Archive for June, 2005

Jet (ooh ooh ooh ooh woo-woo woo woo)

Tuesday, June 7th, 2005

I had the pleasure of experiencing London’s Gatwick airport today/yesterday/whatever.
I was meeting a friend whose plane was due in just after midnight, so I got the 22.34 train to the airport to be sure I arrived nice and early. Before I left I used Dashboard’s flight tracker widget to see how her flight was doing – 1 minute late it said, so I guessed all would be well and we’d make the 01.45 train back home.

I’m not particularly au fait with airports, having only folown once (or twice if you count the return trip) and I always expected them to be extremely ordered affairs with lots of instructions everywhere. Instead they seem to be big cavernous spaces with lots of people milling around. When I went to Heathrow for a flight to Ireland a while back I bumped into David Trimble, First Minister of the Northern Ireland Assembly, looking distinctly harrassed. I remember thinking at the time how odd it can be to bump into ‘famous’ or ‘important’ people. (Actually I remember thinking ‘who’s he? It’s on the tip of my toungue…’

So anyway there I was at Gatwick wandering through the entrance and looking around for a little bit of a hint about where I should be going. Nothing. It is an appalingly designed place (as is Heathrow’s terminal 1) and I can’t imagine what effect it has on visitors to the country. But at 23.13 it was a soul-less place.
Eventually I found a sign that said ‘Arrivals’ so I thought I’d best follow it. After passing by empty and depressing check-in desks I found the ‘UK arrivals’ lounge. I say ‘lounge’ – it was a door with a broken hinge and some green chairs that looked far too uncomfortable to sit on, never mind sleep as many people appeared to be doing.
This didn’t exactly strike me as particularly international so it came as no surprise when I realised that ‘UK arrivals’ didn’t refer to people arriving in the UK but people arriving on internal flights – when I thought about it the logic was obvious: everyone is arriving in the UK.

I couldn’t believe how stupid I was, and I was grateful I arrived early as if I’d spent all my time in the wrong lounge with my friend stranded where I was supposed to be, I’d have felt a right proper charley.
So I carried on walking until I came to ‘International Arrivals’ only to find that the plane I was waiting for was delayed by over an hour.
So I went up to the bookshop and bought a copy of Graham Greene’s ‘Brighton Rock’, a book I’ve been meaning to read for ages. Then I went to get a coffee but was stuck next to a group of people whose entire vocabulary consisted of the f- and c-words on one side, and three rather attractive young women with equally attractive Irish accents on the other.

It was, to cut a long story short, one hell of an evening. The plane eventually arrived at 01.15, exactly half an hour before the last train home and, coincidentally, exactly half an hour before the passengers actually made it to the lounge. Hence after the required (and heartfelt) emotional greeting my friend and I spent several hours drinking coffee and catching up before catching the 04.44 train home.
We eventually arrived back here at half five in the morning. She’s gone to bed despite having gone through ‘tired’ and I can hear her deep breathing as I type in the next room (oh – now it’s snoring). I, on the other hand, reasoned that if I went to bed I’d get at most two hours sleep before having to get up – so decided to stay up and go to work early, hopefully coming home early before my all-nighter catches up with me. Funny, all I did was go to the airport but I’m going to be the one that ends up with jet-lag!
This may be a mistake – it’s now twenty past six in the morning and I can feel the side effects already. Maybe if I close my eyes for just a minute…

What do you mean, you’ve never heard the Eroica symphony?

Saturday, June 4th, 2005

The BBC begins its marathon Beethoven broadcast tomorrow – every note he ever wrote played over a whole week.
I’m going to dip in every now and then; I got into classical music through Beethoven and while I sometimes grow tired of his style I quite enjoy having a long break and then ‘rediscovering’ him.

If you’ve never heard the nine symphonies then the BBC is going to be making the broadcasts available for download over the next few days, so here’s you chance. (Of course you can hear the whole week on the internet via the Beeb’s great ‘listen again’ service).

If you’re new to this stuff and fancy giving it a go, I recommend the 3rd (‘Eroica’), 5th, 7th and 9th symphonies in particular (the 6th is always popular too – lots of familiar tunes you can hum along to)

The third symphony’s first two movements are powerful; the second is a long slow funeral march with a magnificent double fugue in the middle that I used to bore my neighbours by playing over and over again.

The fifth is of course the ‘de de de DUM’ symphony – well worth listening to the whole thing because it repays close attention and ends in a glorious blaze of colour.
The dot-dot-dot-dash pattern of the symphony’s motif (which recurs throughout) is Morse Code for ‘V’ (although Beethoven didn’t know that, of course!) As a result, the symphony became popular during the second world war (V for Victory, you see) and the motif was used to open BBC broadcasts to Europe, in particular those that contained codes for resistance fighters.

The seventh symphony was the one that ‘got’ me, in particular the second movement which, on the recording I first heard, was played extremely slowly. Very, very sexy music. Nowadays it’s more common that it’s played quickly and it can often lose its punch. (Again, a lot like sex…)

The ninth symphony needs no introduction… but what the hell. The first movement is some of the most dramatic music you will ever hear – until the final movement which includes a full choir singing Schiller’s ‘Ode To Joy’ to one of the most famous tunes ever written, so simple but so stirring. It’s a great symphony to hear live if you ever get the chance.
Beethoven was stone deaf by the time he wrote this piece, not long before he died, and at the first performance he had to be physically turned around to see the ecstatic reception it received. The moment’s captured quite well in the film ‘Immortal Beloved’ (although the film itself is sometimes a little self-indulgent).

Compared with Mozart’s 40-odd symphonies and Haydn’s 100+, Beethoven’s nine symphonies are few in number but enormous in impact. He took the symphony and transformed it from something of a bagatelle showcase into a powerful expression of emotion and musical form. It had a huge impact on music – and not always a good one. Brahms famously put off writing a symphony because he didn’t feel able to meet the challenge (in the end he wrote four, and his first symphony was labelled ‘Beethoven’s tenth’ by many critics). The other oddity of the nine symphonies is that the number became a bit of a curse. Schubert only wrote nine before he died (in his 30s) and so did Bruckner. So convinced was he that he would die after writing his ninth symphony that Mahler put off producing one, calling what is in effect his ninth symphony an orchestral song-cycle (‘Das Lied Von Der Erde’ or ‘Song of the Earth’). Thinking he’d beaten the curse he wrote what became his ‘ninth’ symphony – and promptly died…

Incidentally, the Eroica symphony is famous for quite often being misprinted in newspapers as ‘Erotica’. I suspect either an over-zealous spell-checker or, more likely, a proofreader’s industry in-joke.

Experimental Travel

Saturday, June 4th, 2005

From Michael Quinion’s ever-fascinating World Wide Words newsletter:

Experimental Travel
The phrase is in the news because Lonely Planet yesterday published
its Guide to Experimental Travel. One author is Joel Henry, a 48-
year-old television scriptwriter from Strasbourg who is said to
have created the idea in 1990 (though the term is more recent).
It’s also called “experimental tourism”. As a surreal alternative
to the standard trudge round tourist venues, he suggests that you
should “challenge your perceptions of a city and increase your
receptiveness as a tourist” by trying alternative ways of seeing.
Alphatourism, for example: identify the first and last streets in
the A-Z, draw a line between the two and follow the route on foot
(a variation might be to draw a random shape, superimpose it on a
street plan and follow the route it marks out). Or aerotourism:
spend a day in an airport enjoying its facilities without going
anywhere. Or nyctalotourism: go to a foreign city at twilight, look
around all night and leave just before dawn. Or cecitourism: let a
trusted friend or partner walk you blindfolded round a place,
describing the sights. If all these are too mundane, you might try
“horse’s head tourism”: don a horse’s head costume and walk around
to experience the way that people react to you.

* From the Independent, 9 Feb. 2005: About 20 miles further on, I
drive past Bodiam Castle, a 14th-century fortification. This, of
course, is a conventional tourist attraction, but experimental
tourists are permitted to visit such places, as long as they
indulge in contretourism. This involves turning your back on the
monument in question and taking a photograph of the view in the
opposite direction.

* From the Observer, 22 May 2005: “You see,” he says. “That is the
thing about doing experimental tourism, it gives you a special
feeling. It makes you into a person you are not.” I think about
this but I don’t think I’m sure enough of the person I am to know
that I’m not the person I’m not. But then, this is precisely the
kind of topsy-turvy conundrum that experimental tourism throws up
the whole time.


Wednesday, June 1st, 2005

I just had a 20 minute telephone conversation with a friend in Spain via Skype on my Powerbook using a headset with microphone.
Excellent quality sound – apparently I sounded a bit odd on the other end but more than acceptable.
Total cost for the call… only 20p (36 US cents/ 0.30 Euros)

Not bad – higly recommended if you’ve never tried it.