Dancing About Architecture

Today is Raisin Sunday. That day with the time honoured tradition of older students getting first years completely off their face and then sending them stumbling home to their dorm. It's always such a lovely day.



Since I was no longer a warden, I didn't have to deal with cleaning up puke covered students in our makeshift medical bay this year. Haha. Ever since last year I couldn't walk in the lower common room without it reminding me of vomit.



21 November: Raisin Monday



On Raisin Monday, students roll out of bed at 11 and go to their academic parent's house to get dressed up in absurd costumes. All the children, dressed up as everything from fairies to pirates, then march to St. Leonards quad for a gigantic foam fight. Why they do this, have no clue.



As well as getting dressed up by their parents, kids need to receive something from them called a Raisin receipt. This usually takes the form of something big, cumbersome and illegal. Before you can go into the quad, you need to forfeit your receipt to the skip outfront and then the police will allow you into play.



I finagled my way into the quad, without waiting on the queue, so that I could take some pictures.



I joked with the officer who let me in the gate that I didn't plan on getting creamed.



And then I walked out with shaving cream all over my head and jacket. I was attacked from behind, my cleanliness was a prime target. 'Oh well.' I told the officer. 'The best laid plans.' and walked with a smile on my face.

Raisin Monday was my last full day in St. Andrews. I made my flight for Tuesday just so that I could stay to photograph the foam fight. There are so many things I wanted to say about my year there, but I am finding it hard to put into words. To be honest though, I don't even think I want to explain.

I wrote this in my letter of resignation from hall. I cried when I wrote it so instead of reflecting back from afar, I want to just share that feeling I had while there:

There are grey clouds moving slowly against a white sky outside my window. I wonder if St. Andrews will get much snow this year. Already the town is preparing for Christmas; the fairy lights have been strung across South Street and the shops have fitted out their holiday windows. You can almost hear the carols singing in the wind as it whistles down Logies Lane. In my memory St. Andrews will always mean bright wool coats closed tight against the winter wind, grey stone against a grey sky, warm pubs and warm hands, a place where rainbows always come after the rain and where it was so easy to call it home.

They say that talking about love is like dancing about architecture. Well, writing about a place that will always have a special and private place in my heart is like trying to explain what it feels like to be the only one to see a shooting star. It's not even worth trying.

Dontcha Mum?

After leaving the brilliant Ebru, I took the train up to Newry in Northern Ireland to see my aunt. I haven't seen her in nearly four years and before I left the British Isles, I thought it high time I paid a visit.



My Aunt and I in Warren Point, stopping on our way to pick up August, my little cousin, from school. On the left side is Northern Ireland and the right Ireland.



This area is called a 'place of outstanding beauty' by the tourism board and indeed it is. It's breathtaking. There was barely a moment I didn't want to whip out my camera and take a picture.



My aunt and cousins live in a place called Mourne Grange, near the town of Kilkeel. It's a Camphill community where people with mental disabilities go when their relatives can no longer take care of them. It's a fantastic place. The people who live there, Villagers, all have jobs in parts of Mourne Grange that help to run the community. Some help with the laundry, some help with the fruits and vegetables, while others make crafts in the workshops which later are sold at the coffee shop on the premises. This means that everyday there are fresh vegetables, meat, milk and bread; everything you might need. It's a beautiful thing in a beautiful place.



The evening I got there Akira (11) and August (10), my amazing and adorable little cousins, gave me a tour of the community. It is so safe there that it's not a problem for the kids to go off by themselves and explore.

We made a quick detour to shoot some hoops. I played the height thing to my advantage and totally kicked their ass, boo ya! (Just kidding, that August kid can dunk dude)



Our exploring took us to see the cows. August scared Akira by telling her the bull could escape and EAT THEM. Which had her running to me, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist while she whispered "The bull is going to escape and eat me Jennifer, help me!"



The final stop on our tour were the chickens. Talk about free range.



August loves to dress-up. One day he will be a brilliant actor. Give him an accent, any accent, and he can do it. The kids a natural.



Akira loves to have her picture taken.


November 15th



The next day, while the kids were at school, Janet and I went to visit some former Mourne Grange villagers who now live in a nursing home a few towns away. The home is a beautiful converted 18thc mansion.



After the home, we stopped for some breakfast then took a walk around the town's "fairy grove."



My aunt's house has a workshop were the villagers come to do crafts. For Christmas they are making lovely little ornaments made from fabric.



Picking August up from school. He goes to a Catholic school in this town that is much divided along lines of religion. August has decided on his own that he is going to be a Catholic. August has asbergers and for him, Catholicism has these definite rules that he is able to understand. There are very little shades of gray. With asbergers, there is no gray only black and white.



The house at dark.



August and Akira playing their favourite video game, Simpsons, in the play room. Their home is so cozy that I think I could spend forever snuggled in this room.

November 16th



Why in the world was the only picture I took on this day a slightly sexual and inappropriate picture with my little cousin? No flippin clue.

November 17th



Today I took a walk around the community and up the street to the local church on my own while my aunt worked. I was blessed with good weather while there, it was nothing but sunny skies.

I have a friend who lives in Spain, Javier you might recall, and while walking he texted me at the exact moment when I was feeling particularly down about a good friend treating me not so good. It's not the first time when all of sudden he gives me a virtual hug when I most need it. I swear, he must have a sixth sense. I don't know why I really shared that, but that is what I most remember about this day.



This house is where my aunt lived when Sea and I visited her in 2002 over Easter. The tree house in the yard is August's.



Me and Blacky, the Jezebel cat of the community.



That evening we all went to see Goblet of Fire. It wasn't as good as I thought it would be, and you know how big a fan I am. I just kept thinking that they were running through it with breakneck speed and not explaining a lot of things. It was very jumpy.

After the movie, we ate dinner and August went to bed. Akira I stayed up to play catch (her favourite game) while my aunt and I chatted in the workshop. It was so nice seeing my aunt after so long. She's mellowed out a lot and her and I just had the most brilliant time hanging out and laughing. There's something about how you get along with family that is so different than how you interact with friends. It was just so easy. I think as well, that we now have these shared experiences of living in the UK and what that means for a transplanted New Yorker- to shake away all those things that once seemed important for something simpler and better. I was meant to leave on Thursday but ended up staying until Saturday. This meant that I didn't get to say goodbye to my dear friend Rob, but he understood.

It was a good trip, and I hope to return in May.

The Book of Kellas

There are some cities you step into and immediately fall in love. Cities you want to wrap yourself in, where in a flash you see yourself living, laughing, crying and falling in love. A city where your life flashes before your eyes and suddenly you are picking out the pub where the bartender will know your name, the restaurant where you'll always go with your friends and the lawn where you'll sit and read when it gets warm. Dublin was one of those cities. It's a city where the women dress in brilliant, beautiful and expensive clothes and the men are tall, good-looking, holding the door open for you and asking you to dance. Dublin is green and it tastes like Guinness.

Think of all the places you have been. What makes them distinctive in your mind? For me there is always a colour, a taste or a smell. New York is the grey of the sidewalks, the taste of hot pizza and the smell of burnt peanuts. Bruges is chocolate, just chocolate. Venice is the putrid stench of the canal, the golden of the light bouncing off the water and my first taste of nocciolato gelato. And Dublin is green and tastes like Guinness.

I arrived to a crisp and beautifully sunny day in Dublin, leaving the wind and rain of St. Andrews behind me.



I was ecstatictic to find out that my friend lived in the posh section of town. In a beautiful, converted Georgian mansion across from the parliamentary buildings and the National Gallery.



Upon arrival, Ebru quickly left me to dash to the store for the fixings to make me a traditional Turkish breakfast. Eggs, white bread, cucumber and tomato. It was quite the welcome. After breakfast we headed out into her adopted city for a wee tour. The above is the church that Bram Stoker was married in apparently.




How does one exactly become a part of this society?



The lawn of the Chester Beaty Library



Dublin feels v. literary. From Dubliners to the book of Kells. Here is a magnificent illuminated manuscript from the Beaty Library.



Posing with Dublin Castle in the background



Christ Church Cathedral



There was a rehearsal going on in the church when I went in, so my visit was accompanied by beautiful classical music as I walked down the side aisles and explored the crypt.



The famous cat and rat, found mummified in the old church organ.





The original celtic style floor



Next stop was the Temple bar area. We stopped in a gallery and chatted with a artist about the emotionless work on display then strolled through photography galleries and outdoor markets.







For dinner Ebru made fish then left me to watch tv while she went to see some modern dance. But when she came home we went out dancing!



Ebru and friend at the Sugar Club. A swing DANCE club, not a swingers club as Stevie D.'s wide eyes told me that's where he thought I went when I was telling him about my trip.



I spent Sunday mostly by myself, exploring the city as Ebru went to the office to get some work done. The above is Christ Church seen from the middle of the road.



After getting a wee bit lost, it wouldn't be a Kellas holiday without me getting lost now would it?, I found my way back to Trinity College to go see the Book of Kells- for a ridiculous price I might add.



Trinity College





After all that culture I indulged myself by going shopping, stopping my browsing to listen to some Croatian musicians play in the bitter cold. Ebru met me soon after and took me to her favourite place for dinner.



A hidden tapas restaurant where she so graciously bought me a seriously wonderful meal. The food was so good and we stuffed ourselves so much, we could barely walk out of the place. For real. We finally left the restaurant after nearly two hours of chat and wine, headed for a pub so I could get a pint of Guinness but ended up meeting a couple of her guy friends on the street who brought us to a pub and bought some pints for us. Score, free booze. After the pub Ebru headed off to a concert she had tickets for and I headed off to bed. I was in desperate need of a lie down after that meal.



Me on my way to bed in Ebru's posh apartment building.

My little cousin saw this picture and immediately asked "Were you drunk?" Uh, no. Thank you very much. I prefer the term tipsy.

After Ebru's concert, she came home to find me sprawled out in my inflatable bed but convinced me to go out for one more pint. We went to a fantastic pub decked out like something from the Moulin Rouge. It was worth facing the bitter cold at midnight just to visit this place.

And so ended my short trip to Dublin, after which I hopped a train headed north to see my aunt.

It's a Funny Old World

The jig is up, or so they say, and to celebrate the fabulous Stephanie decided to throw her planned warden party in my honour instead. Her and Steve spent the entire afternoon creating a gastronomic masterpiece. From homemade humus to squash soup, roasted veggie pasta to the most heavenly dark chocolate mousse I have ever had, nay the most delicious thing I might ever eat.



Since I wouldn’t be partaking in this years hall ball, the dress I convinced myself I bought for it was going to go to a bit of a waste so I decided to go ahead and wear it. I felt a bit like a little girl dressed up for her birthday, I even decided to forgo the wearing of shoes. Everyone else made an effort as well and we all looked right snazzy. I especially liked Steve’s bow-tie and Matthew’s kilt, gave the whole evening a sense of occasion I think.



We sat down to dinner and Dawn and Steve stood up and told their favourite Jen stories. It was all a bit overwhelming to be emotional but I said it that night, as I sat down to dinner surrounded by friends, and I’ll say it again, I feel truly blessed.



How sexy does Stephanie look in this picture? Can you believe this girl is single? Smart (hello masters in philosophy?! I can barely spell philosophy- seriously, I just had to spell check that), funny, a great cook with a heart of gold. Smart, wealthy, well-mannered, funny men email me



Stephanie and Jan...don't they make a cute couple?



After the last of the wine was drunk, courtesy of Stephanie and the Californian vineyards, we moved on to party games. First up was Cranium. Which if you’ve never played is one part Trivial Pursuit, one part Pictionary one part Charades and one part school spelling bee. We decided that the only fair route would be to have girls v. boys since there was one more boy and we thought they would need the help. Yeah, it didn’t work. Girls are just cleverer no matter what the odds.



Cranium break for the chocolate mousse to end all mousses.







Steve charading something...Mike Tyson maybe? Anyway, it was very funny.



Then is was time for some Jen group lovin.



And then one to show off what god gave me...there is one of us standing up, with me not looking so...buxom, but Stevie D's eyes are closed and I thought this one would be just a wee bit funnier for you people.



With the Cranium crown safely in the hands of the females, a bit of dancing was called for



while our hostess took a much needed rest.





Stevie D. busting a move and telling it like it is.



Jan...doing the hora maybe?



Steve and I getting frisky.

Thanks again guys for an outstanding night. I can't help but look back at these photos with a huge grin plastered across my face.

Continental Style

15 September 2005, 12:05pm. Thoughts from an airport in Paris…

You know that feeling? That feeling you get from standing close to someone. That feeling that spreads from the back of your stomach to your toes. That feeling that sometimes surprises you and sometimes finally comes after so much longing.

How many times have you felt that? That feeling mixed with anticipation, expectation and maybe a little fear. Can you count them on one hand or do you need your toes? Do you even know what I am talking about? For your sake, I hope so.

In recent months, I’ve felt That Feeling three times. For reasons of privacy and mystery, I won’t be revealing the names of those who made me tingle; maybe they know who they are and maybe they don’t. I haven’t yet decided whether the electricity always needs the connection to create the current.

Hands in the air how many times you have given into that feeling. My hand is raised with a solitary finger, though I admit it wasn’t much due to my prompting.

I’m sitting in Paris, feeling very continental in my new Spanish dress, regretting not seizing a moment that could have been magic this holiday. Why do I do that? Why do we not give into our passions? I am under the distinct impression that if I gave into my heart’s desires a bit more my life’s happiness monitor would jump exponentially. That is not to say that my life isn’t already jetsetty and fabulous (see how well I positively project?) but maybe if I had invited him into my room that night I could add ‘passionate’ to my repertoire. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting in an airport in Paris longing for a night that never happened. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting in an airport in Paris.


Madrid, 7 Septiembre 2005


Frances Bacon, Figura Tumbada.

I arrived in Madrid at 4pm from my layover in Prague (always bloody Prague), dropped my belongings at my hostel and went searching for the Prado to see what time it opened in the morning.


Antonio Lopez Garcia, Hombre y Mujer.

To my great surprise, the museum was open until 8pm. I decided to wait until the following day to explore the massive Prado when I would have more time and instead, headed over to Reina Sophia in hopes that it too would be open until late.



Which it was! I heart the museums in Madrid, so cheap and open so late. Istanbul (and Paris and New York...) could learn a lesson from them.


Inner courtyard of Reina Sophia.

The museum was lovely. Some great pieces and some shitty pieces, but overall it was interesting. I wasn't allowed to take pictures but I covertly captured some of the pieces I knew I wouldn't want to buy a postcard of. Oh, AND the gift shop was brilliant. Cheap with a massive sale going on.

After the museum closed I headed back to my hostel. On the way, I stopped in a bakery and ordered a sandwich (in Spanish!) and ate it outside. It was lovely and warm out, which after my long journey from Istanbul just made me want to sleep even more.

I found the other people in my hostel a bit...hostile. Not all that friendly and distictly lazy looking. When I arrived in the afternoon there was a girl sleeping in the room and when I arrived back again after the museum she was still sleeping. Coming just from Istanbul where I had the good fortune to meet interesting, kind and all around lovely people I was a bit surprised at the sort who populated this hostel. My conclusion was that Istanbul draws a different kind of person, the kind of person who seeks a different sort of adventure, the kind of person who can be categorised as a bit of a dreamer where as Madrid...not so much. Oh well, it was only for one night.


8 Septiembre 2005.


Titian, Emperor Charles V at Mühlberg.

So bright and...um...earlyish I checked out of my hostel, dropped my bag in the luggage room and headed over to the Prado. I was so excited you have no idea. I mean THE PRADO. Dude.


Adam and Eve, by Titian and Rubens.

You can't actually comprehend the wealth of the Spanish collection without going there. They have EVERYTHING. I just walked around going "Oh my god they have this? And THIS?! AND THIS?!"



Tintoretto, Christ Washing The Feet of His Disciples.



Rogier van der Weyden, Deposition.


Hieronymous Bosch (my favourite!)


Bosch again. I got in trouble for taking this one because my red focus light was reflecting on the canvas. Felt like such a wanker, I mean I am an art historian.


Bosch, Garden of Earthly Delights.

I didn't want to rush getting to this painting. It was the one I was looking forward to seeing the most and I wanted to savour it.


Velazquez, Las Meninas. Some say this is the greatest painting ever painted.


Teatro en el Prado.


Goya, The Shootings of May 3rd 1808.


After many hours walking around my legs finally gave out and I went back to get my stuff at the hostel. But not before snapping a picture of the Ham Museum. In Spain, Ham is inescapable but honestly I LOVED it. Vegitarianism be damned.



So I grabbed my bag, grabbed a couple of cafe con leches and a sandwich at a shop then headed over to the bus station to meet JAVIER. He was coming back home from a conference in St. Andrews and the plan was to meet up in the bus station in Madrid then go to his hometown, Burgos. Burgos. I fell in love. It was beautiful, amazing, majestic. Just, wow. But, I'll save that for another time.

So Long and Thanks For All the Fish

That's me folks. All booked and ready to go home. Now if I only actually had a place to stay until then...damn you Crawford! I'm going away, I believe, the weekend of the 11th to Dublin if anyone - ahem Jamie - wants to join. Thinking about renting a car and driving around next week if anyone is interested in that as well.



And look I lied, I did do something on Halloween, hurrah! Dawn, seen in full vampire nurse outfit below, invited me out with some people to Aikman's late Monday night.





Aikman's was throwing a Halloween party of sorts so they had an excellent cover band in. I was coerced into getting up and dancing to the Monkee's 'I'm a Believer' then joyously stayed to jump in place for the Scottish national anthem, '500 Miles.'