More England, More English
British English is not really a foreign language compared to American English. It's simply spoken in a manner that defies logic and reason.
I like languages. They're fun to study, they're really quite interesting and complex, and they have practical uses, most notably communication between people. That being said, every language is different, and these differences really add to (and in some cases detract from) the character of a language. I'm going to beat down on English for a few moments here.
Spanish is a nice language because everything is more or less pronounced exactly as it is written. If I see a letter "J" in a word, I know that it always sounds like "H". If I see a letter "A", I know it always sounds like the a in "father". Virtually no exceptions. Japanese is similar, when you use the phonetic alphabets (katakana or hiragana). Seeing IS believing. Or at least pronouncing.
Not so with that hippie language English. All I need to do is point out the words rough, slough, bough, though, and cough for you to understand the problem.
Now imagine katieledge, a native of Britain and all its wacky town names, gnashing her teeth as I see the word "Leicester" and pronounce it "LYE-sess-tur". "It's LESS-tur," she corrects me. Repeatedly. For hours. Note also: "Worcestershire" is not WORE-sess-tur-SHY-ur, but rather WUSS-tur-shur. Yes, like the sauce. But when I was young I always pronounced it wrong, and it took a while to get the hang of it. Further note that "Warwick" is pronounced "WAR-ick". The second W has NO GOOD REASON to be silent. It just is.
And so our great adventure continued...
18 April: Bright and early, we take the ultimate challenge: driving into London. Now, driving in any major metropolitan area is always challenging. I've driven the wilds of Los Angeles, the labyrinth of Boston, and the grid of Manhattan. But London... this was outside of experience. Also, wrong side of the road, as I mentioned before. So katieledge takes the helm, apprehensively, and I take the map. Long story short: we only almost die twice, and we get to our target destination in reasonable time and even find a convenient parking spot. Tally ho, then! To the subway tube!
London's underground rail system is quite nice, at least for one jaded by the quality of the NYC subway. All the trains talk to you, telling you very kindly to "Mind the gap." (Historical footnote: In Canterbury, I learned that a gap between your front teeth is a sign of lewd behavior. So, mind the gap indeed. But that's irrelevant.) They tell you what stop you're approaching. They're very polite, even when uttering that classic phrase "The next stop is Cockfosters." (Alas, we didn't travel that line, but if you ever travel to London via Heathrow Airport, take the subway tube to the city and you'll hear it. It's worth every penny.)
From a fine overlook of the city on Primrose Hill, we went to the heart of the city, seeing the Tower of London and then going into and up the Tower Bridge. Well, first there was the Giant Sundial Of History, which showed all major events pertaining to London from its start in 46 AD or something. Of note: four times throughout history were events marked "Great Fire, X-thousand dead." Thousands. Then, in 1848, "London Fire Brigade Established." A LITTLE LATE THERE, DUMBASSES. I also saw four times "Plague: X-thousand dead." I wonder if they established their first hospital in the 1800s too. The irony is, coming from Primrose Hill to the center of the city, we passed a car on fire. That's how things start, you know.
Curious thing about a sundial: IT REQUIRES SUN TO WORK. WELCOME TO ENGLAND! Much like a stopped watch is right twice a day, I'm guessing this thing is right about twice a year.
Ok, onward. Like I said, we saw the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge.
From the top of the bridge we could admire the London skyline and all its wondrous glory. It might have been more glorious had there not being a GIANT SPACE PENIS sticking up out of the middle:
We took a leisurely walk along the Thames, admiring other marvels of history, architecture, and description:
Huh huh, they said "cockspur". Huh huh.
Then we crossed the Millennium Bridge (which the Londoners called the Wobbly Bridge because, apparently, it wobbled A LOT when it was first built), and approached St. Paul's cathedral.
The cathedral was being renovated, and so there was a massive amount of scaffolding on the front side, which they then covered up with a big white cloth that had the image of the front of the cathedral drawn on, so that from a distance you almost couldn't tell that it was there. Quite clever, really. But alas, they were closed when we arrived, and no amount of me pounding on the door would get them to open up.
So, instead, we went drinking. Meeting up with katieledge's friends was a hoot, up until I was taken to task for the American pronunciation of the word "herb". Silent H vs. voiced H? Barbaric!
Finally, our busy day come to a close, we withdrew to a house of hippies (holy crap, they had a record player that you had to wind up by hand to operate!) and crashed for the evening.
19 April: To Bath! Once again braving London's labyrinthine roadways, we flee the capital and drive down the M4 to visit my aunt and uncle. The tale of Bath is long and sordid, so I'll sum up the key events here.
LOCAL PAGANS: Oooh, hot water comes from the ground! It is a divine miracle! We devote it to our goddess Sulis, who brings wisdom and health!
ROMAN TROOPS: What ho, this wellspring is indeed a wonder of nature!
LOCAL PAGANS: It is sacred to our goddess Sulis, who brings wisdom and health!
ROMAN TROOPS: Hmm, that is like our goddess Minerva, who brings wisdom and health. We claim this spring in the name of... *drumroll* SULIS MINERVA!
LOCAL PAGANS: *headcolumn*
ROMAN TROOPS: And now we're going to build a big-ass shrine, temple, bathhouse, steamroom, strip mall, brothel, and maybe a Starbuckus Maximus over there.
LOCAL PAGANS: We can't wait until you guys get angl0sax0red in a few centuries.
ROMAN TROOPS: What?
LOCAL PAGANS: Nothing. Hey, is Russel Crowe with you?
And so it happened.
Bath was pretty cool. It was mostly an archaeological dig underneath the bathhouse and temple remnants. But the hot spring water was still bubbling and still warm.
We got to taste some of the spring water later. I don't know if it made me wiser or healthier, though. Then again, the sticky toffee pudding I had for lunch probably wasn't doing me any favors either. But it was so sweet and tasty.
There was also a cathedral. Well, an abbey. But it was big and cathedral-like, so it satisfied my "one castle/cathedral a day" rule.
From Bath we had a scenic drive-by tour of Bristol, and then drove up to Leamington Spa, also named after old springs. (It's pronounced LEMMING-ton. Like the suicidal rodents.) Our hostess of the evening served us dinner and then presented a most marvelous of desserts: Gü. Probably the best chocolate pudding ever. So tasty, and then filled with cream... I almost had a chocorgasm on the spot. And after dessert, off to the pub for authentic British drinking and two old guys plaing fiddle, bagpipe, and other assorted instruments. Fun times indeed... aside from lugging our suitcases up the narrowest flight of stairs in history.
Tune in next time for more castles, cathedrals, walled cities, black pudding, and beer. Quite a bit of that last one.
I like languages. They're fun to study, they're really quite interesting and complex, and they have practical uses, most notably communication between people. That being said, every language is different, and these differences really add to (and in some cases detract from) the character of a language. I'm going to beat down on English for a few moments here.
Spanish is a nice language because everything is more or less pronounced exactly as it is written. If I see a letter "J" in a word, I know that it always sounds like "H". If I see a letter "A", I know it always sounds like the a in "father". Virtually no exceptions. Japanese is similar, when you use the phonetic alphabets (katakana or hiragana). Seeing IS believing. Or at least pronouncing.
Not so with that hippie language English. All I need to do is point out the words rough, slough, bough, though, and cough for you to understand the problem.
Now imagine katieledge, a native of Britain and all its wacky town names, gnashing her teeth as I see the word "Leicester" and pronounce it "LYE-sess-tur". "It's LESS-tur," she corrects me. Repeatedly. For hours. Note also: "Worcestershire" is not WORE-sess-tur-SHY-ur, but rather WUSS-tur-shur. Yes, like the sauce. But when I was young I always pronounced it wrong, and it took a while to get the hang of it. Further note that "Warwick" is pronounced "WAR-ick". The second W has NO GOOD REASON to be silent. It just is.
And so our great adventure continued...
18 April: Bright and early, we take the ultimate challenge: driving into London. Now, driving in any major metropolitan area is always challenging. I've driven the wilds of Los Angeles, the labyrinth of Boston, and the grid of Manhattan. But London... this was outside of experience. Also, wrong side of the road, as I mentioned before. So katieledge takes the helm, apprehensively, and I take the map. Long story short: we only almost die twice, and we get to our target destination in reasonable time and even find a convenient parking spot. Tally ho, then! To the subway tube!
London's underground rail system is quite nice, at least for one jaded by the quality of the NYC subway. All the trains talk to you, telling you very kindly to "Mind the gap." (Historical footnote: In Canterbury, I learned that a gap between your front teeth is a sign of lewd behavior. So, mind the gap indeed. But that's irrelevant.) They tell you what stop you're approaching. They're very polite, even when uttering that classic phrase "The next stop is Cockfosters." (Alas, we didn't travel that line, but if you ever travel to London via Heathrow Airport, take the subway tube to the city and you'll hear it. It's worth every penny.)
From a fine overlook of the city on Primrose Hill, we went to the heart of the city, seeing the Tower of London and then going into and up the Tower Bridge. Well, first there was the Giant Sundial Of History, which showed all major events pertaining to London from its start in 46 AD or something. Of note: four times throughout history were events marked "Great Fire, X-thousand dead." Thousands. Then, in 1848, "London Fire Brigade Established." A LITTLE LATE THERE, DUMBASSES. I also saw four times "Plague: X-thousand dead." I wonder if they established their first hospital in the 1800s too. The irony is, coming from Primrose Hill to the center of the city, we passed a car on fire. That's how things start, you know.
Curious thing about a sundial: IT REQUIRES SUN TO WORK. WELCOME TO ENGLAND! Much like a stopped watch is right twice a day, I'm guessing this thing is right about twice a year.
Ok, onward. Like I said, we saw the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge.
From the top of the bridge we could admire the London skyline and all its wondrous glory. It might have been more glorious had there not being a GIANT SPACE PENIS sticking up out of the middle:
We took a leisurely walk along the Thames, admiring other marvels of history, architecture, and description:
Huh huh, they said "cockspur". Huh huh.
Then we crossed the Millennium Bridge (which the Londoners called the Wobbly Bridge because, apparently, it wobbled A LOT when it was first built), and approached St. Paul's cathedral.
The cathedral was being renovated, and so there was a massive amount of scaffolding on the front side, which they then covered up with a big white cloth that had the image of the front of the cathedral drawn on, so that from a distance you almost couldn't tell that it was there. Quite clever, really. But alas, they were closed when we arrived, and no amount of me pounding on the door would get them to open up.
So, instead, we went drinking. Meeting up with katieledge's friends was a hoot, up until I was taken to task for the American pronunciation of the word "herb". Silent H vs. voiced H? Barbaric!
Finally, our busy day come to a close, we withdrew to a house of hippies (holy crap, they had a record player that you had to wind up by hand to operate!) and crashed for the evening.
19 April: To Bath! Once again braving London's labyrinthine roadways, we flee the capital and drive down the M4 to visit my aunt and uncle. The tale of Bath is long and sordid, so I'll sum up the key events here.
LOCAL PAGANS: Oooh, hot water comes from the ground! It is a divine miracle! We devote it to our goddess Sulis, who brings wisdom and health!
ROMAN TROOPS: What ho, this wellspring is indeed a wonder of nature!
LOCAL PAGANS: It is sacred to our goddess Sulis, who brings wisdom and health!
ROMAN TROOPS: Hmm, that is like our goddess Minerva, who brings wisdom and health. We claim this spring in the name of... *drumroll* SULIS MINERVA!
LOCAL PAGANS: *headcolumn*
ROMAN TROOPS: And now we're going to build a big-ass shrine, temple, bathhouse, steamroom, strip mall, brothel, and maybe a Starbuckus Maximus over there.
LOCAL PAGANS: We can't wait until you guys get angl0sax0red in a few centuries.
ROMAN TROOPS: What?
LOCAL PAGANS: Nothing. Hey, is Russel Crowe with you?
And so it happened.
Bath was pretty cool. It was mostly an archaeological dig underneath the bathhouse and temple remnants. But the hot spring water was still bubbling and still warm.
We got to taste some of the spring water later. I don't know if it made me wiser or healthier, though. Then again, the sticky toffee pudding I had for lunch probably wasn't doing me any favors either. But it was so sweet and tasty.
There was also a cathedral. Well, an abbey. But it was big and cathedral-like, so it satisfied my "one castle/cathedral a day" rule.
From Bath we had a scenic drive-by tour of Bristol, and then drove up to Leamington Spa, also named after old springs. (It's pronounced LEMMING-ton. Like the suicidal rodents.) Our hostess of the evening served us dinner and then presented a most marvelous of desserts: Gü. Probably the best chocolate pudding ever. So tasty, and then filled with cream... I almost had a chocorgasm on the spot. And after dessert, off to the pub for authentic British drinking and two old guys plaing fiddle, bagpipe, and other assorted instruments. Fun times indeed... aside from lugging our suitcases up the narrowest flight of stairs in history.
Tune in next time for more castles, cathedrals, walled cities, black pudding, and beer. Quite a bit of that last one.