Pilgrims have flocked here, to Canterbury since 1170, when the Archbishop Thomas Beckett was murdered in the Cathedral. For centuries and centuries, this pilgrimage has contined. The Visitor Guide of Canterbury 2009/2010 says the "magnificence of the cathedral is the essence of Canterbury". There is no doubt about that, "but the city is multi-faceted, containing all the elements of a modern and vibrant cultural centre".
I cannot think of many a good reason why the city of Canterbury would not appeal to any person. There are restaurants, pubs, music venues and in October, the Canterbury Festival which attracts artists and musicians of a high calibre. It is a city to explore on foot, says the Visitor Guide. And this I certainly agree with. There are beautiful cobbled streets lined with specialist shops, cafes, and various waterholes. The high street is 'pedestrianised' which means lots of space and not having to look out for cars all the time. On most days of the week, there are stalls in the high street, selling anything from Winter hats to fresh vegetables to hot pasta.
One can spot the tourists from a mile away, staring around them in wonder. The Cathedral sits in the middle of all this. If you get lost, you can follow the towers of the Cathedral to find the city high street again. There are several other attractions besides the Cathedral, like the Canterbury Tales; an "entertaining re-creation of life in medieval England" (Visitor Guide), St Augustine's Abbey, ruins of the abbey founded by St Augustine, the first Archbishop of Canterbury, in 598AD, Eastbridge Hospital, the medieval pilgrim's hospital, and so on.
This is certainly a city to be explored, walked, written about.
Fra
Tuesday 16 February 2010
I'm coming home
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I write in the uncertainty of my employment status. I informed the school and the teaching agency of my intention to return to the country of my birth on 1 December (I cannot explain the level of excitement I feel). Let's just say I did not receive a positive response. I've been given half term to re-think my decision and then will inform them next week. I may just have to tell them I am leaving for good quite frankly. Hell's teeth! It is not a pleasant job. I feel it necessary to provide some background information (see bullet points below) to substantiate my opinion:
- I work with two boys, one for the morning session and one for the afternoon session, and two girls over the lunchtime period. As per usual, the girls are delightful, relatively well-mannered and pleasant. The boys, on the other hand, as per usual, are grumpy and difficult.
- Both boys are years behind in comparison to their contemporaries in Year 4 and 5. Unfortunately, they come from bad backgrounds and have not been given the attention and love that I was lucky enough to receive (in truckloads) as a young child and throughout my life. It is with sadness more than anger that I become frustrated at their respective situations. And that frustration then turns to the education system in the United Kingdom, which in my opinion, is rotten to the core.
- According to some of the teachers at my school, at primary school level, you cannot permanently exclude/expel a pupil. If they do something severe (as in hit a teacher), you can suspend them for a few days as punishment. This means that there is no real disciplinary procedure for other offences. In my experience, there is no discipline at all. I have only worked at one school but I speak to all the supply teachers I meet and they say there is a general pattern. My school is one of the worst. (Oh well, thank goodness I cracked a good one then!) When a child is rude or disrespectful or disruptive, you either send him/her to another classroom for another poor teacher to deal with (which the naughty kids love because they get out of work) or you send them to the head teacher or head master. Head master sits them down so that they are at equal height and chats nicely to them to find out what went wrong. He then says, "That can't happen again, okay? Now go back to class and be a good boy." Wow, wouldn't you be frightened?
- What I find most interesting is the system of inclusion of special needs children into the classroom and the mixing up of the different academic levels in one classroom. I understand perfectly the theory behind integrating all children into the same classroom so that no one with a disability is left out. I do think, however, that the disadvantages outweigh the positive aspects. The lower level kids find incredibly difficult because they feel inadequate all the time and they are generally the ones who misbehave. The bright children lose out because they are constantly being disrupted. And the special needs kids, who are unable to concentrate on a good day, simply battle. The boy I work with in the afternoon is in Year 5, the equivalent of SA's Grade 5, and can hardly count to 15. He has behavioural problems due to bad home life etc. The government has paid for his learning support for five years and he still cannot count. He will never be able to learn properly in the classroom environment he is in. He needs to be taught in a different way altogether. Apparently, South Africa is due to introduce this same inclusion system next year.
Anyway, onto brighter and better topics... Went to see my first West End show a few weeks ago. Barry and I bought the cheapest tickets obviously but we could see enough from where we were sitting and the music was too beautiful. We watched a production called Wicked which has connections to the Wizard of Oz. We took turns looking through the little binoculars but there was no problem hearing the singing. Made me want to jump onto the stage...too late to be a West End star she cried?
Another of my classic UK tales is Carminator's Rollerdisco birthday party. Rollerdisco is a disco on a rollerskating floor. I thought that many years after my dismal attempts to rollerskate/rollerblade/waterski/rockclimb/abseil/slide from one rock crevice to another (anything to do with bravery or balance or heights or falling) as a young buck, I would have gotten over most of my fears. Hence, I attempted the impossible again. Most of the group had never put on a pair of rollerskates before. Oh but didn't they take to it like little ducklings to water. Ooooh my blood boils at the thought. I had the advantage of owning a second hand pair of rollerskates in my youth and I still couldn't "roll" any other way than onto the ground and around. The instructors at the event are very helpful. One of the very kind marshalls could see I was useless and came over to help me. At this point, I was hanging precariously from a pillar, my face contorted and my legs shaking. He said he'd help me round the floor. After 100 wobbles and 3 falls, he said, "Do you want to take those off for a while?" He meant, "Never try this again!" in a nice way. And I said "Hell yes!" I went to sit at the bar and drowned my sorrows whilst my contemporaries showed their many talents. Dear me.
Went to Hyde Park and to Sloane Square, beautiful part of London. White buildings, embassies all around. Sarah Braithwaite's friend, Nick Ackerman (of Pick 'n Pay acclaim) lives in Sloane Square across from the Italian embassy. I was in awe of how lovely it all was. Hyde Park was also fantastic. Funny that there were fifty people practicing their rollerskating technique along the pathways, emphasising my inadequacies from the night before.
Carminator and I went exploring the other day around Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey. It rained the whole time and we came home cold and looking GOOD. Glad I've seen some of the touristy places. Off to Exeter this weekend to visit my aunt. Looking forward to seeing another part of the country that is England.
Fra
I write in the uncertainty of my employment status. I informed the school and the teaching agency of my intention to return to the country of my birth on 1 December (I cannot explain the level of excitement I feel). Let's just say I did not receive a positive response. I've been given half term to re-think my decision and then will inform them next week. I may just have to tell them I am leaving for good quite frankly. Hell's teeth! It is not a pleasant job. I feel it necessary to provide some background information (see bullet points below) to substantiate my opinion:
- I work with two boys, one for the morning session and one for the afternoon session, and two girls over the lunchtime period. As per usual, the girls are delightful, relatively well-mannered and pleasant. The boys, on the other hand, as per usual, are grumpy and difficult.
- Both boys are years behind in comparison to their contemporaries in Year 4 and 5. Unfortunately, they come from bad backgrounds and have not been given the attention and love that I was lucky enough to receive (in truckloads) as a young child and throughout my life. It is with sadness more than anger that I become frustrated at their respective situations. And that frustration then turns to the education system in the United Kingdom, which in my opinion, is rotten to the core.
- According to some of the teachers at my school, at primary school level, you cannot permanently exclude/expel a pupil. If they do something severe (as in hit a teacher), you can suspend them for a few days as punishment. This means that there is no real disciplinary procedure for other offences. In my experience, there is no discipline at all. I have only worked at one school but I speak to all the supply teachers I meet and they say there is a general pattern. My school is one of the worst. (Oh well, thank goodness I cracked a good one then!) When a child is rude or disrespectful or disruptive, you either send him/her to another classroom for another poor teacher to deal with (which the naughty kids love because they get out of work) or you send them to the head teacher or head master. Head master sits them down so that they are at equal height and chats nicely to them to find out what went wrong. He then says, "That can't happen again, okay? Now go back to class and be a good boy." Wow, wouldn't you be frightened?
- What I find most interesting is the system of inclusion of special needs children into the classroom and the mixing up of the different academic levels in one classroom. I understand perfectly the theory behind integrating all children into the same classroom so that no one with a disability is left out. I do think, however, that the disadvantages outweigh the positive aspects. The lower level kids find incredibly difficult because they feel inadequate all the time and they are generally the ones who misbehave. The bright children lose out because they are constantly being disrupted. And the special needs kids, who are unable to concentrate on a good day, simply battle. The boy I work with in the afternoon is in Year 5, the equivalent of SA's Grade 5, and can hardly count to 15. He has behavioural problems due to bad home life etc. The government has paid for his learning support for five years and he still cannot count. He will never be able to learn properly in the classroom environment he is in. He needs to be taught in a different way altogether. Apparently, South Africa is due to introduce this same inclusion system next year.
Anyway, onto brighter and better topics... Went to see my first West End show a few weeks ago. Barry and I bought the cheapest tickets obviously but we could see enough from where we were sitting and the music was too beautiful. We watched a production called Wicked which has connections to the Wizard of Oz. We took turns looking through the little binoculars but there was no problem hearing the singing. Made me want to jump onto the stage...too late to be a West End star she cried?
Another of my classic UK tales is Carminator's Rollerdisco birthday party. Rollerdisco is a disco on a rollerskating floor. I thought that many years after my dismal attempts to rollerskate/rollerblade/waterski/rockclimb/abseil/slide from one rock crevice to another (anything to do with bravery or balance or heights or falling) as a young buck, I would have gotten over most of my fears. Hence, I attempted the impossible again. Most of the group had never put on a pair of rollerskates before. Oh but didn't they take to it like little ducklings to water. Ooooh my blood boils at the thought. I had the advantage of owning a second hand pair of rollerskates in my youth and I still couldn't "roll" any other way than onto the ground and around. The instructors at the event are very helpful. One of the very kind marshalls could see I was useless and came over to help me. At this point, I was hanging precariously from a pillar, my face contorted and my legs shaking. He said he'd help me round the floor. After 100 wobbles and 3 falls, he said, "Do you want to take those off for a while?" He meant, "Never try this again!" in a nice way. And I said "Hell yes!" I went to sit at the bar and drowned my sorrows whilst my contemporaries showed their many talents. Dear me.
Went to Hyde Park and to Sloane Square, beautiful part of London. White buildings, embassies all around. Sarah Braithwaite's friend, Nick Ackerman (of Pick 'n Pay acclaim) lives in Sloane Square across from the Italian embassy. I was in awe of how lovely it all was. Hyde Park was also fantastic. Funny that there were fifty people practicing their rollerskating technique along the pathways, emphasising my inadequacies from the night before.
Carminator and I went exploring the other day around Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey. It rained the whole time and we came home cold and looking GOOD. Glad I've seen some of the touristy places. Off to Exeter this weekend to visit my aunt. Looking forward to seeing another part of the country that is England.
Fra
The Oktoberfest - Prost!
Monday, October 5, 2009
What most surprised me about the entire Oktoberfest experience was the hospitable nature of Munich's people, the Bavarians. From the moment we landed at the airport on Wednesday morning at 8am, we were helped along by friendly train officers, information desk clerks, shop attendants. Quite delightful, it was happiness from beginning to end.
We hardly understood anyone we met but they knew we were there to have a good time and enjoy what the Oktoberfest had to offer and they appreciated it. The festival looks like a huge big theme park. There are lights, food stalls, rides and rollercoasters all over the place, the aromas of sugar-coated nuts, sausages, pancakes and schnitzels fill the air. Every type of sausage you can imagine; you just wouldn't believe it.
There are fourteen beer tents in all and six kinds of beer. Some of the beer tents had outside areas but these were generally very full and one had difficulty finding a seat. We spent most of our time at Lowenbrau and Hofbrau in the late afternoons and evenings (foreign tents, ie Aussies, Kiwis, Italians, Americans). In the day though, we tried to do the more German experience at tents like Paulaner and Augustine. These were my favourite beers, lighter and more tasty than Lowenbrau or Hofbrau.
We made many many friends, partly because we were a group of four girls at a beerfest and partly because people were just so damn friendly. The first day Mills and I were alone, we met four Bavarian girls who helped us order beer and half 'sign-languaged' a conversation with us. I'm friends with a couple of them on Facebook. There were many groups of Italians, too many to mention, some nice, some really slimy. It was all about where you could find a place to sit down. There was hardly ever a free table so we'd always have to join a half-full one.
We just had a ball. I can't even write about how wonderful it was. My mother would be happy to find out that I have a new respect for the American people. Since meeting a group of them on our final day, I have realised they can be incredibly intelligent people and I will give all American people a chance from now on.
Katie and Marli are on exchange in Amsterdam and met us there. The campsite was really nice and so well-organised. I'm definitely not a great camper though but you'd have been very proud of us. There was no complaining and the weather played its part in the success of our trip.
The new teaching job...HELL on earth. I happen to be an LSA (learning support) in a school with a reputation for bad behaviour. Great!This last week has been one of the hardest of my whole life. I thought the probation office was bad. Think again! The probation office was better than this. I officially do not like children in the UK. Take the coaching incident I told about you a while ago and times by one hundred. Dreadful manners, no wait, they do not have any manners, no respect for teachers or their contemporaries, hooligans running about and throwing things around the classroom. Ideal! I am going to make a change in the lives of the two boys I work with though. I have to make it work. Unfortunately, they are a few years behind the rest of their class which makes it all the more difficult. It is very sad to watch how the other children react to someone who is at a lower level and even more sad to watch how the child reacts to knowing he's not as clever as the others in his class.
Fra
What most surprised me about the entire Oktoberfest experience was the hospitable nature of Munich's people, the Bavarians. From the moment we landed at the airport on Wednesday morning at 8am, we were helped along by friendly train officers, information desk clerks, shop attendants. Quite delightful, it was happiness from beginning to end.
We hardly understood anyone we met but they knew we were there to have a good time and enjoy what the Oktoberfest had to offer and they appreciated it. The festival looks like a huge big theme park. There are lights, food stalls, rides and rollercoasters all over the place, the aromas of sugar-coated nuts, sausages, pancakes and schnitzels fill the air. Every type of sausage you can imagine; you just wouldn't believe it.
There are fourteen beer tents in all and six kinds of beer. Some of the beer tents had outside areas but these were generally very full and one had difficulty finding a seat. We spent most of our time at Lowenbrau and Hofbrau in the late afternoons and evenings (foreign tents, ie Aussies, Kiwis, Italians, Americans). In the day though, we tried to do the more German experience at tents like Paulaner and Augustine. These were my favourite beers, lighter and more tasty than Lowenbrau or Hofbrau.
We made many many friends, partly because we were a group of four girls at a beerfest and partly because people were just so damn friendly. The first day Mills and I were alone, we met four Bavarian girls who helped us order beer and half 'sign-languaged' a conversation with us. I'm friends with a couple of them on Facebook. There were many groups of Italians, too many to mention, some nice, some really slimy. It was all about where you could find a place to sit down. There was hardly ever a free table so we'd always have to join a half-full one.
We just had a ball. I can't even write about how wonderful it was. My mother would be happy to find out that I have a new respect for the American people. Since meeting a group of them on our final day, I have realised they can be incredibly intelligent people and I will give all American people a chance from now on.
Katie and Marli are on exchange in Amsterdam and met us there. The campsite was really nice and so well-organised. I'm definitely not a great camper though but you'd have been very proud of us. There was no complaining and the weather played its part in the success of our trip.
The new teaching job...HELL on earth. I happen to be an LSA (learning support) in a school with a reputation for bad behaviour. Great!This last week has been one of the hardest of my whole life. I thought the probation office was bad. Think again! The probation office was better than this. I officially do not like children in the UK. Take the coaching incident I told about you a while ago and times by one hundred. Dreadful manners, no wait, they do not have any manners, no respect for teachers or their contemporaries, hooligans running about and throwing things around the classroom. Ideal! I am going to make a change in the lives of the two boys I work with though. I have to make it work. Unfortunately, they are a few years behind the rest of their class which makes it all the more difficult. It is very sad to watch how the other children react to someone who is at a lower level and even more sad to watch how the child reacts to knowing he's not as clever as the others in his class.
Fra
Living the Wimbledon dream (well, sort of)
June 7, 2009
For those of you who haven't been fortunate to walk through the All England Tennis Club gates, this is for you and for those who have been to watch matches at Wimbledon, I intensely dislike you. This place is spell-binding.
Big black gates protect her from intruders and those who wish to do her harm; ivy, grown over the last two decades, covers nearly every white wall; the colours of green and purple are visible on every sign or item of uniform; Rafa's name still takes pride on the giant scoreboard from the 2008 final, one of the greatest ever; the courts are nearly ready for the tournament, green and not yet lined; the people are friendly, they love working in such an exciting environment; the atmosphere is electric and it is still three weeks until the Championship but it feels as if this year will be better than ever.
Okay, back to earth. I am an Office Administrator for the Championship. My role is described as Accounting and Admin Assistant. Some will be laughing, I am laughing, at the thought of me involved with the accounting side of things. I too am a little afraid but am hoping that I will cope with it all. I am still not sure why they chose me for that particular role as there are others.
For the meantime, in the run-up to the actual tournament, we are stocking the three main shops, training all the 300 other staff and going out for a group dinner and drinks. Best part. A really awesome bunch of people, some Aussies, a Frenchman, a Scotsman and a few British boys. Note the lack of female company. There is only one other British girl working as a manager with me. Not a bad thing I don't think.
For those of you who haven't been fortunate to walk through the All England Tennis Club gates, this is for you and for those who have been to watch matches at Wimbledon, I intensely dislike you. This place is spell-binding.
Big black gates protect her from intruders and those who wish to do her harm; ivy, grown over the last two decades, covers nearly every white wall; the colours of green and purple are visible on every sign or item of uniform; Rafa's name still takes pride on the giant scoreboard from the 2008 final, one of the greatest ever; the courts are nearly ready for the tournament, green and not yet lined; the people are friendly, they love working in such an exciting environment; the atmosphere is electric and it is still three weeks until the Championship but it feels as if this year will be better than ever.
Okay, back to earth. I am an Office Administrator for the Championship. My role is described as Accounting and Admin Assistant. Some will be laughing, I am laughing, at the thought of me involved with the accounting side of things. I too am a little afraid but am hoping that I will cope with it all. I am still not sure why they chose me for that particular role as there are others.
For the meantime, in the run-up to the actual tournament, we are stocking the three main shops, training all the 300 other staff and going out for a group dinner and drinks. Best part. A really awesome bunch of people, some Aussies, a Frenchman, a Scotsman and a few British boys. Note the lack of female company. There is only one other British girl working as a manager with me. Not a bad thing I don't think.
Sunday 14 February 2010
Another job change
Monday, September 21, 2009
District 9. Watch it. Just one of those films that is good just because it has something to do with South Africa. Never thought I'd enjoy sci-fi in anyway, but I absolutely loved the accents, the dialogue, the documentary style, the story idea, not so much the aliens though.
I attempted to go out the other night with my housemates, they are very good at reminding me what a loser I am and that I should be socialising on a Friday night. I seem to be a little over the whole "go to a club and not have a conversation, scream at each other, dance to average music and not remember a thing vibe". It is so good once in a while but that's why it's good, because it's once in a blimmin' while. But I went along anyway and ended up coming home earlier than everyone anyway because I couldn't stand another minute. I walked down Florence Road with the foxes toddling past me. It was all rather surreal. They hardly noticed my presence.
I resigned from my job at the Probation Centre. I'd had enough of people swearing at me through the glass and on the phone. I am now going to be a teaching assistant at a school about an hour away for two young boys. I can be patient when I want to be. Going to meet them in the morning. Another interesting experience to add to my weird and wonderful collection. Can't say I haven't tried to find employment in all spheres.
Saturday: sat in the concrete haven with old friends who were in London for the day and drank copious glasses of wine and had a good giggle. And another two bottles of Raj's Off Licence Special (cafe down the road) before I went home to make supper for a visitor at our house. I did apologise for being about 4 hours tardy.
District 9. Watch it. Just one of those films that is good just because it has something to do with South Africa. Never thought I'd enjoy sci-fi in anyway, but I absolutely loved the accents, the dialogue, the documentary style, the story idea, not so much the aliens though.
I attempted to go out the other night with my housemates, they are very good at reminding me what a loser I am and that I should be socialising on a Friday night. I seem to be a little over the whole "go to a club and not have a conversation, scream at each other, dance to average music and not remember a thing vibe". It is so good once in a while but that's why it's good, because it's once in a blimmin' while. But I went along anyway and ended up coming home earlier than everyone anyway because I couldn't stand another minute. I walked down Florence Road with the foxes toddling past me. It was all rather surreal. They hardly noticed my presence.
I resigned from my job at the Probation Centre. I'd had enough of people swearing at me through the glass and on the phone. I am now going to be a teaching assistant at a school about an hour away for two young boys. I can be patient when I want to be. Going to meet them in the morning. Another interesting experience to add to my weird and wonderful collection. Can't say I haven't tried to find employment in all spheres.
Saturday: sat in the concrete haven with old friends who were in London for the day and drank copious glasses of wine and had a good giggle. And another two bottles of Raj's Off Licence Special (cafe down the road) before I went home to make supper for a visitor at our house. I did apologise for being about 4 hours tardy.
The City of Love
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
It's official. I am in love; head-over-heels, knee-bending, "I've-never-felt-like-this-before" kind of love. Everything I could have hoped for and more...sophistication, wealth, attraction, intelligence, culture, energy and utterly unpredictable. I have had a whirlwind romance with a city. Her name is Paris. We had such a special connection, I wanted to bring her back to London with me but unfortunately there really is nothing for her here and I want her to be happy and stay as lovely as she is.
Paris is officially my favourite city, albeit I have not seen many others. Hard to believe but it even surpasses Port Elizabeth in my ratings of beauty and excitement. The people are shoddy, however, a very important aspect and one that PE certainly has no lack of. I can’t explain how architecturally brilliant every building is. I took a million and one photos of buildings. They simply don’t do the architecture justice, partly because of my underaverage photography skills and partly because photographs are a poor second to the real thing when the light, compostition, etc is not just right and you don’t have three hours to take the perfect shot. Excuses, excuses… Make no mistake, it’s not beautiful in the way South Africa is; wide open spaces, beaches, mountains, wildlife, greenery, colour, everything you’d want really. But then South Africa is not a city. We could compare Paris with 'fume and gloom' of JHB for instance, but that would be a fruitless exercise, wouldn't it? (No offence to Joburg-ites).
Paris is remarkably aesthetically pleasing for a city. It is beautiful in some similar ways to SA, however; it’s tradition, proud history. And then, its unbelievable architecture, the tourist friendly attractions; there is so much you can do for absolutely free, and the culture. French is undeniably my favourite language when heard spoken properly and "couramment" (fluently). There is nothing quite like it. I had to lift my jaw off the ground on several occasions after being caught staring at handsome French men chatting at little corner “brasseries”, the steam from piping hot espressos mixing with the smoke from their cigarettes, sitting legs crossed on colourful cane chairs, hands waving about, completely comfortable in their metrosexual ways. All the little coffee plekkies have the same cane chairs, slightly different design and perhaps a different colour but always cane. And never a shortage of ashtrays.
As for the waiters (les garçons) at these street cafés, you’d be impressed. Most wear dress pants with waistcoats and starched white shirts and ties. They make you feel utterly inferior while being very polite and overly patient with your average attempts at speaking their language. I can’t say I was offended in the least; maybe a little humiliated but not offended. Most of the American tourists (note I said most, not all) are so arrogant (or ignorant should I say), they don’t notice the sarcastic undertones. I had a good few chuckles while sipping on a “café au lait” at a little restaurant a street down from the Eiffel Tower. The coffee was well worth the five euros a cup. I wished I was a smoker in those moments. I will never forget my grandmother telling me how she started smoking in the good ol’ days because it was the thing to do; it showed sophistication. The French still pull that sophistication off. What a trendy society, I felt like a real tourist when walking the streets with backpack and camera on my shoulders. The wind blows but all the women's hair is perfect. Their scarves sit well even though they simply fling them around their necks. They walk for miles and miles in high heels and they don't feel a thing. I got so excited about my love for Paris that I started in the middle instead of at the beginning. I'll rewind a little bit.
09/09/09 (momentous!) I thought I was relatively organised for once. I looked up the underground times well in advance: 5:13am to Edgware Road leaving from Wimbledon. Whatever! That train never arrived did it? We eventually arrived at Kings Cross/St Pancras and made it to the International Departures on time. My travelling partner was still half asleep thank goodness and the half rush didn't worry her too much. Passport control couldn't have been a more effortless process. We stood in the queue for five minutes at the most, had our passports stamped and carried on through. Our Eurostar tickets were computer-printed and one simply had to place the barcode onto the sensor at the gate to be let through. Just like that.
St Pancras Int looks like an airport; wide open spaces, customs, boarding gates to the platforms and officials checking your tickets. The Eurostar itself was not hugely impressive, except the toilets had pedals so you didn't actually have to touch anything. I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting for my ticket exactly, perhaps more colourful carriages and beverage services? The scenery was spectacular though (okay, maybe that's taking it too far). It was nice to be on an overground train (passed through Calais and Autumn had just hit the fields and farms). We saw the Opera Nationale (gallery of music), stunning building, gold statues etc; Le Louvre (Mona Lisa and all the eighteenth century paintings, also African and South American tribal art - could have spent all day and night here); Tuileries gardens (people sit in green chairs all over the place in the gardens, around the pond, awesome!); Notre Dame (Wow!). Went to a little restaurant near Le Louvre called Le Cafe des Inities. A photo wouldn't have done it justice. The waiter, Benedicte, tried to get me to speak in French and I threw in a few words here and there. He was very nice. We had a little bottle of Cote du Rhone red and some great food while people chattered around us and smoked boxes of cigarettes and laughed. Best part of the day! Then hit the Hotel 'Armstrong' to bed. Interesting, very average hotel but clean sheets and a pillow to rest the head.
10/09/09 After a hearty breakfast of croissants and coffee, we hit the Champs-Elysees: what an amazing street. Shops, shops, restaurants, and the Arc de Triomphe thrown in. Loved it. Took about two hundred photos. Couldn't get close enough to the Arc de Triomphe as I would have liked though. Time was not on our side. Then the Eiffel Tower was next. I also got some great photos. We didn't climb it unfortunately but I hope to do it one day. I am sure the views must be unbelievable from up top. The Eiffel Tower at night is like a huge Christmas tree, you must be able to see it from anywhere in Paris, delightful. Took photos and bought postcards (actually captured it properly). Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur was my favourite part of the trip. We spent the whole afternoon of the second day there (chocolate crepes, frites, cafe au lait), an amazing village, Picasso's first studio, markets of momentos to take back to your part of the world, the cathedral was painstakingly beautiful.
We were fortunate that my travelling partner's housemate works on Eurostar and she gave us tickets for the business lounge which we used on our way back to England. We arrived looking like Tweedledum and Tweedledee with bags over our shoulders, takkies on and windswept hair. After a glass of crisp white, I was well on my way to feeling better. I then thought I 'd have a beer just to be safe. Fantastic. Grabbed a complimentary Economist and hopped on the Eurostar home.
All in all, an amazing, world-view-changing experience. Walked a lot, didn't speak enough French and caught the travel bug in a bad way.
Fra
It's official. I am in love; head-over-heels, knee-bending, "I've-never-felt-like-this-before" kind of love. Everything I could have hoped for and more...sophistication, wealth, attraction, intelligence, culture, energy and utterly unpredictable. I have had a whirlwind romance with a city. Her name is Paris. We had such a special connection, I wanted to bring her back to London with me but unfortunately there really is nothing for her here and I want her to be happy and stay as lovely as she is.
Paris is officially my favourite city, albeit I have not seen many others. Hard to believe but it even surpasses Port Elizabeth in my ratings of beauty and excitement. The people are shoddy, however, a very important aspect and one that PE certainly has no lack of. I can’t explain how architecturally brilliant every building is. I took a million and one photos of buildings. They simply don’t do the architecture justice, partly because of my underaverage photography skills and partly because photographs are a poor second to the real thing when the light, compostition, etc is not just right and you don’t have three hours to take the perfect shot. Excuses, excuses… Make no mistake, it’s not beautiful in the way South Africa is; wide open spaces, beaches, mountains, wildlife, greenery, colour, everything you’d want really. But then South Africa is not a city. We could compare Paris with 'fume and gloom' of JHB for instance, but that would be a fruitless exercise, wouldn't it? (No offence to Joburg-ites).
Paris is remarkably aesthetically pleasing for a city. It is beautiful in some similar ways to SA, however; it’s tradition, proud history. And then, its unbelievable architecture, the tourist friendly attractions; there is so much you can do for absolutely free, and the culture. French is undeniably my favourite language when heard spoken properly and "couramment" (fluently). There is nothing quite like it. I had to lift my jaw off the ground on several occasions after being caught staring at handsome French men chatting at little corner “brasseries”, the steam from piping hot espressos mixing with the smoke from their cigarettes, sitting legs crossed on colourful cane chairs, hands waving about, completely comfortable in their metrosexual ways. All the little coffee plekkies have the same cane chairs, slightly different design and perhaps a different colour but always cane. And never a shortage of ashtrays.
As for the waiters (les garçons) at these street cafés, you’d be impressed. Most wear dress pants with waistcoats and starched white shirts and ties. They make you feel utterly inferior while being very polite and overly patient with your average attempts at speaking their language. I can’t say I was offended in the least; maybe a little humiliated but not offended. Most of the American tourists (note I said most, not all) are so arrogant (or ignorant should I say), they don’t notice the sarcastic undertones. I had a good few chuckles while sipping on a “café au lait” at a little restaurant a street down from the Eiffel Tower. The coffee was well worth the five euros a cup. I wished I was a smoker in those moments. I will never forget my grandmother telling me how she started smoking in the good ol’ days because it was the thing to do; it showed sophistication. The French still pull that sophistication off. What a trendy society, I felt like a real tourist when walking the streets with backpack and camera on my shoulders. The wind blows but all the women's hair is perfect. Their scarves sit well even though they simply fling them around their necks. They walk for miles and miles in high heels and they don't feel a thing. I got so excited about my love for Paris that I started in the middle instead of at the beginning. I'll rewind a little bit.
09/09/09 (momentous!) I thought I was relatively organised for once. I looked up the underground times well in advance: 5:13am to Edgware Road leaving from Wimbledon. Whatever! That train never arrived did it? We eventually arrived at Kings Cross/St Pancras and made it to the International Departures on time. My travelling partner was still half asleep thank goodness and the half rush didn't worry her too much. Passport control couldn't have been a more effortless process. We stood in the queue for five minutes at the most, had our passports stamped and carried on through. Our Eurostar tickets were computer-printed and one simply had to place the barcode onto the sensor at the gate to be let through. Just like that.
St Pancras Int looks like an airport; wide open spaces, customs, boarding gates to the platforms and officials checking your tickets. The Eurostar itself was not hugely impressive, except the toilets had pedals so you didn't actually have to touch anything. I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting for my ticket exactly, perhaps more colourful carriages and beverage services? The scenery was spectacular though (okay, maybe that's taking it too far). It was nice to be on an overground train (passed through Calais and Autumn had just hit the fields and farms). We saw the Opera Nationale (gallery of music), stunning building, gold statues etc; Le Louvre (Mona Lisa and all the eighteenth century paintings, also African and South American tribal art - could have spent all day and night here); Tuileries gardens (people sit in green chairs all over the place in the gardens, around the pond, awesome!); Notre Dame (Wow!). Went to a little restaurant near Le Louvre called Le Cafe des Inities. A photo wouldn't have done it justice. The waiter, Benedicte, tried to get me to speak in French and I threw in a few words here and there. He was very nice. We had a little bottle of Cote du Rhone red and some great food while people chattered around us and smoked boxes of cigarettes and laughed. Best part of the day! Then hit the Hotel 'Armstrong' to bed. Interesting, very average hotel but clean sheets and a pillow to rest the head.
10/09/09 After a hearty breakfast of croissants and coffee, we hit the Champs-Elysees: what an amazing street. Shops, shops, restaurants, and the Arc de Triomphe thrown in. Loved it. Took about two hundred photos. Couldn't get close enough to the Arc de Triomphe as I would have liked though. Time was not on our side. Then the Eiffel Tower was next. I also got some great photos. We didn't climb it unfortunately but I hope to do it one day. I am sure the views must be unbelievable from up top. The Eiffel Tower at night is like a huge Christmas tree, you must be able to see it from anywhere in Paris, delightful. Took photos and bought postcards (actually captured it properly). Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur was my favourite part of the trip. We spent the whole afternoon of the second day there (chocolate crepes, frites, cafe au lait), an amazing village, Picasso's first studio, markets of momentos to take back to your part of the world, the cathedral was painstakingly beautiful.
We were fortunate that my travelling partner's housemate works on Eurostar and she gave us tickets for the business lounge which we used on our way back to England. We arrived looking like Tweedledum and Tweedledee with bags over our shoulders, takkies on and windswept hair. After a glass of crisp white, I was well on my way to feeling better. I then thought I 'd have a beer just to be safe. Fantastic. Grabbed a complimentary Economist and hopped on the Eurostar home.
All in all, an amazing, world-view-changing experience. Walked a lot, didn't speak enough French and caught the travel bug in a bad way.
Fra
Saturday, September 5, 2009
South Africa is the leading act on the world stage at the moment. Every newspaper and magazine has something about the World Cup in it. I'm basking in the positivity for once. It is about time I say...
Anyway, times are tough on the employment side of things. It is my last day at the National Pandemic Flu Service tomorrow. They are shutting down our Call Centre. My 'efficient and reliable' agency did not inform me of this and so I had to piece together the pieces of the jigsaw myself. Will miss my fellow Swine Flu Agents. We have such a nice bank of people; good banter and laughter and quiz mornings, etc. Will be so very good to have my weekends back but need the money desperately to keep going so that I can eventually save and pay back a little debt. The other agency, that I do the probation office work for, still hasn't processed my tax forms so I am still paying emergency (highest rates) tax. Infuriating! The tax office will owe me a big rebate at the end of it all I hope.
Something very exciting happens on Wednesday next week though. I am off to Paris, France for a night with a friend from Piggy Flu Services. We disagree on everything about South Africa but get along very well otherwise. We're heading off on the Eurostar train with packed lunches and maps in hand. Neither of us have any money to spend so should be fun. We're staying at a hotel called the Armstrong (Hehe Tristan, thought of you when I booked). It's not far from all the sights and sounds of the "city of love". As you can imagine, France is another of my dream experiences so a little taste for the night will do just fine. We shall have to splash out on some good rooi wyn and a little bistro cuisine in the evening. So very lucky. The story is not so simple though...
It all started late one evening when Megan Mills arrived home from her pub job and I returned from some or other engagement. A wise man once told me that if there is one trip I make, it should be a journey to Munich for the Oktoberfest. I haven't asked him why it was so good but huge jugs of beer makes any situation fantastic. I haven't the money to do any travelling this year actually but I thought if I could see one little bit of Europe in the eight months I'm here, it should be a beer festival (yummy) in Germany. Mills and I sat at out miniature kitchen table amongst the washing up and bread crumbs and researched (in all fairness, Mills did most of the work) our cheapest flight and accommodation options. Three nights in a tent, breakfast, shuttles to and from the festival and flights to Munich and back is costing us about 170 pounds. Ridiculously reasonable. We were just so lucky. We even found an Oktoberfest hat (in the shape of a keg) in our cupboard in the lounge. If that isn't a sign, then I don't know.
It was too late to book an appointment with the German embassy, so I needed to get a multi-entry through France or Portugal. France seemed the obvious choice. Then the real drama of acquiring a Schengen visa began. I wrote French letters to the embassy, asked for a three month visa instead of six, and 150 pounds for a night in Paris and 115 pounds for a visa later, I am permitted to enter the country of Germany. A reasonably inexpensive trip becomes exorbitant! Broke as anything but extremely happy and grateful as that is why I am here, right?
It is officially Autumn here. The wind has become chilling to the bone and it is getting dark much earlier than it used to. Runs before or after work are unbearable, just can't wait for Winter. It's going to be awesome. Hehe.
Went to the Notting Hill festival on the bank holiday (public holiday) on 31/08/09. We arrived too late so had missed most of the action. There was a delightful little Jamaican girl dancing on the street though. Definitely my highlight of the afternoon. She could hardly stand but boy, could she dance. Warms my heart when I see a dancer, born with rhythm in her bones. She loved the cameras and everyone who passed, everyone, took a photo of her. She's clasp her hands together ans show off her perfect white teeth. Never seen a Daddy so proud.
South Africa is the leading act on the world stage at the moment. Every newspaper and magazine has something about the World Cup in it. I'm basking in the positivity for once. It is about time I say...
Anyway, times are tough on the employment side of things. It is my last day at the National Pandemic Flu Service tomorrow. They are shutting down our Call Centre. My 'efficient and reliable' agency did not inform me of this and so I had to piece together the pieces of the jigsaw myself. Will miss my fellow Swine Flu Agents. We have such a nice bank of people; good banter and laughter and quiz mornings, etc. Will be so very good to have my weekends back but need the money desperately to keep going so that I can eventually save and pay back a little debt. The other agency, that I do the probation office work for, still hasn't processed my tax forms so I am still paying emergency (highest rates) tax. Infuriating! The tax office will owe me a big rebate at the end of it all I hope.
Something very exciting happens on Wednesday next week though. I am off to Paris, France for a night with a friend from Piggy Flu Services. We disagree on everything about South Africa but get along very well otherwise. We're heading off on the Eurostar train with packed lunches and maps in hand. Neither of us have any money to spend so should be fun. We're staying at a hotel called the Armstrong (Hehe Tristan, thought of you when I booked). It's not far from all the sights and sounds of the "city of love". As you can imagine, France is another of my dream experiences so a little taste for the night will do just fine. We shall have to splash out on some good rooi wyn and a little bistro cuisine in the evening. So very lucky. The story is not so simple though...
It all started late one evening when Megan Mills arrived home from her pub job and I returned from some or other engagement. A wise man once told me that if there is one trip I make, it should be a journey to Munich for the Oktoberfest. I haven't asked him why it was so good but huge jugs of beer makes any situation fantastic. I haven't the money to do any travelling this year actually but I thought if I could see one little bit of Europe in the eight months I'm here, it should be a beer festival (yummy) in Germany. Mills and I sat at out miniature kitchen table amongst the washing up and bread crumbs and researched (in all fairness, Mills did most of the work) our cheapest flight and accommodation options. Three nights in a tent, breakfast, shuttles to and from the festival and flights to Munich and back is costing us about 170 pounds. Ridiculously reasonable. We were just so lucky. We even found an Oktoberfest hat (in the shape of a keg) in our cupboard in the lounge. If that isn't a sign, then I don't know.
It was too late to book an appointment with the German embassy, so I needed to get a multi-entry through France or Portugal. France seemed the obvious choice. Then the real drama of acquiring a Schengen visa began. I wrote French letters to the embassy, asked for a three month visa instead of six, and 150 pounds for a night in Paris and 115 pounds for a visa later, I am permitted to enter the country of Germany. A reasonably inexpensive trip becomes exorbitant! Broke as anything but extremely happy and grateful as that is why I am here, right?
It is officially Autumn here. The wind has become chilling to the bone and it is getting dark much earlier than it used to. Runs before or after work are unbearable, just can't wait for Winter. It's going to be awesome. Hehe.
Went to the Notting Hill festival on the bank holiday (public holiday) on 31/08/09. We arrived too late so had missed most of the action. There was a delightful little Jamaican girl dancing on the street though. Definitely my highlight of the afternoon. She could hardly stand but boy, could she dance. Warms my heart when I see a dancer, born with rhythm in her bones. She loved the cameras and everyone who passed, everyone, took a photo of her. She's clasp her hands together ans show off her perfect white teeth. Never seen a Daddy so proud.
The "fortnight"
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Wimbledon Championships are about so much more than just the high standard tennis. Make no mistake; there is nothing like watching Roger Federer rule the court or Andy Murray in front of his home crowd or Tommy Haas playing the best tennis of his life. And do not forget the Williams sisters’ domination of the women’s game either. But there is something about the “Wimbledon experience” which impresses; the tradition, the pride and the aura of Wimbledon that places the “fortnight” a step above other Grand Slam tournaments and sporting events, in a class of its own.
Tennis greats like John McEnroe and Pete Sampras still place the Wimbledon title at the top of their lists. According to Larissa Tilbury, Corporate Sales Office Manager at The Wimbledon Shop, “Wimbledon is the Grand Slam because it is so rich in tradition. “It is not the tournament with the biggest prize money but the one that every player wants to win, simply because it’s Wimbledon”, she said.
Phil Brunetti, Stock Control Manager in one of The Wimbledon Shops, said the tournament is special because the players really seem to care.
“They respect the Wimbledon traditions, the all-white rules, most players just love coming to compete here.“Wimbledon is a magical land for two weeks of the year. I have been coming to watch the tennis since I can remember. When I was old enough to work, it seemed ideal as I live fifteen minutes away. So voila, the rest is history and this is my third year at The Wimbledon Shop,” Brunetti said.
“It is a such a privilege to be here. Some people dream of being at Wimbledon for just one day. I get paid to be here for the whole two weeks and soak up the atmosphere, the buzz and the happy people.”
This year, the weather played its part in the success of the Championships. According to Harry Santa Ooh La-la, floor manager of the Court 1 Shop, the good weather benefited the tournament as a whole.“The good weather boosted the morale of the staff as well as the spectators. We were lucky in this respect,” he said.
As Agassi says, magic can happen at Wimbledon. And it sure does, what a fortnight!
SOME QUOTES: What makes Wimbledon special for you?
“I love Wimbledon because it reminds me of all the special eccentric aspects about England; the strawberries, the Pimms, the rich history, the tradition, what England was like when it was a nice place with no knives.”
“I love Wimbledon, there is a great vibe. I really enjoy being here. The fact is that Wimbledon is tennis. Other tournaments are incomparable, Wimbledon is in another league.”
"Howzit bru?” (The ripping off of my accent simply never got old. Another favourite line was "Can you spare me a cigarette?" from the movie Blood Diamond. Was Leo DiCaprio not Rhodesian/Zimbabwean in that movie? Anyway :)
“These are the best two weeks of my year and always have been. The Village goes from dead to a real buzz. It’s like a tennis club but in the Village, with the players walking around and stuff.”
“The massive network of people is the best thing. I love the social side of the event. It was really good to watch one of the biggest sporting events in the world happen.”
Why do you work at Wimbledon?
“The fact that Wimbledon is the ultimate Grand Slam. It’s British; it’s tradition, it’s strawberries and cream, the whites, the Pimms, it’s the biggest prize in tennis. It has been a privilege to work at a world class event like this.”
"To be part of such a majestic, outstanding event and work with people less good-looking than myself.”
“It has been a really great experience being part of one of the biggest sporting events in the world. I love the vibe; it is about so much more than just the tennis. It is about the beautiful grounds, the dress-up, as much about its aura than just the tennis.”
"I like the holiday atmosphere, meeting lots of different people. As for the strawberries and cream? I’m English, I could have that anytime.”
The Wimbledon Championships are about so much more than just the high standard tennis. Make no mistake; there is nothing like watching Roger Federer rule the court or Andy Murray in front of his home crowd or Tommy Haas playing the best tennis of his life. And do not forget the Williams sisters’ domination of the women’s game either. But there is something about the “Wimbledon experience” which impresses; the tradition, the pride and the aura of Wimbledon that places the “fortnight” a step above other Grand Slam tournaments and sporting events, in a class of its own.
Tennis greats like John McEnroe and Pete Sampras still place the Wimbledon title at the top of their lists. According to Larissa Tilbury, Corporate Sales Office Manager at The Wimbledon Shop, “Wimbledon is the Grand Slam because it is so rich in tradition. “It is not the tournament with the biggest prize money but the one that every player wants to win, simply because it’s Wimbledon”, she said.
Phil Brunetti, Stock Control Manager in one of The Wimbledon Shops, said the tournament is special because the players really seem to care.
“They respect the Wimbledon traditions, the all-white rules, most players just love coming to compete here.“Wimbledon is a magical land for two weeks of the year. I have been coming to watch the tennis since I can remember. When I was old enough to work, it seemed ideal as I live fifteen minutes away. So voila, the rest is history and this is my third year at The Wimbledon Shop,” Brunetti said.
“It is a such a privilege to be here. Some people dream of being at Wimbledon for just one day. I get paid to be here for the whole two weeks and soak up the atmosphere, the buzz and the happy people.”
This year, the weather played its part in the success of the Championships. According to Harry Santa Ooh La-la, floor manager of the Court 1 Shop, the good weather benefited the tournament as a whole.“The good weather boosted the morale of the staff as well as the spectators. We were lucky in this respect,” he said.
As Agassi says, magic can happen at Wimbledon. And it sure does, what a fortnight!
SOME QUOTES: What makes Wimbledon special for you?
“I love Wimbledon because it reminds me of all the special eccentric aspects about England; the strawberries, the Pimms, the rich history, the tradition, what England was like when it was a nice place with no knives.”
“I love Wimbledon, there is a great vibe. I really enjoy being here. The fact is that Wimbledon is tennis. Other tournaments are incomparable, Wimbledon is in another league.”
"Howzit bru?” (The ripping off of my accent simply never got old. Another favourite line was "Can you spare me a cigarette?" from the movie Blood Diamond. Was Leo DiCaprio not Rhodesian/Zimbabwean in that movie? Anyway :)
“These are the best two weeks of my year and always have been. The Village goes from dead to a real buzz. It’s like a tennis club but in the Village, with the players walking around and stuff.”
“The massive network of people is the best thing. I love the social side of the event. It was really good to watch one of the biggest sporting events in the world happen.”
Why do you work at Wimbledon?
“The fact that Wimbledon is the ultimate Grand Slam. It’s British; it’s tradition, it’s strawberries and cream, the whites, the Pimms, it’s the biggest prize in tennis. It has been a privilege to work at a world class event like this.”
"To be part of such a majestic, outstanding event and work with people less good-looking than myself.”
“It has been a really great experience being part of one of the biggest sporting events in the world. I love the vibe; it is about so much more than just the tennis. It is about the beautiful grounds, the dress-up, as much about its aura than just the tennis.”
"I like the holiday atmosphere, meeting lots of different people. As for the strawberries and cream? I’m English, I could have that anytime.”
WIMBLEDON, THE PLACE WHERE MAGIC HAPPENS
Sunday, June 21, 2009
And the magic begins tomorrow afternoon. The buzz is electric in this little town, people are tense with excitement, Andy Murray is in with a chance and the media are making the most of it. The temporary food stalls are erected, the jazz band marquee is ready, the hedges are perfectly trimmed, the flowers are delivered, the strawberries and cream are in the fridge, the 700 security guards are prepared, the Wimbledon Shops are stocked, the tills are programmed and the draw is final. Nadal is out and everyone is talking about it. The courts are green with anticipation, the ball boys and girls are practiced and kitted out in Ralph Lauren.
The tennis greats have been practicing; Federer, Hewitt, Safin, Murray, Lopez...Dementieva, Sharapova, Ivanovic. To see them in the flesh is enough to make one tear up, the realness of it all, the aura of greatness, the tradition, the all-whites, the Wimbledon colours.
So I have created the atmosphere for you. The long hours and average work have been more than worth it. When I saw Federer for five minutes knocking with Rafa and Murray and Safin and Hewitt, my trip to London was made. When I finished work at 8pm on Friday, I smiled as I left the grounds, happily exhausted. If I have to leave the UK tomorrow, it has all been worth it, just to bump into Hewitt on the path and exchange an awkward apology, or to walk past Safin at a little cafe in Wimbledon Village. Surreal I tell you.
The Wimbledon Management Team went out for a few drinks last night. A fantastic evening full of good British banter and beer. I am going to be sitting for most of the two weeks in a mysterious, dark room counting money, thousands and thousands of pounds, cash-lifting, doing the odd bank trip and then counting again. Hopefully in my break, I will be able to escape the darkness for the light of the tennis world and the grace of the glorious (and married, soon-to-be father) Federer, Murray the arrogant ambitious ace, legs-to-her-neck Sharapova, etcetera...
Spent a wonderful afternoon with Susanna (from Stellies journalism fame) and her housemates with Two Oceans wine and laughter at the Leather Bottle in Earlsfield. The Bokke nearly had a wobbly.I walked past Starbucks on Saturday, a sea of green Springbok jerseys and coffee. I stepped onto the bus (to the Barclays bank) full of green and gold scarves and Afrikaans chatter and British Lions supporters in the minority. London was excited to the core! Broke as can be but remaining happy!! Life promises so much...
I wish all my family and friends could spend a day at the Wimbledon courts, a glass of 100 pound champagne in the hand, the odd strawberry with a dollop of cream and a good laugh. The tennis would only be an added bonus. I shall write at the end of Week Two, when the play is finished, the dream has disappeared for another year and the magic has faded somewhat...and the job search begins again...
And the magic begins tomorrow afternoon. The buzz is electric in this little town, people are tense with excitement, Andy Murray is in with a chance and the media are making the most of it. The temporary food stalls are erected, the jazz band marquee is ready, the hedges are perfectly trimmed, the flowers are delivered, the strawberries and cream are in the fridge, the 700 security guards are prepared, the Wimbledon Shops are stocked, the tills are programmed and the draw is final. Nadal is out and everyone is talking about it. The courts are green with anticipation, the ball boys and girls are practiced and kitted out in Ralph Lauren.
The tennis greats have been practicing; Federer, Hewitt, Safin, Murray, Lopez...Dementieva, Sharapova, Ivanovic. To see them in the flesh is enough to make one tear up, the realness of it all, the aura of greatness, the tradition, the all-whites, the Wimbledon colours.
So I have created the atmosphere for you. The long hours and average work have been more than worth it. When I saw Federer for five minutes knocking with Rafa and Murray and Safin and Hewitt, my trip to London was made. When I finished work at 8pm on Friday, I smiled as I left the grounds, happily exhausted. If I have to leave the UK tomorrow, it has all been worth it, just to bump into Hewitt on the path and exchange an awkward apology, or to walk past Safin at a little cafe in Wimbledon Village. Surreal I tell you.
The Wimbledon Management Team went out for a few drinks last night. A fantastic evening full of good British banter and beer. I am going to be sitting for most of the two weeks in a mysterious, dark room counting money, thousands and thousands of pounds, cash-lifting, doing the odd bank trip and then counting again. Hopefully in my break, I will be able to escape the darkness for the light of the tennis world and the grace of the glorious (and married, soon-to-be father) Federer, Murray the arrogant ambitious ace, legs-to-her-neck Sharapova, etcetera...
Spent a wonderful afternoon with Susanna (from Stellies journalism fame) and her housemates with Two Oceans wine and laughter at the Leather Bottle in Earlsfield. The Bokke nearly had a wobbly.I walked past Starbucks on Saturday, a sea of green Springbok jerseys and coffee. I stepped onto the bus (to the Barclays bank) full of green and gold scarves and Afrikaans chatter and British Lions supporters in the minority. London was excited to the core! Broke as can be but remaining happy!! Life promises so much...
I wish all my family and friends could spend a day at the Wimbledon courts, a glass of 100 pound champagne in the hand, the odd strawberry with a dollop of cream and a good laugh. The tennis would only be an added bonus. I shall write at the end of Week Two, when the play is finished, the dream has disappeared for another year and the magic has faded somewhat...and the job search begins again...
My first weeks at Wimbledon
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Yay to the SA Cricket Team, boo to the Sharks! Yay to the hot weather today and boo to the R100 it cost to play on a court for an hour! Yay to having a job and boo to working tomorrow (Sunday)!
Played tennis with cousin Garyth Turner, he was so brilliant and I was so useless, he would definitely have beaten me had we played a match. It was definitely the nicest day since I have been here and I spent every minute outside. Joy! This afternoon, I went up to the Wimbledon Village to meet another girl on the Management Team for the Wimbedon Shop. She has a flat in the middle of Wimbledon Village amongst all the little cafes, restaurants, wonderfully exquisite but expensive pubs like the Dog and Fox or the Rose and Crown, upmarket clothes shops and so forth. She and I bought a beverage at the local Off Licence store and sauntered over to the Wimbledon common, a public piece of land (nearly like a park but longish grass and a little dam in the middle), where we lay about in the sun and spoke about a whole lot of rubbish. She was born in London but has resided in Portugal for the last seven years with her Mom, Dad and siblings. Her family still lives in Portugal but she has studied here and has worked at the Wimbledon Champs for many years and has slowly moved up the ranks. I have so enjoyed spending a bit of time with her.
There was a fair on in the Common too with merry-go-rounds, candy floss stands and those stalls where you can throw hoops over pegs and win awfully large teddy bears and other strange furry animals. Daisy and I made sure we had a 99, which is a soft serve with a flake in it, from Mr Whippy. Just like the jolly movies, not right? As I was off to buy tennis balls today, traffic was help up becaue of the police doing some work for charity, pulling an ambulance up a hill with their bodies. Other members of the force were running around with buckets asking for donations. It was a mixture of the first week at Stellenbosch (Jool) and something from WWF, what a weird country this is!
Other than that, I am working tomorrow at the Museum Shop for the whole day. Nice extra pocket money, which is great but a little irritated to work on a Sunday. Exhausted.Was invited to supper with the colleagues last night, made sure I behaved very well and cooked and cleaned, etc, while I was there. So enjoying spending time with some young, interesting British people. They have a certain humour which is something else. They do never get over the SA accent though. Every second person is trying to perfect my accent, you'd think they would be used to the South Africans by now. When I arrive at work, I get about one thousand "Howzit Bru"s and several "as well"s and "just now"s. It is hilarious!
Oh, also went out on Thursday to watch the very disappointing Sharks in action. It was SAFFA night at The Clapham Grand, a very larney club across the road from Clampham Junction train station. There were SA Rugby flags, Sharks, Stormers and Bulls posters, Springbok scarves all over the place, etc. I cannot believe there are so many South Africans here that businesses and establishments can make a fortune out of them. Saffa night was full, full, full. Hectic!
Yay to the SA Cricket Team, boo to the Sharks! Yay to the hot weather today and boo to the R100 it cost to play on a court for an hour! Yay to having a job and boo to working tomorrow (Sunday)!
Played tennis with cousin Garyth Turner, he was so brilliant and I was so useless, he would definitely have beaten me had we played a match. It was definitely the nicest day since I have been here and I spent every minute outside. Joy! This afternoon, I went up to the Wimbledon Village to meet another girl on the Management Team for the Wimbedon Shop. She has a flat in the middle of Wimbledon Village amongst all the little cafes, restaurants, wonderfully exquisite but expensive pubs like the Dog and Fox or the Rose and Crown, upmarket clothes shops and so forth. She and I bought a beverage at the local Off Licence store and sauntered over to the Wimbledon common, a public piece of land (nearly like a park but longish grass and a little dam in the middle), where we lay about in the sun and spoke about a whole lot of rubbish. She was born in London but has resided in Portugal for the last seven years with her Mom, Dad and siblings. Her family still lives in Portugal but she has studied here and has worked at the Wimbledon Champs for many years and has slowly moved up the ranks. I have so enjoyed spending a bit of time with her.
There was a fair on in the Common too with merry-go-rounds, candy floss stands and those stalls where you can throw hoops over pegs and win awfully large teddy bears and other strange furry animals. Daisy and I made sure we had a 99, which is a soft serve with a flake in it, from Mr Whippy. Just like the jolly movies, not right? As I was off to buy tennis balls today, traffic was help up becaue of the police doing some work for charity, pulling an ambulance up a hill with their bodies. Other members of the force were running around with buckets asking for donations. It was a mixture of the first week at Stellenbosch (Jool) and something from WWF, what a weird country this is!
Other than that, I am working tomorrow at the Museum Shop for the whole day. Nice extra pocket money, which is great but a little irritated to work on a Sunday. Exhausted.Was invited to supper with the colleagues last night, made sure I behaved very well and cooked and cleaned, etc, while I was there. So enjoying spending time with some young, interesting British people. They have a certain humour which is something else. They do never get over the SA accent though. Every second person is trying to perfect my accent, you'd think they would be used to the South Africans by now. When I arrive at work, I get about one thousand "Howzit Bru"s and several "as well"s and "just now"s. It is hilarious!
Oh, also went out on Thursday to watch the very disappointing Sharks in action. It was SAFFA night at The Clapham Grand, a very larney club across the road from Clampham Junction train station. There were SA Rugby flags, Sharks, Stormers and Bulls posters, Springbok scarves all over the place, etc. I cannot believe there are so many South Africans here that businesses and establishments can make a fortune out of them. Saffa night was full, full, full. Hectic!
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