The 2nd to Last Blog

I know what you're thinking: 2nd to last blog? Come on Andy, you're back in the states. Just finish it up already! Plus, I've been following this for 5 MONTHS! SERIOUSLY, 2 MORE?

In response: my apologies. But in truth, I never forced you to read my blog. Unless this is my grandma, in which case I did. Actually, upon seeing my grandma when I got back to the states, she informed me that she had been following the wrong blog! Apparently she was reading some nut (who also had the ingenious idea to call his blog "Andy Abroad) who referred to himself as "the wasp." Goodness knows how long it was until she figured out that it wasn't me. And when she did find my blog, it was "too long to actually read."

Looking forward: For my final blog, I would like to do something impossibly cheesy and heart-warming. Therefore be warned; if you search for warmth of heart, read no further and just wait for the final one. If you seek sarcasm and illusive references, read on.

When I left you it was December 1st, location, London. Life was beginning to wrap itself up. I went to a couple of plays, including a punk-gothic rendition of the world's greatest love story. Juliet was brilliant, Romeo was chunky, and there was the most unfortunate appearance of a countertenor who should not have been a countertenor. I also went to some concerts, and realized I've become an orchestra snob. I feel slightly more qualified for such a pretentious title as I did spend a semester working for an orchestra. Even if you were a great Russian cellist back in your day, you have no right to destroy the most overplayed movement of the Carnival of Animals, and then have the audacity to smile with pride. My Irish and Greek company abandoned me at the interval, and I was left with an Italian who demanded wine if we were to stay for the 2nd half. (Justifiably so...the swan lay murdered, the killer holding his blood drenched roses with brazen confidence. And those roses did not remove themselves for the second half; their guilt and sin glared from the conductors podium where they had been uncouthly placed.) Awkwardness presented itself in the form of the British national anthem, which left me confused to my proper response, though the Italian insisted we remain seated. I think we made the wrong choice. But, as Madonna tells us through the medium of James Bond, I guess I'll die another day.

Finals came, and finals went, and still I could not raise any academic enthusiasm. Fortunately these are all pass/fail, so those miserable Bs will not leave their ugly mark on those precious numbers which have been reduced to the dreaded acronym of GPA. Then a wave of goodbye parties, mostly bittersweet (and thankfully without too much bitter, at least on my end.) The goodbyes came in many forms, respectively and incomplete: a swanky Indian meal in a private wine cellar, a thrown-together Sherry party with a champagne thank-you, shouted embraces in a crowded club, a lovely traditional game stew and quick awkward tube hug--which I still believe to be divine intervention from the Eel pies, a feverish morning mumble on the streets of Edinburgh, a hurried and fairly impersonal ushering from the door and car, and a brief unsaid heart pulse from Heathrow for a city that my infatuation had grown into love.

Yes, I went to Scotland for a night, fatedly-marred by fever. Yet the haze and the heat could not remove the medieval and Potterish beauty. Trains brought me Glasgow accents and eventually London. 5 months is a long time to be gone, and my excitement prevented even my sickly tiredness from coaxing me to sleep the night before. Before I knew it, I had devoured 4 movies, brain-numbingly transported to my skull from the back of a Delta seat, each collectively more stupid than the previous. I started with Salt, and with it's gun-wielding, plot-lacking, action-packed, trashy-spy-movie goodness, it was the most intelligent. Before I knew it, I was in Middle America, making an unanswered phone-call announcing my arrival, and then taking a girl to coffee who I had happily argued about the phone with. The girl went on to tell me her current relationship problems, which I would retell, but it took 3 hours for her to tell me, and frankly, it's not very interesting. But it was nice to have company and eat a hamburger, a meat I had not tasted for 5 months. By midnight I was in Seattle, delirious and in the arms of 3 wonderful friends. Stories were exchanged, my reverse-culture shock manifested itself most powerfully, and within 14 hours I was in Medford.

And that's my life. Andy is no longer abroad. Instead, I have been filling out last-minute internship homework, changing my graduation date (May now...always the masochist) and physically attaching myself to the piano as a recital is quickly approaching. Have I changed, you ask? Sure. I'm not the same as I left. But I think I'm more Andy than I have ever been.

Repent, for the End is Near

Return.

A strange act which I will commit (Lord willing) in only 12 days. It looms with me everywhere now, whether I try to put it out of my mind or not. At classes there is a general fever of excitment, and it is a common topic of discussion. I can't go a whole day at work without it's mention. I'm going back.

It's time to go back.
It's time to see my family and my old friends.
It's time to reconnect and recreate an old and new life.
It's time to take the next step.

Oh dear, I seem to have gotten too serious. And we all know I don't write serious blogs.


MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

Thanksgiving was thoroughly un-British, which was something to be thankful for. Some good choices were made, some not as good choices were made, but it was a lot of fun with friends here. My friends from work also threw a Thanksgiving party, which was marvelous.

I went to a play, called Warhorse, and I saw something beautiful. Now I am trying to discover how to create something beautiful.

A Wardrobe Away from Narnia

Some days you find yourself riding a train through the English countryside next to the ocean, eating a brownie, listening to Christmas music, drinking tea and reading a good book. This is a good day. And this is how my day began yesterday. I fully expected that when I arrived at the station, I would find myself at some grand estate, then a hide-a-seek game later I would be having tea with Mr. Tumness. Instead I found an excited Jan picking me up and then taking me through a surreal journey to the world of Peter Grimes.

Aldebrugh is where Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears called home and eventual laid themselves to eternal rest. I likewise laid myself to rest, but thankfully not eternal, and after a wonderful day which included a concert, fis and chips, a sappy Christmas movie, and thought provoking conversations with my favorite Irishman, but not necessarily in that order. And earlier that day Jan said something quite fun: "I don't want you to take offense to this, but sometimes you sound like Michael Jackson." Never been told that before! Unfortunately, she was not talking about my singing voice.

Rewind to one day earlier. I was exploring Cambridge, take 2, only this time with 16 excited Americans and 1 not-as-excited Englishwoman. Since I had already been to Cambridge, my enthusiasm was at 80% instead of its usual 180%. One amazing art gallery and a sleepy train ride later I found myself back in London. I met Jan and Den, then went ice skating. I don't get paid for my work with Orion, but I definitely do get some perks! Ice skating beneath the London Eye, I got tips from my Italian friend Onofrio. "I'm pretending I'm royalty," He would say as he raced laps around the rest of us. While he transformed from a Russian Prince to a Belgium ambassador, I became more and more comfortable in my skates.

Then up the London Eye, at night, as romantic as you could possibly imagine, except for the romance part. Afterward, sushi, my first in months. I failed in my attempts to use restraint as I gorged myself on conveyor-belt delicacies. Then on to salsa dancing, and then several long bus rides home. The best part was I made friends. The worst part, I do not know their names.

Then off to Adlebrugh. But I've already said that. This an experiment in backwards, disjointed writing--please indulge me. Speaking of writing, I've realized that people are still reading my blog, but now comments are normally shared in private. My suspicion is that you don't want to be associated with my ramblings. Brave soul, I dare you to publicly comment!

Life continues to turn and shift, and though I can hardly say I have things figured out, I can say I'm in a better place. A glance at the date reminds me that I only have 3 weeks--how fast it has gone!

Andy Writes

Every once in a while you find yourself wandering between various Prets and Starbucks searching for internet access outside the tower of London because you are meeting a class there in an hour and the reason you are so early is because you wanted to practice the piano but the church was not open like it said it was but you find that the mushroom soup was quite lovely in regards to the the lousy weather and you own well-being also quite under the weather and green tea is always a nice and rare commodity in England and then you're starting to regret eating that chocolate chip cookie because it was almost 2 pounds and you are in fact sick.

I'm having one of those days.

As several of you might already know, I did not make it to Ireland. I would recount the story for you, but I find that I have hard time doing that without including profanity. If you are nonetheless determined to hear the story, please ask a mutual friend that I have already vented to and perhaps they can filter out the cursing for you. Enough said on that subject.

The past week has been eventful, complete with an Orion concert last night. To say that the 1st half lacked music that had the ability to give me an ecstatic endorphin release would be a drastic understatement. The 2nd half was much more suited to my taste (which, as we all know, is pinnacle) and showcased the orchestra as the fantastic group they are. Also, the 2nd half was absent of a certain pianist a la manner Lang Lang. This woman unfortunately reminded one of the Chinese superstar's lesser traits, including wild and dramatic antics unequaled with a deficit in musicality, though in her defense the concerto hardly lended itself to leaving one amazed. To quote a colleague, the piece was a bit "indulgent."

Once again, I apologize for the weirdness of style I have adopted for this current blog. The apology is false, for were it sincere I wouldn't write in this style, but it amuses me and therefore it is retained. Yet still I feel as though I should make an excuse for it, as though to make up for the fact that it is odd. My writing style is something that I am feeling more and more confident about. I find myself writing more than I ever have, between classes and work. Not that I have been getting positive feedback, in fact, the feedback is always on content and never on style, but the self-discovery of voice through experimentation as been wonderfully amusing. At serious poetry I am horrendous; and if rhyming is involved my readers normally flee and find the nearest wooden spoon to gag themselves upon. My light poetry is childish and gruesomely cute. Hallmark would groan if they read it. Academically, I am too casual and generally lazy in my research and approach: my most successful, discussing the endlessly boring topic of Jewish aesthetic theory in German 12-tone opera that I alone seems to find interesting, sits in a stack, only partially edited, while the author fantasizes of transforming it into an undergraduate publication. For journalism I am too long-winded, and "concise" is a term I have yet to learn. For prose, I strive for success, but with unsuccessful results. The mysteries lack the structure, the horrors are unpurposefully comical, the romances miss the real experience, and the fables have no morals. For plays, nothing could be worse, for dialogue is the most unnatural of my creations, perhaps due to my inability to talk and converse. (ha ha. ha ha.) For advertising, I lack the wit of 1 sentence. Why should I ever use 1 when I could use 7?!?!

This leaves me with one option, which I have learned to embrace fully and unabashedly: satire. The sarcasm oozes, the insults take wing, and my cynicism is finally put to healthy use. Yes, healthy is a debatable term. Therefore I take up my satire, boldly and fiercely, for it is all I have in terms of words.

Oh dear, I haven't even really written about London today.

4 weeks later...

Before I begin I should mention that the computer I am currently on does not have spell check. Spell check is one of the most brilliant/damaging inventions mankind has ever come up with. Brilliant, because, well, that goes without saying; damaging, because as young 20-something hoping to soon enter the professional world, I still cannot spell. Oh the embarrassment.

4 weeks since my last blog. So much can happen in 4 weeks. So much HAS happened in 4 weeks. I've been growing, and metaphorically the last 4 weeks have come and gone and left me several inches taller, complete with the pains and the stretch marks. I'm not a new person but I am an older person. This is an interesting phase of life, where I am forced to balance so many contradictions: the wisdom of age, the cynicism of experience, the arrogance of youth, the energy of childhood. These are overflowing within me, and like an unschooled pool boy I am frantically and constantly remixing the chemicals in hopes of finding a non-toxic balance. Thankfully there have been no deaths, but my childish inexperience has not only killed the bacteria but left rashes on some few poor, unexpecting swimmers.

Forgive me, my analogies are ridiculously extended, and by now you are no doubt wishing you had swallowed chlorine. Metaphors and emotions I abandon thee thus and now embrace the more simple and tangible facts. When I left you, my dear readers, I had just finished the big October concert and was preparing for the legendary midterms. The papers (as grades reflected) were anything but legendary, but the vacations were worthy of such an adjective! I began the break with an Ian Bostridge concert/lecture--he's tall and a bit awkward, though quite funny. Free CD and now a claim-to-fame later, I spent the first part of the break working.

By Monday I was off to Venice. Disneyland for grownups was how the city was described, and no description was more fitting! I loved it, though it was quite a fairy tale. If anyone tells you Venice is the most beautiful city in the world, believe them. I chased my Venice with an unusual trip to Cambridge. Alone, it once again confirmed that this is not my preferred way of travel, but I enjoyed the beautiful town. What type of University has their 800 anniversary? Not an American one.

Another week fulfilled its typical usual unusuality. I saw one of the most fantastic productions of Hamlet in my life, and then attend a Leif Oves Andsnes masterclass. After watching him sight read Mephisto Waltz better than an already-brilliant Royal Academy student, I wasn't sure if I was watching another fantastic pianist or a Norse God with super-human musical skills.

Then I went to Bath as opposed to taking one. The baths themselves proved to be the most unremarkable item of the town, though the abbey was probably the most beautiful I've seen in England. At a whim I decided to crash there for the night with a few others from the group. The next day was spent exploring various English towns and really getting in touch with the English countryside. Regarding the latter, there simply was no choice. Our request to find Stonehenge was answered by a bus driver dropping us off in the middle of a field. We wandered, climbed barbed-wire, dodged cows, and found the underwhelming world site only to be barred by a chain-link fence and £7 tourist fee. Fortunately, cameras can overcome chain-link fences. Unfortunately, batteries cannot overcome death, and I was forced to stop my photoshoot short. Back to London

Halloween came a night early in the form of an awkward over-50s pub. Yours Truly was an effected Andy Warhol, complete with an Eddie Sedgewick, a Glitter Fairy, some sort of crazy schoolgirl, though the last two were not connected to the theme. (Though considering I was Warhol, the latter two don't sound all that strange.) The lack of a dance floor only encouraged its creation, and I now find myself dreading when such incriminating videos will be posted. Naturally, my health had had enough by this time, and has left me withered with a raspy replacement for a throat. In 15 minutes I will go to catch a plane to Ireland--perhaps I should be writing down my family member's address if I am really going to find them.

If you are still reading this, you a brave soul. I find my head of late to be in the lands of Joyce, Mann, and Haddon. Though nowhere near their talent, I apologize, for you have undoubtedly been the unfortunate victim of such influences. Until next time!

Musings of a non-Poet

I have decided to write my blog today because my writing skills seem to be quite unpredictable as of late. I just wrote a 5 page paper on Welsh National Identity in a couple hours, as the words seemed to just flow out of me. Yesterday was not so wonderful. During an art history journal, my response to the prompt “Why was the title of the Surrealist exhibit ‘Poetry and Dreams’ appropriate?” was “So much of Surrealism can really be summed up by two words: Poetry and Dreams. That’s why it’s appropriate.” Realizing that I was at the height of wit, I parted ways with my homework and decided to listen to opera. Oh the days when listening to opera was my homework: I miss you!

On a different note, I realize that by now I must sound obsessed, but it’s because I am: I am endlessly fascinated with social anthropology! In other words, I find the endless differences between English and American culture fascinating. My poor boss is subjected to my endless stream of observations and questions about social rules: I approach everything from driving to swearing as if it were the seminal part of my cultural immersion. The class system, which is so rigidly in place here, never ceases to bewilder, and don't even get me started on accents!

As mentioned earlier, I’m finding out how American I am. Even in the coffee shop where I am sitting now, I watched from afar with American horror as a very European family had lunch. The family ate carefree as their youngest child bounced on the chair, chips in mouth and hands, drool oozing out of her mouth and covering her front. The over-protective American childcare worker inside of me wanted to rush to the child, place her on her bottom, wipe her little facey clean and frantically explain the dangers of choking, falling, bad manners, head-trauma, paralysis, and death while complaining about the lack of seat-belts for children at coffee shops. Luckily, I did not interfere and was amazed to find out that no tragedy occurred in such a danger-filled situation.

Living in such an amazing city is so surreal. One day I'm at a concert at Wigmore Hall, where anybody who's anybody has performed. The next day I'm inside the Royal Festival Hall, but I get to see it from the stage first instead of the audience, because I'm performing in a choir there. I stop at a free museum on my way home, and hey, there just happens to be Raphaels, Durers, Monets, Van Goghs, Picassos, not to mention that Arnolfi Wedding we all learned about back in high school. I've started to toy with the thought of a long-term relationship with this city, but right now it is only toying. (Stop freaking out Pop and Amy, I didn't say I was moving here. yet.) Though when the CEO of my internship asked how they could keep me after December, I said "Well, you could pay me."

In the mean time, each time I go on facebook seems to be an opportunity to discover another high school friend is engaged. What the heck guys? Well, I should say girls, as I have yet to hear about a guy friend who is ready to jump into a life-changing commitment, knock on wood. Seriously though, I wish you the best of luck, and I will try to make it to the weddings that I can, but in the meantime I'm working on perfecting my already refined skill of bachelorhood.

At my job, which seems to be increasingly more awesome each day, they decided that they wanted to join me for their first ever American Thanksgiving. I wish I could describe the childish glee the artistic director and the CEO got when I told them the "essentials" for the menu. They seemed nervous about this foreign use of pumpkin and have decided that the meal should include Christmas pudding. "Pudding" does not seem to have a direct translation as it in no way means our version of it (you know, the thick milk stuff), but rather it seems to refer to dessert in general. As British food is always hit and miss, we'll see how it goes.

Oh, did I mention I'm going to Venice next week? Otherwise, I send my love!

Confessions of a inconsistent blog-writer

My apologies. I have been getting progressively worse and worse at writing these blogs. I could offer a paragraph of legitimate excuses, but I won't. Maybe it has provided a necessary break--apparently even my grandparents has been filing complaints on the length.

Some wonderful things have been happening in my life as of late. Really wonderful things. My anxiety of housing has finally ended as I've seemed to found a wonderful new house to live in upon my return to PLU. Also, my goal for this whole trip was to get some direction, in terms of career, etc. I'm excited to say that I think it is becoming more and more clear what I want to do. I have realized that I'm miserable without a piano. Sure, I function, I can do other work well, but really, the hours I spend chained to that horrible black monster within the claustrophobic 4-walls of my practice room are apparently necessary for my existence. So I simply have to do a job that keeps me out of the office and on the piano if there is any hope for long-term happiness. Which means I'm planning on going to graduate school and doing some degree which will keep me further chained to the monster. I had done some hard-core flirting with programs like Teach for America and Jet Teach, seduced by the prospect of eliminating my college debt and teaching for a couple years. But after 2 months of a break from serious music-making, the thought of 2 years of further self-inflicted torture seems unbearable. I'll just have to find a way to support myself making music.

On a slightly different note, let's talk about addictions. I definitely went to the wrong country to end mine. I love tea. LOVE tea. And England is pushing this to new limits. In fact, at this point in the blog I'm already on my third cup of tea. But the English love it, and I love it, and I love the English, and I love it when the English offer me tea. And besides, three cups of tea within the course of 20 minutes is really not unusual in this country. In fact, I don't think I've worked at my internship more than 2 hours without there being a round of tea. But there was this tragic day a few weeks ago. I arrived at school, and naturally went straight to the kitchen to turn on the kettle (yes, tea is always on stock at school.) To my horror, I discovered the kettle was broken. I was inconsolable, though only 1 or 2 of the other Americans could understand why. Naturally, my British teachers equaled, if not surpassed my state of panic. The kettle was fixed a few days later, and life could return to its healthy caffeinated state.

Tea is just another reason to love London out of countless others. Yesterday I was riding the train into Victoria Station, and right when we were crossing the Thames I realized how much I love this amazing city. It is so vast, so huge, so unconquerable. Each time I discover a new place I'm intrigued by the sub-culture of the borough, of the neighborhood, sometimes even of the street. When I stick to familiar places, I discover more and more, because there is simply so much to see even within the microcosm of an alley. For a small-town boy who thought Tacoma was the big city, London is like the endlessly vast Roman Empire. As I walked out of Victoria station, I looked around. The people, the energy, the opportunities that this environment offered, it all made me so happy. I can see myself here long-term, if that's what God has in plan. As I walked from the station, I just happened to pass Buckingham Palace, because almost always sights like that get in the way when going from A to B. Incredible

Though the further away I get from Northwest America the more I realize how patriotic I am. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ready to fight and die for the US; pacifism still reigns sovereign. But I really love little things about the states. Currently I miss good customer service, something that is extremely rare here. But enough reminiscing.

An overview of what I've done lately: Wales--country walks, open air, more sheep than people, best hostel of my life. Canterbury--beautiful, small, got to watch the choristers rehearse, meet the organist. Next week is the first concert for the orchestra, and now I have to head off to the first rehearsal!

Life as a Cosmopolitan-Poser

Dear Readers:

I am going to attempt to briefly describe my first two weeks as a Londoner. I say briefly because I've received veiled complaints about the length of my blogs. Those of you that would like to deprive yourselves of my witty humor and storytelling capabilities by skimming, I can hardly blame you. In fact, I was reviewing/editing an old essay only yesterday, (of course, in my usual manner lasting a mere 14 pages) and I was like "Good gracious, Andy, get on with it! I'm probably one of the only people who's read this essay and is actually interested in the topic, but you are eternally droning!" So know, dear readers, that I likewise have suffered at my wordiness and am working on a more desirable solution.

I have recently discovered how un-cosmopolitan I am fact am. True, I have an obsession with personal cleanliness and I love what the city has to offer, especially to someone my age and with my interests in the arts. But the fact is, I grew up on a very small farm in a very small town in Montana. I love nature (though there are limits, especially where insects and animal feces are concerned) and I'm used to wide open spaces, the country, and few people.

London is not like this; the amount of people is overwhelming. Millions. MILLIONS. Everyday, everywhere. Surrounding you on the tube, rushing past you in the street, living in all the little brick buildings. Therefore on the tube the other day I had my first experience of real culture shock. There were just so many people, so many people I couldn't even move or turn, and I kind of freaked out a bit. It was so foreign to me, and I have reached a point where now this is no longer a vacation, but actually a place where I am staying and living.

But don't let this make you think I don't love London, quite the opposite. It's fascinating, huge, and unfathomably energetic. Also my little journey here earlier provided me with quite a lot of experience to build on. I am picking up on the language. I know, it's English, but now I'm the one the accent, I'm the one who uses words nobody knows, and I'm the strange one who doesn't know what "knackered, gerkin, brolly, wooly, and gris" mean. But I think I've managed to figure out how to say "sorry" with a perfect British accent, or at least a good enough one that people don't give me the you're-an-American stare when I run into them.

On to adventures, which naturally I've had quite a few. The other day I managed to get locked in the institute by myself with no way out, and naturally my phone ran out of minutes before I could contact help. Fortunately I was prisoner for only an hour before the tenant arrived and let me out. I've gone to two plays at the Globe, both 1st rate, and last night I saw Wicked, which truly is a glorious spectacle. I've made it to the Opera once and confirmed my growing suspicion that I'm really just a German-opera-junkie and bel canto is not my thing.

My fellow Americans are entertaining, and for the most part a bit younger with different interests from myself. The British have proved fascinating and I look forward to meeting more. My host family is wonderful, and the food is kosher. My internship is just beginning, but so far appears to be very promising, and I find I'm quite enthusiastic about it.

Otherwise, my complaint about London is there is simply too much to do. No matter how busy you are, you've missed out on at least 5 amazing things everyday. Operas, concerts, performances, and museums galore, not to mention Pope visits. I can think of only three things to make me happier in London: 1. a piano to practice regularly 2. good Mexican food 3. and a fountain of money to afford all the things I want to see and do.

And now for something completely different

Dear Blog Readers:

I should mention that I do in fact always think of you when I write this blog. The scariest part about this is I'm not completely sure who you are. I would like to assume that you are at least my mother and my grandmother, but let's be honest, my grandma probably doesn't read this every week (and mom, if you don't either, let me keep my self-esteem and don't tell me.) Maybe you're my friend, or acquaintance, or maybe you're just some creep who is way better at computers than me and managed to come across this blog. Well, whoever you are, I hope you have been enjoying my adventures or at least finding my prolific use of sarcasm entertaining, and I would like to let you know that I am sacrificing precious sleep hours to write this. Today is Thursday, and for some reason apparently I write blogs on Thursday. (Or maybe I just don't like change, and not writing a blog this Thursday would be change at this point.) Also, I think about you quite frequently, whoever you are dear blog reader, and because of the mystery of your identity (and because I have the unfortunate gift of candidness) I thank God that someone invented the backspace key. I find removing the foot from your mouth is much easier when your mouth is a keyboard instead a piece of anatomy.

When I left off, I was on my way to Paris. I was in an airplane saying good riddance to Vienna and hello to France. First hurdle: Charles de Gaulle. Now, me and ol' Charlie have a history. My first encounter with this ill-tempered creature was last year on my Blue Lake trip. When I arrived there for the first time, I was already overwhelmed by a number of things, including but not limited to: having friends/coworkers fired, having a new job position, having new, untrained coworkers, being the new choir accompanist, sleep deprivation, walking pneumonia (unknowingly at the time, just thought it was a weird cough), 1st time in Europe, etc. On top of all this, just when we landed in good ol' Charlie, we found out that the orchestra that was accompanying us had had their trip canceled due to Swine flu. Not a good first date, Charles.

2nd time: Survived that which could be properly described as "the trip from hell" (though now I prefer to focus on the good aspects), and landed in Charles de Gaulle. I'm the counselor at the end of the line, monitoring the kids. Of course, one girl has misplaced her passport, but this is after all the others have gone through security. So I'm running around the Paris airport frantically looking for this girl's passport only to come across another one of our girls who had gotten lost. Now I am alone in Paris with two crying 14-year-old-girls, facing the realization that we have missed our flight and the next week will be spent between the American Embassy, Mr. de Gaulle, and on the phone with Blue Lake. Fortunately, the passport was recovered eventually, the plane had a 3 hour delay (only partly due to us) and we made it back to Chicago. Strike #2 Charlie.

3rd time to Charles. Get off the plane, wait in line for luggage. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And here comes my bag. (well, technically my mother's, but mine for 6 months.) Huge rip in center of bag. 3 Strikes Charles. Game over.

But that's enough negative. My last blog had negative vibes, and I'm afraid I've started this the same way. Let's pull out the sunshine, and be happy!

And that's exactly what happened. I couldn't have asked for more perfect weather. Always warm and sunny, but never too hot that I couldn't sleep or even be too uncomfortable. Also, people seem to have this stereotype that the French people aren't nice. I have always been told they are cold and impersonal. This is simply not the case. Everyone I met was warm, friendly, helpful even. Perhaps this is because I tried to stick to French, a thing most Americans do not have a habit of doing. The people I met were always understanding and helpful. So I love the French people, as well as their city and their food.

Now I know this sounds like a big claim, but it's true: Everyone is Paris is beautiful. By "everyone" I really mean 80%, but still that's a lot. And if you're not beautiful in Paris, you better be well dressed. And if you are neither beautiful nor well dressed, you are simply a tourist who is not from Paris. It was incredible to be in a city with so much beauty, from buildings to people to gardens. Of course, it does make one somewhat self-aware, especially when you are not as beautiful or as well-dressed as everyone else, but hey, I was a tourist.

I won't bore you all the details of my stay; but I saw all the sights that were on my list. I've decided to write my list and give a catchphrase to describe it:

Eiffel Tower--overwhelming enormous and not cliche at all
Jardin Luxembourg--exotic and relaxed with a huge flow of people
La Defense--awesome modernness
Arc de Triomph--big
Champs Elysee--expensive
Louve--enormous and gorgeous, masterpieces galore
Notre Dame--musty and jam-packed
top of Notre Dame--the best views, complete with gargoyles!
Centre Pompidou--WILD
Musee/Jardin Rodin--Romantic, Physical, and delicately overwhelming
Musee d'Orsay--incredible
Sacre Couer--Religious experience and favorite sight despite annoying con men
Versailles--unbelievable
crepes, baguettes, croissants, and other general french food--delicious

Other details about Paris: I got my own personal tour guide! It was great. Maurine is the older sister of Clemence. Clemence is a bit of a celebrity in my house due to her stay their a few years ago with Gracie. So Maurine and I became buddies. Most of the conversation was in English, but occasionally it would switch over to French. She had the most perfect French accent while speaking English: not a single "h" was pronounced, and all "th" became "z"s. It was great. On Friday night I crashed at her house, where I ate a huge French meal with her family, got to meet the famous Clemence along with everyone else, got to play a piano for the first time in a month, and then I even got a pull out bed to sleep on instead of a couch. Definitely an improvement from the hostel.

Then I took the Chunnel and went to London, where I am currently. But I'm exhausted, and I would love to write about London, but I think sleep would be a better plan. So that's the story of Paris, and I can say that it is the most wonderful city I have ever been to. Currently I'm beginning my plot on how to live there at some point.

I'll try to update before Thursday; maybe this weekend if I have time. Until then, Au Revoir

As of my last update, I was in Berlin. The sky was gray, rain was coming down, and Robert and I were going to see a castle. Which we did, but they charged us an arm and a leg for it. 7 Euros for a very short and uninteresting tour to only see a quarter of the building. The gardens, as so often seems to be the case, proved more exciting, beautiful, and free, then the interior. Also, we got to go to a Picasso museum, which was wonderful for me and a little less wonderful for Robert.

About Picasso…I tend to fall in love with various artists on various vacations. Last year was my Calder crush, this year it’s turning into a Bouguereau (though I started to realized that I’m developing feelings for Cezanne, which I never thought would happen, not to mention this weird thing I’m getting for Dali, and I won't even get started about Braque) and my senior trip to New York it was Picasso. Ever since then I’ve been a hopeless sucker for the guy, rambling on and on about his works to anyone who will listen (and unfortunately for him that was Robert last Thursday.) I also used to think I was so lucky, that wherever I went there seemed to be an enormous amount of Picasso, always there when I was. But now after seeing approximately the 7 impressive collection of his works, I’m beginning to realize that the guy just painted a lot.

After the museums and some extremely unhealthy but extremely delicious currywurst, I made it to the airport. Speaking of health, I should mention that my diet has been probably the least healthy it’s ever been. I’ve always been a sucker for carbs, and in Europe it is all-to-easy to just grab a croissant or baguette and go. Also, I’m an adventuresome eater, and I like to experience “authentic” food. My response to “what would you like to eat?” is always along the lines of “what should I eat before leaving this city?” or “what is the most traditional dish?” As nobody’s traditional dish seems to be a salad, I’ve been eating Doner and Cheese and Kabab and Cheese and Currywurst and Cheese not to even mention the absurd amount of desserts. But don’t worry Mom, I’m actually not putting-on weight. Due to all the walking and the student budget (which means pretty sparse eating some days) I’ve maintained weight with minimal sagging and/or bulging.

Okay, back to Berlin. Or I guess the next thing I did was fly out of Berlin, so on to Vienna. I got there, and it was warm and dry. Good false impression from the start. Turns out the Austrians speak less English than the Germans and this was my first time without a translator. After several frantic hours of wandering down random Vienna Street, having to resort to my version of German and frantic sign language, I made it to my hostel frazzled but alive.

Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: Andy in a hostel. In the past I’ve heard the adjectives “high-maintenance,” “ridiculous,” and many less polite terms applied to me, but I will let you know that I can rough it just like any other guy. (Okay, maybe not as long as any other guy, but I still can do it.) I realized the first night that I had no plan for Vienna, no friends, no real knowledge of the language, and worst of all, no towel. It all worked out in the long run, resorting to undershirts as towels (I know, I know. I pack undershirts but not towels), and really it’s only a little worse than living in a dorm. (Probably the only reason living in a dorm was as bearable was because Kyle equally hated living in a dorm and so we simply pretended that we didn’t.)

Back to the hostel: I would love to tell you how wonderful it was. No towel as already mentioned, no flip-flops (why would I bring flip-flops? Oh wait, public showers…gross), sleeping in a room with 3 other random men, one of those men thinking it would be great to quiz me on a random US geography and scream “wrong! Apparently you don’t know your country well!” whenever I got a question wrong, and one of the most disgusting bathrooms that I’ve had to use repeatedly. Otherwise, it was quite lovely.

Now about Vienna; instead of a day-to-day, I’ll just give an overview. Vienna is beautiful, old, and in terms of the old city and where all the sites are, relatively small. I fully expected to fall in love, but I didn’t. Actually it left sort of a bad taste in my mouth. All the sights are too close together; the result is a kitschy tourist playground that takes over the whole city in a way that I’ve only seen rivaled by Disneyland, except you expect it from an amusement park more than a city. There was no possible way I could imagine Mozart, Strauss, Haydn, Schoenberg, Webern, Berg, Beethoven, Czerny, Schubert or Freud wandering around; there is no way they could walk past 2 shops without seeing one of their names plastered all over it. All the music played in public was the most cliché Mozart and Strauss waltzes. Also, after the initial first beautiful day, it rained every single day. As my umbrella is in the suitcase in London that also has my sweaters, warm clothes, and flip-flops, I frequently found myself cold, wet, and miserable.

Also, I was terribly lonely in Vienna. I may come off as outgoing, and I would never use “shy” to describe myself, but I suck at making that initial conversation. I’m fine once we start talking and I can even start it myself if I have something specific to talk to them about, but I’m simply no good at small talk with a stranger unless they are directing it. After a month of museums (and the prices of museums in Vienna) I was less than enthusiastic to go to more and more museums, so I frequently found myself in Starbucks, hating the rain but loving my book. But it’s not fair for me to give a completely negative report on Vienna, as many things were nice and many of you might love Vienna for very just cause. Vienna is just not an Andy city.

Here are some of the good things about Vienna: It’s a laid-back and relaxed city that’s in no hurry to wake up (very unlike me) so I got to watch it “wake up” each morning, which was wonderful. The Imperial Apartments and Schonbrunn Palace were amazing, but the modern art museum was not all that great, though very impressive from the outside. There are parks everywhere, beautifully manicured, and I even had a favorite rose park that I would go to everyday and read for a least an hour. The music stores, once you could get past all the tourists oogally the “Favorite Mozart for Beginning Piano,” were incredible as seems to be the trend in the German speaking countries. Also, every night I would go to Vienna’s version of “Movies in the Park.” It’s every night all summer in front of the Rathaus, and it’s almost always a recording of a famous classical music production, normally one that has been performed in Vienna recently. I watched an unfortunate film version of La Traviata, (vocally wonderful, visually blah) the Vienna 2010 New Year’s Concert, (J. Strauss on steroids…never listened to so many waltzes in my life) and a great Eurotrash Don Giovanni (Loved it w/Schafer and Hampson, except was a little uncomfortable by the European comfortability with public nudity, etc.) Also, I should mention that the Kebabs are AMAZING. I had one the first day, and went back every day it was so good, and so cheap!

God must have known how lonely I was, because on Sunday he sent along a friend. At the Strauss New year’s Concert a random girl sat next to me and had the habit of commenting throughout, which was more than okay with me as it was J. Strauss and I hadn’t had a proper conversation in 4 days. After the concert I said something along the lines of “Umm, I never do this, but do you want to hang out tomorrow? I mean, I’m desperate for a friend.” She laughed and we made plans for dinner the next day and Don Giovanni after. It turns out she was visiting from Israel, and before she had immigrated to Israel she was from Russia. She brought a friend to dinner, who lived in Vienna but was from Croatia. I was so excited to finally have friends! At Don Giovanni we met another one of her friends, who was also living in Vienna, but was from Bosnia. As it was freezing, this girl and I both left after the 2nd act. She lived out by my hostel, so we walked and talked. Turned out she was fluent in 5 languages ("which really isn’t a lot," as she put it). I was grateful that one of them was English.

Okay, I’ve written a novel, so I’ll stop now so those of you that have made it this far can get on with your lives and stop hearing about mine. Next I’ll write about Paris, but I’ll give you a preview: I LOVE IT! Let me briefly interview myself:

ANDY: What’s your favorite city in the world currently, andy?
andy: Definitely Paris. It’s pretty much the greatest thing in the world, and I think I want to live here.
ANDY: Really? Please share why?
andy: No really, I’ve written way too much for now. Next time.

World capitals: get ready for a whole lot of Andy!

Apparently Thursday is my new "blog writing day." I don't know why, that just seems to be the only day of the week I have the time to sit down at a computer. Last week I began my "world capitals" part of the tour. I leave Berlin today for Vienna, then on Monday to Paris until back to London!

But let's jump back to Switzerland, as I believe that's where I left you. Have you ever heard a Swiss youth band play Stars and Stripes Forever? I have. In fact, I have several times, including two times with baton twirlers between the ages of 4 and 16. The band was very good, but the performance was definitely not American. They were simply too musical with it. They actually enjoyed it. They did not realize that in the United States everyone plays Sousa as fast and as flat as possible, because nobody really likes and wants it to get over. But the concert was very good overall, except for the 1 long award ceremony, all in Swiss-German.

Earlier that day we had gone hiking, except I don't believe that hiking is a strong enough word. Apparently in Switzerland their are two types of trails, hiking trails and Mountain trails. Hiking trails would be one of the more extreme paths in Rainier or Glacier. Mountain trails are vertical, along cliffs, and the paths are uneven boulders. And that's what we did. We road up a cable car, met some awesome nuns, (who at 73 and 83 have decided to back down to the Hiking trails rather than the Mountain trails) then we stopped by a restaurant on a cliff, then we went down the cliff. I enjoyed the mountain scaling, but my legs apparently did not, or so they told me the next two days.

Sunday also consisted of a cable car ride, this time to the Santis where you can see the entire country of Switzerland and all the surrounding countries. Another billion photos later, complete with the most extreme farmer's tan I have ever had, (and I'd rather than not talk about the tourist tanline I got from my camera strap on the back of my next) I found myself on a boat ride over Lake Constance at sunset. The ride ended in Germany, where we had ice cream and then took the boat back to Switzerland. It was nice, listening to Lady Gaga play from the inside as we stood on the deck watching the full moon and counting the hundreds of large spiders that had taken up residence on the boat.

By Monday it was time to leave; a short trip up a hill offered a last breath-taking view of beautiful St. Gallen, then we went to Zurich to catch my flight. At the airport I supplemented my latest hobby, which is pretending I can read German magazines. This is accomplished by buying magazines about classical music with a lot of pictures, and then understanding about 2% of what is being said. When I arrived in Berlin, there were Josi and Robert! They had looked up the wrong flight time and had arrived an hour too early, but it was all good.

Tuesday Robert and I explored the city in the morning. I had my first Doner (it's good) and hit three museums. Then Robert went to soccer, but Josi got of work so I met up with her. The three of us ended the night with ice cream. (I know what you're thinking: Andy, that's a lot of ice cream. Aren't you lactose intolerant? My reply: Have you tasted Gelato????)

Wednesday I went solo around the city, much to the worry of Robert and Josi. They, like many of my friends and family, were concerned about my well-being in a new city where I don't speak the language. They reminded me to buy a train ticket, not to forget their address, etc. I got on the train, (then remembered to get a train ticket, but luckily police officers weren't involved, so it was okay) and hit the city. Three museums later and a long walk through the Tiergarten, I made it back to the apartment relatively unscathed. But I did do something unbelievably American. I went to starbucks. But I had to; it was there, I need the tea and atmosphere, so I did it. It's my confession to the world. Pleas eon't judge me.

But I need to go. I think I have to see some more Berlin before I head to Vienna!!!

In search of Heidi

Another week has gone by, and by next week I'll have been in Europe for a month! Hard to believe, but my time in the little house on 118th seems like ages ago. This is the summer I have been looking forward to all year, even if the weather has been a little too reminiscent of the Puget Sound.

Thursday, as promised, I went to a castle: The Schwerin Schloss. As it happens to be one of Germany's most beautiful castles, I took a bajillion photos, currently on facebook. The outside of the castle was vastly superior to the inside. The tour was overpriced and incredibly short; you didn't even get to see a fourth of the building. But the gardens made up for it, though our exploration was quite wet due to rain. That night we finally found some Italian restaurant. I'll spare you the gruesome details of my worst dining experience in Germany ever, but I will tell you the food was awful.

Friday we took a walk in the forest looking for the mysterious "Blochberg" but never found it, then we went to Lubeck where we found TWO awesome music stores. Henle is outrageously cheap in Germany (no duh! why didn't I think of that before--German publisher!). I resisted the temptation to buy anything, though now I seriously regret not getting that Mozart concerto. That night we went to a play that Mareike was performing in...in German. Luckily it was a spoof on the Odyssey, so with my knowledge of Greek literature and German swearwords I understood a surprising amount.

Saturday we once again tried to find the Blochberg, but no luck (I'm still no entirely sure what the heck it is...some medieval fort or something?) That night there was a party with the family which was great fun.

Sunday was really fun: a church service completely in German. That was wild. After lunch my host parents said we should all go on a bike ride. They brought a picnic basket, and Marlese joked about "no more than 40 kilometers, or my knees won't hold up!" to which I laughed at happily. Foolish Andy. The bike rides I'm used to, especially ones involving picnics, are no more than a mile, or say, 2 kilometers. WE WENT ON A 33 KILOMETER BIKE RIDE. I'm happy to say I did not die, but the next day I wanted to considering the pain in my legs and backside. Nonetheless, it was beautiful ride, and how often do you get to have coffee and cake on the beach by the Baltic Sea after 20 kilometers of bike riding? I think what really did me over was that we went dancing that night.

Monday morning everyone got up at 5 am to say goodbye to me (excluding Wiebke: she gave me my hug goodbye the night before.) The breakfast was very nice, and Oma said she hoped Marieke would drive too slowly so I would miss my flight and have to stay. Marieke managed to drive right pass the airport when we got to Hamburg, but it all turned out and I got on the flight okay. By 10am I was in Switzerland!

I met up with Lukas, an old camper of mine, and his mother at the airport in Zurich. We explored the city, but the oh-so-Seattle weather made it a very wet ordeal. Then we went to St. Gallen where they live. At 70,000 people, it is the 5th biggest city in the country. I'm still in awe of the world-class public transportation, which is sadly more functional even in the tiniest villages than the vast majority of the US. That night we saw sand sculptures from around the world. (random, I know, but super cool.)

On Tuesday we hopped on a train and heading deep into the Swiss Alps! I kept an eye out for Heidi. When we got to see the Rhine I got my other eye out for Rhinemaidens, but luckily I had on my glasses, so I had another 2 eyes to see the scenery. The trains here are unreal; we ended up on the "Bernina Express" (or at least that's how I translate it) and it went OVER the Alps, climbing several thousand meters. To me now Amtrak is Steve Urkel and Swiss trains are Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was crazy how steep they would climb, often going in complete circles over themselves! We ended up in Italy (crazy, I know!) and had lunch there. On the train ride back Lukas casually pointed to a castle. "See that castle" yep, sure do "That's a country." WHAT!?!?!? Turns out I was staring at Lichtenstein. But we didn't go because apparently it's too boring, but we could also see Austria outside the window too.

Wednesday I got to experience Appenzell, a little Swiss town with culture of it's own. They have their own special cheese, their own clothing, their own folk music, even their own piercings. We got to hear a family of 8 perform traditional music.

Thursday was the most amazing thus far. We went to Jungfraujoch, which apparently you can't go to Switzerland without seeing. After about 4 train rides, passing through the alps and lakes and towns like Interlaken, we found ourselves on "the top of Europe." Picture this: An underground train climbs up a mountain and stops at the highest train station in Europe. We then explore the ice palace, complete with sculptures and other touristy things, then we go out on the Jungfraujoch. It's a small connecting valley between two peeks from which you can see a 16 mile long glacier, the longest in Europe. We had lunch at there, and I will never complain about American ski resort prices again. My brat with fries was $18! (which apparently is "really reasonable for Switzerland.") A very small bowl of cereal with milk was $8, and a bottle of water was $5.50. And this was the cheap restaurant at the resort. Of course I took a ridiculous amount of pictures, as it's probably one of the most beautiful sites in the world. We stopped in Bern on our way back and got a brief tour of the capitol city.

This morning I got to be show and tell for an English class. Lukas' father is a teacher and thought it would be great to bring in a real live American. Americans are definitely a rarity in Switzerland; I think I've heard a total of 3 American accents my whole time here thus far. At the Jungfraujoch there were a lot of British, but the majority of tourists are from mainland Europe or Asia.

I'm not sure everything else that's planned (there is a little bit of a language barrier...Swiss German is a lot harder to understand than regular German, but their English is getting better every day! Lukas' mom even told me she dreamed in English last night) but I think it will involve cable cars, band concerts, and who know what else. Probably cheese. Let me give you idea about the Swiss diet: lots of cheese and chocolate, both of which they tell me is the finest in the world.

Ich bin Pansdorfer!

Hello from Northern Germany!

I will try not to make this too long; I got on the internet for the first time in a couple days today and there were a bajillion emails, all of which were urget of course. I really need to finish up on the computer and go and join the living and breathing downstairs, but since I don't know when I'll get computer time again, another update!

Travel with me back in time and space to London last Saturday. (I'm sure other authors have given you more exciting time and space travel, but who cares? It's my blog!) I had a personal adventure exploring the town while Amy went to a 6-hour lunch with a friend. Got caught in the rain in London, which is not nearly as romantic and wonderful as it sounds. Really, it's just very wet and miserable. Eventually I made it to St. Martins-in-the-Fields and met up with Amy for our final concert of the project. Oh, and what a concert to end it on. Picture this: a mediocre Mozart-sized orchestra dressed in drammatic red and black. A conductor who had an uncanny resemblance to Dr. Brown. A program that would make any non-musician middle-aged woman's heart soar: Pachabel Canon in D, Bach Air on the G String, Handel Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, Vivaldi Four Seasons. The harpsichordist's lipsick unfortunately was the exact shade as her violently red dress, and the soloist wore no shoes while taking the most extreme rubatos immaginable in her cadenzas. All by candelight. And the audience loved it. They went WILD. These were tourists who had paid a hefty sum for a sub-par performance, and they thought it was brilliant. There was a standing ovation, an encore even. And it actually was wonderful in a way. Of course Amy and I laughed at how corny everything was, but these were musicians who shamelessly presented themselves and were adored by their audience. The encore was by far the best, and by far the strangest. Put yourself in a beautiful baroque church lit by candlelight, an orchestra with soloist playing a PIAZOLLA TANGO, and police sirens in the background. Really, if I ever write a screenplay, this will be a crucial scene.

The next day we explored Amy's old stomping grounds, and then with a few interviews. Oh yeah, and Paul Lewis took us out to Indian food. No biggy! It was really strange just sitting and talking with someone so famous; by the end of this year he will have played 12 proms concerts! But he's really down to earth, and very humble.

Monday Amy and I said goodbye on the tube. She continued on to Heathrow and I took the overground to Luton. What a strange airport and airline. Easyjet is incredibly cheap, and definitely culture shock. After standing in line forever, I realized that my ticket had no seat number. I asked the friendliest face I could find what this meant. It meant no assigned seats. Which meant absolute choas covered by British restraint. Naturally I just observed in shock as others fought their way through, and eventually I found my seat between incredibly overweight man and a very nice old woman who I'm not sure understood a word I said.

Upon my arrival to Hamburg (with minor difficulties at customs) I arrived a full 45 minutes late, but my welcoming party was still bright eyed. Nils, Mareike, Wiebke, and Ina picked me up and drove me to their house. One huge German dinner later we went swimming in the Baltic Sea.

The next morning we went camping. I know what you're thinking...Andy and camping do not belong in the same sentence. But I will let you know that I survived a whole day without running water. It was supposed to last for 3, but then we ended up getting running water via rain, so we retreated back to the comforts of the 21st century. Yesterday we went grocery shopping (an experience I recommend to anyone who goes to germany) and I cooked them my grandmother's spaghetti sauce while they made egg noodles. Mareike and I spent last night exploring Lübeck, which was wonderful. And now I think I'm going to a castle, so I really should get off the computer!

Live from an overpriced coffee shop

Here I am, sitting in an overpriced coffee shop somewhere in a northern borough of London, watching people come and go on their visits to the restroom as I frantically use of up my 2 hours of wifi.

Our time with the grant is nearing it's end, so Amy is using today's unusually open schedule to cram in all the museums and sites that she hasn't made it to yet. Since I will have plenty of time to experience these later, I am using to day to scope out my future: currently I'm looking around the Borough where I will be moving to in September, and a little bit I'll hop on the tube and see if I can find where the institute is.

Since I built it up so much last time, I figure I had better stop talking about today and jump back to Wednesday and Glydebourne. This was Amy's idea as she is aware of my infatuation with opera, but we had no idea what an ordeal it would be. It took literally ALL day. I had some time in the morning to walk around our borough and buy some lunch and stuff for our picnic dinner while Amy caught up on sleep and worked on the budget. By 2 we were dressed in formal attire, Amy in a new purple dress with heels and me in my bowtie and blazer. We had to catch a specific train, so naturally we got a little confused. Fortunately there were two ladies who were also overdressed, so we asked them if they were going to Glydebourne, and they were! This is how we met our friends Barbara and Penny. They were our guardian angels for the whole day; they got us on the right train (hour delay due to flooding) then on the bus (imagine dozens of overdressed people frantically running off a train and on to a tour bus...it was so WEIRD!) as so on. The Glydebourne crowd was literally fighting for seats on the bus; one woman ran past Amy and slightly snagged her dress with her picnic basket, offering no apology. Fortunately no major damage was done.

Barbara and Penny had warned us when we first me: Glydebourne was very little about the opera and very much about eating and being seen. Of course the opera was brilliant--flawless even. Probably one of the best I've ever seen. I'm trying to think of what aspect wasn't amazing, but singers, set, staging, orchestra, conductor, lighting, even lighting was superb. The opera house is ridiculously small, but it is a private opera house. The intermission is an hour and a half long, for that's when you eat your picnic lunch, and for most people this is really what Glydebourne is really about. Of course we ended up by God's good will actually sitting next to Barbara and Penny during the performance, and they offered to buy us champagne during the interval (no small gesture, 10 pounds a glass!) Also, the setting was beautiful. Think of those British movies, like 4 Weddings and a Funeral, and it was straight out of that. Huge opera house in the middle of the country, manicured gardens organized in a maze of hedges, wealthy British people eating dinner on the lawn and playing croquet. It was quite the ordeal.

We ended up sitting with our friends on the train ride back, and they were simply marvelous for conversation. They had much to say for our grant and we're flattered when we asked if we could quote them.

On Thursday Amy and I went separate ways, which was definitely for the best considering we had been spending almost every waking hour together for the past two weeks. I took an adventure trying to find my mom's doctor friend who lived near Greenwich who had promised to keep my extra suitcase while I go explore mainland Europe. After finding it quite easily, I explored Greenwich and took a long walk along the Thames. I was doing quite well until I got lost somewhere on the South Bank, going further South instead of the intended North. Things were getting sketchier and sketchier until I finally managed to find a train and then take it to London Bridge. There I went to find the Gherkin (Swiss Re building) and got to see financial London. Needless to say in my jeans with a camera around my neck, I felt a little under-dressed as the rest of London was in Armani suits and such. Then I took the tube back to Balham, where I met up with Amy and some other friends who took us out to Persian food, which was of course amazing.

Friday I was just eating breakfast when Amy ran in telling me she had just scheduled an interview that started in 15 minutes and we had to leave immediately. Thank goodness we did; the man we interviewed turned out to be our number 1 source for our grant. He ran the Barbican (think all of Lincoln Center, or Seattle Center times 3! The Barbican is a really BIG deal in London.) Then we had another interview with a man who started a very famous television show in the UK, which is pretty much reality TV with a youth orchestra. Then we went to our final Prom. It was an amazing orchestra; they started with a British piece I didn't know, then Beethoven Piano Concerto no. 3 (Paul Lewis as the pianist...and Amy set it up so we got to meet him backstage at intermission!) They closed with Ein Heldenlaben--brilliant!

Well, I'm going to run out of internet time. My next update will likely be from Germany or Switzerland...I fly out on Monday!

To make up for absence, now a blog of ridiculous length!

Where to begin…Life has been insane for the last week and a half! Amy, even after a week, is still without a normal voice. Finally the notepad and whispers was abandoned after day 3 and now when she talks she sounds like frog with a serious nicotine addiction. It’s quite entertaining to watch her interview people

On Friday we wandered around in the morning—-by this point I’ve seen so many of the sights that I’ve lost track of when I saw them, and there still so much to see! Because we are here doing grant work instead of being tourists, all we can really do is walk past all the museums instead of actually go in them, something I look forward to doing when I come back next month.

I did make inside one museum though; I met up with my good high school buddy Ben who is here for school. (Westpoint bootcamp in Scotland; you know, nothing too out of the ordinary.) He was in-between British military schools and a soldier's personal pilgrimage to Normandy, and had a couple of days in London with a buddy. The Tate Modern was smack in the middle of my two appointments that day, so I suggested we meet up there. I didn't intend on going inside with them, but the insisted, then spent most of the time asking me "how is this art." Apparently modern art and the military don't mix. But is was great to see Ben and we had a nice time eating fish & chips in a pub.

That night Amy and I and her friend Jami went to see Pink Martini at the Barbican. It was incredible. Ironic that we were watching a Portland band in London, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

On Saturday Amy and I spent hours doing computer research and comparing notes...also we had dinner at this great Belgium restaurant. That night we went to the all-Sondheim concert at the Proms. It was awesome. I got to see Bryn Terfel! who is just as incredible as you would imagine, even when he’s singing Sweeny Todd instead of Don Giovanni or The Flying Dutchman. Also, Judi Dench made a special appearance and sang Send in the Clowns. Then Sondheim himself came out for a curtain call at the end! It was a great concert, and we had a blast.

On Sunday we went to the church service at Westminster Abby. That was really special for me; I sang hymns, took communion, lit a candle for my catholic grandmother, and got a chance to find God in the midst of a giant urban jungle. Then Amy met up with her friend Jami to help her find a dress. (Glyndeborne, which is on Wednesday, has a dress code we didn’t notice—-black tie! Thank goodness I randomly packed a bowtie; of course, it would have been more practical had I remembered to pack an outlet converter.) We met Jami for lunch before the two girls had their adventure. Amy was dreading shopping. When I asked Jami how excited on a scale of 1 to 10 to help Amy find a dress, she said 11. So I left them to "have at it" went exploring.

My exploring took me to Oxford Street. The only way I can describe it is think the chaos and shopping of Westlake center in Seattle, and instead of being a single block, extend it for a mile. Eventually I got so overwhelmed with people I got off Oxford Street and went to Hyde Park, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite places.

Then I attended a literature lecture about famous literary lovers that was connected Proms. It was pretty cool---I got to see a feminist Greek poetry specialist from Cambridge duke it out with an established British romance author a la manner of Nicholas Sparks, while a Tony-nominated actress performed various readings. The fight did get quite aggressive, and at one point I was worried if they would start throwing their glasses of water at each other, but British restraint rule sovereign in these situations.

After the literature lecture I met up with Amy, now the proud new owner of a fancy dress and shoes, and we went to the Proms again. The 2nd half was dedicated to Tristan und Isolde act 2, which I can now say with certainty does not work in concert version. The worst part was that Ben Heppner, Heldentenor God, was horribly disappointing. He cracked at least 5 times, and the long lines were beyond the control he was retaining in his 60s, though his voice did prove that it was beautiful none the less. King Mark (Franz-Josef Selig) was the best, but 105 minutes of unstaged Wagner is too much even for me.

Monday we went to our first “lunchtime concerts.” There are so many ways that London is simply brilliant: amazing, cheap public transportation, amazing, free Museums, and amazing, free Lunchtime concerts! It was a piano violin duo, and we got to hear some Gershwin, which was a little weird considering we’re in London.

That afternoon we interviewed Mina, a local pianist and friend of Amy’s. Mina is your typical freelancer/teacher/artist making her way in the city, and out of her numerous jobs two of them definitely sound like dream careers for me. 1, she’s a cruise ship pianist, and thinks it’s awesome. Goes to places like Caribbean, Greenland, Norway, and gets paid great for it. 2, she’s a piano teacher at a private all-boys school. Awesome.

That night Amy and I did the actual Prommer thing where we stand for the whole concert. We opted for the gallery up top instead of the arena down below, but it was a little disappointing. A Mozart piano concerto isn’t really suited for something the size of Royal Albert Hall, and where we were it was impossible to hear nuance. There was a modern piece as well that got it’s London premier that was slightly interesting, and then a Ligeti piano solo piece that was absolutely boring in my opinion. Amy and I decided we really wanted dinner instead of hearing the 2nd half, so we left. I mean, it’s not like we short on concert attendance or anything.

Tuesday was pretty wild. We met up with a young conductor at his flat in South London. We had to reschedule to Tuesday from our appointment a week before because of, well, Amy’s frog-like condition, but though she still sounded like an amphibian a week later we had to go. When we rang, we must of surprise the man. He had completely forgotten about our appointment, but he was very hospitable and super energetic. Since our scheduled time was 11, Amy and I figured we would be done at 12 or 1, but it wasn’t until 3:20 when he was dropping us off at a bus stop. We had spent the 4+ hours talking in his tiny flat, having lunch with him on the roof (awesome, random, weird, incredible), seeing some very poor sections of London, seeing a community house where he started a youth music program, and going to a pub with him and the man who currently runs that community house. The information we collected was perfect, plus he has set up interviews with other important people he knows.

That evening we took our host Re and David out to Ronnie Scott’s, this swanky jazz bar in Soho. Apparently all the greats have played there, the atmosphere was incredible. The 2nd band was too loud in my opinion, but the rock fan inside Amy came out and she had a great time.

Then yesterday was all Glydebourne, which I will dedicate a complete post to because it deserves exactly that!

London: The beginning

We made it!! After days of traveling Amy and I arrived in London yesterday around 8 in the morning. Of course it only felt like midnight, so we were doing okay but neither of us had slept that much. We braved the tube all the way to one of the southernmost tips of London, and spent the majority of the day with Amy’s friend Della. Della lives with her brother Martin and we spent the time meeting each other (or in Amy's case, catching up.) Amy is staying with Della, so once we got her settled we walked over to Re and David's, also friends of Amy's, where I'm staying.

Re and David have this amazing house in south London; from the outside it looks like an ordinary townhouse, but on the inside you discover a huge 4-bedroom 5-bathroom house, tastefully decorated with items that could have been make 5 years ago or 500 years ago. The whole top floor currently belongs to me complete with bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen. Everything is quite European--the "clothes-dryer" is the line outside and every toilet and shower is an adventure. The shower hasn't been too difficult to figure out, as American showers are equally puzzling, but the act of flushing the toilet is always a path of discovery. Just a few minutes ago I actually managed to succeed in a full flush on the first try, which I consider a vast improvement of the usual 4-or-5-half-flushes-until-the-real-deal-happens.

Of course there is an absolutely beautiful garden in the back and a wonderful cross between a dining-room and a green house where I had breakfast this morning.

My first impression of the English can be summed up in a little story: at Della's house there was a beautiful calico cat. When I asked the name, they said they had no idea, they simply call it cat because its not theirs. Of course they feed it and pet it and take care of it, but their really not sure of it's gender or even how it got there. When arriving at Re's we saw a wonderful black cat. Once again I asked the name, and Re said that she didn't know and they just call it cat, creating a humorous sense of deja vu. Apparently this cat comes over because it knows it can always get a good scratch. So that is my first impression of the English: kind, caring, yet somewhat impersonal and private, not necessarily trying to get too involved with others.

Today we decided to hit the city. It was awesome. But there was a twist. When I arrived at Della's today to meet Amy, she had no voice. Laryngitis had taken over, and there was my professor with a notepad, tea and honey, otherwise completely unable to communicate. Poor woman: those of you that know Amy know that she isn't exactly quiet. Nonetheless, I became the translator and group communicator today. It's a good thing that I have taken piano lessons with Amy for 3 years now, otherwise reading her notes would have been impossible. She spent almost the whole day whispering and writing...I told her it felt like we were telling secrets!

Some highlights of today included Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, and of course the Proms. Going to the Proms was unreal; Royal Albert Hall is incredible, just like as glorious as every youtube video I've seen of it. And the big deal about it's acoustics being lousy, I disagree. Not really that bad at all, especially when you go in with the mindset that it will be on-par with Olsen Gym. The program was Wagner's Rienzi Overture, Beethoven's 2nd piano concerto (with Paul Lewis at the bench!!!!), and Dvorak's new world symphony. Fantastic. We met up with Amy's friend Mina for the concert and afterwards Mina took us to a swanky little place and talked about her fascinating life as a concert pianist and teacher living in London.

Otherwise, I becoming very familiar with the tube, I haven't been robbed yet, I love fish and chips, I love London more than I had even expected, and British accents are actually a lot harder to understand in real life than in the movies. But it's 1 am, and it's a full day tomorrow, so I have to go! I'm meeting up with Ben, one of my best friend's from high school who's here on some West Point Summer School thing, and then Amy and I are going to a Pink Martini concert at the Barbican! And a teaser for you lovers of the greatest baritone ever--I get to see Bryn Terfel on Saturday!!! Until next time!

Ready, Set, WAIT!!!!

Following Andy's travels is turning into a game of red light green light. I'm trying so hard to leave, but God keeps turning around and saying "Red Light!!!! moohahaha!!" Currently I'm in a state of red-light suspension, aka Minneapolis.

Remember how I said "hopefully" the next time you hear from me will be Europe? Either I'm a cynic or someone up there has an ironic sense of humor, because here I am, updating from the good ol' US of A.

Two nights ago said goodbye to my car, delicious Mexican food, and my friends and family. I stayed with Bob, who's attitude is sometimes a little too care-free. The philosophy "We'll get there when we get there" doesn't really work for me when driving to the airport, but we arrived unscathed and only an hour behind schedule. Bob imparted some deep thoughts: "I think reality is sometimes a really big constriction," which I thought was intriguing and almost quintessentially Bob but not something immediately acceptable for me.

At the airport I ran into Amy, who was having difficulty with the self-serve machines, but in the end we made it to the airplane in time for final boarding so all was good. After an uneventful flight, we landing in Minneapolis and realized how indecisive we both are when it comes to choosing food. In fact, we are realizing that we will realize quite a lot about each other, and with all the realizations its probably good we'll have a 6-month break from each other after these weeks. But it's been fun, as we both have good senses of humor, and when our flight was delayed 3 hours because our pilot was trapped in Atlanta, we took our food vouchers and headed to TGI Fridays for supposedly our last American meal.

Upon our return it turned out due to London's curfew policy and the tardiness of the pilot, our flight was canceled. It has been rescheduled to today at 6pm, which puts us roughly 21 hours behind schedule. We were both good sports about it, and thank God we were on West Coast time, because it was almost 2 am by the time we got to the hotel. The hotel has been nice--I hand-washed all my clothes and dried them via hair-dryer and iron, and the only thing missing from my life currently is a toothbrush and some deodorant (but that's what multiple showers a day are for, right?)

After breakfast I took a walk while Amy caught up on sleep, and got to see the Twin Cities. It was quite lovely, walking over the Mississippi and seeing the University of Minnesota. Plus I made it to the Weisman Art Museum, which had awesome architecture and free admission, not to mention a Warhol and couple of O'Keefes. The only down side was the 100% humidity that made it feel like I was swimming laps instead of walking, and the 27 cents starbucks charged me for a cup of water.

Keep your fingers crossed that we get to London tomorrow morning!

Ready, Set, GO!!!!

It's time. In less than 24 hours I will be sitting in a plane , on my way to LONDON!!! I have moved out of that little house I was crashing at for a month and now I'm bearing the title "homeless." Time has gone by both quickly and slowly, and I'm in a frantic state of anticipation.

Packing was a little traumatic. I have a lot of nice things, but only 2 suitcases. So, decisions had to be made. Though I have repeatedly been told that 9 slacks is ridiculous, I refuse to believe it. Nonetheless space won out and 4 were sent home. The tie collection had the most causalities. My glorious 35 was reduced to a mere 7. But I simply did not budge on my sweaters. My logic: London is cold. I like sweaters. So I made it work. There is further photo evidence of this horrible travesty on facebook.

Church was absolutely wonderful today. I don't think I even got that much attention when I was born. The singing went better than expected--only 1 crack! The result was 4 suggestions that I audition for Il Divo and 3 signatures. (I couldn't help laughing as I signed church bulletins.)

Said my goodbyes to Mom, discarded my cell phone, and said goodbye to Geesila and Charleen, my 93 Subaru Loyale and the little Hawaiian girl on the dashboard. It was rough, as Charleen and I have been through a lot together, but her smile was painted on and her hips wiggled in their usual excited fashion as my mom drove away.

Oh yeah, and apparently I didn't convince Amy to ride with me and Bob...but I figure I'll find her in SeaTac eventually; I mean, we're sitting next to each other, right?

Otherwise, I want to thank everyone who is keeping me in their thoughts and prayers, and hopefully the next blog I write will be from Europe!

9 days and counting!

It is only 9 days until I leave!!! I'm so excited, it's ridiculous. After hours upon hours spent at the library researching and buying plane tickets, I have finalized my schedule. For the first 2 weeks I will be in London with Amy doing our grant work. How cool is it that I get to go to London and watch concerts with my favorite prof, all on PLU's bill!?! And of course, Amy lived in London back when she went to the Royal Music Academy or something awesome like that, so she knows city pretty well.

After the grant work in London I will fly to Northern Germany right outside of Lubeck. There I will spent time with the Lunds...one of the most amazing families I have ever met!

After my time there I will head to Switzerland to visit my friend Lukas. Lukas was a camper of mine a few years back; as his English was limited, we ended up spending a lot of time together as I helped him find rehearsals and communicate with his teachers. Over the years, he's turned into a great friend, sending Christmas cards and Easter baskets, and while I was in Bavaria his family took a detour on their travels and came to see one of my concerts, bringing Swiss chocolate and a Swiss army knife. While in Switzerland we are going to visit Zurich and many of the small surrounding towns, and then do a lot of connecting with nature.

From Zurich I head to Berlin to visit some more old friends, Robert and Josi. I'm not sure what we're planning here, but it's Berlin, so I doubt I'll be bored! From Berlin I head to Vienna, a city I've been dreaming about ever since I knew who Mozart was. After previous failed attempts, I will succeed! I'm a little nervous about staying at a hostel for the first time, but I know I'll be fine. Then from Vienna I'm going to Paris, which, knowing me, will probably be spent inside art museums. If anyone has a friend in Paris or Vienna who would like to hang out with a dorky American, let me know!!! From Paris I take that crazy underwater train back to London, where I meet my host family and then begin my four months of internship and classes.

Now I'm just doing the normal pre-travel stuff...pretending to pack while not packing, still celebrating that I actually got my Visa with no problems, wondering when the heck the program's going to let me know about my internship placement results and my host family.

Also, I've been talking to Amy almost every other day, finalizing last minute details. One of those in my mind was figuring out how to get to the airport, as I won't have a car or a cell phone at that point. Amy suggested riding the bus, I suggested our dear friend Bob. Amy said that I could ride with Bob and she would take the bus. In an attempt to convince her that this was a stupid idea and she should just ride with us, I sent her the following list of reasons:

• Your house is actually on the way to the airport from PLU; not a big detour at all
• You won't have to take the bus (no point, waste of money and time)
• Less scary homeless people in Bob's car than in the bus
• How cool would it be to see Bob right before we leave?
• He's excited to drive us and would be disappointed if you said you were taking the bus, and, really, what's worse than a disappointed Bob?
• I probably will no longer have an American cell phone at that point, and it will be way easier than trying to find you in SeaTac without phones
• Think of all the amazing photo opportunities (You and Me, Bob and You, Bob and Me, all three of us, individual shots; really, the options are limitless!)

Now it's just a waiting game. I'm finishing up my volunteer work at Seattle opera, teaching my final piano lessons, having a tearful goodbye with my church, etc. Saying goodbye to my church will be the hardest, as I actually had to resign and will not be working there on my return. So to go out with a bang, my church is having all sorts of special music to showcase me, including singing. Now I'm primarily a pianist, but I'm not a terrible singer. I have a nice middle voice. But Candice, dear Candice, really really really wants to sing "The Prayer" with me. The Prayer is not written for a man with a nice middle voice; it's written for a man with a great lower register and a healthy falsetto. I have a nice middle voice, gosh-darn-it, but the lower register is either none existent or akin to a pubescent boy and my falsetto sounds like Mickey Mouse on kemo. But I love my church, so here goes nothing.

Otherwise, 9 FREAKIN DAYS!!!

Andy Abroad: A Preface

Here I am, going abroad and doing the cliche blog thing, and inviting you to follow along. While away, I will probably not have the opportunity to email/facebook my friends semi-regularly, and a blog seems like an ideal way for me to let all of you know what is going on. I'm sure I will love to get your emails and updates, but please to do not be upset if I am unable to respond individually to these.

Why am I studying in England the fall of my senior year? Let me share with an you an email (revised here so it will make more sense out of context) that I sent a couple months ago to my professor, friend, and mentor, and you can see where I am coming from:



What I'm really trying to get out of this London trip is direction, for I feel like my focus has always been in too many directions. I've always wanted to do a million things, and on top of that, I like to do things to my fullest ability, not just halfway. This is an impossibility I am forced to face more and more each day. I'm not going on this trip just because it's study away, or because its London, but because I am hoping to get some sort of direction out of this internship. I want to figure out what I really want to do, more than all the other stuff.

In January I was sitting in a practice room, working on Debussy or something like that, definitely not thinking about traveling away, and my professor came in out of nowhere and started telling me all these crazy things about a semester-long internship in London. Now I'm going on this trip, which I figured was impossible due to my major and the timing. Plus it's in a city that I never even considered. Sure, I thought of Paris, Berlin, Prague, and Vienna, but never even considered London. But this really seems like the perfect city for me--I already know the language, the culture will probably be less foreign than something like France, (or China), the city has so much going on, and I have a multitude of resources available fore me there already, not to mention the most art scene in the world! It really is the perfect city, one of I've never considered.

So I'm gonna go, and find out what crazy direction my life decides to make, and then see where the heck I am by December. If I was going to be apply for grad schools in a few months I would be literally going crazy. If I knew I was going to be at PLU all next year I would be going crazy! I need to get away from PLU, and I'm not ready to be a piano performance masters student quite yet.

I think it's good I'm not making any commitments. No opera, no choir, no exact graduation date. This way I can be free to be free in London. To let what happens happen. If I have access to a piano and find myself practicing hours everyday and constantly performing, so be it. If I don't see a piano and find myself not even singing in my free time, sure. I think this is what I need to do, in order to really figure things out.

I think I've come a long way: I was a uptight freshman with an inflexible 10-year plan, determined, naive, and overconfident. I feel like I've chilled out a bit and loosened up. Now I need to get some things figured out before I'm really ready for the next step.



That is the mindset I am entering this program with, and I hope you enjoy following my travels!