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.

We’re Being Watched

CCTV outside St. Paul's Cathedral

Bridges Crossed: 9/12 (Lambeth, Westminster, Hungerford, Waterloo, Blackfriars, Millennium, Southwark, London, Tower)

Train Stations: 7/10 (Charing Cross, Victoria, Liverpool Street, Waterloo, Paddington, Euston, King’s Cross) 

I made a big dent in my Bridges and Stations checklists this week. Chalk that up to plain old health and determination. I have my health back! I am thrilled to be able to swallow pain-free and to have a body that doesn’t ache. It’s the little things in life that keep me going each day. I joke, but truly, there are few things worse than illness. It’s like a reminder that your own body can turn on you at any moment. I finally made it the National Gallery on Friday and I saw several classic paintings of St. Jerome meditating on mortality by hitting himself with stones and staring at a skull, but I feel like an acute sore throat would have been equally effective.

As I wander through London, usually going in the right general direction but never by the most efficient route, I’m being watched. I read once that the British are the most videotaped people in the world, and just a day in this country will make you believe it. Not only is CCTV everywhere, it is embraced by public and private properties alike. I get the feeling that everyone read 1984 and instead of being appalled by rampant totalitarianism, they thought, “Hey, you know what? That’s a great idea!”

I’m curious if this excessive taping actually results in lower incidences of crime. Possibly property crimes are reduced, which would explain the use of cameras outside entrances and alleyways, but there are also many cameras that just peer into the street. Is anyone monitoring them? There seem to be extensive disclosure laws about CCTV that require it to be announced on trains or posted on walls that taping is occurring, which just makes it all the more ubiquitous.

What is a henge exactly? No one alive know for sure.

On Saturday I went to Stonehenge and Bath. The henge was better than I had been led to expect—you can actually walk quite close to the stones and there is a kind of eerie and mystical sense about the Salisbury plain that wasn’t fully diminished by the herds of tourists taking pictures of the stones from every possible angle. I was one of the click happy masses, and it wasn’t until hours later, as I went through my photos that I realized that I had taken over 50 pictures of rocks.

I went with a tour bus (which I normally would shun), but as it came to the attention of my fellow interns that we all planning on Bath for the same day, I agreed to also buy a ticket for their tour. Organized tours can be nice on occasion; I went on several very fun ones in Thailand with my mom and step-dad, for example. But this one reminded me why I tend to avoid such things. Other than the fact that without the bus, stopping off at Stonehenge would have been difficult, I was completely under-whelmed by the experience. No breaks, no snacks, not enough pamphlets so sharing was militantly enforced, and a tour guide who clearly hated her job and all of us tour attendees passionately. In my experience, buses in non-English speaking countries almost always include snacks. How inhospitable of us!

Moreover, and this was the real crime of the day, we were only afforded a piddling hour and fifteen minutes to “explore” Bath on our own and this was also the first available time to get lunch. So all I really learned about Bath was that one may procure a tolerable baguette sandwich from one of the many street cafés.

The light stones of the characteristic Georgian architecture in Bath reminded me of a northern Italian town. I would like very much to come back to Bath one day with someone that I love and spend several days there. It is not a town for an hour’s viewing.

The Roman Baths. These were silted over when Jane Austen lived here. Her heroines bathed in the King's bath nearby.

Celebrity Celerity

This week the parade of important visitors at Westminster seemed especially high. On Wednesday I was one of the last bodies to cram into a speaking event with the Dalai Lama. He warmly talked about happiness and tolerance and fruit; fruit seemed to be a consistent metaphor. His accented English was not helped by the fact that I was wedged into a corner near the door, which saw many people trying but failing to enter and exit without commotion. A cell phone rang and I was delighted to see one of the Buddhist monks from the Tibetan delegation answer it embarrassingly. Who calls monks? Other monks? I wish I had a monk to call. 

Leaving with MP from the event (her seat had been much better than mine of course), we went down a lift that I didn’t know existed and popped out into a hall that I’d never been to and there was His Holiness!!! He had been ushered out before the herds of MPs could beg for pictures earlier, so at this opportunity MP and I sprang into action. She rushed forward hand out and I started flashing my camera like a practiced paparazzo. His Holiness was perfectly gracious at our obnoxious behavior, as was Speaker Bercow who had been escorting him and ended up in my picture too. Elated as I trooped back to my office I felt that if I did nothing else for MP, at least I got her that picture! It felt like a real feat. 

Later that day at one of several cancer receptions I tagged along to, I met one of the other interns and his MP. His MP insisted on getting a picture with a buxom, heavily made-up girl, and given what I'd heard about this guy, I assumed that he just liked to take pictures with pretty girls. Later I found out that the girl is a British celebrity from a “reality” show here: The Only Way is Essex—which is one of those embarrassing TV circuses about shallow, rich people with more latex than brains. It’s nice to know that America doesn’t hold a monopoly on trash television. One of the cancer lobbyists, who cornered me uncomfortably for most of the reception, told me that this particular celebrity had 1.2 million followers on Twitter. He mentioned that when they can get her to tweet about (whichever type they were promoting awareness for) cancer, it has a good reach.

Also, dear readers, you might have seen that Aung San Suu Kyi spoke to both chambers of Parliament on Thursday. I  wasn’t able to make it in to Westminster Hall to see her, but I did glimpse her enter the building as I was passing through to Portcullis House and then I watched her speech on the internal television feed in my office. She is a truly inspiring woman. I dearly hope that she has more than 1.2 million Twitter followers.

She spoke about the need for Britain and other established democracies to help Burma as they attempt to become more democratic. She also said that the Burmese assembly is too formal for her liking—she would rather there was more spirit and heckling like the British Parliament. At this the cameras panned to David Cameron and Ed Miliband who were sitting in the front row together.

All Creatures Sick and Well

Thirsk and Sowerby

James Herriot's books about being a veterinarian in the Yorkshire Dales were well-loved in my family as I was growing up. They directly contributed to a determination of being a vet someday for several years of my young life, and while that dream eventually faded into other pursuits, the stories have stayed with me. His books are as comforting to me as old friends, so naturally I felt that a trip up north to see the Dales couldn't be missed.

My Friday train tickets to Thirsk and York had been purchased in advance, so when my slight sore throat began to turn into a rather painful one on Thursday afternoon, I went into home doctor mode. I tried gargling with salt water, thick applications of Vick's vapor rub, cups of hot water with honey and lemon, plenty of fluids and bed rest--it all went into action. But it was too little, too late. At 6am Friday morning I purchased aspirin and lozenges and hauled myself to King's Cross station--feeling like this was all a very bad idea indeed.

Undoubtably one of the grandchildren of a patient of Herriot's

The station in Thirsk is over a mile from the town centre. When I am at full strength, that would be no distance at all, even in the light rain. However, sick Deborah moves slower and complains a lot more--even with no one around to hear her. I had drawn myself a map of the route thankfully, so I found the James Herriot museum with only a slight detour into Sowerby (which turned out to be a charming neighboring town). 

The dispensary

Thirsk is the town where Alf Wight (James Herriot) came to work in the veterinary practice of Donald Sinclair (Siegfried Farnon in the books), although he called it Darrowby. I really enjoyed the museum and the helpful staff there. They said they appreciated that my own extensive JH knowledge came from his books rather than the TV show which was quite popular over here.

Intense concentration was needed for this calving; I think it might be a breech presentation.

York

From Thirsk, I journeyed south to York (or Old York, as I like to call it, now that I live in the New York). I was told that I would like York because, "it's one of those old English cities that Americans love." And of course I did love it. Every building is perfectly ancient and have plaques announcing this or that event that happened in the 1st or 14th centuries by Richard the III or Emperor Constantine. I wandered through the lovely museum gardens and the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey and decided that what my poor throat really needed was some ice cream. 

Yorkminster

In my sickly state I decided that it was necessary to climb the tower of Yorkminster. Five quid and three hundred dizzyingly circular steps later, I was spent. The view was well worth it however, and I rewarded myself afterward with Yorkshire cream tea at Betty's tea house. Charmingly, York still has city walls that can be walked on--although they lost some of their magic for me when I realized that I would have to walk a half mile past the train station to get down from them. 

While I was wandering around York I learned from a pub sign that the England-Sweden game would be going on while I was en route to Liverpool and that my friend, who had offered to meet me, would be missing part of the game. He knew that of course, but had been too courteous to say anything. English boys are much more polite than their American counterparts it seems. As it was, the football match was tied 2-2 when he picked me up, and England scored (leading to their win) just as we were entering a pub and ordering Guinness (another remedy for my throat?)! 

very attractive English and Swedish fans prepare to cheer for their teams in the Euros