Ireland: Branching Out (but Only a Little)

The next day, we did a bit more exploring.  Evan and I walked to and from Spiddal, taking time to stop at several different spots.  We had pizza at a tiny shop owned by an Italian.  We walked onto the pier to gaze at the eerily "floating" Aran Islands.  We browsed the tiny craft stores in search of a hat for me (it was cold!).  We even stopped in a pharmacy to look for an ACE bandage, since my foot was, with no explanation, extremely painful.

Delicious, authentic Italian pizza -- in Ireland! 

The reflection of the sun on the water made the Aran Islands look as if they were floating.

The rest of the afternoon, we lazed around the cottage.  Bobby was cooking a feast, since J.P. was coming over for dinner.  During the preparation, it began snowing big, slushy, wet flakes, which we enjoyed for a few minutes before going back inside because it was too wet.  Eventually, the table was set, the meal was cooked, the water was poured, but J.P. wasn't there yet.  Thirty minutes late, we heard a knock on the door, followed by a shouted, "Let me in!  It's f*ing cold out here!"  When I opened the door, J.P. walked in, his arms barely managing to hold 4 bottles of wine.  I guess it's good to be friends with the bartender.

Cheese makes everything more delicious.

Dinner was delicious, and the company was entertaining.  We convinced J.P. to come to the Galway pubs with us.  This turned out to be the best accomplishment of the night, because we ended up splitting off from the larger group, with just 4 of us going to J.P.'s favorite places with him.  I'm convinced that he knows all of the pub owners (as well as a good proportion of the workers) in Galway.  He kept us well supplied with Guinness throughout the night, as well as pizza.  One of the funniest moments of the night was when he decided that we needed another pizza at Monroe's.  Instead of waiting for someone to come and take our order, he simply got up, went behind the bar, and walked into the kitchen.  A few minutes later, we had a steaming hot pizza in front of us.

Galway at night -- it was snowing now and again throughout the evening.

Guinness at Monroe's

The next day, we were supposed to go on the Cliffs of Moher tour, but Evan's alarm didn't go off, so we missed the bus.  Whoops.  We made the best of the day by going into Galway, shopping around, having pasties, and seeing the new Harry Potter film.  That night, we went to Hughes's, the students' favorite Spiddal pub.  The local residents were playing traditional music in the corner.  I thought I was in heaven.  That was the one thing I knew that I wanted to do when I was in Ireland: go to a local pub with local musicians playing traditional music.  It was even better than I could have ever expected.

Christmas shoppers in Galway

Since When Does "Uke" Translate as "Nerd"?

...yes, it's a legitimate question. This past Friday, I engaged in my second intentional skipping of class, again for the purpose of playing the ukulele. This time, it was more legitimate (at least in my mind) than last time's "ahhh, it's so nice out, let's just sit outside in the sun and play music" truancy. This time, it was for the annual New York Uke Fest held at Baruch College. Yes, there is such thing as a ukulele festival. Why not? It's a versatile instrument that is relatively easy to learn, and who's ever heard of an unhappy ukulele player? (Not me.) So anyway, off I went to Midtown to participate in workshops, marvel at the newest ukulele models and gadgets, and see fantastic performances. And, um, buy a new ukulele. It's sooo pretty! It's a concert-sized, solid-maple Kala, with a very bright and surprisingly loud, crisp tone. It is in no way a replacement for my soprano beginner's Kala, which has a sweeter, warmer tone. No, I like to think of it as a step into the true enthusiast's realm, in which I gradually add more and more to my collection (while in the meantime taking the newly enhanced opportunity to teach friends how to play as well). Aloha!

Ukulele vending must be one of the happiest jobs in the world.

Could the festival be complete without some hula? I think not.

Greg Hawkes, the keyboardist from The Cars, has since become a huge uke fan/performer.

The oldest performing musician in America, if not the world: Bill Tapia, 102, closed out the concerts with his jazz uke style. What a guy.

Norway: The Beginning

I think I'll break up the trip into three parts. No particular reason, really, except that it is easier to think of things in blocks. So it begins...

One major difference between my trip to Norway and all of my previous trips overseas was the lack of traveling I did once I got there. After I made it to Bergen, Rebecca and I stayed in the city except for one brief sojourn to a nearby fjord. I have to say, it was actually quite a relief not to have to think about packing, unpacking, repacking, hauling luggage, and doing it all over again every few days. Sure, I didn't "see" as much of the country, but I really got to know Bergen and had a wonderful experience spending time with Becca, getting to know her friends, and avoiding the stress of constantly being on the move. This unquestionable lack of traveling had to be made up for somehow, though, and it certainly was on either end of the journey: bus from apartment to subway station, subway to Penn Station, train to Newark, airtrain to international terminal, plane to Copenhagen, final plane to Bergen. Luggage lost between Copenhagen and Bergen. It didn't matter: I was in Bergen, and there was Becca to meet me!

My first view of Norway: Endless mountains covered in snow, broken up only by the shining blue of fjords reaching their spindly fingers into the mainland

The luggage was expected to come to the airport that afternoon, and then it would be delivered to the apartment. I was not concerned. I was staying in an apartment with Becca and her roommates; I knew that they would be able to lend me anything that I needed in the meantime. So what did we do on my very first day in Norway? We did what the Norwegians do: we climbed a mountain! Bergen is surrounded by seven mountains (a surprising feature, given that it is also a port city). Løvstakken, the second-highest, was our goal for the afternoon, despite rain and a persistent fog. I borrowed some waterproof clothes and shoes (seeing as mine were somewhere between Denmark and Norway), and up we hiked, along with Becca's roommates and some of their other friends. The rain and fog meant that we didn't have any view of the city at the top, but we still rewarded ourselves with hot chocolate and candy.

The trek up Løvstakken

Just as I expected, the luggage arrived perfectly fine at the apartment just as we were coming back from our hike, so I was able to join everyone else in changing into some warm, clean, dry clothes. Inga cooked Norwegian pancakes for us, and then we all watched Pirates of the Caribbean. Partway through the movie, I began feeling really drowsy, but I was glad that Becca and her friends had kept me so active throughout the day. It's so much easier to get over jet lag when everyone else is pulling you into their "normal" schedule.

The next day, Becca and I explored Bergen. We went to the morning service at DELK, the church which she and many of her friends attend (and which is conveniently located downstairs and on the other side of her apartment building). Of course I didn't understand the readings and sermon in Norwegian, but we followed the readings in Becca's Bible, and I tried my best to attempt correct pronunciations for the songs. (In fact, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and I still don't. Which vowels sound like what? Do you pronounce the J's and K's? What about the vowels with little lines and circles through them? A fun guessing game...) I had never thought about this before, but the hymns that we sing at church -- even the old ones with melodies from the 1800s or earlier -- are not necessarily common throughout the world. All of the hymns that we sang had melodies that came from Norwegian folk songs. They had a haunting, lonely quality that was at the same time mesmerizing and incredibly beautiful, evoking images of mountains and hard work and simple living.

During the afternoon, we walked around the Sentrum of Bergen. Becca is lucky enough to live within this area, which is among the oldest sections of the city. All of the houses are extremely well kept, cozy, and, for lack of better word, cute. They are. They're all cute. It's what every little cutesy tourist area in America aspires to be, but it's authentic, and it's old, and it's how these Norwegians actually live.

Cozy.

Later that evening, we went to Mass at St. Paul Church. It was the weekly English Mass, and it was packed. Apparently every Mass there is packed, since it's the only Catholic church in the city, but it was even more so because it was Palm Sunday. It was so good to have our palms and hear the readings in English, but it was certainly different than at home. The music was contemporary, but thankfully, as Becca put it, it was done in a "non-distracting" way. We even sang one song that I recognized from our old SPO songbooks, so that was a pleasant surprise. Bergen has a surprisingly diverse immigrant population, especially at the Catholic church, so it was also a powerful testament to see so many people of different cultures worshiping together.

Exploring Bergen in our skirts and rain boots

The next day was the beginning of our fjord experience, so I will save that for my next post. Two final pictures:

Bergen houses with Løvstakken in the background

Ahh, a familiar face at St. Paul's!

Out of Shape

After hearing the broadcast of a live recital played on Chopin's 152-year-old piano, I was inspired. I had to play some Chopin of my own. I'm a huge fan of the nocturnes because they're relatively short and achingly beautiful, many of them. However, I decided it was time to bring back the Polonaise in A Major. Mmmm...so full and vibrant, not to mention RAUCOUSLY FUN. I break it out every once-in-a-while. I like to have the music out, but I've discovered it's one of the few songs that has remained in my memory from my recital days.

So anyway, I opened my book, put on my headphones, smiled to myself, and began, leaving no note spared, no forte unpounded. Halfway in, I could feel myself getting warm. 3/4 through, I could feel the squeezing ache of fatigue tighten my forearms. It was all I could do to keep the momentum through the last note...and then, BAM, I was done. I grinned like a fool. My forearms ached, my fingers were shaking, I was sweating, and my dorsal metacarpal and cephalic veins were nearly popping out of my hands and wrists (sorry, had to get some anatomy in there). Even my upper arms felt worked. Incredible. I've got to keep in better shape.

My veins are never this big, which leads to the (possibly valid?) question: Who needs to lift weights when there's Chopin around?

Listen to MPR!

Ttomorrow, March 1, 2010, marks what would be Chopin's 200th birthday! How does one celebrate the birthday of a dead composer? I'm glad you asked. It turns out MPR is making things easy by broadcasting two LIVE performances of Chopin's music tomorrow, one at 3 p.m. CST, and the other at 7 p.m. CST. The 7 p.m. performance will be taking place near Warsaw, on Chopin's own piano! Egads! Who wouldn't want to hear that?

Take-home message: Listen to MPR tomorrow. If you're like me and do not currently live in Minnesota, go to MPR's classical website and click on the link on the left-hand side that says "Listen to the Stream." Chopin!

Piano: Some Assembly Required

I've been seriously deprived of music in the past 3 months. The ukulele has been great, but it doesn't quite cut it when you're used to having a piano around. In a drastic move to provide myself with even more ability to procrastinate, I bought a piano. Actually, it's a keyboard (because honestly, I don't think my roommates would enjoy me banging away on a real-life piano), but it's as close in look and feel to a real piano as a keyboard can be, as far as I'm concerned. Dealing with Fed-Ex was, shall we say, interesting, but in the end, I ended up with a very large, very heavy box in my apartment just under a week after purchasing the keyboard in Manhattan.

It's a good thing I had to build all of my furniture, because otherwise I might have freaked out when I realized that I actually had to put together the keyboard with nuts, bolts, screws, and even a knob on the pedals.

With the exception of the part with the actual keys (which was fantastically heavy and bulky and impossible to move on my own without serious risk to a very expensive investment), I was able to build the rest of the keyboard myself. Cat graciously visited the apartment and helped me lift the keys onto the base. Voila! I now have a keyboard! Let the procrastination begin!

And the decoration. The keyboard is the perfect place for a mini Christmas tree!

Operation Procrastination

I'm getting good at procrastinating. For example, yesterday I played church songs on my ukulele for an hour.

Who says procrastination can't be creative?