Senior Year makes me busy...

To all my faithful readers, forgive my lack of consistency, something like a jello mold gone wrong, but this semester so far has been a great bunch of ups and downs.

Getting back from October break saw lots of thesis work, and I mean, a lot of thesis work. Whenever I get books in, I just get really excited and work away, until I realize that I have other things due. Then there's the fact that I have to look for jobs, which is going alright-ish. I've gotten in touch with a few people and sent my CV out, but it's better than doing nothing. Hopefully I'll get some leads in the next few weeks so I can have a decent amount of security as to what I'm doing next year. It's also so my mum won't beat me for saying I haven't done anything to look for jobs.

Probably the most stressful part of the semester has been a drama that unfolded in the last week and a half. Our coach sent out an email to the team saying that we would be meeting with the Athletics Directors to discuss the future of the rowing programme. Discuss usually implies that there is a conversation going on. It turns out that the was not a discussion at all, but the AD's were telling us that our varsity status was being revoked and we would be, over the course of the next two years, be transitioned to club status. They claimed this was done for financial reasons, which is legitimate, but they refused to provide hard evidence in terms of spending, budgeting and any other figures in comparison to other teams. It was also a tad ridiculous that we were the only team that was cut, without any other teams taking sacrifices across the board. No rowers, current or alum, were involved in the decision, and nobody was notified in What annoyed me even more is the fact that the Miscellany News, our school newspaper, was notified of the exact situation before the team was.

Immediately after the team meeting with the Athletics Directors and Dean of Planning, Rachel Kitzinger, we mobilized. We contacted alums about the situation and the word spread like wildfire. Current rowers began talking to their friends, facebook statuses were all concerned with how much we love rowing as a sport, and especially rowing for Vassar. Rowing is one of a few sports that is location-specific: you can't row in Death Valley. If you happen to be on the plains of South Dakota (no offense to anyone from South Dakota), you can't very well row on a shallow stream. The best part of Vassar being in the "scenic Hudson valley" is that we have the Hudson. It's a mighty stretch of river that's made me learn to respect it many times over. It's one of the things that makes Vassar special, the fact that we have a river to row on and that we have such beauty around us that many other schools do not.

So, in a form of protest, as well as raising funds and awareness, we are holding a 5-day ergathon. This was a big departure from our 24-hour ergathon, and I think the 5-day ergathon is a lot more fun. We started on Wednesday at noon, and we finish tomorrow at noon. Our goal is for each rower to raise $200 per rower to a team total of $10,000. As of Saturday we had about $3500, and we rowed about 620 miles, roughly the distance from Poughkeepsie to Chicago. Personally, I've rowed roughly 62,000 metres, and I'm trying to meet a personal goal of 100,000 metres. Sounds like a lot, but it adds up pretty quickly. So, that's where I'm off to in a little bit. I can rack up another 21km today and 21km tomorrow, leaving me tired, albeit golden.

The semester's gone suprisingly quickly. It always manages to catch me by surprise how fast time flies around here. The week goes by so slowly, but the months just fly by. I don't want to think about what's going to happen after winter break, since I'm happy with things just the way they are. As much I'm excited to be a senior and in my last few months of school at Vassar, I really just want to stay asleep on our dangerously comfortable living room futon. I feel like I need to leave this conundrum alone for a few months, probably until May, when I actually do have to start getting myself together. The prospect is just so daunting that I can't get it out of my mind. Maybe some good erging will help.

Dusting off the Cobwebs

And so, as you can tell from my posting schedule, the perils of Senior year have taken their toll on my blogging life. The last month and a bit has been a fun whirlwind, full of all kinds of things, and especially old moldy books from the late nineteenth century, which brings me to my first update: my thesis.

Thesis work just sounds daunting, but in reality, it isn't so daunting as it is frustrating. At least, in my case, where tons of my books are coming from overseas and less than 100 libraries worldwide happen to have copies, it can be a bit of a pain getting a holding of them. I'm writing about the British territory of Weihaiwei in China's Shandong province. Nobody's really ever heard of it outside the Asian/Chinese history field, so I'm pretty honoured that I was introduced to it by Dr. Bickers at Bristol. Since I started requesting materials, 7 or 8 books have been canceled due to their limited availability worldwide. If only I were a PhD or post-doc fellow. Or not. I have gotten some great books that have given me great insight, but only from the British perspective. This is to be expected when most of the local Chinese were illiterate country folk and farmers. We'll see if my quest doesn't try to make me rip out my freshly buzzed hair.

I'm currently in Boston on October break, chilling with some family friends. I should be heading over in a little bit to get some Boston cream pie while making my way over to the Head of the Charles Regatta. The men didn't get a bid this year, which was disappointing since I'd have liked to have row it at least once, but I'm finally in Boston for what hopefully won't be my last time. It's a really nice little place, it kind of reminds me of London a bit, or maybe that was just yesterday with the dreary clouds and what not. It's ridiculously cold here, Thursday it started snowing in Poughkeepsie. Well, it wasn't proper snow, just chunks of ice falling from the sky. I call it Quasimodo snow. It works, right? Anyway, it was really odd since the leaves haven't even changed yet, and for October, it was bloody cold. Oh well, that's what a boy like me leaves the Bahamas for, right?

Sunday should see me up at Mt. Holyoke to chill with Yan Lin, one of my good study abroad friends. I'm pretty excited since we haven't seen each other in a while, and it should be a fun time catching up. Until then, I'm off for a hot brew, some apples and whatever else Boston has to offer. Maybe I'll even have another post ready for the end of the week to make up for the recent lack. Til next time, faithful readers! Oh, and to all my Vassar folk, have a great break!

Back at Vassar again

OK, so I'm sorry for not giving you guys any updates lately. I've been back at Vassar for the last 3 weeks almost, getting readjusted and getting used to the idea that I'm a senior this year. Trippy.

It's amazing odd to be back. Everything seems just like how I saw it in my head while I was away: the green of the library lawn, the gentle afternoon sun reflecting off the surface of sunset lake, the crisp, cool late summer nights and all things Vassar.

Nick, the other men's rowing captain, and I started doing preseason practices to get in shape for an intense fall season. We've been back on the water and nothing beats time on the water. Rowing on my little piece of the Avon at Saltford made me forget how big rivers could be, especially a stretch like the Hudson. The feeling of breaking through the mist on a brisk Poughkeepsie morning is something that I've missed so much, and most people would call me crazy for missing rowing at 6 in the morning, but I have, and it's great to be back.

With senior year comes all the trappings and pomp of it, most especially Convocation. My housemates (two from last year, Reese and Olivia and a new one, Andrew) bought our gowns and caps, and made our way over to the Chapel last Wednesday to be convocated, I guess. It was so surreal to march with the freshmen looking on, when three years ago I was watching the Class of 2007 marching with their robes, not knowing that my time would come sooner than I realized. Sitting among the sea of caps, the tassels hung everywhich way because nobody was sure what side they went on reflected the insecurity that we all have going into this year. Some of us have job offers, but don't know what the world outside Vassar will hold. Some of us have absolutely no idea what we want to do, but have started looking, taking each step with trepidation and reluctance. Some of us are looking at graduate schools but are unsure if we will be accepted, or what we will do once there. We are three years wiser, but I feel that the beginning of this year is like the beginning of twelfth grade, not knowing where to go just yet, but feeling that the year is full of promise.

After Convocation, my house and I went to the top of Main building to participate in a Vassar tradition: the ringing of the bell. Vassar tradition mandates that for juniors to fully rise to become seniors, they have to ring the bell on the top of Main building. After waiting on the fifth floor for near an hour, we finally made it into the core of the building, with permanent marker written on every surface from the generations, marking each passing class down to this one. It was pretty sobering to look down from the top of Main on the residential quad, the main gate, the library and the rolling green hills that surround this place I have come to call home and realize that I only have one short year left here. But going abroad and coming back to realize this short season left will make me cherish it even more than I would have. So, here's to a good year, good friends and good times. Until next time, because I've got practice in the morning.

Better Late than Never...

So I've finally landed back stateside, and I'm currently chilling near Times Square. It's great to be back in New York and I can't wait to get to Vassar on Thursday. Here's something from a while back, written on 4 August as I waited for my plane back to Hong Kong.


I’ve noticed that I have a horrible habit of writing blog entries in transit, but in some ways, I think that’s quite fitting. This time, I’m sitting in the Beijing Capital Airport waiting for my flight back to Hong Kong for the last chapter of the summer.

The last few weeks of this internship have been very busy, with more contracts and proposals to translate than I ever imagined could have come in. One day I even got the real work experience by having to stay late and come in early to meet a very specific deadline on a contract that was handed to me just before I was supposed to leave. As much as a desk job is a huge drag sometimes, I think I’ll miss the routine of it all: getting up, catch the bus, get on the metro, get on another bus and then start the day. Then do it all over again. I wish I had more energy to get out and around the city, other than the areas than I usually frequented. My entire life was essentially confined to eastern Beijing: the Chaoyang District and the Dongcheng District. Even though my program officially ended yesterday on Monday, I decided that Friday would be my last day, and I had a great time walking slowly, not having anywhere to be in a hurry, and checked out some temples. The Confucius Temple in on Guozijian Street (Guozi Jian indicating its history as a place where the imperial exam for entrance into the civil service was sat) was especially amazing. Overshadowed by it’s neighbour temple, the Yonghegong Lama Temple, which I later went to, the Confucius temple was awesome. After a walk down a shaded street lined with incense merchants, beads, and a few old people just hanging out, I reached the gates of the Confucius temple, called the Master Gate. After paying the 10RMB entrance fee, I walked into the silence of the temple grounds and smelled the summer. You know that smell of wet dirt and thirsty grass, the smell that wafts as the trees pant in the breeze and sweat their various smells into the slightly humid summer air? Yeah, that one. I think in the two hours I was on the temple grounds, I saw no more than 40 people, mainly Chinese tourists, strolling the weathered stone walkway and taking in everything the temple had to offer.

I read an article in the New York Times last night about museums, and how people roll through, snap a few pictures and say that they’ve been as opposed to the tourists of 200 years ago, when, with sketchpad or oil paints in hand, they would sit and set about attempting to capture the scene set before them. I may not have had by oils and sketchpad, but I found it amazing to sit in the shadow of stone tablets that stood for hundred of years and slip into the timelessness of the temple. I tried doing this same thing at the Lama Temple, but found it a little bit harder, since bustling tourists and tourist groups would come through and blow through the exhibition halls faster than the nonexistent wind.

And now I sit once again, with no choice this time but to sit, plus another three hours to sit some more. Sitting is one of those odd things that brings out the quiet in your head, the one that we usually try to find things to cut out. But in the waiting hall of an airport, with countless people passing by both right beside you and on the runways outside, I find it easy to slip into that silence once again as the gentle hum of the turbofans ripple through the air.

It’s been a pretty big summer for quietness: no internet at my flat, no Youtube, no Facebook since the beginning of July and a few train rides to occupy my time. No internet at home is something most people my age would find impossible to deal with, and cut straight to the nearest Starbucks. I talked to my parents probably once a week on the phone for about half an hour, and the rest was intermittently sent emails between projects at work. My connection at work was so slow that my perhaps ten minutes of Facebook were a gigantic luxury, and then it was gone altogether. The quiet that I was afforded was probably some karmic pendulum overswing, from a world of overstimulation to peace. It was like that week trip you take, where for the first 2 days without email you absolutely crave it, then on the third day you just let go and don’t care anymore, then once you get plugged in again, you never get out. I think I’ll probably get like that again, where staying connected is the only way to find out anything about classes, sports meetings and life in general. As I stand up only to begin another round of sitting, maybe I’ll relish my last bit of head-quiet like my last bit of time in Beijing. I’ll sit down, find my happy place and go along with the rest of it.

Beijing leaves few opportunities to be bored, but during the past few weekends I had the chance to get out into the countryside and see some new places and some old friends.

Three weekends ago, my program director organized a trip for me to go to Chengde, an imperial holiday spot which is a four hour train ride north of Beijing. So, one Friday night turned into a Saturday morning, where I got back to my flat around 4, after a long night of karaoke and off to the station I went. I slept like a baby on Nyquil, despite the ridiculously stiff neck I got once we pulled into the station at Chengde. Since I am the only intern on this program, I went alone, with a tour group of Chinese nationals from all over and a few Singaporeans, my favourite kind of people (thank you, Mr. Brown). The tour was conducted entirely in Chinese, and surprisingly, I understood most of it and even managed to ask a few questions in my sleep-deprived, stiff-necked state. Our trip of the first day took us to the Mountain Resort, which was a pretty sweet spot. It's a huge piece of real estate with temples, villas and even it's own mock up of the Great Wall. Across a modern road is a mock-up of the Potala Palace, which various Emperors would stay in from time to time. It was really interesting to see that on the other side of the country, even in the 18th century, links between Beijing and Tibet were healthy, flourishing and appreciated enough to share Tibetan architecture with the Chinese people who never would have been able to visit, let alone imagine visiting, the land to the West. The next day was spent at the Pu Ning temple, a sprawling beautiful temple nestled in the mountains of Chengde. It just so happened that when we were visiting, there were dignitaries from other monasteries in town performing rites and ceremonies with much pomp, and it was really cool to see that. After lunch, we all boarded a train back to Beijing, and I met up with some friends for a delicious dinner of Beijing-style roast duck.

The next weekend gave me the opportunity to head down to Qingdao, a beautiful coastal city where the Olympic sailing and windsurfing events were held last summer. It is also where Vassar holds their summer language program, at the city university. I had a few friends who taking classes who I hadn't seen since I left Vassar in December, and I needed an excuse to get back down, so I hopped a six-hour bullet train early Friday morning. I got in around 2, hailed a cab and was across the city in half an hour. I was last in Qingdao in 2007, and made great friends with a local martial arts master of Northern Praying Mantis Fist kung fu. One of my best friends, Olivia, went back last summer on a summer program sponsored by Bard College, and she got to see him. Now it was my turn. He had moved from his flat in central Qingdao up to the hill that houses the Qingdao TV tower to be closer to his grandfather and open a martial arts school, in earnest. I called him as soon as I got in, and we arranged to meet the next afternoon.

After meeting up with my friends and dropping my bags, it was time for some SK, or shaokao, which is roast meat on skewers. We walked over to a restaurant I ate at almost every day for lunch two years ago with Olivia and some other students, but one day, service was so slow that we ended up paying only for the dishes that had come, and nothing else, and walked out. Thankfully, they didn't remember that, and didn't spit on our skewers. Usually, the skewers (Chinese: chuan) are decked out with lamb meat sprinkled with chili flakes. We got a good helping of lamb chuan, pork and chicken heart (my favourite), along with Chinese steamed bread that had also been grilled and wiped with chili paste. It was not the best decision, but an experience nonetheless. Of course, the Qingdao experience is not complete without a bottle of the world famous beer, and my summer afternoon was complete.

The next day was the Fourth of July, and Professor Du of the Chinese department organized a beach outing. Conveniently, I forgot my trunks in my flat, so there was no way I was getting my only pair of shorts wet having to meet my master later that afternoon, but I did help Professor Du's kids make a massive sandcastle. We started pretty far up on the beach, then decided to move down to make an avenue for the water coming in, and then make a small pool inside a little sand tower. This would prove tricky working against a tide that was quickly going out. In the end, with about seven other college kids, we made an immense avenue with two towers and a little sand village that measured something near twenty-two paces long. The locals definitely got a kick out of watching the crazy foreigners try build their own architectual wonder out of sand, but in the end, it was all in vain. And not a moment too soon, since I had to get downtown to the TV tower to meet my master.

By the time I reached his martial arts school, he was waiting out front for me. He looked younger and a lot happier, and the place lent itself well to being a school and dorm. On one side of the training yard, you could see the impressive TV tower, and the other side was lush green hillside. In his living room were collages of photos we had taken in 2007: training, eating, singing and of course, toasting with the local fare. Soon, old friends were coming over, and we all headed to dinner. Once we arrived, I was suprised to see another friend who was a chef there, and he whisked us up to a private room, where the dishes he prepared were sent up one after another. Once he joined us, toasts to friendships that crossed oceans, years and generations came just as quickly. Before I knew it, more than six hours had passed since we all got together, but I had to get back to the university to figure out how we would celebrate the Fourth. First order of business, I soon found out, was a stop in Tai Dong, Qingdao's shopping district with an amazing night market to meet up for ice cream and shopping, and then we made our way back to the university.

The rest of the night was spent playing a dice game made famous by the Pirates of the Caribbean movie, where you guess the quantity of a certain face value of dice based on the ones under your cup. I only know the Cantonese name of dai wah sik, but if you've seen the movie, you know what I mean. I also broke out an awesome Beijing snack that I brought along: green bean cakes, which, late at night, really hit the spot.

The next day, I made my way groggily back across town to the train station to catch a 12:30 train, and once I had settled into my seat, I was out again.

This past weekend was a bit of a sag, since I felt I was coming down with something since the middle of last week. Bahamian Independence Day was on Friday, and I took a half-day off at work to be at the Bahamian ambassador's flat for good down home cooking. Lunch was at 1, we ended up leaving around half 8, as any good Bahamian gathering should be: long and full of good conversation. I celebrated not by going out, but by catching an early night and getting something like fourteen hours of sleep. I was much better for it, and it left me in decent enough condition to meet up with a friend who I met last summer at the Chinese University of Hong Kong's summer school. She just graduated from Middlebury and is living in this sweet siheyuan (a traditional Beijing home, meaning "four-walled courtyard) with a few foreigners who grew up in Hong Kong. She introduced me to this band called Hanggai, who are Mongolian and mix Western folk rhythms with Mongolian throat-singing and instruments in a really cool way. They were performing at a small, homey venue near Beihai Park, and I'm always down for a live performance. They were really good! So good, in fact, that in between writing a fellowship proposal and sipping coffee at Starbucks (while chilling on the WiFi, of course), I tried to listen to some of their stuff, but the connection still wasn't that good. I'll probably just crash my friend's place and get the music that way. I highly recommend them.

Til next time, faithful readers. May the fog stay here, and far away from you!

Fun little note before you begin: I'm in Beijing at the moment, and I can't access my blog due to internet restrictions, so I'm having my parents do it from the Bahamas. See how hard I work for you readers? Or not. This week's entry:

So it's Week Number 2 in the awesome city of Beijing. I got in on a rainy Monday last week from Hong Kong, after waiting at the gate at Beijing Capital Aiport for more than two hours, thanks to a woman with an exceptionally high fever and a team of very thorough doctors covered in full body anti-swine flu suits, masks and goggles. I can't say it's been an overwhelmingly fun time, since I haven't gotten to go out much at all, whether with friends or just to walk around. I'm the only intern on this program with WISE Abroad, and the only one in my office under 33. I work in shipping and logistics, which is how things get from manufacturers to their designated port. I've done a lot of reading, a lot of scanning and a lot of translating. There's one proposal that I just finished translating from Chinese to English, and the last five pages have taken me three days to complete. There's so much specific vocabulary that comes with shipping that no Chinese class (unless it was a class on shipping terms) could have prepared me for it.

It is a bit of a drag though. My day starts out at around 6:30, where I grab myself breakfast in a flat that I apparently share with my host brother (who is currently too busy with work, so he lives with his mum, because her place is closer to his office), then I hop a bus around 7:30, and it takes me an hour. If I take the metro, it saves me fifteen minutes, only problem is surviving the bus ride from my flat to the metro stop. Space is a relative term: rush hour in the west doesn't mean that people will be all up in your grits all the time, so when you look down you'll find that there is actually someone's face about an inch away from being pressed up against yours. That's Beijing. Just when it looks like the bus has no more space, somehow, everyone magically fits on and breathes. It's really quite cool, and by cool I mean strangely fascinating.

The weather is another fun bit about this place. When the winds come through, there's no smog. No wind = lots of smog. It was so bad yesterday that I couldn't see the building across the street, and I could barely see the road from where I work on the 17th floor. The forecast holds that next week will be better, and I'm always amused at the air quality index that shows up on the weather forecasts every night.

I'm pretty much alone in this city, where I have a flat to myself, I have a desk to myself (in the corner, with a view when there's no smog), but I've got a host family that cooks dinner for me every night, so that's a nice bit of real human contact, if only for an hour and a half each day. I can't say I'm proud of how much I've navigated the city, since I'm in what one would call the suburbs, and central Beijing isn't walkable like central Hong Kong, London or New York. It's much more spread out. I was going to go walking about last Sunday, but I spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out how to use my washer. In the end, I couldn't and resorted to handwashing like a good domestic, but my cooking host family came over and showed me what to do yesterday. Hopefully this weekend isn't spent so productively.

I'm starting to realize the awesomeness that is 5:30 (when I get off work) and the glory of Friday. I've got some friends in town from Hong Kong this weekend, so that's an excuse to check out some of the Beijing relaxation culture in San Li Tun, apparently a pretty popular place with young foreign professionals to grab a bite and a coffee. According to an alum here, the area's also home to the best burgers in the city. That's still a few hours off, but I could most definitely use a good espresso right about now. Til next time.

So this is coming a bit later than I intended...

So, I wrote this piece on an especially long train from Bristol to London. The route had been diverted, so instead of the usual hour and forty-five minutes, it was almost two hours. Here goes:
---
And so it ends. As they say, all good things must come an end, and in my life being an international student, I’ve seen more endings than I’d have liked to. But, without the ending, you can never appreciate what you had. This is just another one of those times.

Roughly four months ago, on this same track in the opposite direction, I was a jet-lagged, sleep-deprived student from Vassar heading to the University of Bristol on a cold January morning. I’ve passed this scene loads of times, going to and from London, Salisbury and Oxford. This time, though, the grass is greener, the sun is brighter, and the water of the Avon doesn’t seem so brown. Not it’s a little green-brownish. This time around, I am a student of the University of Bristol going on another adventure that will land me safely in the loving arms of Poughkeepsie.

It’s been one of the best four months of my life: figuring out what I wanted to cook for dinner every night (which, without fail, was different), helping a model from Singapore test baking recipes late at night, high times at the Coritap, hot chocolate in Clifton, a pitcher of Pimms on a pleasant spring day with a great view of the suspension bridge, and of course, the banter that would go down at Saltford.

I’m really going to miss Bristol and all it has to offer. Most people, when they think of studying abroad in the UK think immediately of London, Oxbridge or St. Andrews, but Bristol is really one of the best kept secrets. There’s a reason Skins is set there, people! If you’re reading this and thinking of studying abroad, Bristol is definitely it. Cheaper than London, with the western countryside at your fingertips. Last weekend, while I should have been studying for my exams, I had Sunday lunch with one of my dad’s lecturers who retired two years ago. My dad studied at Bristol in the mid-70’s, right when the Concord was being designed and built at Bristol. We had lunch in a small village outside Bristol and went for a drive around some of the other villages nestled in the Meldip Hills, The Wells Cathedral, established in 909, and completed in the thirteenth century, and the breathtaking Cheddar Valley, the home of cheddar cheese (no, not Vermont) all in one afternoon. It was amazing and one of the best day trips I’ve ever done.

What’s next for Kyle, you may ask yourself. It’s London for the night and Heathrow tomorrow morning to Hong Kong via Dubai. I really hope the shops in the Dubai airport are open, since I’ll be getting in at midnight and I’ve got three hours to chill there. Then off to my favourite airport. The next morning I head into the mainland to visit my relatives in Toi Seng, or Taishan City. From there, I’ll go see the village where my grandfather was born, and learn some more family history. Then it’s back to Hong Kong, where, two days later, I fly to Beijing to begin my internship, which I still have heard nothing about. For example, I’m assigned a host family, who I have absolutely no idea about, or what I’ll be done exactly at my job.

Then, from there, I’m back to Hong Kong and then back to New York to celebrate my mother’s birthday and move my sister into whatever dorm ResLife slots her into.

I’m quite excited about the prospects that the next year holds. As much as I love Bristol, it’s no Vassar. That’s the fun part about studying abroad: it makes you realize how much you take for granted. In my case, it was the sometimes forty-five minute walk (if there was rain or snow) from my flat into uni, where the library and the gym were, when sometimes I used think the fifteen minute walk to Walker was a big deal, or lugging all your stuff all of five minutes to the library from Jewett.

But then you need these experiences to teach you that sometimes it’s alright to have chickens at your boathouse, just chilling. Or that swans are actually pretty violent when they’re mad, and can be very scary. Or that crossing the Downs alone at night can be alright, if you’re always alert. I wouldn’t advise you to find these out on your own, just take my word for it.

We’ve just passed the white horse of Westbury, which is a massive horse carved by Neolithic people into the side of a hill in Westbury, which is where my train has been diverted through. I just made a mad dash for my camera, cuz on these First Great Western trains, you fly. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I’m going anywhere on the Hudson line back up to Po-town. But that’s ok I guess.

My last word of advice before I wrap up this long-winded plea for self pity: study abroad. Get out from where you are, go somewhere crazy. Bristol’s pretty crazy. Watch the Inbetweeners sometime, get a little Mighty Boosh action going on. I won’t say I feel like a Bristolian through and through, but I do feel like a Bristol student. I have prejudices against UWE, because we’re obviously better. I love cider. I think the Union building is ugly and horribly placed. But it’s all these things that come together and make you realize that we do need to go, in the wise words of Theodore Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss, “on beyond Zebra.” It’s the only way we’ll ever get anywhere, and hey, it makes for some sweet stories. Til next time, in Asia.
---
And whaddya know, I am in Asia. I've been busy this past week soaking up the greatness that is my favourite city of Hong Kong all over again. I studied here last summer at the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK) and it was a load of fun galavanting around with some great friends. In the last two days, I've been to HK Disney and got together with some Vassar pre-frosh who are in the middle of graduation, and my own flesh-and-blood frosh, baby sister Christie. Crystal Tung '11 came along as well, as one of my sweet group of internationals who I hang with here.

One of my flatmates from Bristol, who I also met up with here for coffee, hails from Singapore and just sent me this crazy video of a parody of the Wondergirls' song "Nobody" by a Singaporean personality, Mr. Brown. I've just spent the last 2 hours listening to his crazy webcasts and getting a sweet ab workout. But yeah. I'm Beijing bound tomorrow, and then radio silence until August. The mainland's kind of strict about blogging and what not, so I may or may not have access to you guys. In any case, I'll have people working for me, so to my faithful readers, keep posted and don't forget about me. Peace out.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

Finals are here again. Don't you love how the air changes once lectures are over? You can feel the relief for the first day or so, then it changes and you can smell the fear, feel every caffeine-induced twitch, hear every muffled drag of feel across the floor of the flat or the library. It's wonderful.

As my time in Bristol winds down, it all winds down to exams. The history courses I'm taking here are much more different from Vassar in that the contact hours have been much fewer, one two-hour seminar a week per class, and one class that was even two-hours fortnightly (that's every two weeks for people who aren't familiar with the Queen's English), but that there has been much more reading. On average, I've read seven or eight books to prep for each seminar, and it's been great. Unfortunately, you don't get marks for participation here. It's weighed on one exam, and one essay. The essay counts for about 25% of the final mark and the exam counts for 75%. It's a pretty big deal. At Vassar, you rarely have a history course above the first year that will give an exam, but here, exams come standard, no matter what the level. As I write, I am currently procrastinating trying to learn how to revise, all over again, and, you guessed it, it's still wonderful.

So, with two weeks left in the Kingdom and two exams to go, I'm feeling pretty confident that I can somehow motivate myself to revise fairly soon, otherwise, I may feel the pain. The pain of what, you may ask. I, myself, do not even know, nor do I really want to find out, so I probably will get started soon. Or not.

Yesterday, I was supposed to do the exact same thing I planned on doing today: get up early, walk half an hour down into uni, get to the library, take out some books, find a comfy corner and pump out some good notes. That didn't quite happen, as yesterday, my mind was preoccupied with the results of the Vassar rowing team captaincy, which I ran for an was voted captain along with Nick Perry, a teammate who also studied abroad, but last semester and in Ireland. It's gonna be a great year. (My apologies for talking about nothing other than rowing in these posts. It's what I do. My deepest apologies. *Sadface*)

I feel like there was something else really cool I had to talk about. Oh yeah, about yesterday. So the preoccupation was a factor in sending me to the gym and working out far too hard, leaving me absolutely cream-cracker knackered (tired) and therefore unable to revise (or so I tried to convince myself). So, instead of getting books from the library, I decided to get lunch at this place called HK Diner on Park St, which is one of Bristol's main drags for shopping and eating. I got myself a bowl of beef brisket soup, and was thus satisfied. Until I realized I needed a jolt, so off to the coffee shop I went, both for Wi-Fi to see if captains had been announced and to get my fix. Sadly, the shop we went to had no free Wi-Fi, so I sat and pined. By pine I mean study Chinese. But the preoccupation hit me like a scared cow, and I couldn't study anymore. I suggested to my friends that we go watch Star Trek, since the cinema was only around the way in Broadmead, so we did. It was a great life decision. I'm not a huge trekkie, but I've seen enough and know enough about it to appreciate the story. And I'd gladly see it again, and wouldn't mind an entertaining distraction right now. Not that this isn't satisfying or anything, but who would take a blog over flashing lights and explosions? Am I right or am I right?

And with that, I am off to prepare for another British cultural lesson in the form of the Eurovision Song Contest. Apparently, the Brits haven't taken it seriously, and so they've been trounced the last few years. Now, apparently, they're ready to win, with a song and composed by Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber of West End fame. We shall see if it's up to scratch, shan't we? Til the next time procrastination comes knocking at my door, peace to the outside area (if you didn't catch that, peace out).

Varsity Boat Race and other fun shindiggities

So yeah. It's been a while, but blame that on the excitement of the end of lectures and the winding down of classes all around. Gotta love it.

A recap of my latest adventures: last Saturday saw the epic Varsity Boat Race regatta between the University of Bristol and the University of the West of England, otherwise known as UWE (pr. yoo-wee). Bristol is naturally better than UWE. We are taught this on our first day of living in student housing by all of our flatmates and tutors. This is an accepted fact and tenet of studying at Bristol. Anyway, "Varsity" is just the term applied to the competitions the universities have in the summer term, including rowing, football (erm, soccer), rugby, canoe polo and even ultimate frisbee. The rowing is one of the oldest and most exciting events, as it starts off with the president of the University of Bristol Boat Club slapping the UWE club president in the face with a glove, thereby challenging his club to compete in the Varsity, which takes place on the Bristol Floating Docks.

The Docks have a long history of slave-loading, a short stint at ship assembly, and then the Varsity. The course itself is a 1300m length of water that passes by Isambard Kingdom Brunel's SS Great Britain and ends in front of the Lloyd's TSB building on the Bristol Harbourside. Bristol did really well, winning the Men's 1st and 2nd Novice divisions, Women's 1st VIII and 2nd Senior boat. I will say that Bristol won the Men's 1st Senior VIII (hotly contested by UWE because they are sore losers), but we won the Varsity blade and all was well in the land again.

The highlight of my day, other than taking a picture with the whole UBBC with the Varsity blade, was taking a picture with GB Olympian, Pete Reed. He graduated from UWE, but that's alright, because the man is essentially rowing royalty, rowing in the Oxford Blue boat and then rowing his way to an Olympic gold at Beijing in the Men's coxless IV. He's huge. Oh, and I had to big up the Vassar Rowing, just because I could.

Later that night was the UBBC Varsity Ball, which was my first proper ball in the UK. I didn't have a tux, so instead I managed to get a blue bowtie that I hoped would match my suit. Luckily, it did. It was quite the "to do." It was nice to get together with the entire Boat Club for a nice dinner and a bit of dancing.

It was really cool. If they weren't so expensive, I'd go to more. In fact, I thought the Varsity Ball was so awesome I bought tickets to the History Society Ball last week. You'll hear about that, as well. But yeah. In the spirit of the moment, I made a speech, in a rare and unusually unsolicited sensitive Kyle moment, I toasted the Boat Club. Honestly, had I not rowed at Bristol, my experience would be nowhere as good as if I did. This is probably a fact. Also, this blog wouldn't be as sports-oriented or as exciting. At least, I think it's exciting.

Following the marvelous ball, a fellow exchanger, Yan Lin wanted to make a sweet tofu dish called Ma Po Tofu, with pork mince, chilies, tofu and some other wonderfulness. Here's a picture, please, feel free to drool, because I would too.

On an entirely different note, I think it was around that same week that my younger sister Christie decided on Vassar for sure, so, that means come August, I'll have my parents around to take me to dinner, buy me things and give me lifts to the Galleria, for no reason at all, other than that they'll be around. I mean, I'll also have my fridge stocked full of mad Bahamian food. Honestly, you haven't lived until you've had Bahamian food.

Since I am slightly homesick now, I'll run off some standard Bahamian food, so if you ever happen to end up in Nassautown, you'll know what to get:

Conch: Conch to Bahamians is what shrimp was to Bubba in Forrest Gump. Get where I'm goin?
Fish: Grouper, snapper, turbot, boxfish. All delicious.
Turtle
Peas n' rice
Macaroni (my grandma makes the best macaroni, as a good portion of the Vassar Rugby team can attest to)
Split pea soup
Chicken or sheep tongue souce

Ok. Yeah. Uh huh. Get it? Got it? Good.

The final chapter to this lovely post comes in the form of my friend Jeremy, who came from London for the weekend, so I had an excuse to go about and test myself on Bristol history and culture. Now that I was able to go around with my camera and capture some of Bristol's best tourist spots, you don't even have to leave the comfort of that wooden chair in the Class of 1952Reading Room, or maybe just your own office chair. It's all good.

It's starting to hit me now that I actually have to leave, and the picture of the town (with our Law library being the key feature) and the Clifton Bridge are just some of the places I'll miss the most.


Bristol (as seen from the top of the Durdham downs)

That's the Clifton Suspension brigdge over there. This blog has a funny way of not letting you put pictures on the same line, but that's alright I guess. I'm much too lazy to try harder to make it work.

Anyway, I promise there will be a dedication post for all things Bristolian later. But not now, because it's time to revise.

CARDIFF: Ble mae'r ty bach?

When I came in from Croatia, I landed so late that I couldn’t get an overnight train or bus back to Bristol. Thankfully, I let my friend, Jeremy, know in advance that I might be in a bit of a pickle, so I was prepared. I caught a late tube train over to his and crashed. He was in Turkey at the time, so his flatmate let me in, and I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

The next day saw a trip back to dear old Brizzle (aptly named for being arguably the wettest part of England) to dump out week-old Croatia traveling clothes and pack in some fresh clothes for Cardiff, and finally boarding a train for the Welsh capital.

This trip was actually quite cool, since I hadn’t seen my friend I stayed with in near three years. We met on a Global Young Leaders’ Conference (GYLC), one of those cheesy things you do in high school to try to seem cool. I guess they actually do make you pretty cool if you manage to finally see the people you meet on them. Siwan picked me up from the train station with her little sister, and in I jumped into the “Deathmobile.”

I hadn’t really been in a proper house until then, unless you count Bristol house parties and student flats, but Siwan’s house was a really quaint home. Well lived-in, and very cosy. I was given her little sister’s room, all the way up stairs with a great view of the Millennium Stadium silhouetted against the grey Cardiff sky. From that moment on, I wanted really badly to be Welsh. I was treated to Welsh beef for dinner, accompanied by Welsh beer and for dessert, Welsh cheeses and biscuits. If only I could have that every night, although that would make for much more of Kyle than you would see today.

The next day, Siwan took me to the famous Cardiff Castle in the middle of Cardiff, which was built on the foundations of already ruined Roman walls. In the middle of the castle yard was the still-standing shell of a Norman keep from the twelfth century. Cardiff Castle itself was built by a guy called the Marquess of Bute, which basically translates into a member of the gentry so rich, he decided to build himself a castle in the nineteenth century to use rarely as a holiday home. The inside of the Marquess’ house was amazing. It was kept really well, and the walls were intricately painted, the mantles and arches were all worthy of being put in an art museum, but when you keep a house that well, the entire thing is an art museum of sorts.

Following Cardiff Castle came lunch, which, for me, was cawl, a hearty Welsh soup with chunks of lamb, potato, parsnips, carrots and, of course, leeks, the national vegetable of Wales. Siwan’s friend Kate insisted that I get Welsh cakes for dessert, which I did without hesitation, and it was a great life decision.

That night, I had loads of salmon. In Siwan’s house, her dad chases her youngest sister around the house with a whole salmon. Unfortunately, we were too involved in watching Madagascar 2 at the time, so the chase was cut short, but it was still good fun to see a salmon head poked through the door.

Of course, no visit to Cardiff would have been complete without a trip to Cardiff Bay. Thankfully, I brought the Croatian sunshine with me, and combined with the Bahamian sunshine I keep in a small pouch for special occasions, it turned out to be a great day. We started out with an ice cream cone from Cadwallader’s, then a jaunt over to the pier, then to a funky thing called the Light-ship, where I had my first taste of bara brith, or “marbled bread,” which is kind of like a fruit cake, but only with raisins, and buttered. According to Siwan, it wasn’t good, and she promised to take me to St. Fagans, a Welsh outdoor cultural museum (this is coming, do not fear). After the Light-ship, we continued over to The Cylinder, which is a cylindrical UFO-looking visitors’ centre, which gives a great view of the bay and the science behind its maintenance.

In the afternoon, Siwan took me to Roath Park, where she and her friends Penry and Ben came along for an outing in a rowboat. It was really nice to go around and get harassed by seagulls for bread that we soon ran out of, and give Penry no less than six heart attacks. I managed to teach three people how to move a rowboat decently, and there was one point at which Siwan, the lone girl, was rowing around three boys. I think the people who passed us in all the other boats had a pretty good laugh.

So, my trip to St. Fagans Welsh museum. In a word, it was awesome. There were mock-ups of an old Welsh village, an old bakery where I finally got some great bara brith, along with Jelly Babies, an amazing gummy snack. On a related, but still totally random note, as my time in the UK winds down, I’m realizing more and more that I’m going to miss the junk food the most. We walked around to a mock-up of a castle with fishponds in the gardens, a little field with sheep and lambs, and loads of other Welsh things, too many to count, including an exhibit of a house through the ages, which was a typical Welsh house as seen in the Victorian era, the turn of the century, the 1930s, the 1950s and finally the 1980s. It was quite cool to see the progression culturally and historically, and to see that in one space, so much could change over a few years. Also, another highlight of the visit was an old store that was used in one episode of Dr. Who, an awesome British TV show, in front of which a piano was dropped. I thought that was pretty cool, too.

Siwan and I then headed back home for a great Easter roast, with chicken, swede mash, roasted parsnips, boiled cabbage and carrots. I do love a good Sunday roast. Of course, Easter Sunday brought all the wonderfulness that usually comes with it, including my first Cadbury’s Easter egg. For the Americans out there, Cadbury’s is a British chocolatier who puts Hershey’s to shame any day, except for maybe the Special Dark blend. Anyway, Cadbury’s makes these gigantic chocolate eggs (not solid, just a creamy milk chocolate shell) for Easter, and they are ridiculously dangerous. See, they just taste so good that they’re gone before you know it, and there’s also a massive Dairy Milk bar in there, as if they were expecting you to enjoy the egg so much that you’d need more (they guessed correctly) and then you start digging into that. Amazing.

Siwan and her sisters and I spent a pretty decent chunk of the afternoon outside, mainly with me trying to stoke her dad’s outdoor fireplace that would not hold a flame for longer than fifteen minutes, even with Welsh coal thrown in the mix. Easy come and easy go, I guess. After I finally gave up, I retired inside to the Dr. Who Easter special, smoked salmon blinis and a nighttime movie marathon of Borat and Trainspotting.

With Monday came my train back to Bristol, but before that, Siwan’s dad took us out for a spin to some of the local castles. Our first stop was Caerphilly Castle, a fortress built by the Normans to suppress the local Welshmen that later that held gunpowder for the Parliamentarians in the English Civil War. The tower that held the gunpowder had been blown up, taking a chunk out of the side of the tower and causing it to lean precariously but stably for the past 350 years. Next on the tour was Castle Coch, a castle also restored by the Marquess of Bute, just for kicks, or something. Then, home again, home again, jiggedy jig, in more than one way. The train back to Bristol was nice, not only because I sat the right way facing toward where we were going, but because I had time to take in everything that happened on such an awesome weekend. Although it’s a week since I’ve been back, I still think it’d be nice to relive that weekend every now and again, and not only for the good home-cooked food. If there’s one thing that needs to be said, it would be a hearty “Dioch!” to the Lloyd family for putting up with me for a whole four days. Oh, and go to Wales. It’s a happy country.

The Croatian Adventure, Part II

Sorry for the radio silence, I've been without wireless (and still am without wireless) so I'm just chilling in my registration building pumping out another post for you, my loyal readers. Let's go back to where I last left off, somewhere in Croatia, I believe:

So scratch the Dubrovnik plan. My friends and I got to Korčula (pr. Kor-chula) from Vela Luka, on the other side of Korčula Island at around 11AM yesterday only to find out that we had missed all forms of transport from Korčula to Dubrovnik.

Our options were to either pay loads to get to Dubrovnik, or cancel our Dubrovnik hostel and spend the day in Korčula town. We decided to stay, and it was a really good decision. The old town was absolutely beautiful, with its stone cathedral spire rising high above the towers and walls, and the shaded and inviting alleyways that zig-zagged their way from one side to the other. After the other guys went back to the hostel that we found after stumbling across a tourist office, I decided to go for a run around the main town centre. It was quite small, and I cleared it pretty quickly, and thought it would be nice to check out some of the residential area. I got some really odd looks as I was going round, probably because there usually aren't many tourists this time of year, along with the fact that probably very few of the few tourists actually bother to exercise while on holiday. Oh well.

Later that night, after a shower and a fluffy warm towel, we made our way over to a restaurant in the old town where it was time for me to get something that used to be alive. I decided to go for the fish, as it was much more affordable than a steak. It was definitely a great decision, as it came with a steaming polenta made of local Croatian spinach that had a great zing to it, along with lots of garlic. The fish wasn't like anything I had eaten before, it was kind of circular with the spine going straight through the middle, but it was delicious, so I wasn't going to complain. Afterwards, the waiter stopped by to ask if I enjoyed the fish. Of course, I said I had, and then he told me to guess what kind of fish it was. Just to mess with him, I guessed shark, and I was right. Shark is delicious.

The next morning, one of the girls travelling with me, Arikka, and I needed to get back to Split in order to get back to Zadar the next day for our flight back to London, so we got an early night, and set off from Korčula harbour at 0600 hours. We got into Split nice and early at 0830 and hung about with a loaf of bread, biscuits and yogurt drink: the perfect Croatian breakfast. I was really grateful it was the slow season, otherwise we never would have made it into a hostel, and we dropped our bags and went off to meet Andrija, a friend of Yasmin (one of the other girls I travelled with), whose party we went to when we were in Split the first time. We spent the rest of the afternoon looking around the shadowed alleys of the old city, and for dinner, found a student canteen where I ate to capacity for only 4 kuna (about 1 USD). It was amazing.

The next day found Arikka and I eating pizza on a roof terrace right before we caught our bus up to Zadar. The 3.5 hour journey went by pretty quickly, and was punctuated by mainly Western pop music from this decade and the last four inbetween Croatian songs, one of which was about drinking, which I guessed from the gradual slurring of words and giggling on the track.

The Ryanair flight back to London was like any other: always on time (despite the apparent messiness at the gate and in the cabin right up to taxiing), extremely well-lit throughout and then the trumpet proclaiming "Another on time flight." I mean, it's what you pay 70 quid for, so I'm not compaining. They got me there and back, and now I'm back in the Kingdom. Stay tuned for my coverage of my Easter weekend in Cardiff, coming soon!

CONGRATULATIONS CHRISTIE!!!!

Also, before I forget, I just want to make it public that my little sister, Christie, was accepted to Vassar. I am more proud of her than she knows, and I am looking forward to her joining me in the States in the fall, if not on campus. Fingers crossed!

The Croatian Adventure, Part I

So at the moment, I´m chilling in the sweet seaside town of Split on the Adriatic Sea. Its (pardon my punctuation at the moment, Croatian keyboards are funky) my third day in this great country and boy, has it been a whirlwind three days so far.

After getting into Zadar late Wednesday evening, my companions and I caught a three hour bus to Grabovac, a small town near the Plitvice Lakes National Park, which are absolutely breathtaking. When we got in, the weather was horrible: it was rainy, foggy and all around miserable. My friends and I sat inside all afternoon, napping and eating baguettes from a nearby shop with local cheese. Mind you, it was a sweet way to pass the afternoon, but when there's a whole national park to be seen, its not very satisfying. From the forecasts, I only brought a water resistant shell, and it didnt stand up to the Croatian rain at all.

The next day, we got up early and our host (who spoke no English, only Croatian and German) excitedly drove us to the lakes. There really are no words to describe how beautiful the lakes were from the lookout. As we came to the edge of the gorge cliffs overlooking one of the lower lakes, the morning mist moved slowly across the water issued from a small waterfall from a slightly higher lake. The humidity added a chill to the air, which only added more to the excitement of being the first people in the park for the day. The first lake was like a mirror, and it was almost as though the waterfalls feeding it added seamlessly to it and didnt affect its tranquility at all. After discovering that a normal passageway to a ferry on a higher lake was impassable due to flooding, we found another way around through a path next to a massive waterfall. The whole thing was very Lord of the Rings, but with more Japanese tourists.

We climbed higher and higher, until we were on top of the opposite gorge cliff and, after about an hour, made it to the boat landing. The boat dropped us off next to some peaceful falls, and we began to climb the boardwalk. An hour and a half later, we found the bus stop, but then realized that due to flooding, that bus stop was excluded from the route. We walked back down, covering an hours distance in near half an hour. The ferry carried us over toward the shuttle stop, and we made our way back to the place where our host dropped us off. We headed back to our hostel, picked up our bags and then headed to the bus stop to catch our bus to Split.

One of the more harrowing sights along the way back home from the lakes was a house, not more than 300 metres away from our hostel. It was absolutely gutted: no roof, no windows, the walls were exposed down to the brick below the cement that covered them. Our host explained in broken English that it had been destroyed in a war (which war, I do not know), but it brought the realities of war much closer to home. Its easy to see it on CNN with the voices of a reporter barely masking the gunfire and grenade explosions, but seeing the remnants of a war is more shocking and sobering that one can really imagine or describe. When I saw the Adriatic across from our hostel in Zadar early Thursday morning, it was not at all what I thought of when the word ˝Croatia˝was mentioned to me. However, its one of the great parts of this country that show that where there is life there is hope, and in the midst of war and destruction, there is peace and beauty.

Flash back to our busride through the mountains into Split of slight discomfort and very wet shoes, and I am fast asleep from trekking through lakes and sloshing through wet undergrowth. We got in yesterday evening around seven, and made our way directly to our hostel, which is right outside of the old walled city. We spent most of this morning exploring it, meandering along the harbour embankment and headed to an old cemetery (which had since been demolished) to look out across the Adriatic.

And, perhaps the highlight of the day, was this amazing sky blue yacht that was calling at Split for the Croatia Boat Show. On the way back from the cemetery at sunset, I happened to see the thing at the gas station fuelling up for it's journey back to whatever ridiculously creative utopia wherever, where money grows on trees and the fruits have golden seeds, or something. I even got to touch it. It made me really happy. I think I'm gonna get one someday, and sail it on Sunset Lake for no reason, and that is one of the wonderful things one can do with a Vassar degree, or so I hope.

And, as most good things, this account has come to an end, mainly due to my being in a hostel and having other people waiting to use the net. Part II to come soon, if not in Dubrovnik, then definitely back in Bristol.

Last Head Race: cue "Aww moment"

Not really, though.

It's been a sweet week, all in all, marred only by the death of my camera. It was kinda trippin' ever since the Inauguration, probably from exposure, but last week it decided to kick the can, like some Brits wish Jane Goody would already. At least I do. Oh, too soon? Nevermind.

This week has also been a bit hectic as I've been trying to finalize plans for my Easter holidays. I'm heading to Amsterdam after chilling in London for a while, then back to Bristol, up to Cardiff, back down to Bristol to fly to Frankfurt, go visit my friend Boris in Mannheim, then to Jersey to visit my awesome flatmate, Suyin. However, getting to Europe requires a Schengen visa, which probably should have been taken care of since last week, but after a run around with a German "consulate" which was down the street from my library, I ended up having to send my passport off to London for visa processing. Maybe I'll just have my children born in Singapore so they won't need to worry about visas when they're off travelling the world. Just a thought.

Anyway, today was my last head race for my time in Bristol, as well as the time my boat raced together. After rowing training in April, we'll be switching out two of our rowers for some of the rowers from the second VIII for regatta season, which is a sprint season with races having a standard length of 2000m. It's guts out, everything on the table, and usually pretty gruesome afterwards, but always a good time.

Today we rowed at Kingston-upon-Thames, right near the Hampton Court Palace, where King Henry VIII reigned from, and the ghosts of his dead wives still haunt the stairwells. It's a grand piece of architecture, but unfortunately, we didn't have time to take it in. We launched from less than 500m off the starting line, but we had gone for a short warmup row a little before. We queued up for the start, the adrenaline started pumping, we turned and we started. We had a bit of trouble finding our flow off the start, but we settled into our rate pretty well at 30 strokes per minute. Within the first 1000m, we overtook the boat that started just before us, and we set off down the course with some really good strokes making some good speed.

It was a really long course, around 5km, snaking around from the Hampton Court Bridge, past the Hampton Court Palace, and finishing past the Kingston Bridge, near the Kingston Rowing Club boathouse. With about 1.5km to go, we fell apart a little bit, and I admit, it was definitely hard work. I slipped twice, missing some precious water, but we managed to get up to a 32/34 over our last 1000m, and really got it together. All in all, I felt it was a good race, not our best, but a good race. You can tell if a rower has really worked hard from the look on his face at the end of a race, and all of our boat had that face.

After trying to sit upright and catch our breath, we had to turn around and paddle the 5km back to our trailer. It was a bit ridiculous, since in the head races here, all the boats launch at the same time, but are sent off at different times, so before the race, you can have an excess of one hundred boats on the river, and it gets a bit messy. On our way back, we saw this firsthand, but not as bad as we saw at Reading Head. The course marked for us on the way back was sticking hard to the banks of the Thames and as far away from the middle of the river, the race course, as possible. It was essentially a limp back rather than a paddle at the speed we were making with the mess of boats, but we made it back in good time, derigged and it was back home to Brizzle.

Now, I should be doing my Chinese homework or focusing on an essay that I've got due, but that's no fun if I did. I'm abroad, and having fun is what it's all about. Well, that, and actually studying. But with such little class contact time, and so much time for independent study and collaboration with classmates, I'm realizing that college isn't about taking classes, as necessary as classes are. It's about the people you meet and the things you learn from them that you take with you. This is where I pull the plug on my philosophical rant. Til next time, probably in London!

Epic Weekend

So at Bristol, I have a sweet four day weekend, and so I decided to take full advantage of it this past week by doing some travelling. A few of my good Vassar friends are also studying abroad in the kingdom, and are conveniently at universities in the south, meaning they're not far away at all. As Vassar students, and as students in general, we decided to meet up in the sweetest place for any student to go: Oxford, probably the most recognized name in the entire academic world. My friend, Jamie, is study abroad there, and her boyfriend and one of my good friends, Jeremy, is studying at University College of London. As I had no place to stay, I contacted a friend from Singapore, Gerald, who is studing at Oxford's Pembroke College. Sweet place.

I got into Oxford around 4:30PM, just as golden hour was starting, so the photographer in me took over, and I walked all over Oxford taking pictures of things: down the Oxford Canal, past Christ Church College, down to Oxford Castle, through a few churchyards and across the Thames a few times. It's a beautiful place, no wonder so many ideas came from there. It's very conducive to sitting, talking about life and coming to grand realizations. That's the summary of it all, really. Around six, Jeremy came in from London, and we hopped over to a local burrito joint, The Mission, for a burrito with Gerald, who had just finished a tutorial. It was actually my first burrito (kinda weird having my first burrito in England of all places), but it was good. I approve of the burrito. They're good in my book.

Later on, we met up with Jamie at a local pub with a few of her Oxford friends, and since we were all tired from a taxing academic week at some of England's finest universities, we decided to call it a night. Gerald had to hop to London early the next day, so he let me stay in his room undisturbed. The cool thing about the Oxford colleges, using Pembroke as the example, is that they are their own self-contained communities. Only students of that college can come and go using scanners and things, which is pretty funny to see, since you've got this sick technology on the old buildings dating back some 500 years, in some cases.

I spent Friday walking around Oxford, with a guided tour courtesy of Jamie, and we passed some of the great sights, including this great street sign, rep it up to my Vassar folk.



On Saturday, I made my way down to London with Jeremy, because I was crashing at his place for the night. We got in pretty early, around noon, and met up with his mom, who would be in town a few days. We ate lunch in Russell Square, near UCL and SOAS, and then headed back up to Shoot Up Street near the Kilburn tube stop. It's a sweet little area with all this ethnic and cultural mixing, with a Baltic supermarket right next to the Chinese one, restaurants with names like, "African Grill" and "Brazilian Buffet" made the whole street so much richer. I met up with him down in Oxford Circus to chill with some friends and his sister, who had come in from Paris earlier that afternoon, for some chill time before bed.

The next day was race day. I headed down to Putney, as UBBC was boating from just off the Putney Bridge on the iconic Boat Race course. It was crazy to actually be there. Last week, I could say that I just rowed on the same river, but to be on the same stretch of river was really incredible. My boat had two outings, one was just a swing row down to the Hammersmith Bridge, where our race course ended, and then our warmup down past the Chiswick Bridge for the race itself. The Boat Race ends a few metres before you get to the Chiswick Bridge, and the whole time, I was kinda tripped out. My crew were mostly Londoners, as well as schoolboy rowers, so they all knew the course, they raced on the Thames all the time, and so it was no big deal for them. It was really hard keeping my concentration on the way down the row as we passed all the landmarks that you only see in movies like True Blue, but with what little willpower I have, I managed alright.

The start of my race was pretty epic, since when we first boated down toward Chiswick, the sky was blue and there were a few clouds. Mind you, we had to row near 7k to get down to our start, so there was plenty of time for conditions to change. First off, the Thames is a tidal river, making conditions a bit iffy when the tide changes. It just so happened we were racing when the tide was going out, making current a bit tricky to handle. As we approached Chiswick bridge to row past and turn, it began to rain. Not your drizzly typical English rain, I'm talkin Noah rain. Since it was sunny when we boated, nobody brought any shell with them, so we were literally chilling in race kit, getting soaked to the bone. I could feel the water slowly running down my back as it soaked into my longsleeve top, making things a bit uncomfortable, but in a race, you've got no time to feel uncomfortable, you just row and row hard. The wind added to the epicness, as the rain was blown across the boat. As we started down the course, it began to thunder, which was really, really epic. Every clap made the race seem more legendary, and we pushed even harder. Our base rate was supposed to be at a 30, but we managed to crank out a 32 straight from the start and overtook a boat within our first 2k, keeping them behind us the whole time, and we made some sweet distance on them for the remainder. The wind and the current made for an interesting mix of conditions, but we managed to plow through it all. Running back to our van for dry clothes and sheltering/shivering in the HSBC Rowing Club's boathouse until we got on enough layers to shiver mildly instead of feverishly. Then it was time to derig and go all the way back home to Brizzle.

Some other side notes from the day, I saw the Oxford and Cambridge rowing club vans and took pictures. I wet myself a little, I think. Also, once we were ready to derig our boat, the weather was nice again. It was a bit frustrating that the sun couldn't hold out for a few more minutes as it would have been nice to race in the sun, but hey, it's an outdoor sport. Occupational risk. It happens.

Til next time dudes.

First Race

Hey all, so as promised here's the write-up of today's goings-on. We left Bristol at around 6.55 this morning to head over to Reading, which is about 80 miles away, which, from where we are straight across is half-way across the country. I knocked out right away and woke up right before we got into Reading proper.

We pulled up onto a curb in a sweet little suburban area and hopped out to find the trailer, which was chilling on a corner not too far away. Our club president, Adam, rolled up in his Land Rover and towed it over to a grassy spot near the bank of the Thames. The Thames, for non-rower folk, is a pretty legendary river. It flows through London and there is a particularly famous stretch on which Oxford and Cambridge beast it out in their annual Boat Race. Anyway, there were the classic English river barges lining the banks, with picturesque balconied bungalows stretching for a good length of the river.

Enough of the airy-fairy details, because just as the trailer was parked, we found out that we had roughly half an hour to rig our boat. Rigging is a fairly efficient process when you have enough wrenches, in American, spanners and rigger-jiggers in English. However, we didn't have many to go around, so it was a bit hectic trying to arrange riggers and screw them all securely into place. I was presented with a third-hand Bristol rowing kit, and now I was officially a Bristol rower.

We had a rushed warm-up and then walked our boat down to the bank and set off on our way to the start. It was a really, really nice stretch of river: calm and very little current. We passed under a bridge right after we passed the finsh mark (going the opposite direction) and made our way up past a few little islands. We had a great warm-up pace going, moving through the boat with a great connection, then we hit a huge traffic jam of boats a few strokes past the 2000 metre mark of the 4.6km course. See, the divisions weren't organized well, or at least the organization to get the boats to the start wasn't there, so all these boats were just jammed on a narrow stretch of river. We ended up inching our way through a jumble of school VIIIs, master's VIIIs and other universities, and one particularly impressive octuple (sculling VIII) full of kids, but was a bit annoying. After ages of waiting, we finally made it to the start, but didn't quite realize it until the official called for us to turn around and start.

We turned, made some great strokes, and we were off. It was amazingly smooth. On Wednesday we had done a head race style piece at our course at Saltford at a 30-32 stroke rating (strokes per minute), and it wasn't bad, but this was really, really good. We kept on at a 30 stroke rating for the first two and a half kilometres, and managed to pass one of the boats from the Imperial College in London. We kept it up all the way down the course, and managed to hit a 31.5 stroke rating in our last 1000 metres. It was the best rowing I'd ever been a part of. We moved quickly and smoothly, no rush, everyone caught and locked in the water, and there was excellent send of the boat. Each stroke came more speed and length, and once we passed the boat from Imperial, they just became smaller and smaller, until we rounded the bend and couldn't see them anymore.

As always, I wore my red headband for good luck. Back at Vassar, before one of our big races, I think it was our Liberty Leagues race, I put it on, and we rowed a great course. The tradition stuck, and now I've brought it here. I also shaved my head yesterday, just because my hair was getting to be a bit of a bother, and I prefer a monk cut anyway. It calls for less maintenance. And so that was my Saturday. I'm off to dinner now with a friend at Nando's, this sweet Portuguese-style chicken restaurant. If you're ever in England/Australia (according to my Australian sources, they have it there too), look for one, and eat up. It's absolutely delicious.
















University of Bristol Boat Club 3rd VIII (L-R: Stuart, Adam, Alex, Me, Luke, Ivan, Lloyd and Tristan, and our cox, Jenny in the front)

To the 3rd VIII and Jenny, cheers for a great race and great rowing today. 3rd VIII, no faff.

UPDATE: 5th of 37 crews in the S4 division. Sweeeeeeeet.

The Culinary Adventures of Kyle T. Chea, esq.

So, realizing that I'm on the Vassar homepage, I figured I'd write up a little "blogette" to give you nice people to look at while you wait for tomorrow's post (which will involve me rowing in my first head race with the University of Bristol Boat Club).

Little bit of background: I live in self-catered housing, which means no meal plan for Kyle. I cook my own food every day, which is usually a mixup of whatever looks interesting in Sainsbury's (the grocery store down the way) and what I've got lying around in my shelf of the fridge. Here are a few things I've been so proud of that I've had to take pictures of them.

Here, we've got eggplant, or aubergine (pr. o-ber-zheen). Don't ask me how it got that name. I get funny looks of confusing and xenophobia whenever I say "eggplant," but it's always a good time. So, what I've done here is cube the aubergine, curry it, and sautee it in coconut milk with onions and garlic. Then I sliced up another one and grilled the slices with basil, salt, black pepper and olive oil drizzled on top. But when I went to put them all together, I realized I didn't have enough space on my plate, hence the pileage.






For my next trick, I put out some char siu （叉烧） pork, a well-liked Cantonese dish. My friend, Jess, from Australia stopped in Bristol on her travels round the world, and I made it for her. I couldn't be bothered to cook veggies as well, as we had just been in Bath for cream tea (for those who don't know, tea with scones, with a side of clotted cream and jam), so we were a bit full, but still hungry enough to enjoy my homemade char siu.




























On a much more random side note, I just found out how to put pictures up on these things, which is why I am excitedly writing a new post now, eager to try out this new-fangled thingamajiggy.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to photograph tonight's dinner, which was fish in sweet chili sauce, garnished with ginger, garlic and scallions. Oh well, next time. Keep posted for tomorrow's post-race post! (Yes, I know I wrote all those "post" words. Thank you.)

Bristol Snow

So you may have seen all the crazy news reports of snow in London basically shutting the city down by now. That was us yesterday. Bristol is a fairly large city to the southwest of London, home to the University of Bristol where the Concorde was designed and constructed, where Rolls-Royce has a huge firm, and where Isambard Kingdom Brunel designed and built a massive Clifton Suspension Bridge that spans more than 200 feet above the Avon Gorge, and is right down the road from me.

I've been in Bristol ever since my last post, but this time I am well-rested, well over jetlag and a bunch of other things. I've moved into self-catered housing, meaning I'm not on a meal plan, which is about a 45 minute walk from the main university precinct. It's a picturesque walk: as I walk up the hill to one of the older residences (Wills Hall where they still dress in robes for Friday night dinner), I can practically see the entire village of Stoke Bishop. Over the hill, past Wills, is a large field called the Downs. These extend all the way to the Avon Gorge, where the Avon river cuts deeply through the rocks and snakes its way past the Bristol docks. This is about a 15 minute walk across the Downs. Then it's down Blackboy Hill, along Whiteladies Road and then to wherever I need to go. So there you go, a two second geography lesson of the greater Bristol area.

I'm in three classes at the moment: The Myth & Reality of Mao Zedong, British Political Culture and Communication, and Contemporary Japanese Society. I'll be working on taking a Chinese course one-on-one with the prof, since Vassar has prepared me way too well to take Chinese here. Also, it's because nobody here signed up for the level I elected to take. Oh well.

On an extracurricular note, I've been rowing with the University rowing team, and it's been great. They're a great group of guys, and I'm in the 3rd VIII. Basically, the 1st VIII is a bunch of guys bred for rowing. They're all tall, lanky muscular beasts. Everything the ideal rower should be. Then you have the 2nd VIII, which are the guys which are also ridiculously good. Then you have the 3rd VIII, which looks like the rowing I'm used to. A bunch of average height guys who work hard at what they do, focus, and try to make up for what nature hasn't given them with crazy dedication (Third Eight, no faff!) Faff, for you Americans out there, means we don't mess around, in the most PG of terms.

Well, kids, it's off to start my reading, where here, there are no texts that you pick up at the beginning of term. You hop to the library after receiving your weekly readings, find em, check em out, and trek back to your room with them, and cuddle in for a good time. I kinda like that system. It saves money, and everyone reads something different. However, you're reading whole books instead of articles and excerpts, which I much prefer reading if I must read often. Just the way the cookie...err, crumpet, crumbles I suppose. Fair ways til next time.

Inauguration 2009

As I write this, I’m speeding on a train from London’s Paddington Station to Bristol Temple Meads, the station near the University of Bristol, where I will be spending my semester studying abroad. The past few days have been quite a blur, but a very exciting, sleep-deprived blur.

The blurrage started around 11:30PM on the night of 16 January when I landed in Washington DC’s Reagan National Airport to overnight at a hotel before registering for a conference around the inauguration. It was one of those GYLC/CYLC/NYLF shoot-offs. The next day, while chilling in the airport I ran into Mark, one of my good friends from Vassar who I didn’t expect to be at the conference, but I yelled over to him, and it turned out we were staying at the same hotel, and later, the same floor. We got to the hotel (Omni Shoreham, on Calvert and 24^th) and then headed down to the Marriot across the street for “heavy hors d’oveurs.” It was a righteous mess. Five thousand kids in the University conference alone (there was also a youth conference and a high school conference, each with five thousand participants as well) made for only one plate of food after not eating at all for the entire day. Mind you, our keynote for the night, Luke Russert, is a cool dude, so that kinda made up for it. Following the address, I ran into one of my childhood friends from home, who introduced me to some of his good friends from his GYLC conference. We then consolidated our group of friends, making about a standard seven of us, and we hung out together for the rest of the conference.

The next day was the big kick-off to the inaugural ceremonies down on the National Mall. We wanted to skip the speaker before lunch so we could head down and get a spot, but one of our group (cough cough Sayuri cough) decided to stay and hear him. So we stayed and after a bunch of other inconveniences, we finally got started on our way down to the mall, and we managed to catch the last bit of the concert. So, to console ourselves, we rode the carousel near the Smithsonian. It worked out pretty well I’d say.

The next day was spent in preparation for the night, because our group of seven was going to head down to the Mall and camp out til inauguration time. DISCLAIMER: To the readers out there who ever get invited to a Presidential Inaugural Conference (especially UPIC), don’t go. We didn’t get any spot reserved for us on the Mall, despite paying near $3000USD. All they said was, don’t bring this, bring that, dress warmly, good luck. So, with this in mind, my friends and I went forth into the night. We got on the Mall at 2AM, but one of our friends thought it was way too easy to get on without security and what not, so she went to check in. We later found out there was a security checkpoint, so we hiked another 20 minutes to get there.

Now, picture this: You are crammed into an underpass with thousands, if not tens of thousands of people waiting to see President Obama’s swearing in. There are no bathrooms within a fifteen minute walk outside the checkpoint because they’re all within the secured inauguration perimiter. For about four and a half hours, you don’t move more than three feet forward toward the checkpoint gates. The temperature hovers around negative 17 celsius, and even after sunrise, you can barely feel your digits. However, there’s a sense of grand anticipation and excitement in the air, punctuated by chants of “O-BA-MA!,” the singing of the Star Spangled Banner and Lean on Me.

The historical and cultural significance of standing in line with all those thousands of people finally hit home at some point at around 5 or 6AM when all of a sudden, quietly and humbly, floated the call, “Lift evr’y voice and sing, til earth and heaven ring, ring with the harmonies of liberty!” In this underpass, there were two groups of us, separated by a road, and there was a very lively group of black Obama supporters that kept their energy all through the night, and when they heard the words, their tone changed. I understood why it was called ‘black national anthem’ for that very reason that night. We all stood at attention, and those who knew the words, including myself, sang out first softly, but growing in confidence and strength, despite the demanding range the song presents. Even people who didn’t know the words sensed something in the words and the atmosphere and the rowdiness temporarily subsided.

It was in those few moments, while we all joined in ‘the black national anthem’ in one way or the other that the momentousness of the day sunk in. Even though I hadn’t been able to see my toes for a few hours at that point, and even though my fingers were also going at that point, I felt a strange warmness that came with the solidarity we showed in support of the new President and the triumph it represented for the black community.

Anyway, fast forward to finally getting through the security barrier and near the start of the parade route, we finally made it through around 7:30AM. We sat down on the sidewalk and put down our blankets and tried to get warm again. We had gone to one of the thousands or porta-potties that line the parade route and were ready to hunker down for another few hours. We decided not to go back to the Mall, since the chances of us getting out in order to get to our conference gala were very slim, but then being exposed to the elements all night finally took its toll. We couldn’t take it anymore, so we decided to up and leave to go to one of the indoor locations the conference had reserved. We had about an hour and a half left to go, but in the end, I feel like it was a good decision. We were there, and we saw the armed forces forming the honour guard with the different police and state trooper contingents.

From the National Press Club in E and 14^th, at some time around noon, we watch Barack Hussein Obama take the Oath of Office to become President. Mind you, he had officially been President for a few minutes by that point, but watching him repeat the oath sealed the deal. At the end of the ceremony, even I was caught up in the emotion that transcended nations and stood up to sing the Star Spangled Banner with an Egyptian, Japanese-Canadian citizen, another Bahamian and a room full of Americans. It was a great moment.

Fast forward to now, after a six-hour transatlantic flight, I’m far from well rested, but I’m speeding down the track on a Bristol bound train, with gray skies and rolling hills around me. Oh, and there are some houses too. I’ll be there soon, and my computer will probably be dead by then, so I’m signing off for now. Until next time, kids.