"The originality of a working woman’s movements as she walks her London streets..."
The Eurail Dairies
That Bottle in That Bar
England is like a clean and quick shot from that bottle in that bar that stands just under the rest where there’s question of its contents. Now that your order is in you begin to query ones trip to this particular bar. The ceiling is plastered with smoke and low set with pictures of Jenna Jameson in the 80’s. The men on the other side of the bar top look like an image directly out of Quintan Tarantinos head and your hand is resting on something moist and still warm. As you take that preliminary shot and you feel the harsh burn of that bottles contents you begin to embrace your surroundings just as you embraced your skepticism of that last shot. By the end of the night, not only have you fully embraced the rest of the bottle but you seem to have given your surroundings a second chance as now they look so much more attractive. England has this same sharp candid bight but with a smooth surface layer candor that only is presented after time, a second chance…and maybe a drink.
The originality of a working woman’s movements as she walks her London streets, the odd peripheral vision sightings of all the uniquely experimental and bizarrely unconventional people surrounding Camden City, Trafalgar Square at night, or simply me as the American still not willing to admit that the rest of the world uses the metric system and there are particular countries that find a sense of sanity in driving on the wrong side of the road. This is the beauty of England’s capital city.
The day is people watching, sightseeing and self amusing, the night is a Soho bar and then the Broadway, and everything in between is just the cruel realization that the pound towers above my delicate dollar. Starbucks has even discontinued its purpose of giving me that American corporate comfort and instead it’s been replaced by the reminder that my corporate America sits on the brink of the domino effect. So, now when I sip my coffee with that modest green mermaid staring back at me I star back with pity and sadness because I know its dying just beneath those golden arches lying next to Ronald MacDonald.
This next addition to my collection of journals is brought to you in a very English fashion. As I speak to you from a corner street English pub I am surrounded by a series of distressed leather oversized armchairs, the BBC is presenting the years best snapshots, I’m sipping a pint of lager, and I’m over hearing conversations of last weeks fox hunting expedition. All quite English and very much out of my comfort zone but still intriguing causing me to stay and tell you some of what’s happened since my last chapter in The Eurail Dairies.
It’s been six months since I’ve left my eight foot by ten foot room just left of the basement bathroom in my parent’s house. I have reached the two decade mark forcing me to really pretend like I’m an adult. I have traveled through England, France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy and I have a big boy job teaching English in the capital of Spain, Madrid.
I began my time in Spain on September 22nd. I came in by Eurail after one blameless bus detour in Rome caused a string of events that ultimately caused me to miss my flight. After reaching Madrid I immediately began a one month high intensity course that certified me to teach English as a foreign language. During the first three weeks as I searched for the perfect apartment I spent some quality time in a five foot by five foot hostel room with the most flattering green curtains and white lighting. I swear to you the bed was bought from the local nursing home. It had a side crank that would give you your desired level of elevation. It totally worked wonders because for me to see the late presidential election on the TV behind the door I would have to put it on its highest possible level. Although highly amusing it was quite unnecessary and made me feel like I was predestined to possess arthritis or some disease causing total immobility.
My big boy title to accompany my big boy job is, brace your self, “Jacob Michael, Professor of English”. Jacob, it sets a good tone for, Hi, I’m Jacob and I like to work”. The name leaves little room for Club Pacha on Friday, lunch and then the bar marathon in La Latina on Saturday. So, Jake seems to come out just as frequently as Jacob. The difference is that when Jake is introduced, Jacob is ready for the weekend.
Anyway when Jacob has his obligation to work for his living he teaches a range of students from a class with two four year old girls to a 45 year old Lawyer to Corporate business classes. I enjoy my job for now. I have the opportunity to meet and understand the Spanish. It’s an opportunity that eight months ago I am so glad I had made
Said to be the Paris of southern Europe Madrid gives more to her residence that anyone would think to receive. It’s hard to get any understanding of all the advantages until you become a work-in, live-out style resident. My schedule by day is booked with classes but the Spanish night brings out the most timid of people and hurls them into the 12 hour city wide social assembly lasting till eight the next morning. Sitting a little behind the times Madrid gives that perfect balance of old European culture with the hype of the in fashion and class. The people themselves have migrated with the times and kept a sense of in the mode existence but tradition has continued as the people continue to practice and value it.
Until July when I return to the States I will continue to recreate my European adventures and stick them in Cyberspace. Also I will be very mentally busy trying to figure out what life will bring me after my glorious stay in Madrid. As of now the most attractive option is either business or journalism school in the city that never sleeps. But my ideas change just as fast as my appetite for a change of scenery.
A big boy but not yet an adult,
Jacob Michael, Professor of English (it’s a weekday)
That Bottle in That Bar
England is like a clean and quick shot from that bottle in that bar that stands just under the rest where there’s question of its contents. Now that your order is in you begin to query ones trip to this particular bar. The ceiling is plastered with smoke and low set with pictures of Jenna Jameson in the 80’s. The men on the other side of the bar top look like an image directly out of Quintan Tarantinos head and your hand is resting on something moist and still warm. As you take that preliminary shot and you feel the harsh burn of that bottles contents you begin to embrace your surroundings just as you embraced your skepticism of that last shot. By the end of the night, not only have you fully embraced the rest of the bottle but you seem to have given your surroundings a second chance as now they look so much more attractive. England has this same sharp candid bight but with a smooth surface layer candor that only is presented after time, a second chance…and maybe a drink.
The originality of a working woman’s movements as she walks her London streets, the odd peripheral vision sightings of all the uniquely experimental and bizarrely unconventional people surrounding Camden City, Trafalgar Square at night, or simply me as the American still not willing to admit that the rest of the world uses the metric system and there are particular countries that find a sense of sanity in driving on the wrong side of the road. This is the beauty of England’s capital city.
The day is people watching, sightseeing and self amusing, the night is a Soho bar and then the Broadway, and everything in between is just the cruel realization that the pound towers above my delicate dollar. Starbucks has even discontinued its purpose of giving me that American corporate comfort and instead it’s been replaced by the reminder that my corporate America sits on the brink of the domino effect. So, now when I sip my coffee with that modest green mermaid staring back at me I star back with pity and sadness because I know its dying just beneath those golden arches lying next to Ronald MacDonald.
This next addition to my collection of journals is brought to you in a very English fashion. As I speak to you from a corner street English pub I am surrounded by a series of distressed leather oversized armchairs, the BBC is presenting the years best snapshots, I’m sipping a pint of lager, and I’m over hearing conversations of last weeks fox hunting expedition. All quite English and very much out of my comfort zone but still intriguing causing me to stay and tell you some of what’s happened since my last chapter in The Eurail Dairies.
It’s been six months since I’ve left my eight foot by ten foot room just left of the basement bathroom in my parent’s house. I have reached the two decade mark forcing me to really pretend like I’m an adult. I have traveled through England, France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy and I have a big boy job teaching English in the capital of Spain, Madrid.
I began my time in Spain on September 22nd. I came in by Eurail after one blameless bus detour in Rome caused a string of events that ultimately caused me to miss my flight. After reaching Madrid I immediately began a one month high intensity course that certified me to teach English as a foreign language. During the first three weeks as I searched for the perfect apartment I spent some quality time in a five foot by five foot hostel room with the most flattering green curtains and white lighting. I swear to you the bed was bought from the local nursing home. It had a side crank that would give you your desired level of elevation. It totally worked wonders because for me to see the late presidential election on the TV behind the door I would have to put it on its highest possible level. Although highly amusing it was quite unnecessary and made me feel like I was predestined to possess arthritis or some disease causing total immobility.
My big boy title to accompany my big boy job is, brace your self, “Jacob Michael, Professor of English”. Jacob, it sets a good tone for, Hi, I’m Jacob and I like to work”. The name leaves little room for Club Pacha on Friday, lunch and then the bar marathon in La Latina on Saturday. So, Jake seems to come out just as frequently as Jacob. The difference is that when Jake is introduced, Jacob is ready for the weekend.
Anyway when Jacob has his obligation to work for his living he teaches a range of students from a class with two four year old girls to a 45 year old Lawyer to Corporate business classes. I enjoy my job for now. I have the opportunity to meet and understand the Spanish. It’s an opportunity that eight months ago I am so glad I had made
Said to be the Paris of southern Europe Madrid gives more to her residence that anyone would think to receive. It’s hard to get any understanding of all the advantages until you become a work-in, live-out style resident. My schedule by day is booked with classes but the Spanish night brings out the most timid of people and hurls them into the 12 hour city wide social assembly lasting till eight the next morning. Sitting a little behind the times Madrid gives that perfect balance of old European culture with the hype of the in fashion and class. The people themselves have migrated with the times and kept a sense of in the mode existence but tradition has continued as the people continue to practice and value it.
Until July when I return to the States I will continue to recreate my European adventures and stick them in Cyberspace. Also I will be very mentally busy trying to figure out what life will bring me after my glorious stay in Madrid. As of now the most attractive option is either business or journalism school in the city that never sleeps. But my ideas change just as fast as my appetite for a change of scenery.
A big boy but not yet an adult,
Jacob Michael, Professor of English (it’s a weekday)
