Unbalanced Vision

I resumed work yesterday, at the BL. It started with putting my notebook, books and pen in the custom BL transparent plastic bag, having an overpriced lunch at their canteen and heading into Humanities 1. (Well, I meant not just walking in the reading room, but actually sitting down to read). One shouldn't be surprised that the room is packed; there are quite a few sad people like me who have to study and occasionally enjoy it. There we were, typing or taking notes. It's a good change from the previous days of quaffing, face-stuffing and coach-potatoeing, and I shall be back.

This year I've decided to be nice for a change by sending people Christmas cards--you might find one in your mailbox these days. I have also been nursing a vicious cold for almost a month, and now it is becoming a serious bore. At some point I thought I was recovering, but it appears that the germs are back with a vengence. These are a few of the symptoms: minor headaches, chest cough and a runny nose. A witch on the net recommends this remedy, 'Boil water. In a mug place one thin slice of fresh ginger root, one clove of garlic (peeled and scored with a knife to let the juice out), one tablespoon apple cider vinegar and one tablespoon honey. Pour hot water into mug, let steep five minutes, and drink'. I'm going to do just that tonight, but if it doesn't work... to participate in this charitable spirit, I've decided to spread the germs to dear friends and fellow tube/bus passengers, so that they'd be as miserable as I am in this freezing weather. On a different note, today's the shortest day of the year, and having a bowl of hot and tasty 'tang yuan' is the Chinese tradition. Hum, I shall go to Chinatown and buy some of those later.

I am recommending two works to see/read in this festive season; well, they are not really the most cheerful subjects you can find for the indulgent souls at this time of the year. Go and see Mary Stuart: the play is well-written, and the acting is superb. I especially liked the Leceister character and the tricky court politics. Also noticed that Queen Elizabeth I's black-and-gold costume fabric is a bit oriental, something you'd see on a Qing Dynasty Empress. The other one is Bennett's Havoc, in Its Third Year. Once I turned to the first page I could not put it down. This is the first time I came across a contemporary writer who has set his story in the 1630s. Unlike the texts published in Caroline England and the scholarship I've read of the period, this time I strongly felt that the Renaissance man was speaking to me, and I was willing to believe that this was indeed his spiritual mindset. This was an age that heavily debated who was walking in true faith. That was then and this is now: Bennett was also involved in the scriptwriting of The Hamburg Cell, a fictionalised story of the 911 hijackers.

On our way to Tate Modern on Sunday, we walked through the Southbank Frost Fair. 400+ years ago Londoners partied on ice, the frozen Thames, but today locals had to settle for a tacky bankside carnival, with a fake snow slide--I wouldn't even call it a thrilling ride, but the poor parents still had to queue up to satisfy their noisy children. To imagine yourself in a winter wonderland, the piles of white blocks at the Turbine Hall is also a good place to be.

OXO tower

Embankment

Black and white

It seems that we are talking about travel every day: checking bus timetables, missing trains or planning holidays. HY was marvelling on the wonders his GPS is able to do. He does not know whether if it's good or bad, but the driver no longer needs a good sense of direction--the electronic female voice tells you what to do, it even warns you about the speed cameras. When C4 revealed the cruel reality to the gullible ones on Space Cadets, I suddenly thought that the idea was similar to Richard Brome's The Antipodes (1638), in which young Peregrine was duped into a journey down under (a crazy theatre troupe created scenes of make-believe topsy-turvydom), but in fact he has never left home. Equally mean as hell, but the results were different: Peregrine was able to consummate his marriage and learn to love home, whilst the space cadets despite making fools of themselves went home with cash.

Now is the month to meet up with friendly faces before they go home for Christmas and New Year holidays--no superficial small talk with strangers, just warm conversation. Z and L invited us to their cozy flat for the tastiest dumplings and tiramisu, days later we enjoyed authentic Korean cuisine with C and P at New Malden. One Monday I finally met up with my pretty elementary schoolmate J for dinner before she leaves London, and this Wednesday I drank Guinness with my uni mates. Next Monday, I will also have Japanese food with my oldest London friend S. Oh dear, lots of food and alcohol but no exercise. The night I came back from the Irish pub, as it is always the case I suffered splitting headaches, and started moaning and feeling nauseous at 6.00 until painkillers came to the rescue. From now on 2 pints of the black nutritious liquid is my limit, but when will I learn?

Kiki's view

I found out that HY's parrot has become a good conversation topic. Most people, unlike me, are generally interested in pets. Enthusiastic parents who love to share stories of junior's latest developments are annoying, but animal stories are usually tolerable. After all, how often do you come across a person who owns a parrot? Either you are a secret pirate like HY, or a millionaire like Roman Abramovich. HY's Kiki is bilingual, dances to music, says 'bye bye' to you when you leave the house, plucks his feathers when he feels lonely and gets grumpy when the owner returns home late at night. To make Kiki feel that he has company, HY made a nice perch in his room upstairs. However, the bird is not impressed with the new wooden object. Afraid of the perch, he only stands on one end and refuses to walk around. Now he is back into his familiar cage again. My English Department friends have suggested me to recite Shakespeare to Kiki--nope, I won't do that. Both the bird and I will get quite bored.

Delavil: Oh, friend, that I to mine own notion / Had joined but your experience! I have / The theoric, but you the practic.
Young Geraldine: I / Perhaps have seen what you have only read of.
Delavil: There's your happiness. / A scholar in his study knows the stars, / Their motion and their influence, which are fixed / And which are wandering, can decipher seas, / And give each several land his proper bounds; / But set him to the compass, he's to seek, / When a plain pilot can direct his course / From hence unto both the Indies.
Thomas Heywood, The English Traveller I.i

I have developed this practice of not travelling to the same places for holidays. Life is too short, and we mustn't waste time on duplicating experiences. One example that immediately comes to my mind is Nice, France. The pebbled beaches are lovely, the weather is gorgeous even in the depths of winter and the marketplace can bring unexpected delights (tasty olives and cookies), yet one visit is enough. There are other beautiful beaches I wouldn't mind seeing on this planet, topless resorts preferably. My friend B then asks me, 'What about people and a place called home? Should we have multiple sexual partners for fear of repeated banality?' Well, my home in Taiwan is somewhere I'd like to go more than a trillion times; as for family and friends, 'tis like wine: the longer it preserves for, the more fragrant it becomes.

If bookshops attract the society's loopy kind, their alternative haven is at the public lectures/seminars. A person I met at one of the talks lowered his voice and pointed out that we were surrounded by the socially dysfunctional--a group who cannot cope with the modern real world, and find solace in ancient texts. For instance, usually after an engaging lecture there are ones who have a question to ask simply because he/she enjoys listening to the sound of his/her own voice heard in public. Or that they pretend to ask questions, but in fact are making incoherent statements. Of course, there are highly respectable scholars amongst the crowd. I attend these seminars because a) the subject is related to my research topic and can be interesting, b) the speaker is famous and c) research degrees in UK don't have obligatory courses, therefore, I go there to keep in touch with human beings. Judging from the last reason I might be a loony myself.

My new desk

Kiki just took a shower

HY's parents are abroad, so between now and late February I will be staying in suburban Surrey, and on two occasions I will be taking care of the parrot by myself whilst HY is partying away for Christmas, darn. Don't worry, I won't fall in love with the pet; it will be a distanced mutual respect between the feathered creature and me, and nothing else. However, the other day I managed to feed the bird three pine seeds. His beak came to my hand and picked them up one by one--I was pleased with such a rare contact. Because I need to work with my laptop and books often, HY has kindly made a decent, stable desk (using IKEA desk legs and a wooden board from a local store) to put in the spare room downstairs. As long as I have my own desk.

The bookshop is still breathing, and we constantly have interesting new books in stock every week. Business is ticking over nicely since November, but I remember this year's quiet January only too well. I have worked here part-time for over an year and a half now, and know quite a few elderly gentlemen by name as well as their buying habits. Moreover, I still don't understand why some customers come into the shop and ask, 'Can I have a browse?' Why, of course you certainly may have a look; it's a bookshop and it's open! Not only can you look around, you might as well take out your wallet and buy some books, instead of creating a mess on our bookshelves. Now and then we still have people coming in to sell their junk. I realised that the common misunderstanding is that second hand bookshops should gladly accept anything you sell them, because before I was involved in the trade, I too had no idea about the market, and what the hell is a first edition!? But now, hehe, I know a little better.

Little did I know of what I was going to see on the way to Vals. Days before the journey my fingertips moved about on the keypad; I lacked exercise and sleep, and didn't care that much about those needs. At last the document was saved, I clicked on 'send/receive' and turned off the laptop.

The majority of visitors to Therme Vals seem to be the local Swiss, nearby Germans and the architects who make their pilgrimages to see Peter Zumthor's slate building. Maybe the extraordinary place should be kept as remote as possible; however, my blog entry of detailed travel tips does no good to its orderly and pristine state. I apologise, but it was such a wonderful spa experience that I would hope to bring my parents there one day, too.

You can check train/bus timetables on this website. This Swiss railway system runs like clockwork--the timetables actually mean what they say, unlike good old British Thomas Tank Engines that are trained to test your patience. You can buy one ticket (including train and bus journeys) from Zurich-Chur-Ilanz, and then take the bus to Vals. The window view from Chur to Ilanz was breaktaking--remember to go during the snowy season. Arriving at Vals, the hotel has kindly arranged a van (free of charge) to drive you to the front door. There's no need to rush to station platforms worrying about the next transportation; as I said, everything works like magic.

Staying in the outbuilding has its privileges: a) the rooms are the cheapest compared to the other hotel rooms directly connected to the spa building, b) enjoy a healthy breakfast included in the price, and c) use the spa during hours exclusively for Therme Vals hotel guests. The night spa between 22.00-24.00 requires the visitors to be silent--without speech, one is able to focus on the surroundings (the stones, water, temperature, light and air), or simply nothing at all. I swam slowly through a narrow alley only to come into a strange room: the ceiling so high and dark, the air misty and cold. I wondered what kind of machine/device could create such an effect. Then flakes of snow fell on my face, and I realised that I was outside with nature.

I was never particularly fond of spas--sitting at one spot doing nothing but watch my skin turn wrinkly in water is not really my idea of fun. But Therme Vals made me unusually relaxed, in a good way.

Window view on the Glacier Express

This picture looks as if HY is conquering the Himalayas

Hot pot

Indoor pool

Outdoor pool