Touched Down in London Town!

Apparently tales of London Fog are merely fable. I expected 40s and 50s and what kind of weather did I find? Warm and sunny 70s. The English became toasty Brits as they basked in the sun at Hyde and Regent's Parks (near to where Mary and Nik live) --  and honestly don't think I've seen so many white people lounging around on the grass. It was like Waikiki beach minus the beach and bathing suits, and people were everywhere: in business clothes, jogging, taking a stroll with their partner, chatting with girlfriends and wine, reading a book, snogging on the grass, walking their tots.

In the evening pubs were filled to the brim, and men spilled outside for after work drinks.  (I'm told it's a bloke thing to have a beer with the guys after work.  Hardly any women, although pubs offer fruity drinks like strawberry beer.)

Below are photos of both Parks. Regent's Park was filmed in the "The King's Speech." Also, Regent's will be utilized for the Olympics 2012. Latest word is that both parks will broadcast the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton on gigantic screens, and many women will sport bridal gowns and sip champagne in the parks. The Brits are even granted a four day weekend for the wedding!

*Note: The peace sign is a signature Asian, especially Japanese, trend in photos.

** The UK doesn't subscribe to euros. I felt like an ignoramus attempting to purchase a ticket with euros instead of pounds.

Recognize this from a recent Academy Award-winning film? Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush had an argument right about here.

Day 1: The Double Decker Red Bus: The Original London Tour

 

It's always been my dream to travel throughout London via the vibrant red bus. And it certainly wasn't disappointing.

Basking in yet another lovely day of sunshine, and with Londoners decidedly cheerier, we saw the London Bridge, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben & Parliament, St. Paul's Cathedral (one of the choices for the upcoming royal wedding), Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, Tower of London (yes, the execution place), Shakespeare's Globe, and the National Gallery amongst many other English landmarks.

Our tour guide was witty and full of English charm and clever factoids. Did you know "wharf" is actually an acronym for Warehouse and River Front?

 Big Ben from a distance atop the Double Decker.

 

Photos Above: London Bridge; back of The Palace

  

 
          

  

One of four bronzed lions built to protect the city. Each lion faces a corner. It seems very Narnia-esque particularly with that highschooler sitting on it.

 This sign is posted in Tralfagar Square. Whatever happened to the compassionate "Feed the Birds" from Mary Poppins?

Thus far I'm most impressed with London's international flavor. There is a level of sophistication to this kind of melting pot that feels... distinctly London. And English girls are lovely, and some even have the porcelain skin from a BBC film. English blokes... not so bad either.

Cheerio.

Crossing the Atlantic

As a little girl I dreamed of Paris because Sabrina went to Paris. And because of La Vie en Rose. And as a teenager in Señora Slate's class I dreamed of Madrid because of Pedro Almodovar, horchatas in the morning, and flamenco at dusk. And London because of my dad, C.S. Lewis, and Tolkien.

My friend Kate asked what I most look forward to on this European adventure. I have such strongly resonant images and feelings about each city even though we've only been introduced via literature and film. I look forward to being wrong. Or validated. Will eating a croissant at a Parisian café amid city bustling feel and taste exactly as I imagined it?

But enough philosophical conjecture. I really look forward to food and wine. A lot of it. !Ole¡

So here's where you'll be joining me as I travel-log: London, Paris, Madrid, two days back in Hawaii, then Bangkok (for work; I was asked to speak at a Trafficking in Persons conference). I'm honestly really proud that I surpassed my new year's resolution of two countries a year, or more accurately, I'm really blessed. And who knows? Perhaps like Sabrina, I'll come back an Audrey Hepburn with a Humphrey Bogart on my arm.

Charles Bukowski

At Eastern Market DC nearly six years ago, I bought an indie black t-shirt of Charles Bukowski holding a can of beer. It says: "To do a dangerous thing with style is what I call art." If he only knew that a poetry student would fashionably sport around his face as a bohemian-nouveau trend.

Bukowski like Joseph Brodsky like Hemingway  have a scotch in one hand and shotgun in the other personal flair, yet still have the capacity to craft delicately. He seems less dangerous and a little more know-able.

No. 6

I'll settle for the 6 horse
on a rainy afternoon
a paper cup of coffee
in my hand
a little way to go,
the wind twirling out
small wrens from
the upper grandstand roof,
the jocks coming out
for a middle race
silent
and the easy rain making
everything
at once
almost alike,
the horses at peace with
each other
before the drunken war
and I am under the grandstand
feeling for
cigarettes
settling for coffee,
then the horses walk by
taking their little men
away --
it is funereal and graceful
and glad
like the opening
of flowers.

Jing and Shelgo Take Japan (a Brown Power Production)

Seattle May 2009

Seattle ranks as one of my favorite U.S. cities -- a vibrant metropolis with a sophisticated palette for coffee, food, music, and those hidden indie gems. My kindred spirit from college, Katrina, was the perfect hostess and guide. The weather was typical Pacific Northwest, but it had the charm of spring despite the rain. Cherry blossoms? In abundance.

Shopping was fantastic -- most places were nestled in bohemian artsy neighborhoods and sold vintage items (I bought a LIFE Magazine in mint condition featuring Fred Astaire dancing with his son dated August 25, 1941)! I KNOW. It's currently on my coffee table encased in glass. En route to one particular shopping destination, I found some time and chatted with President Obama.

Seattle also inspired me to just run with it. Or from it.

Let's talk coffee with savory croissants, bagels, or the lingering smell of Piroshky Bakery around the corner. The origin of the Russian word "piroshky" is to feast, and delectable pies stuffed with various fillings on a cold, rainy day in historic Pike's Market with a steamy cup of coffee -- now, that's a feast.

 I did visit the original Starbucks with its original logo -- scandalous, perhaps?

Not your average Ariel.

And what is a visit to Seattle without the sublime and comforting voice of Iron & Wine? After waiting in the cold for nearly 4 hours, about 200 of us crowded in a tiny record store to hear Mr. Samuel Beam sing, croon actually.



Another brightening moment was the Seattle Public Library.

It's tailored to the urban, modern and chic taste, and those who like to read of course ...

Katrina's interest is piqued by the alluring "Bitter Air of Exile."

I have other interests...

Yes, that's my face next to THE GREATS.

Lost in a sea of red in just another typical libary hallway.

Ready for the next travel adventure!

Marina and the Diamonds

Where was she when I was fifteen?

Oh, Happy Writing Time!

Ahoy, loyal readership of two! It’s time to set sail with this blog, a mere year after my last post. I’ve had an exciting past year, ripe with travel, epicurious adventures in the landscape of wine, food, art, and literature, failed relationships, move to Casa de la Sharon, engagements and marriages, baby plans, two more pieces of indelible body art (alas, no video), an anti-human trafficking project, and Round III: waging war with the Pounds.

Frankly, I’ve been inspired by Mrs. Q of “Fed up with School Lunch: the school lunch project” blog (http://fedupwithschoollunch.blogspot.com/), who had a humble readership of two once upon a time… and of course, my medium-sized raincloud called “Debt: Master’s in Creative Writing” have both spurred me to write yet again.

I, Sharon Elizabeth Gouveia, hereby promise to blog more. I promise that my blog readership will at least double in size by the end of 2011. Please help me keep this promise.

Now off we go for more adventuring (or scrapes)!

Princess Leia in Dubai: April 2009

Scene I: I'm at an international humanitarian conference and standing in the middle of a crowded and vast exhibition hall in the famed International Convention Centre, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. I'm overwhelmed, wishing I was wearing more clothes, and marveling at how beautiful burqas could be, some with tiny rhinestones dotted at the sleeves or along the seams. My boss is talking to the head of the police; they all drive mercedes. I'm half-listening to a gregarious and lively gentleman from Oman, whose occupation I will not divulge, and who is charmingly telling me about his three wives, their latest bickering, and their separate houses. "Tell me, do you love one more than the other?" I ask, and he replies disarmingly, "I'd love you the best; would you be the fourth?"

Scene II: I've heard one of the most beautiful and luminous things. At the opening address, a young boy sang the Qur'an -- in the most pristine and perfect of pitches --  and soared.

Scene III: My hotel room, like most things Dubai, was excessive. It had 3 bedrooms/3 bathrooms.

 One of the bedrooms



Scene IV: This was neither a trip of leisure nor absorption of culture. It was work, work, and remember in Return of the Jedi when Princess Leia was chained to Jabba the Hutt? Mmm, hmm. That's me minus the gold-plated bikini.

OK, so perhaps Dubai's ratings were low and earned a spot on Sharon's Lonely Planet, but that was 2009, and my travelogue only gets better, just you wait!

Excavating the Writer

It's not the best of reasons, but I haven't creatively written in awhile because I can't move on from my mom. My mission this year? Excavate emotion other than grief.

In his novel dedication, Simon Van Booy wrote this to his deceased wife: “If you are not here, then why are you everywhere?”

But I did write the following excerpt in a letter update to her:

Your oldest child just turned 30 yesterday,
and I feel stuck at the same age you died.
Like my writing – I navigate with a compass
reaching for redemptive arcs and swift destinations
but I can’t seem to finish anything except a paper trail
of bright ideas and broken-tipped relationships,
as if finishing is something like grieving
something like moving on

The Lightkeeper by: Carolyn Forche

A night without ships. Foghorns called into walled cloud, and you
still alive, drawn to the light as if it were a fire kept by monks,
darkness once crusted with stars, but now death-dark as you sail inward.
Through wild gorse and sea wrack, through heather and torn wool
you ran, pulling me by the hand, so I might see this for once in my life:
the spin and spin of light, the whirring of it, light in search of the lost,
there since the era of fire, era of candles and hollow-wick lamps,
whale oil and solid wick, colza and lard, kerosene and carbide,
the signal fires lighted on this perilous coast in the Tower of Hook.
You say to me stay awake, be like the lensmaker who died with his
lungs full of glass, be the yew in blossom when bees swarm, be
their amber cathedral and even the ghosts of Cistercians will be kind to you.
In a certain light as after rain, in pearled clouds or the water beyond,
seen or sensed water, sea or lake, you would stop still and gaze out
for a long time. Also when fireflies opened and closed in the pines,
and a star appeared, our only heaven. You taught me to live like this.
That after death it would be as it was before we were born. Nothing
to be afraid. Nothing but happiness as unbearable as the dread
from which it comes. Go toward the light always, be without ships.