move and listened to a guided tour I wasn't a part of. This gate is for Trinity College and is only opened once a year. There are three gates, Humility (students pass under this everyday), Virtue (students pass under this to go eat I think) and Honor. This is only opened after exams for the graduating students. It is open for one day for them to pass in and out. Best part of that story was after he finished, a janitor came out the small door in the middle carrying a tea kettle. Everyone laughed and the guide was distraught!
Notice that on all sides of the clock tower, the clocks are sun dials. Awesome!
Anyone want to watch a wee match of little league? Yes, indeed, one must take a photo of little league cricket!
Now onto the garb. The students and faculty still where academic gowns regularly, althought I forgot to find out exactly who, when, and why. But, people would be walking around wearing gowns. I thought they looked very Harry Potter as daily wear, so I will henceforth call them cloaks. You can tell by length of sleeve and length of cloak what status a person holds. I knew someone who would like to see this, so I hid in the bushes to take a picture of a lad in a cloak crossing the street. Stupid Taxi.
Then I chased him like paparazzi!
On Thursday night, my host had a conflict so I went and walked around town myself. I took many pictures, but felt the need to share this public lawn bowling green in one of the parks.
I ended up eating fish and chips in a pub, the Baron of Beef, and drinking a few pints. I worked a bit behind the bar; good times!
I had sampled a few ales and had just enough guinness to get lost on the way home. Fortunately, I ran into these two. With those smart cloaks on, I knew they'd know the way. Thanks guy with the GPS ap on his iphone for directions and letting me taking your picture!
Sunday 16 May 2010
Cambridge
I recently went to Cambridge to give a talk in the Numerical Analysis Seminar. It was, truthfully, quite an honor and I will try to refrain from further boasting. The fact is there are a few ways to get invited to speak at Cambridge. The most notable method is to become a world leader in your field. My method was slightly less noble, but equally effective. At Edinburgh, our reading group hosted a speaker from Cambridge and we all went to dinner. I walked him home, slyly mentioned I had never been to Cambridge, and that I would love to see the medieval colleges. Shortly thereafter, I received an invitation. “Knock, and the door shall be opened.”
I will first tell you that when you meet someone from Cambridge, they are certain to tell you where they are from, even more so than academics from Harvard, Yale, or MIT. It is just cultural, they want you to know they are from Cambridge. There have been a few notable students and faculty at Cambridge. I’ll give the example of Sir Isaac Newton, who among his many accomplishments, graced us with calculus. In my biased opinion, this is indeed his greatest contribution as Newtonian mechanics are simply inexpressible without calculus, but calculus is completely independent from physics. In fact, calculus has a fantastically larger footprint than Newtonian mechanics. (To be academic, Newton shares the invention of calculus with Liebniz, and of course Newton did not invent the calculus we know and love today, but laid its foundation. I’m getting a bit off topic here.) My point is I found this need to announce affiliation with Cambridge to be a bit obnoxious, yet here I hypocritically post about speaking there. Having been there, I can see to a degree why one would let this little piece of information (affiliation of some sort with Cambridge) slip into the very early stages of conversation. The place is amazing in its history, architecture, atmosphere, landscaping, bravado, traditions, administrative structure, formality, class system, commercialization, and reputation. There's a reason that Harvard, the first institution of higher education in the USA, was founded in a town named Cambridge, Massachusetts.
You are not permitted to walk on the grass. Well, you are not permitted to walk on the grass unless accompanied by a Fellow of the college. There is actually a sign at the entrance to the colleges stating this exception to the “Keep of the Grass” signs. This is a way of compensating the senior faculty by giving them status. It was interesting to watch fellows walk across the grass. This was done less as a shortcut, and more to announce that indeed they were a fellow of the college while tourists and students walking along the stone pathways watched the fellow in the grass, unable to look away and providing this ingenious, currency-free compensation. Even trying to consider it objectively, I could not help but watch the fellows walk across the lawn, nor could I bear to see a student cut a corner.
One of the most amazing things about Cambridge is the mathematical facility, The Centre for Mathematical Sciences. It is a humungous compound, completely dedicated to the mathematical sciences including physics. There is certainly nothing to match it on the rest of our planet. You might not know any of the mathematicians, but this is where the famous physicist Stephen Hawking works. (I didn't drop in; I don't think he was expecting me.)
I could ramble on, but this is a blog and you’re already tired of reading. I’ll finish with some photos. The photos from above were taken from the top of the bell tower of St. Mary the Great University Church.
Here are some photos of King’s College. My host was once a PhD student at King's College so he is a lifetime member. He was gracious enough to take me to Evensong, a choral evening prayer service featuring the amazing Choir of King's College. You’ll notice the sign warning of doom for treading on the grass. The building behind me, was the location of dinner. The students of the college live in these buildings, surrounded by the walls. Tourists pay to enter.
The following photos are of St. John’s college.
This is inside the living area of St. John's College. These are essentially dorms for Cambridge undergrads. (Looks just like Newman Hall.)
The tower in the distance to the right in this next one is St. John's Chapel, the same tower from the photo above.
In the picture above, the college in between St. John's and Kings (to the left of this photo frame) is Trinity College. Finally, some of the Gardens of Trinity College and some pics of the River Cam.
I’ll post again shortly with a few more photos of a lighter nature. I might have incorrectly identified some of my photos, so if you're from Cambridge and I said something wrong, I hope you didn't just choke on something in reaction to my ignorance.
I will first tell you that when you meet someone from Cambridge, they are certain to tell you where they are from, even more so than academics from Harvard, Yale, or MIT. It is just cultural, they want you to know they are from Cambridge. There have been a few notable students and faculty at Cambridge. I’ll give the example of Sir Isaac Newton, who among his many accomplishments, graced us with calculus. In my biased opinion, this is indeed his greatest contribution as Newtonian mechanics are simply inexpressible without calculus, but calculus is completely independent from physics. In fact, calculus has a fantastically larger footprint than Newtonian mechanics. (To be academic, Newton shares the invention of calculus with Liebniz, and of course Newton did not invent the calculus we know and love today, but laid its foundation. I’m getting a bit off topic here.) My point is I found this need to announce affiliation with Cambridge to be a bit obnoxious, yet here I hypocritically post about speaking there. Having been there, I can see to a degree why one would let this little piece of information (affiliation of some sort with Cambridge) slip into the very early stages of conversation. The place is amazing in its history, architecture, atmosphere, landscaping, bravado, traditions, administrative structure, formality, class system, commercialization, and reputation. There's a reason that Harvard, the first institution of higher education in the USA, was founded in a town named Cambridge, Massachusetts.
You are not permitted to walk on the grass. Well, you are not permitted to walk on the grass unless accompanied by a Fellow of the college. There is actually a sign at the entrance to the colleges stating this exception to the “Keep of the Grass” signs. This is a way of compensating the senior faculty by giving them status. It was interesting to watch fellows walk across the grass. This was done less as a shortcut, and more to announce that indeed they were a fellow of the college while tourists and students walking along the stone pathways watched the fellow in the grass, unable to look away and providing this ingenious, currency-free compensation. Even trying to consider it objectively, I could not help but watch the fellows walk across the lawn, nor could I bear to see a student cut a corner.
One of the most amazing things about Cambridge is the mathematical facility, The Centre for Mathematical Sciences. It is a humungous compound, completely dedicated to the mathematical sciences including physics. There is certainly nothing to match it on the rest of our planet. You might not know any of the mathematicians, but this is where the famous physicist Stephen Hawking works. (I didn't drop in; I don't think he was expecting me.)
I could ramble on, but this is a blog and you’re already tired of reading. I’ll finish with some photos. The photos from above were taken from the top of the bell tower of St. Mary the Great University Church.
Here are some photos of King’s College. My host was once a PhD student at King's College so he is a lifetime member. He was gracious enough to take me to Evensong, a choral evening prayer service featuring the amazing Choir of King's College. You’ll notice the sign warning of doom for treading on the grass. The building behind me, was the location of dinner. The students of the college live in these buildings, surrounded by the walls. Tourists pay to enter.
The following photos are of St. John’s college.
This is inside the living area of St. John's College. These are essentially dorms for Cambridge undergrads. (Looks just like Newman Hall.)
The tower in the distance to the right in this next one is St. John's Chapel, the same tower from the photo above.
In the picture above, the college in between St. John's and Kings (to the left of this photo frame) is Trinity College. Finally, some of the Gardens of Trinity College and some pics of the River Cam.
I’ll post again shortly with a few more photos of a lighter nature. I might have incorrectly identified some of my photos, so if you're from Cambridge and I said something wrong, I hope you didn't just choke on something in reaction to my ignorance.
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