First up, here's an Edinburgh recap in a photo-album. It includes some of the Military Tatoo where the famous Swiss Top Secret Drum Corps showed off their flaming drumsticks!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Better Late than Never, or Wet and Wild in Scotland
First up, here's an Edinburgh recap in a photo-album. It includes some of the Military Tatoo where the famous Swiss Top Secret Drum Corps showed off their flaming drumsticks!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Cambridge Folk Festival 2010
Four years later, I'm not sure I have an answer to what folk music looks like in England. But I do know that this year's lineup at the Cambridge Folk Festival was an eclectic mix of acts from all over the world. I also know that it was darn good fun.
Summer music festivals are The Thing in Britain (perhaps Europe?). The most popular are Glastonbury and the BBC Proms, but there are hundreds. I do love music, but I'm not sure I would have ever gone to one if it hadn't been for Ruthie Foster's appearance at Cambridge in 2007. I've been every day, every year since.
Thursday evening, highlights for me were Port Isaac's Fisherman's Friends, a 10-man acapella group (note: all videos are shaky, owing to my complete inability to stand still when there's music around):
Port Isaac's Fishermen's Friends from dceditors on Vimeo.
And Lissie, an American whose first album is only out in Europe:
Lissie from dceditors on Vimeo.
Friday at the Folk Festival is always a delightful day for me, because it's technically a work day that I take off, and it feels deliciously evil to be sitting in a field listening to fabulous music while everyone else is slaving away at their computers.
Highlights of the day included my boyfriend Seth Lakeman (in case you wonder why my bike rides have gotten faster, it's in part because this song is on my cycling mix):
Seth Lakeman - Race to be King from dceditors on Vimeo.
And the Boban and Marko Markovic Orchestra, a Serbian Gypsy band:
Boban i Marko Markovic Orkestar from dceditors on Vimeo.
Another favorite was Imelda May, who performed with Irish folk legend Sharon Shannon. And when I saw Breabach in 2007, they were here playing their first gig outside of Scotland. This year, they opened Friday's main stage program.
Saturday was JT's one day at the festival. He always has a great time, but isn't so interested in 4 days of Fest. But Saturday's lineup delivered. The runaway hit was Pink Martini, a classy orchestra from Portland, Oregon that delivered a big-band sound:
Pink Martini from dceditors on Vimeo.
We also really enjoyed the Carolina Chocolate Drops, who I got to see again on Sunday:
Carolina Chocolate Drops from dceditors on Vimeo.
The big headliners of the day were Americans -- Natalie Merchant and Kathy Mattea. Both were phenomenal.
It was great to see Dervish live; I've owned some of their CDs for ages. New to us was the Burns Unit and Joe Pug, both of whom we enjoyed quite a lot. The Quebe Sisters were a total throwback to 1) Texas, and 2) the 1920s. Have a listen.
By Sunday, I was really exhausted, but nevertheless got myself to Cherry Hinton Hall. I skipped the headliners -- Kris Kristofferson and the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. Instead, I hung out at the smaller tent listening to the haunting harmonies of the Unthanks and the footstomping, dancy Dervish.
A little bit of rain throughout the festival made for great wellie watching. Here are some wellie pictures:
This was probably my last Cambridge Folk Festival, but I sincerely doubt it will be my last music festival. I'm hooked.
Summer music festivals are The Thing in Britain (perhaps Europe?). The most popular are Glastonbury and the BBC Proms, but there are hundreds. I do love music, but I'm not sure I would have ever gone to one if it hadn't been for Ruthie Foster's appearance at Cambridge in 2007. I've been every day, every year since.
Thursday evening, highlights for me were Port Isaac's Fisherman's Friends, a 10-man acapella group (note: all videos are shaky, owing to my complete inability to stand still when there's music around):
Port Isaac's Fishermen's Friends from dceditors on Vimeo.
And Lissie, an American whose first album is only out in Europe:
Lissie from dceditors on Vimeo.
Friday at the Folk Festival is always a delightful day for me, because it's technically a work day that I take off, and it feels deliciously evil to be sitting in a field listening to fabulous music while everyone else is slaving away at their computers.
Highlights of the day included my boyfriend Seth Lakeman (in case you wonder why my bike rides have gotten faster, it's in part because this song is on my cycling mix):
Seth Lakeman - Race to be King from dceditors on Vimeo.
And the Boban and Marko Markovic Orchestra, a Serbian Gypsy band:
Boban i Marko Markovic Orkestar from dceditors on Vimeo.
Another favorite was Imelda May, who performed with Irish folk legend Sharon Shannon. And when I saw Breabach in 2007, they were here playing their first gig outside of Scotland. This year, they opened Friday's main stage program.
Saturday was JT's one day at the festival. He always has a great time, but isn't so interested in 4 days of Fest. But Saturday's lineup delivered. The runaway hit was Pink Martini, a classy orchestra from Portland, Oregon that delivered a big-band sound:
Pink Martini from dceditors on Vimeo.
We also really enjoyed the Carolina Chocolate Drops, who I got to see again on Sunday:
Carolina Chocolate Drops from dceditors on Vimeo.
The big headliners of the day were Americans -- Natalie Merchant and Kathy Mattea. Both were phenomenal.
 |
| Kathy Mattea |
 |
| Natalie Merchant |
It was great to see Dervish live; I've owned some of their CDs for ages. New to us was the Burns Unit and Joe Pug, both of whom we enjoyed quite a lot. The Quebe Sisters were a total throwback to 1) Texas, and 2) the 1920s. Have a listen.
By Sunday, I was really exhausted, but nevertheless got myself to Cherry Hinton Hall. I skipped the headliners -- Kris Kristofferson and the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. Instead, I hung out at the smaller tent listening to the haunting harmonies of the Unthanks and the footstomping, dancy Dervish.
A little bit of rain throughout the festival made for great wellie watching. Here are some wellie pictures:
This was probably my last Cambridge Folk Festival, but I sincerely doubt it will be my last music festival. I'm hooked.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Sunday roast and a ramble
After lunch, we headed out for a ramble around the village of Hemingford Grey and up to St. Ives. We had beautiful weather -- about 70 degrees and partly sunny. The 4-mile walk was hardly enough to put a dent in what we'd eaten for lunch, but we were all OK with that. The food, the company, the scenery -- all superb!
Photo album below.
Hole in the Wall, Little Wilbraham
The nice weather is infectious. I had been awake for 5 minutes when JT suggested a bike ride to a village pub for lunch. Since I had slept the entire morning away, this meant leaving fairly quickly. Knowing where we were heading, I was happy to oblige. The Hole in the Wall in Little Wilbraham may well be our new favorite place. Lovely ride, delicious food.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The World Cup Runneth Over
JT is a huge sports fan, so it’s no surprise that he’s taken to football/soccer, keeping tabs on our own Cambridge United, following the premiership league in England, and, of course, watching the World Cup. I’m less of a sports fan, but I certainly appreciate that in Europe, football is a universal language – far more so than in the US.
This year, the World Cup has provided the opportunity for us to get together with friends old and new, experience the national pride that the tournament brings out, and talk to others, even when we don’t have a common language. The first big match in our house was England vs. USA. We had an evenly matched audience – three Brits and three Americans. It was a great crowd, and the 1-1 result meant the Americans were hugely happy at the comeback draw, and the Brits were already lamenting their failure!
The next game we hosted was England’s next game, England vs. Algeria. We used it as an excuse to invite our neighbors over, whom we’ve been meaning to have over for far too long, and who are, it turns out, huge football fans. Emily and I used the game as an excuse to plan a Mediterranean/Middle Eastern dinner feast.
We were in London when the U.S. played Algeria. The only problem was that England played Slovenia at the exact same time – we knew we’d be hard pressed to find a pub showing the U.S. game. Long ago I joined the London Meetup group, and it turned out they had found a pub to show the US game on the big screen, the England game on a small screen to the side. About 150 Americans – and 6 Algerians – crammed into the pub at 3 p.m. on a weekday to watch 89 minutes of tense football – and then completely let loose when the US scored the game-winning – and team-advancing – goal.
US vs Algeria from dceditors on Vimeo.
Over the following weeks, we’d hear cheers from local houses and pubs from the various groups watching the games. You’d see people walking around town wearing their team/country’s colors or jersey.
We headed to Turin, Italy, last week for a work conference and while strolling in town the first day we found a piazza where they were showing the Brazil/Holland game on a big screen in the town square. The Dutch won, which meant the Netherlands won would be playing three days later in the semifinal. One of our work colleagues is Dutch and was keen to watch the game, so of course we were happy to oblige—accompanied by a 5-course outdoor dinner in the same piazza as we watched the big screen.
The next day was the Germany-Spain semifinal. We were traveling from Turin to Nice, France, and made it to our apartment there just as the game was about to start but decided to dash out to grab a few groceries first. While JT picked out cereal and beer, I gathered my items at the checkout, looked at my watch, and made a face. The man behind the counter looked at me quizzically and I tapped my watch and said, “futbol.” “Ah, football,” he says, and proudly reaches over to a tiny iPhone sized screen and clicks it on. There on a three-inch screen was the football game: No way he was going to let work cause him to miss a game.
We arrived back in England just before the World Cup final started, and it was a given that the taxi driver would turn the game on the radio – he did. When we got to our house, we raced in and popped on the DVR on so we could unpack and take care of a few chores before sitting down to watch the rest of the game. That meant we were watching it on a delay. So, when we heard loud cheers from throughout the neighborhood, we knew a goal had been scored, but we didn’t know which team.
We tried not to listen too closely, or think too hard about whether our neighborhood is more Spanish or Dutch. Since we had been gone for about 10 days, we had missed the summer transition from the Cambridge University students to the summer foreign-language students; the college closest to us hosts hundreds of students from Spain who come to Cambridge each summer to learn/practice English. As I wandered around town the next day, I encountered several clumps of the students, wearing Spain’s red and gold and even carrying their national flag. They may be in town to learn English, but for that day, they spoke the international language of football.
The next game we hosted was England’s next game, England vs. Algeria. We used it as an excuse to invite our neighbors over, whom we’ve been meaning to have over for far too long, and who are, it turns out, huge football fans. Emily and I used the game as an excuse to plan a Mediterranean/Middle Eastern dinner feast.
US vs Algeria from dceditors on Vimeo.
Over the following weeks, we’d hear cheers from local houses and pubs from the various groups watching the games. You’d see people walking around town wearing their team/country’s colors or jersey.
We headed to Turin, Italy, last week for a work conference and while strolling in town the first day we found a piazza where they were showing the Brazil/Holland game on a big screen in the town square. The Dutch won, which meant the Netherlands won would be playing three days later in the semifinal. One of our work colleagues is Dutch and was keen to watch the game, so of course we were happy to oblige—accompanied by a 5-course outdoor dinner in the same piazza as we watched the big screen.The next day was the Germany-Spain semifinal. We were traveling from Turin to Nice, France, and made it to our apartment there just as the game was about to start but decided to dash out to grab a few groceries first. While JT picked out cereal and beer, I gathered my items at the checkout, looked at my watch, and made a face. The man behind the counter looked at me quizzically and I tapped my watch and said, “futbol.” “Ah, football,” he says, and proudly reaches over to a tiny iPhone sized screen and clicks it on. There on a three-inch screen was the football game: No way he was going to let work cause him to miss a game.
We tried not to listen too closely, or think too hard about whether our neighborhood is more Spanish or Dutch. Since we had been gone for about 10 days, we had missed the summer transition from the Cambridge University students to the summer foreign-language students; the college closest to us hosts hundreds of students from Spain who come to Cambridge each summer to learn/practice English. As I wandered around town the next day, I encountered several clumps of the students, wearing Spain’s red and gold and even carrying their national flag. They may be in town to learn English, but for that day, they spoke the international language of football.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Wimbledon!
We collapsed into our seats on the District line train Tuesday night, excited and exhausted from our afternoon/evening at Wimbledon. On the ride home, JT says, "That was awesome. I wish we had seen someone famous, though." I stayed quiet, because I really only know the super rock stars of tennis and wouldn't have known someone famous if they came up and shook my hand. As it turns out, we had spent more than an hour watching a certain match on Court 18 between two players who, if they weren't famous before, certainly are now: We watched John Isner and Nicolas Mahut play the fourth set of what would become the longest professional tennis match in history.
That's all 6'9" of John Isner in the back unleashing one of his unstoppable serves on Nicolas Mahut. He didn't know at the time that he'd be playing this same match for two more days.
When we were trying to decide where to go for a long weekend, the realization that Wimbledon started this week sealed the deal: We would go to London. Don't tickets sell out months in advance, you ask? Nope. You either apply months in advance to get tickets by lottery, or you show up the same day and stand in a loooong queue (American: line). Or, you're a member of the club, or you're royalty or famous etc. etc. But for the rest of us punters, we queue.
There are a couple of choices for queuing: You can camp out or show up reaaaally early to get one of the 6,000 grounds passes that get you access to 14 courts and, if you're really early, tickets that get you into the show courts. the other option is to turn up in the afternoon. They let more people into the grounds as other people leave, and if those people who leave had show court access, they resell these tickets to anyone willing to buy them.
We set aside Tuesday, Day 2 of Wimbledon, to try the afternoon queue. After a leisurely and incredible lunch at the Harwood Arms (post to come on that), we went a few more stops on the District line to Southfields station, followed by a quick bus ride to the All England Lawn Tenns & Croquet Club that everyone knows as "Wimbledon." The Queue at Wimbledon is as much a part of the experience as the tennis itself. The queue is across the street from the tennis at the Wimbledon Park Golf Club, up against a treeline and therefore in the shade. People in the queue have access to proper toilets and refreshment stands. There's even a booklet to read on queuing at Wimbledon.
We joined the queue at about 4 p.m. and were into Wimbledon at 6:30. This may sound dreadful, but there are far worse ways to spend 2 1/2 hours than outside in the shade with a book on a beautiful 75-degree day. Regardless, once we made it in, we were quite happy to be there. We immediately checked the board to discover that there was a minimum of one match left to play on every court -- some courts had two matches left. They play until 9 p.m. or so, so we would see plenty of tennis.
And indeed we did. The first actual tennis court we saw was Court 7, and the players are Right. There. Wow. This is awesome, we thought. No massive security (though our corkscrew was confiscated on the way in), no restrictions on photographs (though surprisingly few people actually are taking pictures during matches), just honest tennis with a very respectful crowd. We saw a queue had formed at Court 12 for the Williams sisters' doubles match later on in the evening, but the men's match before it had just started. No thanks -- we had done enough queuing for one day. We carried on, watching 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there, then enjoyed a Pimms and some strawberries and cream that Wimbledon is famous for.
We wandered to the other side of the club to get a glimpse of Henman Hill, where you see spectators gathered watching the top matches on a big screen. Nearby, we noticed a decent-sized crowd gathered around Court 18, so we easily slipped in between the third and fourth sets, grabbing two seats right in front at one end of the court. We were treated to more than an hour of excellent tennis between Isner and Mahut before officials suspended play as twilight descended on south London. We remarked at the time that it was a fairly long set and the players were really well matched. It was so exciting, then, to see the rest of the game unfold over the following two days knowing that we had seen one piece of this epic match.
For two people who are, at best, casual tennis fans, it's hard to imagine a more perfect Wimbledon experience.
That's all 6'9" of John Isner in the back unleashing one of his unstoppable serves on Nicolas Mahut. He didn't know at the time that he'd be playing this same match for two more days.
***
When we were trying to decide where to go for a long weekend, the realization that Wimbledon started this week sealed the deal: We would go to London. Don't tickets sell out months in advance, you ask? Nope. You either apply months in advance to get tickets by lottery, or you show up the same day and stand in a loooong queue (American: line). Or, you're a member of the club, or you're royalty or famous etc. etc. But for the rest of us punters, we queue. There are a couple of choices for queuing: You can camp out or show up reaaaally early to get one of the 6,000 grounds passes that get you access to 14 courts and, if you're really early, tickets that get you into the show courts. the other option is to turn up in the afternoon. They let more people into the grounds as other people leave, and if those people who leave had show court access, they resell these tickets to anyone willing to buy them.
We set aside Tuesday, Day 2 of Wimbledon, to try the afternoon queue. After a leisurely and incredible lunch at the Harwood Arms (post to come on that), we went a few more stops on the District line to Southfields station, followed by a quick bus ride to the All England Lawn Tenns & Croquet Club that everyone knows as "Wimbledon." The Queue at Wimbledon is as much a part of the experience as the tennis itself. The queue is across the street from the tennis at the Wimbledon Park Golf Club, up against a treeline and therefore in the shade. People in the queue have access to proper toilets and refreshment stands. There's even a booklet to read on queuing at Wimbledon.
And indeed we did. The first actual tennis court we saw was Court 7, and the players are Right. There. Wow. This is awesome, we thought. No massive security (though our corkscrew was confiscated on the way in), no restrictions on photographs (though surprisingly few people actually are taking pictures during matches), just honest tennis with a very respectful crowd. We saw a queue had formed at Court 12 for the Williams sisters' doubles match later on in the evening, but the men's match before it had just started. No thanks -- we had done enough queuing for one day. We carried on, watching 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there, then enjoyed a Pimms and some strawberries and cream that Wimbledon is famous for.
We wandered to the other side of the club to get a glimpse of Henman Hill, where you see spectators gathered watching the top matches on a big screen. Nearby, we noticed a decent-sized crowd gathered around Court 18, so we easily slipped in between the third and fourth sets, grabbing two seats right in front at one end of the court. We were treated to more than an hour of excellent tennis between Isner and Mahut before officials suspended play as twilight descended on south London. We remarked at the time that it was a fairly long set and the players were really well matched. It was so exciting, then, to see the rest of the game unfold over the following two days knowing that we had seen one piece of this epic match.
For two people who are, at best, casual tennis fans, it's hard to imagine a more perfect Wimbledon experience.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
London Poses
I got told twice today that I couldn't take pictures of something. The first was trying to capture a 'GUESTLIST ONLY' sign + the 4 security guards + the inside of a wannabe-posh club. The security guards were having none of that. The second time was trying to take a picture of a handsome dog. His owner says, "no photos, please." Whaaa ...? Rather annoying, that.
But fortunately, some others were less camera shy.
This is the resident dog at MacBlack & Vine, a retro furniture and fine wine shop in Broadway Market, London. (Some furniture maintenance occurring in the background; this didn't bother the dog in the least.)
The Sunday UpMarket in Brick Lane is hipsters' paradise, and this lovely little girl proves that you're never too young to be hip. She flashed me a smile right after this shot, but I think this one is her runway pose, don't you?
But this is by far the best, I think. These are the charismatic ladies of the Monkeypoodle Cake Company, which specializes in wheat- and gluten-free goodies.
But fortunately, some others were less camera shy.
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