Here is an update on many matters of state in the last weeks:
I am currently in the middle of an intense training camp with the rowing club, which has already consisted of video footage analysis of my stroke, and timed ergo competitions, akin to the manner in which the British Olympic boat is picked. Indeed, I attended the Arsenal Versus Villa Real match, and went on my way rejoicing, on the train, back to Cambridge. The next morning I did my 30 minute ergo with the coach looming over me, and, dripping with sweat, I had to jump off the machine, put a back pack on, and run two miles to the train station, in order to get a train to Nuneaton 20 minutes later. I ran and ran, stumbled onto the train, only for a historical paper I had been working on to flutter out of my bag and onto the platform. I commanded passers by to help me pick it up, as well as some broken matzah, which is all I had for sustenance, and bundle me onto the train with 15 second to go. I sat there dazed, starving and sopping wet, on my way to Nuneaton, to change for Liverpool, where I was due to give a paper on Cannibalism and the Blood Libel in Iberian expansion. It was still Pesach, and all I had was some marshmallows, cheese and matzah. I changed into my suit, meandered to the conference centre, and gave my paper. All the other papers were dull and dry, so I made witty jokes about Heebs on Haemoroids, cannibalism, and the fact that, given it was the last day of Pesach, little Christians were no doubt being eaten somewhere in the world. An awkward silence ensued, I got in an argument with a professor about the meaning of the ‘Atlantic World’, left the room, and got back onto a train to Cambridge, breaking my Pesach fast on a Chicken Tikka sandwich followed by a glass of water, which allowed me a milky Twix.
I went to Istanbul with parents in mid-March for three days. The synagogue we booked to go into for a service, boasted yellow hard hats under each seat, in case of bombing. It was impossible to go into other synagogues, owing to security. I went into lots of mosques however, and enjoyed walking bare foot. It was a sometimes upsetting few days for me, however, because I wanted to buy a carpet/ hat/ dinner from every hawker who accosted me, leading to much guilt when I did not. We ended up eating in smoky Turkish pubs because we were guilty that the proprietors kept on recognising us as we walked past their establishments. The bazaar was as Middle Eastern as you could imagine, and I was sent into a spiral of adrenaline and confusion as hawkers sought my shekels from every angle. The Asian side of Uskadar, which I went to by a working class ferry, was bustling and Mohammedan. Every morning at 5am I was woken with the eerie call of the Muazzin wailing for Allah, right outside my window. British Airways was sound and calming. I have now straddled Asia and Europe. I drank pomegranate juice from a street stall.
I also went to Brighton for a couple of days with the Sabra. We ate cinder toffee, fish, and Greek food. Brighton palace was odd and ersatz in its style. It was windy and we got sprayed on the beach, where I was inspired to run shirtless at night. We lay in the sun and ate olives. We also went on a pilgrimage to the Grand Hotel, where they tried to bomb Thatcher, to no avail, luckily. We sneaked to the top of the hotel, and had some moments of contemplation.
With noisy kitchen activity going on at home, I managed to finish my book chapter on Sudan, which I sent to the publishers. It is ace.
This rowing camp will be a make-or-break affair. More on this later, no doubt.
April 24th, 2006 at 10:37 am
Snuck is better than sneaked.