I’ve been thinking a lot about immigration lately. For one, it’s really the main subject of my research in Scotland, and so I’ve been spending the last month or so immersed in tales of immigration to Canada by the so-called “forefathers” of the nation state.
I’m also working on an immigration paper with a research collective I belong to, and this is playing heavily on my mind.
Despite the fact that I’ve been reading and thinking about immigration for a long time, and talking about it for a longer time with many people who know much more about this topic than I do—both from a theoretical and a first-hand standpoint (and the difference between those two positions, if there is one, can be a subject for a later post, perhaps)—and yet, it was only today that I think I really began to *get* what I’ve been thinking about.
I was on a flight earlier this month. I’ve been traveling a lot. A whole lot. The great thing about Europe is that you can really take a weekend, and get away. I’ve been trying to take advantage of that as much as possible. What I realized today is that I had done absolutely no research whatsoever into the documentation I required to enter the country of choice for this mini-break.
I have turned into the tourist I hate. Armed with nothing but a white face and a Canadian passport, I assumed that I would be given entry to basically anywhere I’d like to go, without a problem. I have no phrasebook, because I assumed everyone would speak English.
The crazy thing was that I was successful. My assumptions were correct. As a Canadian passport holder, I required no supplementary documentation. No entry visa. No proof of address. Nothing. Indeed, everyone on the flight not only spoke English, but the in-flight entertainment was all available in English, despite the fact that I was traveling on a Dutch airline. When I arrived at my destination, once again, I was able to basically speak to anyone I wanted to in English.
With the increasing shame of realizing that I had acquired absolutely no cultural knowledge whatsoever (not even how to say “hello” or “thank you”), I basically slunk away to find somewhere to write this post. When I finally found somewhere to plug my computer in, low and behold...I didn’t even need a converter.
While on today’s English-language journey I watched a movie called “The Visitor.” The main premise is that a crusty old Economics prof is forced to attend a conference on Globalisation. All the participants are middle-aged white guys. He arrives at his apartment in New York, which he’s owned for 25 years all the while living full-time in Connecticut, and finds a couple is living there. This couple (one Syrian and one Senagalese) are both illegal immigrants to the US, and the film is actually ( I thought) quite a thoughtful meditation of this old white guy realizing that the world is hard for illegal brown people in the US.
Now perhaps this movie hit a little close to home for me given that I watched it in the midst of realizing I was quickly on my way to becoming that crusty Economics prof, or perhaps it was just well done. I liked it, anyhow.
But I think today was one of the first days that I actually started to think about the political ease with which I move through the world because of three things, none of which I ‘earned’ in any sense of the world—it was just karma: i) white skin ii)English as a first language and a decidedly English name iii) a Canadian passport.
I think I’ll go back to reading letters between middle-aged white Scottish writers who are forming the basis for immigration policy in Canada and think about this a little more.
xo
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Now you know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall
While this might perhaps turn out to be the most boring blog post in the short history of blogging, I thought nevertheless a bit of a photo essay on my daily commute would be interesting. Now, since I haven't quite figured out how to intersperse mulitple photos within the text, you'll just to bear with me.
I take the train from Livingston into Edinburgh Waverley station(as I’ve realized my time *is* actually that valuable—the bus takes about an hour longer each way). Waverley is the main hub for Edinburgh so the station is already quite busy and will only get more so. (photos 1 and 2)
I’ve figured out what seems like the shortest way to the library from the station, which involves a lot of stairs.
From Waverley, I walk up Fleshmarket (yes, you read that correctly) close. (photo 3)
There’s an extremely cute pub halfway up called “Halfway House” (pun intended, I’m sure). I haven’t yet checked it out, as it seems to be generally frequented by very, very drunk and very outgoing men. Not my cuppa for traveling alone. (photo 4)
Once I exit Fleshmarket close, around the corner is Anchor Close, which is another 60 steps up. (photo 5) These closes are, I think, Edinburgh’s version of the backlane, which Guy Maddin featured so beautifully in My Winnipeg. (Mom and Dad, your garage is in the movie!).
There is something inherently mysterious and spooky and so historical about winding my way up to the library through these back alleys.
Anchor Close opens out on to High Street, also known as the Royal Mile, also known as tourist central, also known as “it’s about to become hell on earth as soon as tourist season starts in earnest”. It seems as though every day there are more people cramming onto this street. Edinburgh castle is at one end of the Royal Mile; the Queen’s residence in Edinburgh, Holyrood Palace is at the other end. Anchor close opens out next to a stand operated by a woman who has about 5000 piercings all over her face. She charges £3.00 for a photo with her.
I pass by Adam Smith’s monument on the left,(photo 6) walk over the heart of the mid-lothian (the former site of hangings in Edinburgh, which people spit on for some reason I can’t recall right now...) (photo 7)
Hang a left at David Hume’s monument (where assumingly atheist people rub his toe, I’m sure to the absolute horror of St Peter, wherever he is),(photo 8) and end up at the National Library of Scotland, which is half way across the George IV bridge. (photos 9 and 10) Across the street is the Elephant Room (where J.K. Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter book) and the central library.
After a historical stroll down the royal mile, I basically hole up in the North reading room for the day.
All in all, I descend 50 steps and ascend 198 steps on the way to the library. Needless to say, going home is easier.
Don’t you wish you were here? Non stop excitement. xo
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Tea, Crack, and other ambiguities...
I’ve been in Edinburgh and the Northeast of England for about a week now.
Admittedly, I’m a bit shocked at the learning curve of simply existing over here. One would think that the transition from the decidedly colonial Canada to the decidedly imperial Britain would be smooth. Not the case.
I’ve learned so far that tea can mean actual tea (but this is also often referred to as “brew” as in “cuppa brew?”) that can be imbibed at any hour of the day in any quantity. I must say that black tea over here is much better than at home. Much. Much. Better. I think I would give up coffee if I lived here, if not because most people (thank god, not the people I’m living with) drink instant coffee. Now, I am being a bit judgy here, because I haven’t actually tried the instant coffee here, and if tea is any example, it might be better than at home. I’m not risking it.
Tea can also mean supper, which is also called supper and dinner interchangeably. Questions like “what would you like for tea?” and my response is “sugar please” have caused some confusion. Because I never know what word to use, so I’ve adopted a typical North American stance of just using what is best for me, so I say supper.
Last weekend R. and I visited S. and R, also known as my BBFFs (British Best Friends Forever). They are also my only friends over here aside from the people I’m living with, so luckily they are extremely high quality. We were heading down to Alnmouth for the evening to hang out with family and friends, and S. and her brother were suggesting different pubs we might try. Her brother offered up a suggestion with the qualifying remark that “you can get good crack there.” S. then asks what R. and I think. My response (from the backseat): “ummmm.....”. R’s response: “sounds good.”. What!?
Now, here’s the lesson. Crack is not crack. It’s “craic”, which means essentially gossip. There’s apparently lots of local gossip at this pub. [insert sigh of relief here]. This pub was a blast, complete with local eccentric and extremely cute terrier (who knew dogs were allowed in pubs here? Amazing.]
Alnwick and Alnmouth are totally beautiful—near the sea and while both quite small, have really good links into Newcastle, which we visited on Sunday. Newcastle is probably around the same size as Winnipeg, with a really big pedestrian only sector, and two urban university campuses, which makes the city seem really alive. S. and R. have just moved into a really beautiful home in Alnwick, and they are so lovely that they insisted I come back this weekend for their housewarming party, which is what I’m going to do!
Meanwhile, back in Edinburgh, I’m getting settled in (sort of) to the archive. It’s about an hour between Livingston, where I’m living and the archive by bus, but it’s also $100/month cheaper to go by bus than train, which would only take 30 minutes or so. I just don’t think at this point my time is that valuable. However, one shocking thing for my ‘historically rooted in Puritanism’ cultural comfort zone is that one is allowed to drink on the bus. So when two obviously totally drunk already stinky guys get on the bus at 4.30pm and crack a couple of king cans, no one bats an eye. These guys weren’t quite as yucky as ‘totally drunk with one tooth in his head cotton candy harasser’ from London, but they came a close second.
I’ve been trying to get the hang of my cell phone and phone card. What I’ve learned is that cellphones over here are absolutely extortionate. I bought a phone card in the hopes of avoiding this problem. Apparently when I complete my PhD, I will also get instructions as to how to use this bloody phone card. The real salt in the wound is that just when I think I’ve dialled correctly, a voice comes on to say the number isn’t valid. Now this simply isn’t possible, since as far as I know, my parents have had the same phone number since 1977. I know it by heart. Truly, I do. The voice prompts are all given by a woman’s voice with an ambiguous, upper-middle class English accent. However, once the voice comes on to explain that your number is “invalid”, it changes to an American accent. Why? This phone company is taunting me. It’s as if they know how frustrated I am, and they just want to give you that last little poke.
Last night C. And A. took me to Tesco Extra, which is the Scottish equivalent of a Walmart Supercentre. Because our money is basically decorative over here, I thought I would put my anti-Walmart sentiments aside for frugality’s sake. Everyone always says that things in North America are on such a huge scale compared to Europe. This Tesco Extra would put the biggest grocery store I’ve seen to absolute shame. This Tesco (which is currently being expanded to *double* its size, by the way), is probably about the size of a football field. I’m sure everyone thought I was nuts, but I took a bunch of photos by way of evidence.
I’m slowly getting into a rhythm over here, and despite being a bit lonely and missing Canada at times, I am having a great time. Next time, read the blog right before bed. I’ll give you an update on my research, which could prove to be a cheap and effective soporific for most of you...
xo
Admittedly, I’m a bit shocked at the learning curve of simply existing over here. One would think that the transition from the decidedly colonial Canada to the decidedly imperial Britain would be smooth. Not the case.
I’ve learned so far that tea can mean actual tea (but this is also often referred to as “brew” as in “cuppa brew?”) that can be imbibed at any hour of the day in any quantity. I must say that black tea over here is much better than at home. Much. Much. Better. I think I would give up coffee if I lived here, if not because most people (thank god, not the people I’m living with) drink instant coffee. Now, I am being a bit judgy here, because I haven’t actually tried the instant coffee here, and if tea is any example, it might be better than at home. I’m not risking it.
Tea can also mean supper, which is also called supper and dinner interchangeably. Questions like “what would you like for tea?” and my response is “sugar please” have caused some confusion. Because I never know what word to use, so I’ve adopted a typical North American stance of just using what is best for me, so I say supper.
Last weekend R. and I visited S. and R, also known as my BBFFs (British Best Friends Forever). They are also my only friends over here aside from the people I’m living with, so luckily they are extremely high quality. We were heading down to Alnmouth for the evening to hang out with family and friends, and S. and her brother were suggesting different pubs we might try. Her brother offered up a suggestion with the qualifying remark that “you can get good crack there.” S. then asks what R. and I think. My response (from the backseat): “ummmm.....”. R’s response: “sounds good.”. What!?
Now, here’s the lesson. Crack is not crack. It’s “craic”, which means essentially gossip. There’s apparently lots of local gossip at this pub. [insert sigh of relief here]. This pub was a blast, complete with local eccentric and extremely cute terrier (who knew dogs were allowed in pubs here? Amazing.]
Alnwick and Alnmouth are totally beautiful—near the sea and while both quite small, have really good links into Newcastle, which we visited on Sunday. Newcastle is probably around the same size as Winnipeg, with a really big pedestrian only sector, and two urban university campuses, which makes the city seem really alive. S. and R. have just moved into a really beautiful home in Alnwick, and they are so lovely that they insisted I come back this weekend for their housewarming party, which is what I’m going to do!
Meanwhile, back in Edinburgh, I’m getting settled in (sort of) to the archive. It’s about an hour between Livingston, where I’m living and the archive by bus, but it’s also $100/month cheaper to go by bus than train, which would only take 30 minutes or so. I just don’t think at this point my time is that valuable. However, one shocking thing for my ‘historically rooted in Puritanism’ cultural comfort zone is that one is allowed to drink on the bus. So when two obviously totally drunk already stinky guys get on the bus at 4.30pm and crack a couple of king cans, no one bats an eye. These guys weren’t quite as yucky as ‘totally drunk with one tooth in his head cotton candy harasser’ from London, but they came a close second.
I’ve been trying to get the hang of my cell phone and phone card. What I’ve learned is that cellphones over here are absolutely extortionate. I bought a phone card in the hopes of avoiding this problem. Apparently when I complete my PhD, I will also get instructions as to how to use this bloody phone card. The real salt in the wound is that just when I think I’ve dialled correctly, a voice comes on to say the number isn’t valid. Now this simply isn’t possible, since as far as I know, my parents have had the same phone number since 1977. I know it by heart. Truly, I do. The voice prompts are all given by a woman’s voice with an ambiguous, upper-middle class English accent. However, once the voice comes on to explain that your number is “invalid”, it changes to an American accent. Why? This phone company is taunting me. It’s as if they know how frustrated I am, and they just want to give you that last little poke.
Last night C. And A. took me to Tesco Extra, which is the Scottish equivalent of a Walmart Supercentre. Because our money is basically decorative over here, I thought I would put my anti-Walmart sentiments aside for frugality’s sake. Everyone always says that things in North America are on such a huge scale compared to Europe. This Tesco Extra would put the biggest grocery store I’ve seen to absolute shame. This Tesco (which is currently being expanded to *double* its size, by the way), is probably about the size of a football field. I’m sure everyone thought I was nuts, but I took a bunch of photos by way of evidence.
I’m slowly getting into a rhythm over here, and despite being a bit lonely and missing Canada at times, I am having a great time. Next time, read the blog right before bed. I’ll give you an update on my research, which could prove to be a cheap and effective soporific for most of you...
xo
Sunday, May 10, 2009
18:54, Greenwich Mean Time
I read the newest Jeffrey Deaver novel on the plane here (mom and dad, I'll send it to you...it's really good...) and it was all about privacy. And I've been thinking about this privacy thing. So in the interest of privacy, you'll all be reduced to a first initial in my blog. Sorry.
R. and I arrived in London on Thursday morning around 11. We managed to arrive relatively unscathed, and made our way to our hotel, which was in South Kensington, an area that is quite posh (think Lambroghini dealership and Madonna...). Unfortunately we did not have one single celebrity sighting, but fortunately the hotel was clean, safe, near a tube station, and didn't require us to sign over our first born.
Thursday we went to the British Museum and saw the Rosetta Stone and the Elgin Marbles (so cool!). We walked across the Millenium bridge (the one where Rene Zellewigger as Bridget Jones determinedly declares her lost weight and her resolve to snag Daniel once and for all) with the intention of going to the Tate Museum. We were too tuckered out to see any more museum, so naturally the answer to all bodily needs is: beer. We headed to a pub and had a few pints before heading back to the hotel and absolutely crashing.
Friday we were still feeling museumed out, so we headed to the East End which was historically the Jewish quarters. Now, it's mostly populated by South Asian families, namely of Bengali descent. We saw the Spitfield market, which is flanked by Spitfire Gate. This market used to be used by the Fruit and Vegetable Growers and Wool Traders of London. During the Second World War, the Fruit Growers sponsored the acquisition of a Spitfire, which was then called "Frutation". Hilarious.
We had a delicious Bengali lunch and finally experienced the 'made-infamous-by-pete' onion bhajee'. They were delicious.
After a much-needed jet-lag nap, we headed for supper at a lovely Italian restaurant with S. and M. on the banks of the Themes.
Saturday we saw...wait for it...The Natural History Museum, The Victoria and Albert Museum, and The Imperial War Museum. Then we headed out for supper and drinks with D.
The Natural History museum was amazing--part victorian museum complete with curio cabinets and woodwork to die for, part ultra-modern museum complete with an animatronic T-Rex that was the highlight for me. Actually the highlight was this little boy, around age 2, who was crying both because he was scared of the T-Rex and because he didn't want his dad to take him away from the T-Rex. This pretty much sums up how I feel about graduate school.
The V and A was amazing. I got to see a whole bunch of William Morris original wallpaper and fabric, and a few original Aubrey Beardsley drawings and first editions of the Yellow Book! I was in Nerd Heaven.
however, R. definitely surpassed me in nerddom when we arrived at the imperial war museum. He was like a kid in a candy store. That musuem is amazing--full of tanks, and other historical weapons I don't know anything about. There were war exhibits for both World Wars (the WWI exhibit had a replica trench, which luckily for me they left the rats out of...) and a special exhibit on the Holocaust that was moving, fascinating, and a little overwhelming in its scope.
We spent about 3 hours in that musuem and then it was time for...Beer. On our way to Soho for supper with D., we saw a book-fair (we were good and didn't buy *anything*), a very drunk man trying to get us to buy him cotton candy (proof that public drinking isn't always a good idea), and got to fully experience the rush-hour tube.
Soho Supper was Korean food and delicious. I even tried beef tongue. Luckily, I'm not a vegetarian.
Today, we've been at S. and M.'s place, and then took a barge ride down the Themes to Greenwich. It was beautiful weather here, and Greenwich is lovely. We even saw an aircraft carrier, which made R. very happy. Greenwich was a complete madhouse, because this aircraft carrier was around, alongside the usual 3 or 4 sunday markets, and the maritime museum. Nevertheless, it was a blast.
I realize there is too much detail in this blog post, but since my later entries are going to sound something like "I went to the library today and came home.", I figured I'd try to make the most of the fun news I have while it lasts.
We're off to Edinburgh tomorrow where the real work will begin. But not before we tour a scotch distillery...
more later. xo
R. and I arrived in London on Thursday morning around 11. We managed to arrive relatively unscathed, and made our way to our hotel, which was in South Kensington, an area that is quite posh (think Lambroghini dealership and Madonna...). Unfortunately we did not have one single celebrity sighting, but fortunately the hotel was clean, safe, near a tube station, and didn't require us to sign over our first born.
Thursday we went to the British Museum and saw the Rosetta Stone and the Elgin Marbles (so cool!). We walked across the Millenium bridge (the one where Rene Zellewigger as Bridget Jones determinedly declares her lost weight and her resolve to snag Daniel once and for all) with the intention of going to the Tate Museum. We were too tuckered out to see any more museum, so naturally the answer to all bodily needs is: beer. We headed to a pub and had a few pints before heading back to the hotel and absolutely crashing.
Friday we were still feeling museumed out, so we headed to the East End which was historically the Jewish quarters. Now, it's mostly populated by South Asian families, namely of Bengali descent. We saw the Spitfield market, which is flanked by Spitfire Gate. This market used to be used by the Fruit and Vegetable Growers and Wool Traders of London. During the Second World War, the Fruit Growers sponsored the acquisition of a Spitfire, which was then called "Frutation". Hilarious.
We had a delicious Bengali lunch and finally experienced the 'made-infamous-by-pete' onion bhajee'. They were delicious.
After a much-needed jet-lag nap, we headed for supper at a lovely Italian restaurant with S. and M. on the banks of the Themes.
Saturday we saw...wait for it...The Natural History Museum, The Victoria and Albert Museum, and The Imperial War Museum. Then we headed out for supper and drinks with D.
The Natural History museum was amazing--part victorian museum complete with curio cabinets and woodwork to die for, part ultra-modern museum complete with an animatronic T-Rex that was the highlight for me. Actually the highlight was this little boy, around age 2, who was crying both because he was scared of the T-Rex and because he didn't want his dad to take him away from the T-Rex. This pretty much sums up how I feel about graduate school.
The V and A was amazing. I got to see a whole bunch of William Morris original wallpaper and fabric, and a few original Aubrey Beardsley drawings and first editions of the Yellow Book! I was in Nerd Heaven.
however, R. definitely surpassed me in nerddom when we arrived at the imperial war museum. He was like a kid in a candy store. That musuem is amazing--full of tanks, and other historical weapons I don't know anything about. There were war exhibits for both World Wars (the WWI exhibit had a replica trench, which luckily for me they left the rats out of...) and a special exhibit on the Holocaust that was moving, fascinating, and a little overwhelming in its scope.
We spent about 3 hours in that musuem and then it was time for...Beer. On our way to Soho for supper with D., we saw a book-fair (we were good and didn't buy *anything*), a very drunk man trying to get us to buy him cotton candy (proof that public drinking isn't always a good idea), and got to fully experience the rush-hour tube.
Soho Supper was Korean food and delicious. I even tried beef tongue. Luckily, I'm not a vegetarian.
Today, we've been at S. and M.'s place, and then took a barge ride down the Themes to Greenwich. It was beautiful weather here, and Greenwich is lovely. We even saw an aircraft carrier, which made R. very happy. Greenwich was a complete madhouse, because this aircraft carrier was around, alongside the usual 3 or 4 sunday markets, and the maritime museum. Nevertheless, it was a blast.
I realize there is too much detail in this blog post, but since my later entries are going to sound something like "I went to the library today and came home.", I figured I'd try to make the most of the fun news I have while it lasts.
We're off to Edinburgh tomorrow where the real work will begin. But not before we tour a scotch distillery...
more later. xo
Friday, April 24, 2009
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blog
So here goes.....the true entrance into narcissim. I'm leaving for Scotland in just under two weeks (!) for the whole summer. Since I'm generally pretty horrible at keeping in touch at the best of times, I thought starting a blog would be a self-centred and easy-for-me way to keep in touch while I'm away. We'll see how it goes. This is generally the type of project I start, enjoy for about two weeks, and never look at again. Clishmaclaiver is Gaelic for "chatter", and since that is my general email style, I figured it was as apt a blog title as any (plus you gotta love the alliteration).
I've been in touch with the National Library of Scotland, who is anxiously (not in a good way, I'm sure) anticipating my technophobic, never-used-an-archive-before-and-am-very-impatient arrival to the Blackwood's archive in the North Reading Room. I will be armed with pencil, laptop, and ID cards. I'm working on the patience.
I've recently learned that this year is the 250th anniversary of Robert Burns's birth, and as such, tourism Scotland has gone hog-wild advertising "Homecoming 2009". Check this out: (http://www.homecomingscotland2009.com/what-is-homecoming-scotland/robert-burns/default.html).
Thankfully, my Scottish angels (also known as Mr. and Mrs. McBride, Kirsteen's parents) have kindly offered to let me stay with them. This way I can i) avoid giant crowds of "I've been drinking whisky since 9 and moved on to Vodka and Irn-Bru by noon" so-called Scots "coming home" to Scotland and also ii) not have to resort to full-on pauperism upon my return, given the ghastly cost of accommodations because of this 'homecoming.'
So, I hope you'll check in once in a while. I'll try to post some photos of my travels (perhaps a photo or two of the library and of the Livingston train station...) and keep you posted on my research. Did I mention I've changed my dissertation topic to the relationship between whisky and Irn-Bru in Scottish cultural events?
xo
I've been in touch with the National Library of Scotland, who is anxiously (not in a good way, I'm sure) anticipating my technophobic, never-used-an-archive-before-and-am-very-impatient arrival to the Blackwood's archive in the North Reading Room. I will be armed with pencil, laptop, and ID cards. I'm working on the patience.
I've recently learned that this year is the 250th anniversary of Robert Burns's birth, and as such, tourism Scotland has gone hog-wild advertising "Homecoming 2009". Check this out: (http://www.homecomingscotland2009.com/what-is-homecoming-scotland/robert-burns/default.html).
Thankfully, my Scottish angels (also known as Mr. and Mrs. McBride, Kirsteen's parents) have kindly offered to let me stay with them. This way I can i) avoid giant crowds of "I've been drinking whisky since 9 and moved on to Vodka and Irn-Bru by noon" so-called Scots "coming home" to Scotland and also ii) not have to resort to full-on pauperism upon my return, given the ghastly cost of accommodations because of this 'homecoming.'
So, I hope you'll check in once in a while. I'll try to post some photos of my travels (perhaps a photo or two of the library and of the Livingston train station...) and keep you posted on my research. Did I mention I've changed my dissertation topic to the relationship between whisky and Irn-Bru in Scottish cultural events?
xo
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