West Country & Windsor

Fægen ealra hālgena mæssedæg!*

(*and mind you, that's English)

My life here in Bloomsbury has by now taken shape as definite and orderly as the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace. However, right now there's slight flaw in the picture: the zombie invasion of London is roaring out in the streets and that is good enough reason for me to spend most of this Monday (which also happens to be the official day of All Hallows Eve here on the island) at home writing once again some more stuff about my life, the universe and everything.

1. West Country


Last time I promised some more information about Glastonbury, Bristol and of West Country in general. My trip to Bristol turned out to be as great as I could have ever hoped for but, unfortunately, I also bite bit more than I could chew. My aim and idea was to experience nothing more and nothing less but a simple weekend without any fuss or touristy merchandise ("while in Bristol do as the Bristolians do"). In the West Country capital I enjoyed the company and hospitality of my friends Ian and Alice. Among many other interesting things I got to see and experience in Bristol one thing was definitely above all else: football!

I spend better part of my Saturday afternoon on a common (a word which here means non-private) football field watching a game between two local Bristolian football clubs: the Easton Cowboys vs. the Jersey Rangers. Frankly speaking the game itself wasn't really awe-inspiring but it was, after all, genuine passionate English football. So I decided to stay and watch. And once I had joined the supporters the passion of the cheering fellows around me and the seriousness and the shouts (never mind the swearing) of the eagle-eyed yet humorous coach hooked me completely to the course of the game. Furthermore, the game wasn't that clean or courtly at any stage. At times it turned out even quite nasty but this fact only contributed to the overall excitement I suddenly had for the game (was this notion a positive thing or not I leave for you to judge).

Here's a picture for you. At this point the situation is still 1 -1 (second round just started). The Easton Cowboys (that's the one we're supporting) play with yellow tops and black bits and the Jersey Rangers play in blue. Here we have Easton Cowboys building up an offence and my friend Ian climbing up (on the left) right after an effective pass.  

I had first planned to watch only the first round but when the intermission came I simply couldn't leave. The situation was 1 - 1. First goal was done by Cowboys and it was almost sublimely beautiful or at least very classical. The only goal the Rangers were able to score was done by mere force and luck (they literally drove themselves with the ball right into the goal). The game ended 2 - 1 for the Cowboys after one more successful and consistent offensive, which, to tell you the truth, did not happen very often during the match.

After the game and all the smells of the dressing room we continued to a pub called the Plough. The pub claims to be the finest boozer in Bristol and it has been the home and sponsor of the Easton Cowboys since the club was founded. Here at Plough I learned that it's not "just" football that keeps the club and its member going. There is in fact somewhat wholesome idea or an ethos behind it. Here's a piece for you:

The Easton Cowboys and Cowgirls are a club who recognise the fundamental equality of all people, irrespective of age, class, culture, disability, gender, race, religion, or sexuality. We seek to enjoy sport as part of strengthening local and international solidarity, performing to the best of our potential, and enjoying being part of a team.

Don't know about you but some of that vocabulary or lexicon in this paragraph makes me feel good and very optimistic about the whole concept of football community. On this note I must underline that the idea of English football in my personal perspective has so far been bogged down to boneheads and hooligans. This match (followed by the pub session) served to teach me a good lesson about football and life in Britain in general.

In the evening we headed to a famous Bristol music club called Canteen. In addition to West Country cider, beer and rum (West Country has almost throughout its history been connected with smuggling and piracy, hence yarr! belongs to the lexicon of the local dialect) we enjoyed some groovy live music preformed by a Namibian-born bass player Willie Mbuende. Together with some local jazz musicians Mbuende provided the crowd with some great Afro-Caribbean music. Almost needless to say I enjoyed my evening even more than my afternoon session (judging from my consumption of liqueur) and came to regret it the next day.

One more thing worth sharing from my trip to Bristol is my new fancy (or rather obsession) for a certain yeast extract. First morning in Bristol I got a great breakfast with toast, scrambled eggs and something completely strange and new: Marmite (one more peculiarity of Britons that goes to proof my regeneration to become one.)! They claim that people can either love it or hate it but not be neutral about it. But honestly my first Marmite sandwich (with scrambled eggs and handsome amount of butter) left me positively surprise but not really graving for more. But ever since I bought a jar of Marmite at my local Sainsbury's and made some classic cucumber sandwiches with this extract I'm always left with a hunger for some more. If you are not familiar with this product I would like to suggest for you to try it. Here's a picture and a link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marmite.

2. Windsor

This weekend I decided to stay closer to home (and, admittedly, to take it more easy). On Saturday I, Ville & Vallu made a day trip to Windsor in order to pay homage to Her Majesty the Queen. Unfortunately she wasn't there to meet us and in fact had preferred to get as far away from us as possible (for some reason she had fled to the British Siberia aka Australia). Honestly speaking there wasn't really anything special in Windsor except perhaps the castle but the entrance price even for a student was 15£. Needless to say we didn't go there. Moreover, I must add that this "tourists are money" custom has taken the world by storm but I would argue that never and nowhere else has this idea more effectively been put to action than in United Kingdom.

Soon we found our way out of the town of Windsor (absolutely crammed with hordes of tourists from all around the globe) onto the Long Walk: straight as an arrow pedestrian walkway with Windsor Castle in the one end of it and the equestrian statue (Roman style!) of king George III the Mad German or "The King Who Lost America" in the other. Walk to the statue is about three miles and it took us almost an hour to get there. We paused on the top the hill, enjoyed the scenery only to discover that we had in fact reached the Northern part of the Windsor Great Park or what used to be the private hunting ground of Windsor Castle.

Positively surprised both by the beautiful weather, autumnal wind and our relative solitude we decided to go roaming around the park. This one afternoon brought me closer to Mother Nature than I had so far been during this whole period of time here in Britain. Consequently, we took our time wondering around the lush fields, the woods and vast open fields with few paths and roads. In short we discovered ourselves in the Shire. Here's picture of us (the three hobbits) in one of the woods drinking some cheap cider:

I enjoyed myself thoroughly just walking around breathing this fresh countryside air not further than just few miles away from London. When we finally reached Windsor I made yet an other plunge into British cuisine (steak and ale pie with a pint of local porter). By now I feel myself confident enough to say that the local food is no haute cuisine but it is proper decent home food none the less and personally I know nothing better than proper decent home food. After all that culinary on the Southern side of the Alps is also just an other adaptation of basic home food. The question is: do we really prefer sun-dried tomatoes, olives and wines drier than Sahara over crisp apples, berries and proper hop brews? I think "Pop" Larkin would agree with me and with my choice: I'll stick with my native transalpine cuisine and culture. Here's a toast to sauerkraut, soup and beer!

And now I'm off to learn some more Esperanto!

La via en rapidemo,

-Stefan

PS. As you might remember I'm off to Scotland soon so it might well be that you won't hear from me for a while. I'm still eager for any suggestion as to what I should write about here. I'm planning on writing a text about Britishness (as requested) and also about a certain course I'm currently taking at SSEES considering the living dead. :[