Unbalanced Vision

Russell Square

Picnic Time

Hehe, so much fun

It's so sunny these days and I'm not very pleased about it (am in a wicked witch of the East mood). Well, the upside is that my laundry dries quicker, but then everyone looks so happy and relaxed outside lying on the grass, reading a book, having a picnic and chatting with friends, whilst I travel to and from libraries trying to write a chapter. I just miss the days when the sun disappears at 16.00 and everyone is either wearing black coats or hiding indoors with a cup of hot chocolate in their hands.

In some ways I think my topic is similar to Greenblatt's Hamlet in Purgatory: he discusses the aftermath of the purgatory concept during the Renaissance, so fiercely attacked by Protestant reformers, and I am exploring the attitudes toward pilgrimage (also deemed evil) in the same period. Greenblatt usually likes to add some 'autobiographical musings' in his works, on how parental influences or chance encounters led him to the research of this subject. I like reading these stories, and he describes them so well; however, I think the self shouldn't be present in academic writings, 'I' is there but not seen. (Unlike children who should be seen but not heard.) Yet I still think about what got me started with pilgrims and pilgrimages in the first place... I shall feign an interesting personal story eventually.

What does it mean to 'give hostage to fortune'? The phrase was used in a recent e-mail responding to my sentence, 'Readers may find problems with this topic'. According to the Cambridge Dictionary online the definition is, 'an action or statement that is risky because it could cause you trouble later'. I suppose the meaning can also explain the original context of Francis Bacon's 'Of Marriage and Single Life' when he wrote, 'He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief'; but is that what Bacon intended it to mean? I've also read that when you love someone you give hostage to fortune. Does it mean that when one loves he or she is willing to take risks for loved ones?

And, I know somebody told Ralegh to face east, Jerusalem, as he waited to be executed, but which text showed his response, 'What matter how the head lie, so the heart be right?'

Cabot Tower, Bristol

Do as the Romans do, Bath

Hi there

Too tired (HY's legs)

During Bank holiday weekend HY and I drove to Bristol to visit a nuclear family, R, W and their cutie pie, little Raphael. At first little R seemed intimidated by our presence, and cried as soon as his mum was out of sight, but after a visit to Bath together, little R got used to us and started showing me his toys and clinging to my leg. Later on, he handed his basket full of toy groceries to HY one by one. Each time he came over, HY would make funny noises, grab his hand or chase him around the living room, making the boy scream and giggle. Guided by his inquisitive infant mind Raphael is curious about everything he sees, touches buttons, pulls plugs and then breaks the TV screen--he calls himself a 'good boy' even when he isn't, haha. In his bedroom there's loads of surprises, too. There are books/objects that teach you about nature, shapes, animals, transportation and professions--little R already recognises the alphabet and numbers (esp. no. 6). In his tiny Fisher Price house you shall find Bob the Builder's telephone box and various colourful objects that make sounds which I forgot what they were meant to do--I never knew children's toys could be so much fun: HY attempted to show Raphael that he's an achitect by building a house with blocks, but the boy knocked it down with his little mighty hands. In the evening R and W prepared a brilliant BBQ (oysters, yum!) and homemade cheesecake, and so I learnt that grilled chicken are tastier when adding honey--eat it the Cantonese way. The weather was pleasant, you could see hot air balloons in the sky.

A useless piece of information: according to the Observer, since 2000 all the food sold in Icelandic supermarkets are organic. This is a stark contrast with a few UK farmers who were recently discovered to pass off say, an overdose cow as one raised amongst clean streams happily grazing in the meadows. But what about the ones who support non-organic grub; has anyone cared about them? Perhaps we should label those food as well.

I went to visit J and her cat at their new flat in Notting Hill. As I walked through a short hallway of unpacked boxes (she only recently moved in), the hostess led me to a nicely laid out table ready for serving: a bottle waiting to be decanted and plates to be emptied. Now J and the feline are health nuts, one is an organic vegetarian, the other is satisfied with organic fish + milk. The dinner was great: red wine accompanied by rice cooked with raisins and nuts, peas, artichoke, bread, cheese and salmon. For dessert, I brought over special eggless cakes from Planet Organic, in case you ever need the type. This time is always the best, I love being around people who enjoy good food and conversation. On a different note, I also met J's British flatmate and his Chinese girlfriend. The flatmate speaks perfect Mandarin, and I sort of realised that from now on I shouldn't be too impressed when a foreigner can speak my mother tongue, for people are already learning English, Japanese, French, etc. We live in a global village and everyone is forever exchanging cultures.

Am having the most serious writer's block known to man, and during the process I found this 'to the rescue', which, sadly, is an accurate description of my lifestyle. Enjoy.

F mentioned to me about a silly game in the department: a group of English lit. majors sit around confessing to each other which works they haven't read but should, the most shameful dilettante is rewarded with drinks. Shakespeare, Eliot, Hemingway...? *horror* I have to say that my list of unread books will frighten my tutors, and be banished from the land of the Renaissance literate. I've struggled to read The Faerie Queene and only managed sections, skipped through some pages of Paradise Lost, and haven't completed Shakespeare's oeuvre. That's just the tip of an iceberg. What is worst, I haven't read the ones my dad published, namely LotR (only enjoyed the celluloid version) + the first Chinese nobel prize winner Kao's works. Oh, oh, my mum tried to introduce me to Chinese classics, but I didn't find them too interesting. Nowadays it's easy to pretend that you've read a book--just read the reviews and you'd know the plot and maybe be able to offer your own comment, too. Perhaps we should give a trophy to Posh for being downright honest.

Funny article about Claire Tomalin's misfortune with NatWest.

'It's not been a great week for NatWest. On Wednesday, The Sun reported how one of its customers, Chris Lancaster, was sent a new bank card with the words "Dick Head" next to his name. The bank has apologised for the gaffe'.

HAHAHAHA! Moral of the story: don't mess up with writers. I personally had a small success in making complaints to this banking corporation. *grin*

Professor Katherine Duncan-Jones will be speaking at the EEBO conference held at Bath Spa University in September--I am thinking of going.

Being able to access EEBO at home has saved me a few journeys to the library, and even time to find the right book, the right page. Most of them have images and are able to enlarge, but printing them out to fit an A4 is a problem. I'd have to first 'save as image', then 'crop' and 'print'. Very occasionally the texts are typed in the Ariel font, which is even better. I am lucky that Hakluyt's Principall Navigations and Thomas More's conversation with the messenger both come in those formats. Try reading More's language, what the heck is he talking about!? Imagine those days when the database did not exist; no wonder it takes decades to complete a doctorate.

Viewing the Grund, Luxembourg

Echternach

Route B

If you are planning a holiday to Luxembourg, don't tell a soul because people might think you are a lousy traveller. They say there's not much to see, flat land throughout so no chance of going hiking, and it should be the last country on your list to conqueor Europe. A senior person said that the best thing about Lux is the train heading to Trier, Germany. Hehe. I wouldn't disagree with that, but the affluent, little country is still worth a visit, once. Luxembourg City is very clean and compact, everywhere is within walking distance. You can take the little train up and down the valleys and fall asleep listening to the audio guide. Go and get lost in the casemates, a Roman fortification in the past and now a UNESCO world heritage site. There's lots of winding staircases, dark holes and pathways, so be sure to find your way out before 17.00! Unfortunately, the restaurant my local friend K recommended wasn't open (they are mostly away in August), so we had Luxembourg stew (pork with beans) + bunny rabbit somewhere around the central square.

Next, take coach 110 or 111 (a 40-minute ride) to a small town called Echternach on the border of Germany. This place is situated in Mullerthal, a valley notable for hiking trails. Though it was pouring rain, HY and I were well-prepared to trek up the hills at Gorge de Loup. Go me! Well, more precisely HY for that matter--he was wearing new gaiters like a pro. As the only hiker who has them on route B, he mentioned more than ten times how everyone is giving him respectable and envy looks. In that case, I'm going to get a pair, too.

Surprisingly, Luxembourg has quite a few Chinese tourists and Chinese restaurants, either named 'Golden Lotus' or 'King Kong Shan'...

Grand Place, Brussels

Hot Chocolate

Brussels was the last stop before we went into the tunnel. Nothing much to say because most of their shops are closed on Monday (apart from London and Asia the rest of the world is sitting on their lazy bums), and it appears that a few roads were under construction. The long walk from the train station to the Grand Place smells of wee, but once you arrive at the square it's a different world of glittering rooftops. Swiftly took some pictures of art nouveau + art deco buildings, the peeing kid and Tintin, had hot chocolate and took off. This was my first time taking the Eurostar and the myth of seeing marine life swimming outside my train window is shattered.

Kenny G

Kenny Garrett

Went to a very brilliant Kenny G. (not the white curly hair bloke) performance at Ronnie Scott's last Thursday. The interior had low ceilings, small tables on stairs each facing the front stage, walls were filled with black and white photos of jazz musicians, kind of like T.G.I. Friday's. Room was packed, dim and smokey, just the way I like it. You can order food and drinks but have to make an effort to get the waiter's attention. As I eventually got bored with Rachel Z's trio, Garrett and his young crew took the stage with such energy and passion. The first song you can see G showing off his unbelievable strength, making loud, high notes again and again whilst bending his back forwards and backwards. Second and third songs which I like very much were rhythmatic with catchy beats. Too bad it ended so quickly and we were stuck with Rachel Z again. By the time G was up for his second set, it was already 1.15am, way past my bedtime. All I can remember is that afterwards I was virtually in a coma and struggling to stay conscious. The age 60+ couple who sat next to us looked as relaxed and awake as ever--boy, I suck. Anyways, we hung around till 2.00 and vowed to find his songs on the Internet.

We've got a new telephone system to transfer calls within the store, some new light bulbs so customers can see clearly, and a lot of new books to sell in the bookshop, including publications of The Hakluyt Society. Oh, and I just spotted Dame Maggie Smith at WC2.

1) A copy of the Guardian costs 20p instead of 60p at ULU. The swimming pool inside is the only affordable lido for students in central London--clean and able to spot fit men; avoid squeaky children groups on Saturdays, they might pee in the pool, too.
2) Weyhey! Got my guide to the new football season this year. Long gone are the days when I cheer for the walking magpies--now I leave my heart at the Blues.
3) Grandpa musicians are the best. Just want to say how lucky I am to be present at Ibrahim Ferrer's and Ravi Shankar's performances.
4) Theatre of Blood at the NT is bloody awesome. Would be best if you know your Shakespeare, but does not matter if you don't! Bring on those cruelty: blood and gory and organs abound--my mum would have loved it. By the way, are those real flesh poodles on stage? If they are, they are very well trained.
5) Am still wrestling with my motley of pilgrims and their purposes of journey. Tutor suggested me to read King James' royal proclamation, which included one 'touching passengers':
'... no woman nor any childe under the age of one and twenty yeeres shoud bee permitted to passe over the Seas, except the same should be by license of us'...

'Culture offered multiple references and multiple choices so that individuals could play simultaneously on several fields of commitment or engagement'. (Gregory Halon, Confession and Community in Seventeenth Century France)

'The polarised models of confessional relations lived in uneasy--perhaps contradictory--coexistence with what might even be called rampant cross-confessionalism in many areas of life and thought'.
'People probably felt the need at least to attempt to harmonise conflicting ideas, and were happiest when there was the least contradiction between religious principles and daily life'. (Anthony Milton, 'A Qualified Intolerance: The Limits and Ambiguities of Early Stuart Anti-Catholicism')

Some ideas I've encountered when studying the Catholic/Protestant existence in early modern England.

B/w the later nineteenth to early twentieth century, several Cantonese posed as sitters for M. Miller. The black and white photographs showed their dragon/phoenix robes signifying their wealth, their postures and expressions stiff and built frail. What was most striking was their hollow looks which I am unable to describe and understand. The sick body is a microscopic reflection of the sick, big-headed state. We say the art of photography captures the moment, but China remained static for thousands of years, and eventually someone not only had to open its closed door but bring greater upheaval. The book, Imperial China: Photographs 1850-1912, was one of the shop's latest acquisition. Besides people, there are astonishing pictures of old Shanghai, Beijing and HK city scenery which I would very much like to show HY, to see if he recognises any of them. One photo depicted a torture ground with 3 to 4 bodies without heads... Honestly, looking at these photos of imperial China makes me feel more unease than looking at pictures of the West.

F came to visit me in gloomy old London. By looking at the images below you probably will think that all we did was eating. There's some truth in it though, because both me and F are not picky about food and have strangely good appetites.

Fish and Chips and Beer
A place on the outskirts of Covent Garden. A bit pricey for this notorious English cusine, and our waiter wasn't the politest bloke in the world. If the weather is nice I suggest you sit outside, but the cars can be quite annoying. Beer is a treat.

Homemade (F hearts mushrooms)
Er... at my flat of course. Lamb is a bit overcooked as usual--I've tried to be careful with the time but always forget. My mash potatoes are wonderful, and do have the meal with red wine.

La Porchetta
A restaurant filled with loud Italian waiters and too many good for nothing choices, hence why I prefer Strada. However, this time the vegetarian dish I ordered was refreshing.

Summer fete at V&A
Veggie burger for a fiver. You can munch it by the pool and watch little kids running naked and splashing water. Very family oriented activity, too much in fact, a dad allowed his son to pee in the pool as if a cupid sculpture was coming to life.

National History Museum display
Finally not an eating event!

You'll have to excuse Yoda for keeping a blank travel journal; don't you know that the best thing about travelling is doing it and not writing about it. Yet even a wimpy explorer would like to brag about what he/she has or has not actually done. Here are a few notes happening between 13/07/05 to 19/07/05.

I had a strong craving for Chinese snacks before I came home, but after a meal with my mum there, we agree that its quality is wearing thin. The dumplings were bland and the chicken was dry, or maybe it has lost its novelty. However, still thumb's up for Ding Tai Feng's efficient service that, I dare say, cannot be compared to anywhere in the world. It is our strange habit to ask for a lot of freshly grated ginger, and the waitresses always gladly accede to our request.

Here I present Dad's bookshop. Established earlier in February, this store claims to be the first bookshop that solely sells books printed in simplified Chinese. In every inch and corner you shall find Dad's ideas of what he wanted the space to look like. The trolleys are an example--Dad dreaming of people buying trolleys of books home. I am impressed by the cover designs and bindings done by Chinese publishing houses, not the old, shabby papers I remembered they were.

My dear childhood doctor who has looked after me since I was 8, and boy was I a weakling, (certainly not one now!) His clinic is known for giving mild medicine and displays a large fish tank. Dr Tsai was quite embarrassed when Mum took this photo.

Dad's younger brother and his wife invited us to this Japanese restaurant in Taichung. Their boys are cute but also remind you not to have children: a chaotic starter when one of them broke a bowl and then immediately got told off. There were 10 courses, beginning with a ship-shaped dish filled with only 10% raw fish and 90% ice. Luckily, the following dishes were less decorative and more fulfilling.

Went to yet another Japanese restaurant with relatives on a typhoon holiday--thank God this natural disaster did not ruin my chances of having free meals and meeting friendly old faces. Prices were pretty expensive but cousin M opted for the feast on the menu nonetheless, whilst Mum ordered us to pick something less grand because someone else was paying. Mum also has a tendency to bring her huge scarf to restaurants during summer, or she will tell the waitress to turn off the AC altogether. Discussion during lunch was centred on M and his lovely K's wedding, and my brother giving silly suggestions to younger cousins on school applications.