Will Play for Food

Every musician is familiar with this phrase. At this new stage in my life, not only am I playing for food, but I am also worth a lot of money in tuition for food, such as:

melons and muffins

pita chips, bagels with cream cheese AND humus

and several different kinds of sandwiches,

and a few other selections that I stopped taking cell phone pictures of because I was starting to look creepy.

Too bad this is the one rare time in my life I am way too nervous to eat.

I walk into the lounge of my New England Conservatory, holding a little paper plate and a cup of seltzer water. Yes that's right, SELTZER water.

I look around the room full of new students who actually get my little quarky artist existence, and then I see the exit door. That's the door that during one night in those times ages ago (okay, like six months ago) when I was here daily in an attempt to become a future student, I opened it and set off the fire alarm during intermission of a concert. Now, the door is posted copiously with signs “Fire exit only, alarm WILL sound.”

And I smile secretly, because I feel that I have begun to make a difference.

Then later I am sitting in Jordan Hall

with other students who are chatting happily, but I am not chatting because I'm too busy trying to keep my jaw shut, and thus save the plush cushioned seats from my drool.

“You are all very talented,” the New England Conservatory president tells us. “You will be asked to prove yourselves many times, but you don’t have to prove that you are very talented because you’ve already proven that.”

Before exiting Jordan Hall, I kneel to the ground to open my backpack, feeling around frantically for the metronome that has turned itself on, but cannot find it before spilling out half the contents onto the floor, including my new student ID in which I look sort of like I got punched in my left eye.













Finally, after getting a hold of my belongings (not to mention myself), I pass by the security guard who has seen me progress from aspiring student to actual student, and give him what will become a ritual daily high five.

I go the library to listen to a recording of a piece I will play for my placement audition. When the guy (who is apparently a virtuoso classical guitarist) helps me look up the piece on the computer, I see 99 matches.

"You have 99 recordings of this one piece?"

"No, those are just the first 99."

"Duh."

Of the things I am discovering about Boston as a student shed light on it very differently than when I was just a free spirit trying to make my way in the world. Mostly just a feeling of belonging now, not just wishing I belonged.

As the days go by and I gradually begin to eat more, I feel more at peace with how flabergastingly insanely freaking awesome it is that this place is, well, MINE.

Just like that, the train is moving again, but with that comes the realization that even during the most doubtful of moments leading up to now, it never actually stopped.

Pork, Pretty Places, Principles

As I yanked the handle of my suitcase to flip it over, my backpack with my computer plummeted onto the cobble stones. I looked around Prague in the early morning drizzle and realized that I had done it all wrong.

But despite and maybe even because of the self-hatred, I picked up the backpack and saw that nothing was damaged, flipped back my greasy hair, and marched on. Until my suitcase flipped again. So I decided to march on at least until the next major airport. And only if the travel insurance would cover it.

For the next two weeks I made discoveries about hand washing laundry, eating copious amounts of pork, rusty medieval keys vs. modern keys when it comes to broken doors, how to feel like you’re alone in a crowd full of sweaty tourists, and pushing aside exhaustion in moments of crucial importance - ones I had waited for my entire life. When I met up with the Intrepid tour, seeing as how it was a small relaxed group that aims to blend in with culture rather than drive by it, all the while being environmentally conscious, I immediately knew it would be a good experience. And I was right.

So I saw the stately elegance of Vienna, walked on the streets of composers who have shaped the world (and me),















(on the left, Mozart drinking Starbucks outside the opera house)


cities like the beautiful and hidden Cesky Krumlov,



Krakow,




and Budapest.



The concentration camps of Auschwitz and Birkenau were what I expected. Surreal, and not just for the horror that I’ve learned about every year in Jewish school, but of the other paradoxes I had not fully realized before. Hatred with calculation of not just murder, but suffering of the most extreme kind. The absolute worst of human nature. Hell on Earth.












(on the right, the crematorium that was blown up by the Nazis right before the liberation)






But on a better note, speaking of earth, perhaps the biggest accomplishment for myself as a result of this trip is…drum roll…NATURE. I was in two different mountain town places and went on two half-day hikes, three four hour bike rides and even ENJOYED it. I went from this:



To this

I actually did enjoy the several hikes, bike rides, and more than ten minutes at a time spent in the woods, and even left wanting MORE. This trip must have some kind of magical power over me. When I went back to the city from nature, it was even kind of sad.

At one point in a city, I bought a hot dog from a man from India, and instead of just a hot dog I got his entire life story. Realizing that he is a) my age, and b) makes hot dogs all day as a means of survival and to fund his family back in India, I looked down at the glistening piece of mystery meat and felt once again a strong sense of failure.

Here I saw the cycle that in an effort to see the world, which in turn makes me understand my place in it, which in turn helps me to contribute to it, I feel a little like a selfish horrible person taking advantage of a lesser privileged human being as I walk onto my next tourist destination, somehow using my freedom as an American to take advantage of those who suffer because of people like me. I know more than ever now how much I want to give back somehow.

But I also learned on this trip about cutting myself a little slack, giving up control, and embracing my vulnerability. After all, I didn’t know what to expect. I planned as well as I could, threw myself in head first, knowing that if all goes as planned and I forge a career in the coming years, I might never have an opportunity like this again.

I was elated to step off the plane and be home, though less elated to realize that reality is going to hit hard, seeing more than ever how much the world is in need of repair. Now, my next task is to use the experiences of this trip and this year to put into art and forge the path for my future. On my list of things to do before I die, I take my pink highlighter, made in India, and put a nice check mark next to Europe.

Finding me-self in the Praha

I am sleeping when the door to my dorm room opens.
“Up!” says the maid.
“Excuse me?”
She lifts her arms.
“UP!”
“Oh. Okay then.”
I get up and she changes my sheets. I lean into the closet to find my outfit for the day and I feel a hand tap my rear. I look up to see her laughing as she exits. After getting over the bewilderment from being awoken from a dream and being fondled by a Czech maid, I go to school. SCHOOL. What a foreign concept! I take the train, which people ride basically for free on the honors system, and go by the sites I have walked and gotten lost in several times already.

Castles, cathedrals, general gorgeous scenery:



Weird art: Franz Kafka:

And architecture:
Cubism:



Cobble stone streets (my poor high heels have not left the suitcase)Fashion:

Chandeliers:

I had a thought of buying one if I could find a tiny and more importantly cheap one, meaning less than $50, to like, put next to my plant or use for parties or something … but unfortunately, I couldn’t score any Swarovski crystals for a good price. But this is good because I don’t have the additional self-imposed challenge of figuring out how to get it home.

Other than that, besides meeting some fantastic people and getting some edumacation in my other secret identity of writing, here are other things I accomplished in Prague:

Aside from the few goulash indulgences, there were days when I had this diet:
Breakfast: a donut. Lunch: A hot dog Dinner: pepperoni pizza. Snacks: ice cream and a bag of mnm’s.
The next day, when I had a piece of lettuce on my sandwich I got concerned I was getting off track with too many vitamins. However, with all the MacDonalds and KFC locations, I have not once succumbed to homesickness for America in that way. Woohoo!

And finally, I have confirmed the discovery my “inner travel child.” This comes with the knowledge of a) Though it is hard at the time, I like being alone, because for some reason this is when I have the most fun, b) I am now a big fan of yoga, which was offered for free twice a week and whether because of the location or the humidity or the teacher, made me hooked on it and even getting a little more fond of nature (of which there are several spots in Prague...not just mowed grass, but even some trees) and c) Perhaps this is bad, but often I can only fully appreciate things later by looking at the pictures. I have a knack for creating juxtapositions in pictures, particularly with advertisements I find funny.

I enjoy this a lot actually. Maybe too much. But in Prague, there are no boundaries.

Pukey la Paris

Rule #1 in a travel experience with Liz:  no matter what, when, how, where, etc. there NEEDS to be at least one really amazingly not fun experience.  It is just a requirement.  After all, where would I get material for these blogs if that were not the case?

Two summers ago, on my first trip to Europe, I got sick before I left, and was sick the entire time until I came home (I was better by then).  I also neglected to bring the right plug adapter to Italy, and naturally, this mistake was bad.  I could not buy one there.  It then took me 2 days to get home because of flight delays, being stranded at the Rome and Montreal airports (in Montreal, a hotel an hour away from the airport with a voucher of not enough value to get me there which resulted in a lovely shouting match with a cab driver), and almost being moved off the last flight home because of overcrowding.  

I also realize I might have caused some concern with the last blog about my survival skills, but the reality is that I am quite badass.  That is why, despite some horrified reactions from people, I decided to take the plunge and try to see some of the freaking world.     

On this trip, the little tortures that come with traveling have been frequent and strong.  A few (of many) things include spending an hour of a two hour period in Munich looking for the ladies room, having to abandon needed items for the sake of time after trying in vain to unlock a broken door, somehow getting possession of counterfeit money, setting off the fire alarm in the train station (my elbow slipped, sorry), spilling my makeup all over the floor when trying to participate in an estrogen bonding experience with other girls on the group, having my headphones break before the 9 hour bus ride, and finally, coming down with the flu right as I got to Paris.  Although I knew my body was shutting down, I was determined to get up the Eiffel tower with everyone.  With my whole body shaking, my chest hurting every time I breathed in, and my stomach cramping, I clung to the metal handles of the elevator with one hand and to a bottle of pepto with the other.  I made it up (barely), took a picture, and went back down. 

As I waited for the elevator, I had a romantic moment by being hit on by a toothless Algerian.  I was about to head for the stairs when the elevator finally came.  I had to stand next to him for the next five minutes as he repeatedly tried to get my information, obviously not turned off by me hunched over, pale, and about to puke.

“Phone numbah?”  

“I don’t have a phone.” 

“Email?”  

“Don’t have a computer.  Excuse me.  I gotta go over here now.”

The next day, while the rest of the group went to Paris, I spent 14 hours in a 9 x 9 log cabin.  This was probably good because I sweat so much that I probably lost a pound or two, broke the fever, and my stomach calmed down.  Once I was feeling somewhat normal again, though still weak, I went to try and meet up with the group for the fancy dinner and cabaret show.  A bus driver for another group offered to give me a lift, which I happily accepted.  Two hours later, we had not gotten a mile from the hostel because of traffic.

I ended up having dinner with a different group and still making the cabaret show which was fun.  However, during the show, I wanted a glass of water, but all they had was champagne.  At the end, I was so desperate for a sip of water that I went into a bar next door and bought the only thing they had – a one-liter bottle for 6 Euro. 

The contiki trip was a very efficient way to see a lot of Europe in a short amount of time (not necessarily experience it all but at least see it), and with 50 other people and a lot of claustrophobia...let’s just get to the point:  I won’t be doing it again.  I am thankful to be getting better now and that I didn’t lose anything of massive importance along the way.  I even got to see a couple sites in Paris yesterday...without fear of throwing up.  And now, finally, I’m going to Prague. 

Here are a few pics:

Cliffs of Dover

Venice

Pigeons in Venice

Swiss chocolate makes everything all better. 

At the top of the Swiss Alps

French Delicacy

Mona

Notre Dame 

Yippeeee!

Quite Bloody Lovely

If you didn’t know that I was planning on spending the summer in Europe, now you do. I am slowly making my way to Prague where I have a scholarship to participate in a nonfiction writing class. Here’s what I’ve been through so far in the beginning of this adventure.

When I got off the plane at Heathrow, I purchased the phone card for my unlocked cell phone. As I called the number, I was told I needed a registered credit card in the UK in order to activate it, and when the automated voice asked yes or no questions by pressing 1 or 2, it repeatedly resulted in “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.” So much for the pretty extensive research I did on the phone situation. But because I was not in the mood for frustration, I hopped on the “tube” towards “Cockfosters” and got off at Piccadilly Circus. No there aren’t elephants and acrobats at this circus. It is basically London’s version of Times Square.

This is also my first experience in a real European hostel. Luckily, Piccadilly Backpackers is in an AWESOME location, right in the center of everything. But as is to be expected, its not the Ritz. After arriving, a half naked man walked into the elevator and asked me if I was impressed. I got off on the wrong floor…on purpose. Later, as I finally got the guts to walk into the freezing shower, a loud alarm started blaring. As I stepped out, my hair dripping, people started to exit the building. I got outside and the fire engines pulled up. Luckily, five minutes later everyone went back inside. And even more luckily, there was no fire.

The next day I woke up feeling a little disoriented. The phone (which I trusted had the correct time) said it was 1 p.m. After getting dressed I realized I misread it...the phone now said it was 7 p.m.

The sky looks the same (cloudy) all the time, and it doesn’t get dark here until about midnight, so I assumed I had slept through the entire day. That is until I went downstairs and everyone was saying "good morning.” It wasn't 7 p.m. but 7 A.M...I wasn't going to eat dinner, but breakfast…I had not slept for 13 hours, but more like 6. After correcting the settings on the phone, I went to lay down for a few more minutes, and woke up at 2 p.m.

Then, feeling refreshed, I left and took a stroll down to Oxford Street to the Vodaphone phone store and successfully got help in activating the phone. Then, calculating that it was 10 a.m. in Los Angeles, I called my dad. It was nice to talk to him, except for the fact that still, I didn’t know what time it was…I woke him up because it was really 7 a.m.

Then I walked to Buckingham Palace:
(flag is up, the queen is home!)

That night I met up with Camille, a friend from Oregon. She has been living here for about a year, working in music and getting her master’s degree. It was really nice to see a familiar face and catch up with her. The waiters gave us an extra glass of wine and a shot of some coffee liquor thing, which is why I am now up at 4 a.m. (I think) writing this part of the blog.

When I got back to the hostel, I discovered that the men’s bathroom (two doors down from me) overflowed into the hallway. The guy (who is felt really sorry for) was cleaning it up a mere couple feet from seeping under my door.

Then today I woke up early and did what ANY Jewish girl in a foreign country would do. I went to church.

Not just any church. Westminster Abbey church is 700 years old and makes up for the Sunday closed tour by opening up worship services to the public. The sung eucharist service with pipe organ and men/boy’s choir made my neck hairs stand up.

Then I went to catch the changing of the guards ceremony at Buckingham. Men in red coats, shiny shoes, and really fuzzy hats, some with guns, swords, and some with musical instruments, put on quite the presentation.
(he wasn't allowed to smile)


Then I walked to the Royal College of Music. They also had a free concert open to the public featuring upcoming players from the school. Unbelievable. After the second hour (and still going), I couldn’t take it anymore. The brain can only absorb so much talent.

So then I went to hear MORE music back in Westminster Abbey, an organ recital featuring J.S. Bach trio sonata in d minor. Once again, the loud parts could be felt through my feet and the phrases took 5 seconds to fade away. I totally picked the right day to have a musically-enhanced tourism experience.


Apparently mannequins portray the subliminal message that not only are these clothes cool, but if you buy them, you’ll also get a black eye!!! And seriously. Who DOESN’T want new clothes after getting punched in the face?


It didn’t take me long to get acquainted with London because pretty much everything about Boston (from the names of the streets to the little public parks to the cobble stones to the clocks on all the buildings to the “Squares”) was stolen from this city.
With that, this country seems very devoted and supportive of its child nation, having erected SEVERAL memorials to American things like 9/11, Abe Lincoln and FDR. Music in stores and cafes have all been of American bands, and advertisements for movies have all been for American movies. Basically, this was a good place to start because I feel like I haven’t really left in America.

One main difference, however: Apparently here, squirrels don’t have rabies.

Hard to think that in the Minute Man park (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minute_Man_National_Historical_Park) next to my aunt and uncle’s Boston suburb home, we all once killed each other.

Why can’t the middle eastern countries put past conflicts behind them so well?

Now I’m onto meet up with my Contiki tour, hoping that the cheapness of it will at least come with luke warm showers, but nonetheless, excited to both be with a group and to see more awesome stuff!

I’ll conclude with the most important information: The English are so polite that when I bought a can of soda, I got more information than I ever imagine getting on anything. Ever. The name of the drink is “Yoga Bunny Detox.” (Now try to hear this in a British accent)
Yoga Bunny Detox
Balanced with Ginseng and Echinacea
Liquid Psychiatry! (lightly carbonated)
* NO NASTIES *
100% Delicious, Preservative free, Naturally prêt, nastiness free, 100% goodness
PRET is radical because it creates handmade, natural food, avoiding the obscure chemicals, additives and preservatives common to so much of the “prepared” and “fast” food on the Markey today. NO NASTIES. NO fructose syrup, NO sodium benxoate, NO aspartame, NO potassium sorbate, NO phosphoric acid, NO colourings, and NO artificial flavourings. Allegedly, the chemicals found in quite a few soft drinks aren’t good for your health. Who knows? We can’t be sure.