Nostalgia

Listening to: All Hamilton, all the time

I know I disappointed myself (and my grandma) when I stopped writing daily. In fact, though I was feeling quite overwhelmed at the time, I really think continued whining on this blog would've helped a lot. Did I hurt some feelings? Yes. Did I make some people scandalized? Possibly so. (I more imagine so.) However, when I returned to Plainville, most of what I heard was "Your blog was amazing!" 

Maybe I flatter myself, but I'd like to think I had some readers--even if those readers just includes my mother, my grandmother, and my roommate. And there's nothing like a healthy dose of nostalgia in the form of Google Photos. Even though my documentation was WAY too much... Well, I don't regret it. Now I can remember France as I saw it, even the pigeons bobbing along. So I've decided that I need to finish this blog--and not just because of The Zeigarnik Effect. I really, really want to.

Of course, my promises probably mean nothing at this point. But the bright side is that I will be returning to France! To Normandy, to be precise--to Bayeux, to be even more precise. So I hope to update you all with the fun facts about my great history class, The Price of Freedom (also the name of an exhibition at the Smithsonian's American History Museum, where Cher Ami the Stuffed Pigeon currently resides). Like that Germans in France were seen (basically) as weenies by those in Berlin. (As you can tell, I'll make a great historian one day.) 

Both in and out of context, this quote from D-Day: The Battle for Normandy by Antony Beevor is great: "'France is a dangerous country, with its wine, women and pleasant climate'" (41), according to one disgruntled German general.

But even the Germans were right when one of them said, "'One really has to have seen and experienced Paris oneself and I"m glad I had the opportunity. You can get everything here in Paris'" (41). (Man, MLA Style can never be abandoned. I tried so hard.)

One of the things you can procure in Paris is Embryolisse, which I'm sure my mother will badger me about. I also need more lipstick...and I really want to experience Normandy. 

Day 82.79167: SPECIAL EDITION - LONDON LEISURES

Listening to: "The Ballad of John and Yoko" by The Beatles

Day 1.79167: (April 11th, 2015) Eyes of God

Yep. We're still on Day 1 of London. Because it turns out I just must've been running on some weird British high.

After seeing the line, I was greatly appreciative of Loren's sound advice. However, I had bought a ticket for 7:30 pm, and it was still 6:30 pm. And it was freezing. And I was hungry. I wanted to get on that damn Ferris Wheel!

Luckily, I was able to thwart the London Eye security--and by that, I just mean that some woman took pity on me (a common theme throughout my travels) and let me on early. So I got to be the weird random girl accompanying two British families in the glass gondola/hamster ball/whatever thing.

Now, my Ferris Wheel experience is pretty limited: I haven't even been to the one on the Potomac! That is just sad. But this configuration--just above the water, all glass, ensconced in our own bubble (much like Glinda)--it was breathtaking. Plus there was lots of room to sit, which is exactly what you need when you've been traversing across London all day.

British Invasion? Seems like we Yankees have invaded British culture right here. I mean, my official London Eye ticket is emblazoned with a giant Coca-Cola logo as well. Apparently it's impossible to enjoy this Ferris Wheel ride without a classic American beverage in hand. Well too damn bad because I don't even like Coke! There, American consumerism!

I choose 7:30 pm precisely because that's when the sun was due to set. So even this shot of random people who probably do not want to appear on the Internet (sorry, families) is really beautiful with the sun shining in the back and the clouds casting their figures in almost-silhouettes. Beautiful.

There's the famous symbol that Dr. T. J. Eckleburg's eyes are like the eyes of God from The Great Gatsby. And I felt that omnipotent feeling that Fitzgerald must've envisioned as he pictured these disembodied eyes gazing down at the hypocrisies of the Roaring 20's folk. Except here, I felt so detached: in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers, sitting above a city I didn't even live in. But yeah, it's possible to be the disembodied eyes even for an hour. Yep. This Ferris Wheel ride was an hour. Plus you could bring food on, not that I did because I was purposefully starving myself in hopes that it would make my coming meal taste even better.

Sorry, as the daughter of an engineer, I just love taking pictures of the structures of things. That's why you'll see tons of cranes appearing throughout my photos. Just to think about all of these supports building the London Eye and spinning us around. Well, at least it's not like how Ferris Wheels used to be: the first Ferris Wheel at our much-beloved Lake Compounce from our childhood (not from the recent summer serving food--talk about disillusionment after that) was hand-crank-operated. I'm not kidding. We don't still have this Ferris Wheel at Lake Compounce--that was waaaaay before our time--but the guy running that ride must've been extremely muscular, probably even more than any of Rodin's sculptures.

For all you hear about the London Eye, I've never really given much thought about what its inside looked like. It's very cozy. And the people aren't just looking down at the railing: there are screens that detail what buildings you're looking at. It's nifty.

So there was some sort of carnival/fair going on as I came up to the Eye, and here's the evidence from above. A bouncy castle! I was wondering if there was an age limit to that thing. I'm not even kidding.

One of my favorite things is that perfect moment when something coincidental flies into your frame--a bird, a plane (or Superman?)--and it looks extra-awesome. 

Is the weird color distortion here going to make everyone argue about the colors of these buildings, much like how the Internet was in a frenzy over this dress?

Speaking of my fascination with cranes... I guess I should explain. The town--well, I guess it's not a town when there's over a million inhabitants--where I'm from in China is not particularly well-known. It's called Wuhan, and basically you never see any mention of it when people talk about China in any way. The closest associations I'm able to make when I'm reading ancient Chinese literature or just watching a random TV program is if the Yangtze River is mentioned or the Yellow Crane Tower. The Yangtze is the longest river in China--and the third-longest river in the world. 

Yeah, knowing that, it doesn't mean when anyone mentions the Yangtze that it's anywhere even close to my hometown, but it's still cool. I mean, anyone gets irrationally pleased whenever their home state is mentioned in some cool fact, right? No? Is that just me? Dammit!

Anyway, the second thing: the Yellow Crane Tower. This is more of a landmark/monument people would actually travel to Wuhan to see. Now, it's not a construction crane (as you probably suspected), but it's a giant tower dedicated to the crane that flies--which is totally NOT a stork. But since there aren't many towers dedicated to cranes in the US or even in Europe, I just have make associations in ridiculous ways much like a small child.

That completely weird tangent over... More pictures! 

I as much as the next person prefer there not to be construction towers or red tape in my photos of famous thousand-year-old landmarks and cities, but much like trying to keep people from walking in front of your picture of Venus de Milo--it's not going to happen. Besides, the nature of cities is their protean status: they are always changing. Really, the wilderness changes too, but on a much slower scale. Cities allow us to see change in our lifetime. Wow. I'm getting way too philosophical even for me. We're just supposed to be enjoying the London Eye together, right?

As we came down the second or third time, there was a camera that flashed to take a family picture. As I figured neither family would want some strange girl in their photo, I gracefully stepped to the side. 

Eye artwork is the best.

Well, that concludes my journey on the London Eye. It STILL does not, however, conclude that evening in London. To be continued... (I know, I can't even believe it.)

Vote for Me!

I can never give up this blog, despite my laziness and efforts to give you an ending. However, incompleteness gives me anxiety.

Fortunately, I've found another reason to resurrect this: Several of my photos taken abroad was selected as part of a Study Abroad Photo Contest at my home college, George Washington University.

Given that I rally hard even for a cause like playing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Kindergarten Christmas play, I will try to persuade you to vote for my photos. I've even made the process of scrolling through the photo album quicker by providing links to each of my photos!

I risk becoming the most hated person on Facebook, but I really want to win! Besides, like I have much popularity at stake. So I'm going to assume the role I know so well as Resident Nag--but nicer! I promise! (Beyond a campaign promise.)

https://goo.gl/bAZnPy

https://goo.gl/MQbHur

https://goo.gl/MYDgFN

P.S.

As always, I forgot one more thing.

So many people asked me why I called this blog "To the Moon and Back." There are three answers.

1. My mom's favorite book to read to me when I was a wee little one was Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney. 

Appropriately, it came out the same year I was born: 1994. There are many ways to measure love in this delightful book, but our favorite was when the rabbits say:

So adorable!

2. An ex-friend/ex-boyfriend/ex-nothing of mine told me about this book called Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik when I told him that I was traveling to Paris. I am not a pretentious writer, so I didn't know who Adam Gopnik was (turns out he's a writer for The New Yorker--some knowledgeable person I am) and therefore I never read the book. But I include it here because every good book title has a pretentious backstory (i.e., The Fault in Our Stars, Go Set a Watchman, etc.).

To add a twist to this anecdote, Jamie has read this book! She had to read it for the class that brought her to Paris. Good call, Jamie. Good call.

3. The last reason involves a tidbit from when I visited my dear friend Alex in Florence for the first time in 2011. I told Alex that a man in Rome had already asked me if I was Japanese--well, he didn't ask me. He just shouted, "KONICHIWA!" at me.

Alex laughed and said that one of his Taiwanese friends had the same problem in Florence. She eventually got so sick of all the questions that she would just tell the pestering people that she was from the Moon.

Oh, I would've loved to see the confusion on their faces.

*

So that is that. Everything you didn't want to know about the title of this blog! And by the way...

BONUS: Katie Willard rambles for far too long.