I had promised, as recently as earlier today, to return from my travel-induced interregnum from book reviews, to flooding this blog with apologetically late accounts of my reading habits. However, after very little thought (as is my wont for these entries), I've decided against that. Instead, I shall be taking a positive view. I was able, or chose, to devote countless column inches in the last month or two to my activities outside the cover of a book, but this is not so much a reflection of what I have been doing instead of reading, as of what I have been doing as well. Indeed, as has been the case in the past when I've travelled, I've probably read as much or more as I would otherwise have. Anyway, the absence of reviews is a good thing - it indicates that I have things happening in my life that take a higher priority than reading and blogging about reading :)
In fact, though, I must begin my now-traditional catchup with some books read before my departure. Back in January, for the first time in a long time, I visited the library, and came away with an armful of books to read. The last of these, as it turned out, was Cormac McCarthy's The Road. My first foray into McCarthy had been All The Pretty Horses, back in 2009, and enjoyed it, but the Road was a very different book. Not different in that I didn't like it - I think on the balance that I did - but the writing is starkly different, stripped back to a bare minimum, to match the world being described. To be honest, its almost not a book you like so much as appreciate - the story is tough and at times uncompromising, and at times so can be the reading experience, but I thought it was worth it.
Ok, so it wasn't the last book from the library. That honour, dubious though it may be, goes to the wonderful Terry Pratchett, and Unseen Academicals. I was recently trying to sell Pratchett's work to someone who, though a fan of satire, was strongly averse to fantasy writing. My argument was essentially that his writing, that is, his mastery of the English language, takes a back seat to no currently working author I could name, and though I failed to make my case successfully, I hold that to be true. This is in strong evidence in Unseen Academicals, in which he weaves his familiar world of the university with that of the origin/codification of soccer, the story of Romeo and Juliet, and of the acceptance of the outsider. None of the threads ever becomes heavy, but they each come through clearly and coherently, and all with beautiful prose and replete with the anecdotes and wordplay that will be his hallmark when his writing career soon, regrettably, comes to a close (or so I have heard).
Before leaving to go overseas, I found myself in between the end of my lease and settlement on my new abode, and having the pleasure of spending a week with my friends Paul and Juli. Juli is quite the collector of books, and being without one, I took it upon myself to scour her shelves for something recognisable that I could be sure to finish in what was a busy week. My eyes fell upon Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, and it ticked all those boxes, as well as the more important one of being good! Its a scifi classic, I suppose, though its really more dystopian, in the style of 1984 or Brave New World, than hard scifi (the distinction could be argued, obviously). The central character is a fireman in a world in which that role has become one not of putting fires out, but of starting them, in order to destroy books, which are banned. As the story progresses, the fireman first rebels against and then flees the regime.
Having left for my trip, I avoided reading for a little while, knowing that I had a lot of work reading/reviewing/proofreading to do, and knowing my tendency to read voraciously while travelling. I succumbed eventually though, once getting to Rennes, and stayed dystopian, reading Margaret Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale. This is another famous dystopia, in which the central character is a handmaid, a woman given over to the sole purpose of bearing children in a society in which women have been stripped of all rights to property, work or self-determination generally. I have to say, though, that it didn't stack up to Fahrenheit or the other dystopian works I've read. The character is thinly and difficult to understand at times, and the worldbuilding is also unconvincing - perhaps it resonates more in societies in which fundamentalist religions - be they Muslim, Christian or otherwise - are more present than in Australia. For these and other reasons, I wasn't particularly moved by it.
For my last in this instalment, I went back to my base. I had watched the TV adaptation last year of George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones with great pleasure, and needed little provocation to grab a copy of the book from which its drawn. This is classic fantasy - great fat 1000-page tomes with lots of characters, taking part in dramatic action in a vividly drawn world undergoing great change. It has maps at the front! What I really like, though, is that its meaty - the characters are as stark (pun not intended) and gritty as the world in which they live, and Martin doesn't let the fantastic elements get in the way of the story - it is typically people and steel that decides characters' fates, not magic or dragons (though that will change at some point). It also avoids stereotypes all over the place - there is no Eddings-style Messiah story here - and he isn't afraid to let characters die when circumstances dictate that they will die. I have a copy of the second, and barring a Wheel-Of-Time style burnout (8000 pages of my life I will never get back!), I anticipate continuing to read the series as it evolves, until I don't enjoy it any more.
Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travelling. Show all posts
Monday, 30 April 2012
Saturday, 21 April 2012
return to Rennes III
From Berlin it was on to Rennes. Friday afternoon was spent with Jacques in Potsdam shopping, successfully, for toys for his children and, unsuccessfully, an iPad for me. From there we caught a train and a bus to Tegel airport, where we had a drink before saying goodbye, as I boarded my plane for Paris and he awaited his to Luxembourg.
Landing at Paris-Orly, I caught a taxi to Montparnasse. It was the first time I'd caught a taxi in Paris, and I was impressed at how fast it was; I had anticipated much more congestion and, to be honest, expense. Anyway, I got to the station in good time to retrieve my TGV ticket, but unfortunately, the SNCF machines still refuse to accept Australian credit cards, so I was forced to board the train ticketless. It was very full, with quite a few people standing, without tickets but without seat reservations, while I sat a little sheepishly with a seat reservation but no ticket. When I alerted the controller to my situation, he seemed unperturbed, and said that when he returned, I could buy a ticket and reclaim my original purchase at a later date, which sounded pretty reasonable. I never saw him again.
By the time I got to Rennes, I was pretty tired, and grateful to be staying in a hotel near the station. Or so I thought - despite my fairly firm protestations, the hotel had no reservation of my booking. Later, looking at my booking statement, I read to my chagrin, that I had in fact only booked from the following night. Nonetheless, they found me a room, which although tiny was a welcome sight at the end of a long day of trains, planes and automobiles.
Were I more disciplined, or had I not been two weeks on the road already, I would have risen early and gotten myself to the marché des lices, Rennes' most impressive tourist attraction. Being who and were I was, though, I took the alternate path of lying in late, and wandering into town only after midday to have some lunch - galette-cidre-crêpes, bien sûr! - and along the way suss out some options for laundry. Following that I spent the bulk of the afternoon in a laundromat, reading my book and waiting on machines. It took me back to my first months in my apartment in St-Thérèse, before I bought a washing machine, when so many weekend afternoons incorporated similar trips to a different (and, to be honest, a more pleasant) laundromat, often with a novel. There are worse ways to pass the time, to be honest, if the book is good enough.
In the evening, I headed out to Bréquigny for a nostalgic evening watching the girls from Avenir de Rennes run around. Rather than catching the bus, as I might have back in the day, I bought myself a week-long subscription to the public bike hire scheme, and grabbed a dumpy but servicable little steed to roll down past the station, women's prison and familiar metro stops out to the edge of town. Since I left, the team had moved its games from the quaint but often cramped quarters of rue Papu out to the more capacious and more professional-feeling Salle Colette Besson (apparently a French sporting heroine from the Mexico Olympics).
Once there, I started looking around for Véronique, whom I was slated to meet there. She wasn't to be found, but while queueing for a ticket I found Soso, lingering outside with a kloppe (as is her wont), who was another on my list of people to say hello to. Eventually Véronique, Yann and Rosalie joined me, and we went inside to join a healthy crowd, including large and enthusiastic delegations from some small towns outside Rennes - Vezin-le-Coquet and, I think, La Chapelle-des-Fougeretz. I've always been impressed by Avenir's engagement with the youth basketball communities from these towns.
The game itself was entertaining for a little while. The Rennes girls outsized and outplayed their opponents fairly convincingly early on. Once the lead was built, the foot lifted a little, and the sting and interest went out of the game, as Rennes cruised to an easy victory by 20 or so points. Its a different team than the one I used to watch - only one player is still playing whom I had seen play previously, and they play under a new coach - but with some of the same characteristics. The two veterans - a guard and a centre - play an important leadership role in the structure of their game, but most of the players are very young.
At half-time and after the game I was able to catch up, with the Blancs, with Soso, and also with some other old friends - Sophie Brisson, Nono, and the now-very-pregnant Cecille. Still, it was difficult to escape the feeling that this was the life I used to lead, and that both my life and the club's have moved a long way since the days when these games were such an important part of my life. I'm not sure whether its sad or inevitable or a sign of progress, or all of those, but it remains a cherished part of my story.
Landing at Paris-Orly, I caught a taxi to Montparnasse. It was the first time I'd caught a taxi in Paris, and I was impressed at how fast it was; I had anticipated much more congestion and, to be honest, expense. Anyway, I got to the station in good time to retrieve my TGV ticket, but unfortunately, the SNCF machines still refuse to accept Australian credit cards, so I was forced to board the train ticketless. It was very full, with quite a few people standing, without tickets but without seat reservations, while I sat a little sheepishly with a seat reservation but no ticket. When I alerted the controller to my situation, he seemed unperturbed, and said that when he returned, I could buy a ticket and reclaim my original purchase at a later date, which sounded pretty reasonable. I never saw him again.
By the time I got to Rennes, I was pretty tired, and grateful to be staying in a hotel near the station. Or so I thought - despite my fairly firm protestations, the hotel had no reservation of my booking. Later, looking at my booking statement, I read to my chagrin, that I had in fact only booked from the following night. Nonetheless, they found me a room, which although tiny was a welcome sight at the end of a long day of trains, planes and automobiles.
Were I more disciplined, or had I not been two weeks on the road already, I would have risen early and gotten myself to the marché des lices, Rennes' most impressive tourist attraction. Being who and were I was, though, I took the alternate path of lying in late, and wandering into town only after midday to have some lunch - galette-cidre-crêpes, bien sûr! - and along the way suss out some options for laundry. Following that I spent the bulk of the afternoon in a laundromat, reading my book and waiting on machines. It took me back to my first months in my apartment in St-Thérèse, before I bought a washing machine, when so many weekend afternoons incorporated similar trips to a different (and, to be honest, a more pleasant) laundromat, often with a novel. There are worse ways to pass the time, to be honest, if the book is good enough.
In the evening, I headed out to Bréquigny for a nostalgic evening watching the girls from Avenir de Rennes run around. Rather than catching the bus, as I might have back in the day, I bought myself a week-long subscription to the public bike hire scheme, and grabbed a dumpy but servicable little steed to roll down past the station, women's prison and familiar metro stops out to the edge of town. Since I left, the team had moved its games from the quaint but often cramped quarters of rue Papu out to the more capacious and more professional-feeling Salle Colette Besson (apparently a French sporting heroine from the Mexico Olympics).
Once there, I started looking around for Véronique, whom I was slated to meet there. She wasn't to be found, but while queueing for a ticket I found Soso, lingering outside with a kloppe (as is her wont), who was another on my list of people to say hello to. Eventually Véronique, Yann and Rosalie joined me, and we went inside to join a healthy crowd, including large and enthusiastic delegations from some small towns outside Rennes - Vezin-le-Coquet and, I think, La Chapelle-des-Fougeretz. I've always been impressed by Avenir's engagement with the youth basketball communities from these towns.
The game itself was entertaining for a little while. The Rennes girls outsized and outplayed their opponents fairly convincingly early on. Once the lead was built, the foot lifted a little, and the sting and interest went out of the game, as Rennes cruised to an easy victory by 20 or so points. Its a different team than the one I used to watch - only one player is still playing whom I had seen play previously, and they play under a new coach - but with some of the same characteristics. The two veterans - a guard and a centre - play an important leadership role in the structure of their game, but most of the players are very young.
At half-time and after the game I was able to catch up, with the Blancs, with Soso, and also with some other old friends - Sophie Brisson, Nono, and the now-very-pregnant Cecille. Still, it was difficult to escape the feeling that this was the life I used to lead, and that both my life and the club's have moved a long way since the days when these games were such an important part of my life. I'm not sure whether its sad or inevitable or a sign of progress, or all of those, but it remains a cherished part of my story.
Berlin wrap-up
Having been so energetic about blogging during the first week and half of my trip through Europe, it behooves me to finish off the story a little.
My original purpose for being in Berlin, other than establishing and reaffirming relationships with various other researchers, was to attend the DSAL workshop, where I was coauthor of a paper with some collaborators from Germany and Luxembourg. That was done by Tuesday, so in theory at least, I was a little more at my leisure for the rest of the week. In practice, it changed little; I wasn't presenting the paper anyway, and we in fact spent more of the week working on a paper submitted the following week.
During the DSAL workshop, in one of the duller talks (yes, there are dull talks at academic workshops - a shocking revelation, I know), when I wasn't plotting running tracks, I discovered that there was a concert in town on Wednesday night by the Shai Maestro Trio.
Shai Maestro is a young Israeli pianist who played on a couple of albums by Avishai Cohen, who has in recent years been probably my favourite jazz performer. Maestro's playing had really impressed me, and I have been looking forward to his new album (now released, in fact), so I was pretty excited at the prospect of being able to see him live. The gig was at 10pm in town, necessitating a train a little after 9, and upon inspection, the conference social event, a boat cruise, was scheduled in the programme to finish at 9, right next to the train station, so I figured I was all good.
The boat cruise was pretty good, out on the lake around which I had run earlier in the week. The company was also good - as I had been for much of the week, I surrounded myself with French-speakers - Jacques, Max, Jean-Marc (who came along for the Wednesday and Thursday morning), Phillipe from Nice and Joerg from Montreal. We had some really interesting discussions, about French politics, Swiss ice-skating, and Dan Simmons novels, and the time passed quickly.
By around 8:45pm, though, I was getting antsy - the boat showed no sign of returning to port, and time was marching on. Time continued its march, and by around 9:30pm, still not ashore, I had resigned myself to missing not only the start of the gig, but most of it. We ended up getting back to shore a little after 10pm, and with a 15 minute wait for a train, I decided that the game was lost, and headed dejectedly back to my hotel.
I felt particularly guilty at missing the concert as I had boasted over Skype to Paul, another Avishai devotee and Shai Maestro admirer, about going to the gig, and telling him I had been in Berlin and still missed it was an unappealing prospect.
As much as I had a good time on the boat cruise, I'd still rather have seen the gig.
My original purpose for being in Berlin, other than establishing and reaffirming relationships with various other researchers, was to attend the DSAL workshop, where I was coauthor of a paper with some collaborators from Germany and Luxembourg. That was done by Tuesday, so in theory at least, I was a little more at my leisure for the rest of the week. In practice, it changed little; I wasn't presenting the paper anyway, and we in fact spent more of the week working on a paper submitted the following week.
During the DSAL workshop, in one of the duller talks (yes, there are dull talks at academic workshops - a shocking revelation, I know), when I wasn't plotting running tracks, I discovered that there was a concert in town on Wednesday night by the Shai Maestro Trio.
Shai Maestro is a young Israeli pianist who played on a couple of albums by Avishai Cohen, who has in recent years been probably my favourite jazz performer. Maestro's playing had really impressed me, and I have been looking forward to his new album (now released, in fact), so I was pretty excited at the prospect of being able to see him live. The gig was at 10pm in town, necessitating a train a little after 9, and upon inspection, the conference social event, a boat cruise, was scheduled in the programme to finish at 9, right next to the train station, so I figured I was all good.
The boat cruise was pretty good, out on the lake around which I had run earlier in the week. The company was also good - as I had been for much of the week, I surrounded myself with French-speakers - Jacques, Max, Jean-Marc (who came along for the Wednesday and Thursday morning), Phillipe from Nice and Joerg from Montreal. We had some really interesting discussions, about French politics, Swiss ice-skating, and Dan Simmons novels, and the time passed quickly.
By around 8:45pm, though, I was getting antsy - the boat showed no sign of returning to port, and time was marching on. Time continued its march, and by around 9:30pm, still not ashore, I had resigned myself to missing not only the start of the gig, but most of it. We ended up getting back to shore a little after 10pm, and with a 15 minute wait for a train, I decided that the game was lost, and headed dejectedly back to my hotel.
I felt particularly guilty at missing the concert as I had boasted over Skype to Paul, another Avishai devotee and Shai Maestro admirer, about going to the gig, and telling him I had been in Berlin and still missed it was an unappealing prospect.
As much as I had a good time on the boat cruise, I'd still rather have seen the gig.
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
More running and eating in Babelsberg
I went out for another run last night. Based on advice from a local Oracle researcher at the conference on Monday, I had modified my original plan, of skirting around the northern edge of Babelsberg, to instead head across a bridge and up to Klein Glenicke, and the Volkspark of the same name.
Like my previous run, my route took me along a shared cycling/pedestrian path flanked on one side by the shore of the lake and on the other by forest in the first early blooms of spring. I get the feeling that the Volkspark, like Park Babelsberg, had a few old buildings hidden away in the forest set back and up from the shore. Unlike my previous run, though, I was further from home, so I was a little loathe to take diversions. So I pretty much just stuck to the lakeside, stopping from time to time at the jetties or benches to take photos across the lake. There were a bunch of other cyclists (mostly) and runners (a few) out on the path, and I was in a pretty good mood.
In the end, I probably went a little further than I had planned. I had entertained the idea of stopping at a bar, Wirsthaus Moorlake, squirrelled away in a bay, but I felt good, so I ran on another kilometre or two to another bar at Pfaueninsel, a tiny little ferry stop for people going across to the castles on the island across the strait.
On my way home, I ran past the local soccer stadium, home of the Babelsberg club in the Bundesliga 3 (although possibly not for long). They had a match on against the oddly named Kickers Offenbach (which they went on to lose), and it was interesting to see the enthusiasm generated, in the form of giant flags and the full stadium, and to hear, in the guise of singing and, I suppose, the full stadium. There were police outside the stadium, too, which I guess is the flipside of the enthusiasm (although I'd argue that this is more characteristic of soccer enthusiasm than general sporting enthusiasm), but it was still nice to see.
After the run, I met up with Jacques and Max for dinner. We hit up what I guess is a typical German restaurant, and had pretty typical food, I guess: currywurst, schnitzel, and a giant plate of ribs for me, which almost certainly negated any health benefits of my 12km run, but was a great source of sticky pleasure while I was eating them :)
Like my previous run, my route took me along a shared cycling/pedestrian path flanked on one side by the shore of the lake and on the other by forest in the first early blooms of spring. I get the feeling that the Volkspark, like Park Babelsberg, had a few old buildings hidden away in the forest set back and up from the shore. Unlike my previous run, though, I was further from home, so I was a little loathe to take diversions. So I pretty much just stuck to the lakeside, stopping from time to time at the jetties or benches to take photos across the lake. There were a bunch of other cyclists (mostly) and runners (a few) out on the path, and I was in a pretty good mood.
In the end, I probably went a little further than I had planned. I had entertained the idea of stopping at a bar, Wirsthaus Moorlake, squirrelled away in a bay, but I felt good, so I ran on another kilometre or two to another bar at Pfaueninsel, a tiny little ferry stop for people going across to the castles on the island across the strait.
On my way home, I ran past the local soccer stadium, home of the Babelsberg club in the Bundesliga 3 (although possibly not for long). They had a match on against the oddly named Kickers Offenbach (which they went on to lose), and it was interesting to see the enthusiasm generated, in the form of giant flags and the full stadium, and to hear, in the guise of singing and, I suppose, the full stadium. There were police outside the stadium, too, which I guess is the flipside of the enthusiasm (although I'd argue that this is more characteristic of soccer enthusiasm than general sporting enthusiasm), but it was still nice to see.
After the run, I met up with Jacques and Max for dinner. We hit up what I guess is a typical German restaurant, and had pretty typical food, I guess: currywurst, schnitzel, and a giant plate of ribs for me, which almost certainly negated any health benefits of my 12km run, but was a great source of sticky pleasure while I was eating them :)
Tuesday, 20 March 2012
Jetlagged in Oslo
I find myself lying in bed at 5am in an Oslo hotel room, having been irretrievably awake for the past 4 hours. Normally when I travel (which isn't to suggest that I travel particularly often), I am fairly good with managing my body clock, but the last two nights have been less than optimal. So, I guess I'll blog.
This is a work trip, basically, and I'm really torn about whether I like the idea of it. On one hand, I get to catch up with lots of really good friends - Franck here in Oslo, Jacques in Potsdam, hopefully various people in Rennes, and Meg in London - but on the other hand, it comes at a fairly inconvenient time.
On a personal note, I finally finished the at-times tortuous process of buying an apartment, and moved my things in on Friday. By leaving so quickly, I'm deferring, and in some ways losing, the process of discovery that comes with moving to a new suburb - finding out where the good places are to eat, which spaces in the apartment I want to hang out in, what I like about it and what I don't. It was with some longing that I read reports from my family members who are doing some of this discovery on my behalf.
From a work point of view, its a mixed blessing. The 4 weeks preceding my departure had been truly insane, with my teaching, research and service commitments all ramping up at the same time, and I had been running around trying desperately to keep my head above water, in a way that really wasn't sustainable. I needed a break of some sort. Heading overseas allows some of those commitments - service, for example - to subside a little, but others, teaching in particular, are deceptive. Although I'm free of lecturing, lecturing really isn't the draining or stressful part of teaching, and I still have course coordination duties which are probably slightly harder in absentia.
This kind of equivocation about travel is new to me, and I'm not sure what to think of it.
This is a work trip, basically, and I'm really torn about whether I like the idea of it. On one hand, I get to catch up with lots of really good friends - Franck here in Oslo, Jacques in Potsdam, hopefully various people in Rennes, and Meg in London - but on the other hand, it comes at a fairly inconvenient time.
On a personal note, I finally finished the at-times tortuous process of buying an apartment, and moved my things in on Friday. By leaving so quickly, I'm deferring, and in some ways losing, the process of discovery that comes with moving to a new suburb - finding out where the good places are to eat, which spaces in the apartment I want to hang out in, what I like about it and what I don't. It was with some longing that I read reports from my family members who are doing some of this discovery on my behalf.
From a work point of view, its a mixed blessing. The 4 weeks preceding my departure had been truly insane, with my teaching, research and service commitments all ramping up at the same time, and I had been running around trying desperately to keep my head above water, in a way that really wasn't sustainable. I needed a break of some sort. Heading overseas allows some of those commitments - service, for example - to subside a little, but others, teaching in particular, are deceptive. Although I'm free of lecturing, lecturing really isn't the draining or stressful part of teaching, and I still have course coordination duties which are probably slightly harder in absentia.
This kind of equivocation about travel is new to me, and I'm not sure what to think of it.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
back to "A to B to A to bed" *
A couple of weeks ago, Lee visited Queensland for a week or so, splitting time between relatives in Brisbane, Mullumbimby and Toowoomba. When she went back to Canberra, I went with her, taking a week or so off work to recover some energy and see how Lee lives in the day-to-day.
It was a great holiday. I caught up with Greg at ANU (Greg visited our team in Rennes for a few months), I saw a crappy hollywood movie matinee, I checked out the national gallery and new portrait gallery. I went to question time, saw an MP cry, and heard Tanner tell People Skills to "stay in the car and bark at strangers". I ate really well - Lee had her cooking chops on full exhibit, despite not cooking chops. I managed to go to two of her footy games and two training sessions, including helping out with goal umpiring, training drills, being a runner and even calling some substitutions at one point. I also, importantly, got to catch up with lots of family - Liz, Mike, Dave, Marg, Toby, Tom, Joe, Leonie, Daisy and Tess (in rough order of age).
Its almost a shame to be back, but it had to end.
* "A to B to A to bed" is a lyric from The Idea, a song on the latest Guild League album Speak Up, which has some great stuff in it. I love how evocative such a rhythmic phrase is off the workaday grind; its yet another reason to deeply mourn the passing of Tali White from songwriter to schoolteacher).
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
Southern climes, again
Having started my new job just a scant week previous, last week our team trooped down to Melbourne. The purpose of the journey was to learn what we had really signed up for, taking over the code from CSIRO, both that which we are superseding, and that which form the firmament upon which we will build.
The work aspect of the week was good. We had 3 and a half very intense days talking with the previous developers, learning the nooks and crannies of the code. We also had a half day with the current and potential industrial partners, about the directions in which we might go, both technically and in a business sense.
The non-work aspect of the week was also really successful in the end. We were put up in nice digs, at the Oaks on Lonsdale; I was in an apartment probably as big as the one in which I live. What made the trip worthwhile, though, was that I didn't spend much time there.
On Tuesday night I popped around to Kris' place in Brunswick, for dinner with him and his girlfriend Lizzie. We had a great evening, very easy conversation. I get on well with Kris.
Before leaving, I had gone online and a bought a ticket for the Wednesday night session of the tennis. When I arrived outside Rod Laver arena, though, I looked at my ticket and was horrified to see that it was for the day session. I lay on the grass for 15 minutes or so, just cursing my carelessness and wondering what I would tell those to whom I'd boasted that I was going to see Federer play.
I wandered over the ticket office, by this stage a gathering point for people hoping (mostly in vain) to score tickets to the sold out session, to confirm that I had stuffed up, and if so whether there might be any tickets left I might buy. The lady was very nice, took some ID and presumably went away to check that my day session ticket had not, in fact, been used. At her urging, I hung around for about 10 minutes while she apparently worked on my behalf to find a ticket. When she did, she asked me not to appear to triumpant, or everyone would want one, but I thanked her heartily and wandered inside. In the end, I ended up with a really good seat - far better than the one I had bought - and had a great time watching a fairly good match of singles (Federer-Blake) and most of a match of doubles (Bryan/Bryan vs Bhupathi/Knowles). That I was so lucky to be there made it much more special.
To that ticket lady, whoever you are, you made my week, and I can't thank you enough :)
The work aspect of the week was good. We had 3 and a half very intense days talking with the previous developers, learning the nooks and crannies of the code. We also had a half day with the current and potential industrial partners, about the directions in which we might go, both technically and in a business sense.
The non-work aspect of the week was also really successful in the end. We were put up in nice digs, at the Oaks on Lonsdale; I was in an apartment probably as big as the one in which I live. What made the trip worthwhile, though, was that I didn't spend much time there.
On Tuesday night I popped around to Kris' place in Brunswick, for dinner with him and his girlfriend Lizzie. We had a great evening, very easy conversation. I get on well with Kris.
Before leaving, I had gone online and a bought a ticket for the Wednesday night session of the tennis. When I arrived outside Rod Laver arena, though, I looked at my ticket and was horrified to see that it was for the day session. I lay on the grass for 15 minutes or so, just cursing my carelessness and wondering what I would tell those to whom I'd boasted that I was going to see Federer play.
I wandered over the ticket office, by this stage a gathering point for people hoping (mostly in vain) to score tickets to the sold out session, to confirm that I had stuffed up, and if so whether there might be any tickets left I might buy. The lady was very nice, took some ID and presumably went away to check that my day session ticket had not, in fact, been used. At her urging, I hung around for about 10 minutes while she apparently worked on my behalf to find a ticket. When she did, she asked me not to appear to triumpant, or everyone would want one, but I thanked her heartily and wandered inside. In the end, I ended up with a really good seat - far better than the one I had bought - and had a great time watching a fairly good match of singles (Federer-Blake) and most of a match of doubles (Bryan/Bryan vs Bhupathi/Knowles). That I was so lucky to be there made it much more special.
To that ticket lady, whoever you are, you made my week, and I can't thank you enough :)
Monday, 11 June 2007
back in the AUST
For those following at home, I'm now back in the land down under.
I had a very busy week last week sending boxes, dispersing my possessions and cleaning my apartment, the latter with significant help from Em. There were also a number of farewells, each time promising to see people again, knowing that it may only be true in half the cases. On Thursday I handed back the keys to my apartment and jumped on a train to the airport. From there it was off to Dubai, and then after a delay on to Singapore and then Brisbane, arriving on Saturday morning.
On arrival I was met by Lee and Mick at the airport, and we headed into town for breakfast and coffee with Paul, Julz, Celia and Andy. In the afternoon we headed up to Toowoomba and the family seat.
I had a very busy week last week sending boxes, dispersing my possessions and cleaning my apartment, the latter with significant help from Em. There were also a number of farewells, each time promising to see people again, knowing that it may only be true in half the cases. On Thursday I handed back the keys to my apartment and jumped on a train to the airport. From there it was off to Dubai, and then after a delay on to Singapore and then Brisbane, arriving on Saturday morning.
On arrival I was met by Lee and Mick at the airport, and we headed into town for breakfast and coffee with Paul, Julz, Celia and Andy. In the afternoon we headed up to Toowoomba and the family seat.
Monday, 26 February 2007
to london, to london, to milk a fat pig
When I'm done with INRIA soon, I will miss its seemingly eager approach to travel funding. To cash in while I still can, I chooffed off to London last week for the MAST workshop, having initially been invited by Laurie way back just after the Australian cricket team finished belting the English 5-0 in the Ashes (just in case anyone had forgotten).
I flew over from Rennes airport via Paris, bringing to three the number of different modes of transport (with train, ferry) I have now used to get across the Channel. Upon arriving, I headed straight over to Earl's Court and caught up with Afe and Trish for dinner. We had a pretty intense talk about movies, something I've enjoyed doing in the past with them, and something I haven't done often enough in the last few years. They seem to have settled in really well in the last couple of weeks.
The workshop was really good, but I'll leave that to my other blog. After it was done, we adjourned in good research fashion to a nearby bar, and then to a dinner with waiters with an obsession over maintaining our glasses entirely full. After that was done and they booted us out, Laurie and I went for one more in a pub in Holborn.
On Thursday I made the worst of the miserable weather and went for a walk. I walked from my hotel up to the Natural History museum for a look through a couple of exhibits, then from there up past Imperial College to Hyde Park. I walked the length of Hyde Park to the corner tube, and jumped across to Piccadilly. From there I walked over to Leicester Square, where I temporarily surrendered and went into Starbucks to read my book for an hour or so. I met up with Ben for a nice Japanese lunch, and we continued walking, down to Nelson's Column then down Fleet Street to St Paul's. By then it was time for me to fly home.
I think the whole time I took one photo, in a continuing pathetic lack of photographic effort. I'll probably put it up sometime, if it doesn't look too awful.
I flew over from Rennes airport via Paris, bringing to three the number of different modes of transport (with train, ferry) I have now used to get across the Channel. Upon arriving, I headed straight over to Earl's Court and caught up with Afe and Trish for dinner. We had a pretty intense talk about movies, something I've enjoyed doing in the past with them, and something I haven't done often enough in the last few years. They seem to have settled in really well in the last couple of weeks.
The workshop was really good, but I'll leave that to my other blog. After it was done, we adjourned in good research fashion to a nearby bar, and then to a dinner with waiters with an obsession over maintaining our glasses entirely full. After that was done and they booted us out, Laurie and I went for one more in a pub in Holborn.
On Thursday I made the worst of the miserable weather and went for a walk. I walked from my hotel up to the Natural History museum for a look through a couple of exhibits, then from there up past Imperial College to Hyde Park. I walked the length of Hyde Park to the corner tube, and jumped across to Piccadilly. From there I walked over to Leicester Square, where I temporarily surrendered and went into Starbucks to read my book for an hour or so. I met up with Ben for a nice Japanese lunch, and we continued walking, down to Nelson's Column then down Fleet Street to St Paul's. By then it was time for me to fly home.
I think the whole time I took one photo, in a continuing pathetic lack of photographic effort. I'll probably put it up sometime, if it doesn't look too awful.
Tuesday, 22 August 2006
Jaunt into Germany
INRIA in concert with IRISA was kind enough to give me a 5 day weekend for Assumption (the mother of all, er, its a religious thing anyway), so I took the bit between the teeth and headed up to Germany. From Rennes on Friday morning I caught a train to Paris, and from Paris another, slower train to Mannheim. There I met Chris, and we pushed on up to Weinheim.
At Weinheim we caught up with Anjum, our host, in full flight with her work crowd at a bar singing eighties songs and, later, dancing on tables. A good time was had by all, in particular those strong enough to last the distance: Chris, myself, Anjum, Annette, Brendan and crazy Alex.
After a lazy Saturday morning, Chris, Anjum and I headed north to Frankfurt for a look around Europe's purported financial capital (pictured). We had a nice walk along the river, and through the middle of town, and grabbed some nice Thai food for dinner before heading back.
On Sunday it was south to Heidelberg (no pictures - dead battery) to see the Philosopher's perch (or some such), the very impressive castle including its even more impressive grounds, its slightly underwhelming yet undeniably enormous wine vat, and the many-jarred apothecary's museum, all rounded off by coffee and cake.
On getting home Chris and Anjum whipped a lovely goat's cheese pie with a nice salad.
On Monday, Anjum was back to wage-slavedom for the morning, so Chris and I headed west (like all young men should) to Speyer. For a small town, it has no claim on the 3 enormous churches it has. We also wandered down past the luxuriously wide main strip to the Rhine, from which Chris could look nostalgically upstream to Basel. On the way home we stopped past a cheese shop and grabbed some Langres, adding to our respective lists of smelly french cheeses experienced. Chris tried in vain to convince me that the chèvre we had was stronger than the Langres, which was, frankly, laughable. On the whole, Langres probably takes a back seat to Livarot and perhaps Munster for strength, of the AOCs I've tried.
On Tuesday it was back onto trains to Rennes, a dreary trip punctuated only by the bright spots of the muffins with which Anjum had so generously equipped me upon leaving.
Tuesday, 1 August 2006
weekend in Bath
I had a long description of my voyage over to Bath on Saturday, but I found it dull. It was long - I left at 7am french time and arrived around 10pm English time - and contrived, but I got there more or less intact.
On Sunday morning I went for a walk around Bath for a while, then found a bench by the canal, from which this photo was taken, and spent a few hours reading my book.
Later in the afternoon I headed off to find the hotel where Sandy & Neil's wedding party was on. I got hopelessly, desperately lost, and an hour and a half later managed to contact someone to say as much and get some directions. I was pretty embarassed to be so late (an hour!) but as it turned out I missed the croquet but arrived in time for dinner, which was something. It was a really nice party, too, with a nice buffet, some brief speeches, and plenty of time to catch up with Neil, Sandy, Jaye and Jaye's wife Alexis, who I'd been looking forward to meeting.
On Sunday I was waiting to meet up with Jaye and Alexis, sitting on the same bank of the canal reading my book when a guy from my hotel passed and said hello. He commented how I was reading, and how so few people did these days, and we got into a conversation about all manner of things including the nature and relative value of intelligence and intuition. Fascinating, and the sort of thing I wish happened more in the world.
That done, I met up with Jaye & Alexis in town and we went for a look through the Abbey. We were going to have a walk through the baths as well, but considered 11 pounds a bit too steep. Instead, we met Neil & Sandy for lunch at a nice little restaurant, then went for coffee and talked for a couple of hours.
The trip back was even longer and less pleasant. I wasn't able to sleep on the overnight ferry crossing (11 hours!) and because of inconvenient train timetables didn't get home until about 11am, having left Bath at 4:30pm the previous day.
Notwithstanding all of that, it was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. The weather threatened inclemency at various times, but was on the whole palatable. I also managed to get through about half (350 pages or so) of Dan Simmons' Olympos, which given my recent reading form represents excellent progress.
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