Yes, I'm finally on the scoreboard! After several defeats, I have finally managed to heat something to eat in the space-age microwave here at my exchange house.
As it turned out, the procedure was dead simple -- thanks to the one-two-three steps explained by phone by my exchange partner. My breakthrough also came right after my return from Cambridge. Now, I'm not sayin' there's a cause-and-effect here, but I do believe my IQ rocketed up several points just by driving onto those hallowed grounds of learning...
Cambridge scholarship or not, I'm still not planning to tackle the manuals for the Electronic Single Channel Timeswitch with Service Internal Timer (for the heated towel rail), the Norwegian ventilation system, the Small House Control Panel Installation for electrical wiring with chemical dosing pump (which comes with dire warnings of death), or the gravity rainwater harvesting system -- all of which are part of the home exchanger's packet. If I can't figure out how to operate the dishwasher, I'm not really interested in the solar PV electronic installation schematic, if you get my drift. I can foresee no scenario whatsoever that would lead me to climb onto the roof to install or repair the solar panels, can you?!
The quirks of the house aside, I've had a fine week. The highlight was Tuesday when I took the train into London for a day of Culture. Met my British friend Maureen at the V&A (Victoria and Albert Museum) to see two exhibits -- wedding dresses 1775-2012, and Italian fashion since 1945. Then on to Evensong at St. Paul's Cathedral, and finally the main event at Barbican Hall: A choral concert broadcast live by BBC Radio 3 by The BBC Singers and The King's Singers under the direction of Eric Whitacre. The ensemble sang pieces by some of my favorite composers -- Bob Chilcott, Morten Lauridsen and Eric himself, and they were evermore on fire! Heavenly!
The remainder of the week has been a bit more laid back. On Wednesday a new friend from here in the village and I went to a local garden center known for its rose garden. Not only do garden centers over here sell plants, most of them offer lunches and teas, as well, so Sally and I ate outdoors amidst the roses. How civilized!
Afterward we took a brief cruise on the Norfolk Broads, one of the unique features for which this part of England is known. The Broads are a series of shallow lakes dug centuries ago by the Viking settlers. When they arrived from Scandinavia, they were appalled to find the native Celts burning trees for fuel. Wanting the wood to build ships instead, the Vikings introduced the practice of harvesting peat in the low-lying marshes as an alternative fuel. After centuries of digging, many of these depressions flooded and now form a linked, protected system of navigable waterways that teem with birds and wildlife seen nowhere else in the U.K.
Yesterday I attended a brilliant two-piano concert in a tiny, ancient church in the village of Blythburgh near the coast. Had found it online as part of the big-time Aldeburgh Festival. Getting there was an adventure in itself; Blythburgh is barely a speck on the map, and its 900-year-old church seems on the surface as an odd choice as a concert venue. But the place was packed at 11 o'clock on a Saturday morning, with cars rammed into the adjacent meadow like those of groupies attending a rock concert. When those two pianists revved up all four hands on their big-ol' Steinways, you could hear a collective gasp -- "AAAHHHH!" In particular, Ravel's "La Valse" absolutely soared.
Being so close to the sea, naturally I sought out a "chippie" (fish n' chips shop) for lunch. The nearby Southwold Pier, which could give any Myrtle Beach arcade a run for its money, turned out to be just the ticket. The gray, ice-cold North Sea was having no takers yesterday, however, despite the fact that it's mid-June. It was so chilly even the seagulls stayed away. Maybe they were all inland visiting their cousins on the Broads.
The holiday seems to be going fast. I've settled into a rhythm of sorts. Pleased that I'm doing plenty to make the most of my time here, but not wearing myself out. In Charlotte I tend to get into a rut -- don't we all, at times? -- but over here I'm making deliberate decisions to do stuff and to maximize my time rather than to allow myself to drift. That's the great lesson of travel, I think: To remain conscious of the passage of time, and of how precious it is.
No comments:
Post a Comment