Green Green

The trip over to Ireland was much less romantic than I had anticipated. The four-hour train ride to Holyhead was lovely: gentle scenery, a quiet car and an attentive snack cart attendant. However, the ferry was a bit of a nightmare. It must have been family day since there were more small children running around than at Disneyland. I uncovered an algorithm that determines that families with small children need precisely twice as many seats plus one as there are members of the family. Thus so, I was hard pressed to find a place to sit and read. I finally found a group of three elderly passengers who were using precisely three seats of the four at the table and they were nice enough to let me join them.

I don’t even want to tell you about the sheer amount of junk food that I consumed that day—except that it was notable and I am committed to accuracy for posterity. Using up my quid on the train, I had innumerable cups of tea and bags of crisps and candy, but it wasn’t enough to tide me over on the ferry, so I also gave in to the smells of chips. Starving as I was, the first seven chips I stuffed into my face were the best things I’d ever eaten… and the subsequent 17 chips were some of the worst I’ve ever had and reminded me why I don’t really care for chips after all. (I suppose I should mention here that I am referring to a dish that Americans call French Fries [although a Belgian invented them.])

My first view of Green Isle was grey and industrial, but that was soon mended with tours into the countryside. My dear friend and reader, S, devoted himself to my delights and administered a thorough tour of the island via train, car, bus, and boat. S lives in Bray, which is a charming seaside town southwest of Dublin .

Being the ancestral home of my family in particular, I managed to track down the pub in Listowel, in County Kerry, where my Great-grandma Mae was born above. The bartender was not a member of the O’Connor family, who had bought the pub from GG Mae’s family before they moved to San Francisco, but he show me a picture of my Dad’s cousins who had visited in 2008. I had a pint of Guinness (after having learned the day before the proper way to pour a pint thereof) and tried to feel the fullness of being in the place where a woman had been born whose DNA eventually contributed to my own.

S, my fearless chauffeur, had an additional wish to go to County Kerry: the Skellig Islands. The largest of the two, Skellig Michael, was a monastery for over 500 years and bears the labor of these monks in beehive shaped houses and a thorough system of steps leading up to said huts. It is also a summer nesting spot for thousands of puffins. I can’t imagine that there is a more adorable bird in existence, and they were cautious but not fearful of the humans exclaiming over their cute beaks, cute wings, cute bodies, and cute waddles from just a few feet away. Did I mention that they were so cute?

We also journeyed to Cork (where we tried in vain to find some traditional music), Mitchellstown (where we did some spelunking AND got a bit lost in a hedge maze), and Glendalough. Glendalough is a monastery nestled in the Wicklow mountains that was founded by St. Kevin the Hermit. We went on a beautiful sunny Saturday so it was crawling with tourists, all trying to outdo each other for group photos next to the ancient tombstones. And really, what says ‘family’ better than everyone standing on grave smiling?

For my last day in Ireland, Sunday, we climbed up Bray head (much like Tillamook head, but with fewer trees and a big cross on top). There was also an air show event, so the little town was packed with carnival booths, prams and unsupervised teenagers. We ate corndogs made by a genuine Minnesotan. There are many more Americans in Ireland than I ran into in the UK.

Now I am back in New York, where it is humid and ill-mannered and malodorous as ever. Yesterday while I was reading in Madison Square Park, a young man asked me the time. As I had a clock on a chain that I had purchased in Camden Market, it took a few moments for me to make the mental adjustments to report. He asked me why I have a clock in a different time zone and then asked me if I was British. Oh dear, back in the land where accents are not discussed, and are even completely ignored.

Photo Journal: Cardiff

Welsh Rainbow

Wetlands Preserve

Crossing the bay

Locks to get in or out of Cardiff bay

The old lightship... now a restaurant

The Welsh Senedd

Stranger on a Train

Bridges Crossed: 10/12 (Vauxhall, Lambeth, Westminster, Hungerford, Waterloo, Blackfriars, Millennium, Southwark, London, Tower)
Train Stations: 8/10 (London Bridge, Charing Cross, Victoria, Liverpool Street, Waterloo, Paddington, Euston, King’s Cross)

Well, I didn't meet my goals for Bridges and Stations. My only real regret is that I didn't make it to Fenchurch Street Station, but I only had Friday to really round out my goal, and I decided that running around town to cross bridges and stand in stations wasn't really worth it. All the ones I did visit/cross was out of actual need, so I am quite proud that I accomplished what I did.

My last full day in London was quiet. I was a bit fragile from the previous night's festivities so my first real event was fetching lunch from the Thai food from a cart in the eaves of St. John the Evangelist for lunch. Then I headed to Barbican to see the 50 Years of James Bond exhibit. My brother told me about this show and they had a wide range of 007 memorabilia from the movies such as Q's inventions and Oddjob's hat, as well as many first editions of the books. Afterwards I wandered over to Covent Garden to finally try this place I'd been meaning to: The Icecreamists. They are infamous for their human breast milk ice cream, but I couldn't bring myself to try it. Instead I had a couple scoops of Popcorn ice cream that was just the perfect blend of salty and sweet. I will be dreaming of this flavor for some time.

That evening I went on a Haunted London walking tour with my flatmate. It wasn't necessarily scary, more like a historical tour with the odd ghost story thrown in. We learned a great deal about the great fire of 1666 and the architect Christopher Wren who rebuilt most of the city. It was a nice chance to get to areas of the city that I hadn't seen yet, including the Bank of England. I was the only person on the tour who admitted to liking the Lloyds of London building, the famous "inside out" building. That evening those of us from the program who were still there got one last pint of cider at the Hole in the Wall.

On Saturday I took my massive suitcase on the tube to Paddington station where I caught the train to Cardiff. I had drawn myself a map of how to get from the train station to the hostel, but unfortunately I left off a key street, so I spent much too long dragging my burden around an unfamiliar place. There are always pitfalls and snags in travel--that can be part of the charm--but I loathe being overburdened when I travel. If I could I would only ever have a backpack. Of course as my purpose for being in London involved wearing work clothes I couldn't pack light this time. Just as I had found my way and was approaching the bright orange door of the hostel, a man on the street gave me unsolicited advice on where to go... where had this guy been 20 minutes ago?!

Once I settled in I wandered around the large shopping area, finding lunch and a movie theater to see Spiderman. The movie really made me miss New York. I finished up the evening in a pub called both "Weatherspoons" and "the Central Bar" depending on which entrance you used.

On Sunday I walked down to Cardiff Bay, which was perfectly lovely. I found coffee, breakfast and a wetlands preserve to explore. I took an Aquabus across the bay to the locks and then walked back around the bay. The Welsh accent was much less pronounced than I had thought it would be. Many of the people I met almost sounded American. It was nice to spend some time in Wales collecting my thoughts and easing out of the comfort zone that I'd built in London.

You Won't See Me

So my last week at Westminster is officially over. On Tuesday I sat in the gallery for the House of Lords. I had been anxious to observe them live because they are a self-regulating body, although still active in the adversarial style of politics that Parliament does so well. Since the Speaker sits quietly and doesn’t call on those who may talk, the loudest and the quickest to their feet gets to speak. As the median age in the Lords is easily 20 or 30 years more than in the Commons, this isn’t usually that quick. I particularly felt for one ancient man who repeatedly leapt up at the pace of a wounded snail, only to be beaten by his slightly younger colleagues.

Wednesday morning was our one-on-one meetings with our sponsor, a member of the Lords who had previously been in the House of Commons for over 40 years. All of us interns had been meeting with him every Wednesday morning for the last ten weeks. He is a very kind man and chalk full of wisdom and history and anecdotes. I told him and his assistant[1] how much I adored MP and that I had had a wonderful experience.

Also on Wednesday, I took notes at a meeting with MP, and sat scribbling furiously while she bawled them out for shady dealings in her constituency. One of the men was quite defensive and produced an agenda from another meeting that declared that the company had been providing the correct financial statements. MP shouted, “I could show you a piece of paper that said that there was a whale in the Thames, but that wouldn’t make it true, would it?!” In my printed notes, I wrote, “[MP] was skeptical.” This was the second to last meeting I’d go to with her, and also the second to last meeting in which there was a great deal of shouting. She doesn't always shout, but MP knows that those are the meetings that will be of greatest interest to me. Also, as I’ve mentioned before, she is a lovely woman, but she absolutely loves to start fights. It’s quite refreshing to go to meetings and not hear all the regular political-ese that seeks to avoid what the meeting is actually about. Politics is naturally adversarial and putting it all on the table right away is MP’s unique style.

I stayed late on Wednesday finishing up research and letters, as I wanted to be available to respond to any draft changes on Thursday (my last day). And on Thursday, I gave MP a card and a thank you gift. The card mentioned on it that she should think of me if a spot ever opens up on her staff. She agreed wholeheartedly and said that I should definitely check in after I graduate and to keep in touch in the meantime. I think we both got a little choked up. Later, she took me up on the roof of the palace. Since she has a dodgy knee I knew how much it hurt her to climb up to the roof. To be honest, I felt a bit overwhelmed by the gesture. Also as a thank you present, MP got me a beautiful silver Portcullis necklace from the House of Lords gift shop. It’s basically the prettiest thing ever (when I got to my hostel in Cardiff, I only put two things in the tiny room locker: my computer and that necklace).

Photography outside the tourist areas of Westminster is frowned upon, so I spent my last few days sneaking pictures down halls and through windows. Very few of them turned out well, but I’m glad to have them. A hall might not be very interesting to most, but when you’ve walked down them happily for ten weeks, they become friends.[2]

I’m loath to forget all the eccentric habits I developed over the last two and a half months. For example, whenever I had to fetch someone from the Central Lobby to bring them to MP for a meeting, I would always tell them the same thing to make conversation: That yes this place is a maze, and really I’ve just figured the layout a week ago, and that I had just discovered an amazing shortcut, so that is the way we’ll go! (I really just took them the same way every time, but as they were different people, they had no idea. I think it gave their experience a little extra drama.) 

Other habits included saying Howdy to anyone that MP introduced me to as “her American intern.” It started out as an accident, but everyone seemed to like it. I also got into the habit of saying Cheers. I had no idea what a handy word this can be. At its heart, Cheers says, “I acknowledge your existence.” At first I tried to emulate the British, but then I just started saying it for a great deal of things: thank you; you’re welcome; yes, I would like some tea; I would be happy to make you some tea; here you go; you just held the door for me; I just held the door for you; I love you; etc.

Did I ever tell you about the food? Strangers dining hall at in Westminster Palace offers a variety of delicacies, each more abysmal than the last. Lest anyone worry that Members of Parliament are glutting themselves on exotic morsels, let me just tell you that the entrees I tried physically made me sad. The fish and chips tasted like rejection; the jerk chicken was a metaphor for loneliness.

British food is universally regarded as terrible, but it seemed like the dining hall there was subsidized for taste as well as price. I generally stuck to simple items: a pre-packaged sandwich fittingly called, “Just Chicken,” a satsuma, a cup of tea. Surprisingly though, Strangers’ kitchen could produce delicious puddings. I frequently rounded out my sad, bland lunch with a slice of Victoria Sponge or Chocolate Lava cake.

My last night in Westminster, I finally did a Houses of Parliament pub crawl. A friend on my corridor brought me with him to the Lord’s pub and also the infamous Sports and Social Club.[3] Sports was uncomfortably crammed with old politicians and young staffers. Shouting my order to the bartender, he asked me what part of the States I was from. He then told me: “I had a flatmate from Oregon… he hated it there.” I told him that his flatmate sounded like a pinhead.

---

[1] As I mentioned in my Lords post, Peers don’t get staff. However, our sponsor is so used to having an assistant from his years in the Commons that he co-opts the services of his former staffer, who helps him out of the goodness of her heart even though she has a new MP boss. She is a really lovely person and when I saw her at Sports on my last evening, she told me that I should contact her if I ever want to come back and work for an MP full-time.

[2] Yes, I made human friends too.

[3] It's infamous because MP-on-MP fighting has sometimes broken out here. Recently the PM allegedly did some red-faced, finger-pointing at one of the rogue, anti-Lords Reform Torys in Sports and it got brought up during PMQs (Prime Minister's Questions time). 

Barcelona Blues

I want to tell you about my trip to Barcelona, but my head is so full of this being my last week at Westminster that I am feeling very disconnected from anything else. So this isn't my usual thoughtful analysis but more like a series of word snapshots. I'd love to hear from my dear readers about any last insights on Parliament that they would like to know? Today is my last day in the palace.

Last weekend I took a short vacation from my working vacation. I went to Barcelona to meet some friends who were traveling through Europe. I'm sure Barcelona has many delightful tourist attractions (and I saw a few), but my primary goal was to get to some sand and sun and sea. I wanted to wear the bikini that I had brought and was mocking me every time I grabbed my umbrella. 

This was my first time in Spain. When I landed at El Prat, the passport control guy saw where I was born and then serenaded me with the song "Californication." I knew I would like the place immediately. 

Barcelona is an bewitching city. There is a ridiculous amount of public art there. All of it massive and weirdly beautiful. You can really tell that this is an artist's hub. The streets in the neighborhood we stayed in were narrow and ornate. There are hidden plazas and squares filled with white cafe umbrellas and tables. Everyone seems relaxed and happy and there are thousands of bikes. 

I had pretty much the same tapas for every meal: Patatas Bravas, fried peppers, Catalan bread (with oil and tomato and oregano), calamari, and some other type of fish (cerviche, prawns, mussels, mackerel). I also tried Paella and Fideua, and gazpacho, and drank a good deal of Sangria. So it was a culinary adventure as well as a sun-seeking one. In retrospect though, I didn't have enough gelato. 

Probably the best part of my trip was having lunch with an old high school friend who has been going to school in Barcelona and meeting his wife, who is just adorable. 

On the plane ride back from Gatwick, I head a woman tell her friend: "Now I've got the Barcelona Blues." And I knew just what she meant. 

Of Lords and Ladies

At the heart of a representative democracy is the prerogative to "vote the bastards out" when they don't act in a representative manner, right? For Americans, with no history of a monarchy, the word "democracy" carries an almost royal privilege. Yet here in the United Kingdom--an indisputably democratic nation--the House of Lords remains.

As a distant observer of British politics prior to coming here, I thought that the House of Lords was a generally terrible idea. Just calling someone a Lord or a Baroness seemed antediluvian and gross, much less giving those lofty people political influence. From what I had heard though, it was a largely neutered institution that had little real power--much like the royal assent (i.e. the Queen's ability to veto a bill. The last monarch to invoke her right to refuse royal assent was Queen Anne, on a bill allowing the Scottish to raise their own militia, and that was in 1708). But then why--I may have wondered idly to myself while watching an episode of Yes, Minister--did the British keep this silly, old House around at all?

I have no interest in advocating for or against Lords Reform, or the bill in its current draft, but simply find the whole discussion fascinating. I’ve also been quite surprised at just how interesting the House of Lords is in actual practice. Over time, the Lords has evolved into a body of experts (primarily); people at the top of their fields who are given titles. They spend months pouring over legislation with much more time and interest in the details than members of the Commons, who have constituencies to worry about, can do. It's true that they are generally unable to block legislation that the Government wants, but the Lords' recommendations and changes are publicly recorded. They can also delay bills for a great deal of time that they feel are particularly bad. More often then not, they provide a mild and thoughtful check in the parliamentary system where the Government operates under a mandate (coming from the idea that by being in the majority, the voters have agreed to their campaign manifesto as a whole), that basically allows them to push through anything they want until the next election.

Even while I've been working for a Member of the Commons this summer, I have discovered a great deal of respect for the work that the Lords does by being a different kind of body with motivations that are divorced from campaign promises, ipso facto, less political squabbling. Many of them are even "cross-benchers," meaning that they do not belong to any political party. Peers are not politicians in the sense that they have constituents or are seeking reelection, and with 775 of them, there is very little publicity to go around. They include Nobel prize winners and Oscar winners. Most do not receive a salary (although many receive a per diem and traveling expenses) and they do not have staff.

Yesterday afternoon there was a debate going on in the Commons gallery over the Deputy Prime Minister's Lord's Reform bill. The Deputy PM is the leader of the Liberal Democrats (who are in a coalition with the Conservative party--an odd political bedfellow but one which allowed both parties to find power as neither had an outright majority over the Labour party after the 2010 elections) and Lords Reform is his pet project. The greatest change in this particular bill is to turn the Lords into an elected body, in which most of them would be required to run for a single non-renewable 15-year term. Although they would be elected (and therefore could be anyone, and not just professionals and experts), the bill creates a less flexible system of per diem compensation (As the MP I work for says, "When you pay peanuts, you get monkeys"), and it will greatly reduce the number of Peers over time. This is reform in the true sense of the word--the House of Lords would change dramatically, while allowing them very little additional power over policymaking in return.

Debate over how to reform the Lords has been going on since the 1911 Parliament Act, and all the major parties agree that some reform is overdue--the rub is how to do it. How to keep the best bits: the expertise, the soft power, the time to deliberate, etc., while making it more representative of the whole country and kicking out the hereditary peers? Sadly, by putting all the reform measures into one bill, instead of breaking it up into separate issues, the possibility of consensus is slim.

This may prove to be one of the most interesting bills of the 2012/13 session, since it is primarily supported by the Liberal Democrats. And while the Conservatives are their partners in Government, it's clear that they are not unanimously in support; just today, 70 Torys released a letter in opposition. Labour is also divided for various reasons, although their leadership may be able to rally a position based on embarrassing the Coalition by killing one of their bills.

Naturally most of the Peers are not thrilled with this bill, but as I mentioned they have little power to do much about it. This reminds me of the time when, (mostly) as an end-of-session joke, the Oregon House of Representatives drafted a bill to abolish the Oregon Senate. Of course, the Senate would likely never choose to abolish itself, but such is the question of reform in most democratic institutions, I suppose. The only institutions that can be reformed, are those that don't do much harm anyways.

Here is a link to the Parliamentary Library's brief on the House of Lord's Reform bill, if you have additional interest in this subject: http://www.parliament.uk/briefing-papers/RP12-37

Also, feel free to bring this up with me when we see each other next--I have so many more thoughts to share. This is history in the making!

Shrew Love

The bus I took from Piccadilly Circus to Waterloo was mired in traffic on Sunday from the combined flag-cape wearing forces of Canada day revelers and the supporters of both teams for the Euros 2012 final. I didn’t mind because I like the views from a double-decker and I was intently reading “Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women” by Susan Faludi. Although written in the late 1980s, this book is still a timely and important read for women at all stages of life. It's refreshing to learn how flawed and biased the popular “studies” of women in the workplace, so-called trends of female fertility, and the myths of not getting married later in life really were when they were published. 

Feminism is always a controversial issue, but it’s been front and center lately. From the Republican primary contest’s “war on women” to Anne-Marie Slaughter’s article in the Atlantic last month^[1] to discussions of Nora Ephron’s legacy. Personally, I have been taking it all in and collecting my thoughts.

Last night I went to a performance at the iconic Globe Theater of Shakespeare's “The Taming of the Shrew.” A modern story couldn’t have fit in with my current reflections better. The tale is so funny and endearing and bold and the actors were pitch-perfect, so that by the time that we get to Kate’s big monologue to the other wives about the Husband being Lord and Master, I was as enraptured as I was insulted:

I am ashamed that women are so simple

To offer war where they should kneel for peace,

Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,

Whey they are bound to serve, love, and obey.

I was talking to MP last week about being (or in my case, striving to be) a woman in a position of authority. As you can imagine, she has plenty of wisdom to impart on that front. I’m not a very assertive person—although I've been practicing—but any progress I make is often hampered by the fear of being called a “bitch” (the modern equivalent of “shrew”). MP shook her head at my sad admission; that clearly isn’t something that she’s ever really worried about. If I want to be successful in my career, I can’t let “bitch” hold me back. I have to, have to, not care—because when we do, we're giving the term a power it doesn’t deserve.

MP has a very unique style. She charges into meetings and gives a fearsome roar, bashing heads and banging on tables (sometimes literally). Once the others are suitably cowed, she liberally hands out mercy and they line up to beg for her smiles. By the end of the meeting they are planning to name their firstborn after her. It’s been a revolutionary model for me, totally turning my nice theories of female soft power on its head. But I couldn’t emulate it, I don't have the voice to roar. I have to find my own style of power.

1. Coincidentally, I attended a presentation on the Obama Administration’s theory of diplomacy led by Ms. Slaughter last month, before the article had come out. Even if it had, I doubt that it would have come up in this meeting at Parliament, focused as it was on international issues and “Twitter diplomacy.”

Going Native

View of the south bank from the London Eye

There was a definite moment in Manhattan last year when I realized that I was no longer the wide-eyed observer of the ever-varied scene; I’d become just another numb commuter. I’d rather listen to the music on my headphones than eavesdrop on my fellow straphangers. It was a rueful realization—because it meant that the magic of being in a new place had faded. I think I reached that moment here in London last week. Parliament still holds wonderment (because I remain a huge geek of political institutions, and there is always something new going on)—but as I elbow past hordes of British and international tourists who cannot decide if they should walk on the right or the left, I am fixated on my destination. The twice daily journey weaved through endless street performers and costumed adults is merely a necessary evil.

It’s not London’s fault, really. It’s a marvelous city through and through. I’ve been here for over eight weeks though and I can’t be awed indefinitely. I’m sure that when I leave in two weeks (for Wales, then Ireland, then NYC) that I will get misty-eyed and nostalgic, but that is still a fortnight away.

While it is a charming city (as massive cities go), London’s best quality is that it is a hub for the rest of the country. I have not skimped on my adventures afield. I have seen everything that I would regret very much not to have seen, gone to places that I hitherto was unaware of, and would still see much more of this country if I had the time and resources. I want to bring this notion back to New York with me--I can easily travel around the East Coast from NYC and I really should and not let school swallow me up too much. 

The Eye

My Dad sponsored a little luxury this week that I must share. The London Eye is a giant Ferris wheel that was built for the Millennium and offers a bird’s eye view of the city. One of my dear readers (it could have been you!), T, passed through the UK this weekend on her summer Europe tour and so we did the Champagne Experience on the Eye. It was out of my price range (hence the paternal sponsorship), but if you ever go, go with the Champagne experience. For a bit more than the regular tickets, you can pick your time to embark (and therefore bypassing the endless queue of school groups), you are less crowded since fewer people are stuffed into your “bubble,” and of course, there is the glass of champagne. It was romantic enough to make me concerned that there would be a proposal among our fellow passengers, but happily they refrained. 

T and I also made it to Lewes and Brighton on Friday. Lewes was chosen solely on the basis that T desperately needed to see a castle and it was on the way to Brighton (which had been on my short list to visit).

Lewes Castle

Lewes turned out to be simply adorable. T reminded me with her enthusiasm how nice it is to get out to the rural English towns. Beyond it's quaint exterior, Lewes has an interesting history. The castle had been an unsuccessful stronghold for Henry III during the battle of Lewes, and the town boasts at least two famous residents: Thomas Paine and Anne of Cleves (Henry VIII’s fourth wife). The castle itself was small but right in the middle of town. Not that that mattered for Tee and I, as we, in our enjoyment of strolling and taking beaucoup pictures, walked a mile beyond Lewes castle because we mistook the distant turrets of the local prison for the barbican.

I had heard good things about Brighton, but in the short time that we had there, and the persistent wind that nearly blew poor T over on several occasions, it wasn’t as enjoyable as Lewes. The beach was busy despite the nippy wind and the people watching was tip top—especially on the creepy carnival pier. We had some fish and chips and beer for lunch and then stared solemnly out onto the English Channel, undoubtedly thinking deep thoughts, as one is supposed to do on chilly seashores.

Brighton

Another plus of having T in town was ushering her through Westminster. I warned her that the tour would be distinctly Deborah’s version and that there would be a great deal of personal anecdotes, supposition, and repeated stories that may or may not be true. Also, since I usually notice the art first, it was heavy on my opinions of certain portraits and frescos. Giving an ad hoc tour was a fun way for me to think about what I’ve actually learned about the place—and what I still need to take in before I leave.