Make way for ducklings! (And tourists)

I'm spending the week in Boston for work, and today I was completely free, so I spent the day touring the city with some dear friends. In true tourist fashion, we bought tickets for the hop-on/hop-off CityView tour bus. It was a very comfortable bus with very pleasant guides, and I learned a lot. I'm not going to recount all I learned, but if you're ever in Boston, I recommend it. 

There were many highlights of the day, but one of my favorite pictures is from this memorial in Boston Common. 

These little guys are from the classic children's book Make Way for Ducklings. They get dressed up for various Boston events. This time of year, they're wearing their Easter hats! I love them. 

Chicken Korma = Nostalgia

Way back when I lived in Edinburgh, one of my favorite things was the chicken korma at Tikka Mahal. I have never had a korma as good as they made there, but in an attempt to capture a taste of those times, I've found and modified this korma recipe. I can't speak to its authenticity, but it's pretty tasty. It's super involved but worth the work in the end.

Chicken Korma

Ingredients 

¼ c cashew halves

¼ c boiling water

3 cloves garlic

1 Tbsp pureéd ginger

3 Tbsp vegetable oil

1 large onion, minced 

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp garam masala

1 tsp ground turmeric

1 tsp chili pepper

½ tsp ground cinnamon 

1 Tbsp brown sugar

1 Tbsp curry powder

4 skinless chicken breasts, diced 

¼ c tomato sauce

1 c chicken broth

½ c coconut milk

½ c plain yogurt

2 tsp cornstarch, mixed with equal parts water

Salt

Directions

1. Place cashews in a small bowl, and pour the boiling water over nuts. Set aside for 15 to 20 minutes. 

2. Place garlic and ginger in food processor and blend until smooth; set aside.

3. Heat oil in wok over medium heat. 

4. Stir in onion, and cook until soft, about 3 to 5 minutes. 

5. Mix in garlic/ginger paste, and season with coriander, garam masala, cumin, turmeric, brown sugar, curry powder, and chili powder. 

6. Stir in chicken, and cook for about 5 minutes. 

7. Pour in tomato sauce and chicken broth. 

8. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

9. Meanwhile, place the cashews, along with the water in which they were soaked, and the cream and yogurt into food processor. Process until smooth.

10. Stir the cashew mixture into the chicken and onions. 

11. Simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally. 

12. Stir in the cornstarch mixture, and continue cooking for 1 to 2 minutes.

13. Serve over basmati rice. 

Heathrow Airport makes life difficult

Several times in my life, I have had the grave misfortune of catching a connecting flight through Heathrow Airport. I did not enjoy those experiences. I am specifically thinking of a time back in 2010 when I studied abroad in Ireland (back when I started this blog. Nostalgia!). Let me tell you about that horrible experience now:

The first time I landed in Heathrow it was only to change plans so that I could go to Shannon, Ireland. But whenever you land at an airport having just come from another country, they make you go through some kind of Customs check-point. Having just spent 7 hours sleeping, or as I like to call it, "recovering from the 48 hours I didn't sleep because I had just come home from Korea," I was not not at my most alert. I joined the Customs line with my fellow passengers and, noticing, that it was not moving particularly quickly, pulled out a book and started reading in the line. So absorbed was I by the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and, later, chatting with a fellow queuer, that it wasn't until I got to the Customs agent that I realized I was in the WRONG LINE. I was then directed to an out-of-the-way corner of the room, where one tiny sign indicated where to go for connecting flights. Thanks, Heathrow. It would have been great to know that AN HOUR AGO when I first got into the wrong line. Lucky for me, I had a long layover, so I wasn't totally screwed by the lack of clear instructions. 

The same cannot be said for the next time I darkened Heathrow's doorstep. 

At the end of my lovely month in Ireland, I had to return home through Heathrow. Getting home was kind of a big deal for because I was returning the week of my graduation from college. The memory of the line kerfuffle still fresh in my mind, I set out hoping not to find myself in similar circumstances again. Not until I reached Heathrow, however, was I informed that my United flight to the US was being operated by Continental Airlines in a different terminal. The next step was then to get to the correct terminal for Continental. However, unlike other airports that have one tram that goes back and forth between the terminals, Heathrow's tram system is like a full-on train station, including multiple platforms and the possibility that if you accidentally board the wrong train you will find yourself in downtown London before you can do a damn thing about it. Thankfully, that didn't happen to me, but you can see how this process could become time-consuming and frustrating.

While I didn't accidentally go to London, I did board the wrong train, ending up in Terminal 4, rather than Terminal 5, and ultimately wasting far too much time correcting the mistake. The real icing on the cake was that, this time, I did almost miss my connecting flight. When I finally arrived at Continental check-in (because, oh yeah, they didn't check me in all the way to the US when I started this trip in Shannon), I was told the flight was closed and I would have to buy a ticket for another flight. At that point, I almost had a breakdown. As many of my friends can attest, few things stress me more than traveling complications. Or just traveling in general. I refused to ride the bus in Edinburgh for a long time because not knowing when to get off made me so anxious. It was only after I downloaded an app for it that I finally felt comfortable enough to ride. (This message brought to you by the Apple App Store.)

Anyway, as I was saying, my flight was closed, I wasn't checked in, I was told I have to go the booking counter to book a new flight, and I was on the verge of tears. So I went to the booking counter, and as the woman there was looking for new flights for me, I happened to mention that my stuff was already checked through to Tampa. These were, apparently, the magic words, because she said, "Oh, then we need to get you on that flight!" Then she hustled me back over to the check-in counter, where she made someone call the plane to tell them I'm coming, get me checked in, and take me to the security line. AND when I was waiting in the line, who did I see going through security? Gordon Ramsey!! So I guess it worked out all right in the end. I made my flight, and the Continental plane was totally baller. But I could've saved a whole lot of time and heartache if Heathrow weren't such a terrible airport.

So in conclusion and in summary, fly through Gatwick.

Dublin: Part 2: History Day

Bet you never thought there would be a "Part 2" in my series of Dublin posts, did you? If you're interested in reviewing, here is the Preface and Part 1. Now I will tell you about the nerdy, nerdy way I spent St. Patrick's Day this year.

My comrades and I spent a large portion of the day learning about Dublin's history and trying (most unsuccessfully) to avoid crowds. We started off by heading to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells. The Book of Kells is a very old illuminated manuscript of the Gospels of the New Testament. It was created c. 800 by Celtic monks, and it was, obviously, all done by hand, which is truly amazing. The exhibit is about the creation of the book, going into detail about how the inks would have been made, who likely worked on it, how long it would have taken, and other things of that ilk. And while that may sound stuffy, it really is incredible and totally worth checking out. In this day and age we take easy, machine-aided work for granted, so it's important to be reminded of a time when painstaking craftsmanship was the only way to do things. It's mind-blowing what they were able to achieve and that those achievements have remained intact to this day.

At the end of the exhibit, you get to see some pages of the Book itself, which they turn every so often, so if you go more than once, you're likely to see different pages. Admission to the Book of Kells usually costs around €8 for students, but for St. Paddy's Day, it was free! And because everyone else in the city was pretty focused on stumbling blindly through the streets, the exhibit was almost empty, so we got plenty of time to press our faces up to the glass and take it in. You are never allowed to photograph the Book of Kells, so here is a picture I got off Wikipedia of one of its more famous pages:

Next we went to the National Museum of Ireland primarily to see the bog bodies! The bog bodies, if you've never heard of them, are the mummified corpses of people from hundreds, even thousands, of years ago who were murdered and then thrown into Irish bogs. The lack of air in the swampy land preserved the bodies so well that, when they were found, they still had skin, hair, and clothing. A few even still had the contents of their stomachs, allowing scientists to analyze their final meal! These things are as creepy as they sound, and just as cool. I saw them a couple of years ago and almost passed out; mostly because of the terrible ways most of these people were murdered. But they are so fascinating to look at. I don't have any pictures of the bodies because a. they are kind of gross and b. I felt like it was sort of disrespectful to photograph the dead, but they're worth a look if you ever get the chance. Or if you want to read this Wikipedia page.

Making our way through Dublin was an ordeal that day. The streets were packed with people who didn't even seem to be going anywhere, just wandering in a (presumably) drunken stupor. If ever I've understood the plight of the salmon, it was trying to walk around Temple Bar.

Despite the difficulty, we made it to the historic district and Christ Church Cathedral. As you can read on Wikipedia, Christ Church is the older of Dublin's two medieval cathedrals. It was founded c. 1030, but it still looks amazing today. In addition to its fabulous architecture and beautiful stained glass, Christ Church has some very cool underground vaults with an exhibition about the history of the church.

On our way back to the hotel, we stumbled upon Dublinia, a super-fun interactive museum about the various stages of Dublin's history, from the Viking era to the present day. Unfortunately, we arrived there about an hour before closing, so we didn't get to spend as much time as I would have liked. We were also sharing our experience with a group of very obnoxious Spanish men, who impeded my ability to play dress-up. I still managed a few good costumes, though.

As you can see, Dublinia had all kinds of awesome. It also had this fake man, sitting on a facsimile of a medieval toilet: 

And so, after a lovely day of learning about Dublin's history (and medieval plumbing), we ate dinner and shared a few drinks in honor of St. Patrick. Sláinte!

Recommendation: Haggis

So as I may have mentioned, I just spent a year in Scotland, and I'm pretty sure it's a crime to spend that long in that country without trying haggis. Actually, I'm going to go as far as to say that it's a crime to spend any length of time in Scotland without trying haggis. Haggis is like their national food. It is number one of the list of things that are quintessentially Scottish. And here's the thing: it's great. If you don't know what haggis is, maybe it's best I don't tell you, but what I want to get across in this post is that "what it is" is not really important. What is important is that it's food, it's safe, it's delicious, and it's not at all what you would expect. 

Ok, to put it bluntly, haggis is the throwaway parts of the sheep minced with oatmeal, onion, and spices, and then cooked in a broth for several hours. Traditionally it was cooked inside a sheep's stomach lining, but nowadays it's generally just cooked inside sausage casing, which is appropriate, because I tend to describe haggis as being similar to sausage without the casing. It is usually served with "neeps and tatties," which are turnips and potatoes, mashed and sometimes mixed together. Then atop it all must be poured whisky sauce, a gravy made from Scotch whisky. 

People "fear" haggis for a number of reasons, most of them based on the "what haggis is" issue. But the simple truth of haggis is that if no one told you what it was, you would likely never know. Because of the mincing, the structure of the various sheep parts is indeterminate, and the addition of all the spices changes the flavor completely. Add in the neeps, tatties, and whisky sauce and what remains is a fantastic pile of flavor. Yes, I call it a pile because I heartily recommend just mixing it all together and going to town. 

I've had a number of different haggises (haggi?), and they were all wonderful. I've also had haggis in a number of different forms, including fried haggis balls and a haggis burger, both of which were also delicious. Below you will find two examples of some traditional haggis that I ate. The one with the entire gravy boat full of whisky sauce was better, for obvious reasons. 

So in conclusion and in summary, if you ever go to Scotland, eat some haggis. At least take a bite. It won't kill you, and you may discover something you enjoy. Which is pretty much my philosophy on all foods: at least give it a try; you might like it. And if you don't, I'm sorry. Drink some water and go find a deep-fried Mars bar. 

Olympic Fever

Well, dear readers, the Olympics are long-since over, but I wanted to share a bit about my "Olympic Experience." As I may have mentioned before, I was in the UK for the last year, so I was there when all that was going on. Thankfully, I was up in Edinburgh, mostly away from the craziness surrounding London. While I am sure that actually being in London for the Olympics was very cool, I'm glad that I didn't try to venture into that mess.

BUT I did want to participate in the Olympics to some extent. I posted last October about getting to hold the Olympic Torch, which was pretty great.

As the Olympics started heating up this summer, I got to have two more run-ins with that most patriotic of sporting events. First, the Olympic Torch was run through Edinburgh right past my dorm complex. Early of a June morning, my friends and I lined up to see it come by. It was pretty magical.

They weren't handing out American flags.

The advance guard

Here she comes!

Here she is!

There she goes!

There she's gone!

For those of you who have never witnessed the torch relay, there were lots of police and Olympic cars driving in front of and behind her (the torchbearer), and she was followed by a bus full of runners for later in the relay. These runners are not, as I would have liked to believe, responsible for waiting at a pre-designated place so that she can run toward them in slow motion and hand off the torch in a dramatic Chariots of Fire-like scene. Instead, they just follow in a bus until their turn. Oh well. It was still pretty cool to see.

Even more exciting, though, was getting to see an actual Olympic event. And I didn't even have to go to London! Thanks to the nature of Olympic soccer (football, for the rest of the world), they needed to do some of the preliminary games simultaneously, so several matches were at Hampton Stadium in Glasgow. So I saw one of the first events of this Olympics, when the US Women's Soccer team battled France. They won. Also, spoiler alert, the US Women won the gold in that event. So yeah, it was pretty awesome to be in the same stadium as the greatest women's soccer team in the world.

Sweet drumline on the way to the stadium

Impossible picture to get without having children in it

Warm-ups!

National anthems!

US Women dominating!

(Actually, they gave up two goals in the 

first half, but they made a very nice comeback.)

Honestly, I never feel so patriotic as I do during Olympic season, and watching the Olympics whilst living in another country really turned my patriotism up to eleven. What Americans living in America probably don't realize is that they are rarely called up to show their national pride. When you live abroad, you really have to overcompensate.

Or maybe that's just me. In fact, I was feeling so patriotic during my year in Scotland that I seriously considered buying these shoes:

While I, of course, still love America, I have since dialed it back. 

No one could say the flight was boring

I'm back in the United States, dear readers, and it is very hot. Go figure. I returned via a 9-hour flight on Saturday, and boy, was it eventful!

My parents and I had great bulkhead seats that we paid extra for. We were on an exit row, so we had those seats next to the bathroom with all the open space right in front of us and the exit door just in front and to the right. The area in front of these seats is where people congregate to wait for the bathroom, but all the leg room makes up for that slight inconvenience. Or so we thought.

So about halfway through this flight, I am watching a movie in the center seat, while my father watches a movie in his aisle seat and my mother is asleep next to the window. I glance up and happen to notice a woman waiting for the bathroom who is leaning on the exit door, appearing to intently look out the window. I made note of this because I remember thinking, "Hmm, I wonder what the view's like," and then I went back to being fully engrossed in my movie. So engrossed, in fact, that I had noise-canceling headphones and couldn't hear anything else around me. Well, after awhile, this woman, still bending over toward the window, starts moving her feet around and getting in my personal space a bit. I glance disapprovingly at her, but try to ignore it. I also make eye-contact with another woman waiting for the bathroom, but at this point, I don't think anything is amiss, except that maybe this woman doesn't have great spatial awareness. But then, she steps on my mother's foot, which awakens her from her nap.

At first my mother looks confused and disoriented, wondering what woke her. Then she looks at this woman, says nothing, but begins pointing with a look of abject horror on her face. Up until this moment, dear reader, my lack of interest in this woman and the positioning of her body kept me from seeing what was happening, but now I see what my mom sees: that this woman has vomited ALL OVER the exit door. Now that's bad enough, certainly, but it gets worse, because moments after my mothers awakens and sees what has happened, this very sick woman faints into her lap. Now, for those of you who are concerned, let me say that none of the vomit got on any member of my family. But now my mother has an unconscious, sick woman sitting on her.

I rush to the back of the plane to get a flight attendant, who has already been informed of the situation but still takes an amazing amount of time to come save us. When the flight attendant does come and escort the woman to the back of the plane, my mother immediately bolts to the section in front of us. We don't see her for a long time after that.

The flight attendant promises my dad and me that someone is coming to clean it up presently, but I end up sitting next to vomit for waaaay longer than I would like. Eventually, he comes back and suggests we move while they deal with the situation, so my dad moves a few rows back to an empty seat near a young English couple, while I move into a seat next to a lovely grandmother from near Stratford-upon-Avon and her infant granddaughter. I will spare you the details of these people's lives, but I will say that I had a very nice time chatting with her, despite the circumstances that drove me to sit next to her.

Eventually, the area is cleaned and we are assured that it is safe to return to our seats. My mother has still not reappeared, so we assume she also found somewhere to sit. We later come to find out that she got to sit in business class. She would.

For the rest of the flight, the area around our seats continues to smell of vomit, but, I am ashamed to say, I grew accustomed to it. They offered to let us move permanently, but we were all settled in and that leg room was too good to give up. The sacrifices we make.

Oh, also, while we were waiting for our seats to be habitable again, my dad informed me that another woman about seven rows back had also started vomiting, but into a bag. Given that we have not had any turbulence, I began to fear that we were in an episode of House in which the entire plane falls ill, but as far as I know, only those two women were affected.

So there you have it, dear reader. Not something you ever expect to happen to you on a trans-Atlantic flight, but the truth is, when all is said and done, the idea of a woman puking on the exit door and then fainting on my mother is funny as hell.

Attack of the Fringe

Well, the Fringe is on, and it is everywhere! I can't even walk across my school's campus without accruing a dozen fliers about "the must-see" show of the festival. No, let me re-word that: I especially can't walk across campus. The whole place has been transformed and taken over.

For those of you who don't know, the Edinburgh Festival Fringe is the largest arts festival in the world and the jewel of the Edinburgh festival season, a month-long smörgåsbord* of music, theater, musical theater, comedy, dance, art, literature, etc. To give you a little context, the population of Edinburgh is usually around 420,000. During festival season, it goes up to about 1,000,000 because of all the tourists who flock to the city. So it's kind of a big deal. There are thousands of events, put on by performers from all over the world. Whatever you want, you can't find it. You like one-woman improvised comedy shows? You got it! You like Thai lady boys? They've got that too!

Basically, they have everything here, and I hope to take advantage of as much of it as I can. Particularly after August 17.

In related news, my dissertation is due in 14 days. So far, I have managed to keep my panic mostly under control, but as my remaining time dwindles, I expect my sanity to begin showing increasing signs of fray. I will keep you updated as I continue to procrastinate while watching the Olympics.


*I spelled this word right on the first try (weird accent marks not included).

My policy on in-flight socializing

I don't do it.

Allow me to elaborate.

I take my plane time very seriously. I use it for reading, listening to music, and watching movies. Also eating. Being on a plane is a very productive time for me. I don't even sleep because it cuts into my productivity. Also because I can't. But that's another story.

My point is, what I don't want to be doing on a plane is making friends with someone I will never see again. In Fight Club, Edward Norton refers to these people as "single-serving friends." But I have friends already. My need for companionship is not such that I want to strike up a conversation with a stranger.

Don't get me wrong: if my seatmate talks to me, I will respond. I'm not rude. I've even been known to spend an entire flight conversing with a chatty fellow passenger. But make no mistake: I did
not enjoy it. I'm a brilliant actress so the person I was talking to thinks I enjoyed it. But I didn't. I would rather have been reading.

Of course, there are times when you can't completely avoid speaking with other people on planes. Sometimes you might need to get up to go to the bathroom. Or perhaps, as I've said before, they will talk to you first. I don't advocate rudeness. Respond and be polite, but if you want to avoid the beginning of such conversation, here are...

Kimber's Tips for Avoiding In-flight Conversation: (it's not exactly pithy, but oh well)

1. Do NOT make eye contact - This is key. Making eye contact is like an open invitation for someone to start speaking to you. Granted, some Chatty Cathys don't even need that. They will start gabbing no matter what. But your average airline passenger is a little shy of talking to strangers, so if you never look them in the eye, they will probably not get up the courage to speak to you in the first place. Plus, eye contact might lead to polite smiles or (heaven forbid) a knowing glance, and then you're done for.

2. Headphones - If you have headphones in, you have license to ignore everything around you. You don't even have to be listening to anything, but as long as those headphones are in/on your ears, people will assume you are deaf to the world. Even if you do hear their attempts to talk to you, you can always pretend you can't, requiring them to tap you if they really want your attention. Most people don't want your attention that badly. Unless they need to get past you to go to the bathroom. Of course, the headphone system works when you first board the plane (prime conversation starting time) and during the bulk of the flight. "But, Kimber," you ask, "What about that pesky time frame between the closing of the airplane's doors and the arrival at 10,000 feet during which electronic devices must be turned off?" Well, dear reader, for that period you must have...

3. Books - The moment I sit down on an airplane, I bury my nose in a book. If you look completely engrossed in something, it takes a pretty ballsy individual to try to distract you from that thing. Magazines and newspapers can work as well, but they run the risk of seeming too casual. Articles are short and you don't hear people talk about "getting lost in a good issue of Cosmo." Books, on the other hand, make it appear to your fellow passengers that you are really committed to what you are reading. You might be at a really exciting part or studying for that big test, and most seatmates will not impose on that. You're always going to get your "what are you reading?"s, but you have to deal with those and move on as quickly as possible. And make sure to bring a real book. E-readers will not help you during the crucial "no electronic devices" period.

4. Sleeping - If all else fails and you are really desperate not to talk to someone, sleep. Or at least, pretend to sleep. On more than one occasion, I have closed my eyes on a plane as a way of saying to my fellow passengers "Do not even try to chat with me. This is a dead end. Move along." Or maybe you're one of those people who actually can sleep on planes. If so, I envy you, and that can be your number one strategy. I will stick with averting my eyes.

Please don't get the wrong impression, dear reader. I'm a nice person and an excellent conversationalist. But the fact remains that unless I already know someone or desire to get to know them for the future, I don't care to expend my time or energy with mindless getting-to-know-you drivel. I've been an RA. I have played more getting-to-know-you games then I care to remember. And people on planes are a prime example of people that I will never see again and therefore, do not care to hear talk about themselves for the space of a few hours.

I would wager that 9 out of 10 of my fellow passengers feel exactly the same way and appreciate my ongoing efforts not to talk to them.

This last, of course, I assume, as I have never (and will never) asked them.