December 27th, 2007

Today, December 27^th would have been my parents’ 38^th wedding anniversary. It is also the day my father, 3 brothers, cousins, aunts, and I spread my mom’s ashes on the land of her childhood farm in West Cork, Ireland. My mom always longed for Ireland, for home; she was West Cork and I don’t think she really ever left... and now she can rest here forever. For those of you who knew her, thank you for being a part of her life. For those of you who didn’t know her, pretty much all the good that I am stems from her, so you knew her through me. To all of you, thank you so much for your support. I could not have gotten through this without you. I miss my mom everyday but I am also grateful for the 32 years I was lucky enough to have her.

I love you all and hope you had a wonderful Christmas.

J

Le Petit Prince, The Muffin Man and Obi Wan Kenobi

This was my third trip on to the continent of Africa and although there is no way to lump the thousands of languages, tribes, and cultures into one, nor to assume to know anything after such a short time there, the whole place feels like home to me. Perhaps it is because people as a species came from Africa or perhaps it is because every country I have visited here has offered me a completely life-altering experience.

Senegal was no different. Now don’t get me wrong, there are some interesting aspects to a vacation in Senegal: sheep outnumbering people on buses and on the street, the constant need to pray to the Sphincter God to help you with control, the chihuahua-sized cockroaches. But there is also the oddly comforting call to prayer five times a day, the wonderfully bulbous baobabs making the place look like a young Fangorn forest or the dream home planet of the Little Prince, the fire of the sunrise over the ocean and the pastels of the sunset over the desert, the friendly and open nature of everyone you meet, the meticulous tea making ceremony designed not only to make good frothy tea but to ensure that there is time for good conversation while it is being made, the fact that waiters assume you are American if you get too excited about ordering a Long Island Iced Tea, the birds who are far more in tune with their magnificent dinosaur ancestry, and the colour everywhere as nobody is afraid to mix and match patterns!

Aman and I had possibly more fun than we deserved, realising that with all we have seen in our young lives we are, in fact, the luckiest (or most spoiled) gals in the world!

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It is surprising even to me that I have never been to London. After 35 countries or so, I suppose I can recognise the pattern that I tend to gravitate to non-English speaking countries and away from big cities. So, being the biggest English city, London was not at the top of my list. Man-o-man, does that list need to change as in one day I fell in love with London. It is seriously the world at your feet. My brothers Conor and Brian met me Saturday morning and we proceeded down to the theatre district to try to see either Ian McKellen in King Lear or Ewan McGregor in Othello (how are those for choices!). King Lear seemed futile, so we headed to the Dunmar to see if there were any tickets for Othello (surprisingly undaunted even after hearing that they were going on EBay for $2000!). During our wanderings, we came across a street called Drury Lane. So, I did what I am sure all of you would have: tried to find the Muffin Man. Sadly we were unsuccessful (even after strategically placing a Starbucks muffin as an offering), so we contented ourselves with some nice shots of the muffin, the Guinness Jacket, and the Drury Lane street sign.

Things looked futile as we reached the Dunmar, the show was sold out and it was unlikely that there would be any tickets returned on a Saturday afternoon. Feeling somewhat whimsical, however, we decided to wait and see. How lucky were we: three seats, pretty much on the stage (in a theatre which held only about 400 people)! I was so close that as the actors entered and exited the stage their cloaks and swords hit me in the knee! At one point, Ewan (who played Shakespeare’s villainous wordsmith Iago brilliantly) was standing right beside me and I could feel the spit as he emphatically delivered his line. Creepy and cool!!! The guy who played Othello, Chiwetel Ejiofor (Kiery Knightly’s husband in Love, Actually and, more importantly, the bad guy in Serenity) was also bloody brilliant! To have seen Shakespeare put on by such amazing players in such an intimate setting is one of the coolest things I have ever done!

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My first day in Ireland consisted of this: me faaather picked me up from the airport, took me to a pub he was banned from as a young lad (we couldn’t actually get in so I am pretty sure the bouncer recognised my dad and quickly locked the doors), then to the baptism of my newest cousin, after which we watched Man U beat Liverpool 1-nil in a dreadful game and then Arsenal beat Chelsea 1-nil in a beautiful match whilst drinking Guinness, followed by trips to two separate pubs to drink...wait for it...more Guinness (I figure I’ll drown whichever stomach parasite I contracted in Senegal with Guinness). So, within three hours I had had three Guinness, been to church and watched football; the quintessential Irish experience!

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The Jacket has made appearances at the Atlantic Ocean; in the Sahara Desert; at the two major tourist destinations in London: Big Ben and Drury Lane; and has now made it home to Ireland. I did think very seriously about having my brother take a picture while I tackled Ewan McGregor and forced the Jacket on him, but thought that might be a bit over the top... But you do get to see the Jacket worn by someone other than me on this trip: Aman, my very wee cousin Jessica (who proves that the thing does not actually fit everyone!) and my wee brother Brian. So, enjoy that nice change of scenery on facebook.

I hope this finds you all well and happily getting ready for Christmas.

Love,

Jen

Flying Solo

Barcelona is a city that inspired two men who saw the world from a completely different perspective than that of the rest of us. Who saw the world in fluid, undulating lines rather than straight ones. Who saw the world from all angles possible.

Antoni Gaudi was an architect in the late 19^th early 20^th centuries who did not build or design structures, but rather seemed to grow them from rock. Sure, I can be awed by a magnificent church or a beautiful theatre, but to be honest, I am generally much more excited by ruins of modern buildings. However, I was absolutely blown away by what Gaudi has done. Every building he created is an organic experience, from buildings that looks like waves swelling on the sea or skeletal complexes filled with oblique and curved angles, to a whole park designed with Hansel and Gretel in mind, to a massive cathedral that seems to breathe and surge with life, with glowing stained glass, columns that look like insect legs, and tangled spires that that heave above the skyline. It was truly awe-inspiring.

And then there is Pablo Picasso, who turned the world of art on its axis by realizing that a painting, while beautiful, is only representing a single snapshot of time; a single snapshot of the subject’s being. Instead, why not try to portray all aspects of your subject at once by looking at them from all angles? Sure, it looks kinda funky, with eyes and noses all over the place and of all shapes and sizes, but if you look at it realising that you are seeing that subject not just from the front, but from the back, the side, below, above… all at once, it truly blows your mind. My immense thanks to EB, a wonderful art guide, for helping me to actually see it all and for putting up with questions like: “Now, why is this art?”

What is most wonderful is that these two geniuses in turn inspired the city, as Barcelona seethes with passion and culture. If you have never been, I recommend it highly!!! If you have been, go back!

On Thursday, EB went back to Korea (I won’t go into how difficult that was for me, but if you’ve seen the penultimate scene in There's Something About Mary, when Ben Stiller is leaving Mary’s house, you’ll have an idea of how I was in the Rome airport) and I have found my way to Dakar, Senegal to hang with Aman (my intrepid and perennial travelling companion who is saving the world one West African city at a time through the Red Cross).

I find my mind awash in languages; Korean, Italian, Spanish, and now French. I invariably say ‘si’ for yes and ‘aniyo’ for no. I am worried that come crunch time, sentences like Dove est el hwajanshil? or Aniyo, je non habla Francais. or Vorrei deux cervasas, juseyo. will come spilling from my mouth. It is all a very exciting and welcome side-effect of being a nomad!

Love you all and hope you're well!

J

Rockin with the Romulans

I have spent the past few days hanging with the Romulans (those are Romans for you non Star Trek types). I am generally a Greekist (yes, and a geekist), but after my first visit to Rome just over a year ago, I fell in love with the city; it definitely does not disappoint. And with 27 centuries of history under its toga, how could it? The plethora of sights around the city is staggering, and the best part about them is how jumbled and unstratified they are. You have the palace where Mussolini riled his fascists in 1942 sitting kitty-corner to where Julius Caesar was betrayed and killed in 44BC, which is just down the street from where Nero played the lyre while Rome burned in 64AD, which is just over the hill from where Romulus and Remus (abandoned by their poor vestal virgin mother (cuz she was gonna be buried alive no thanks to their good-for-nothing dad Mars)) met their lupine mammy in 753BC, which is a dagger’s throw away from the spectacular 80AD Colosseum. And all of this is just over the river from the centre of the Catholic world and their extravagant cathedrals bursting at the buttresses with high art.

A low key highlight for me was the memorial in the house where English poet John Keats died of consumption at the tender age of 25; his ‘romantic’ death robbing the world far too early of a wonderful poet while simultaneously catapulting him into fame. The small, simple house is filled to the rafters with old books and sits beside the glorious Spanish Steps, in an area where you can buy all the high fashion you could possibly imagine (which is wonderfully ironic given the simple romanticism of Keats’ life).

Outside of Rome, life has included a bus ride to Siena (Florence’s fabulously Gothic rival with medieval palaces and cobblestoned streets) through breathtaking autumn views, with patches of rusty-amber interspersed with all the greens from musky olive to verdant, surrounding vineyards clinging to impossible inclines; as well as an art historians fantasy buffet in the largest collection of Renaissance art this side of the Milky Way. The ninjas have definitely represented: Leonardo (who, like a true genius, often seemed to have trouble completing something before he got distracted with a new project; but even his unfinished works are masterpieces), Donatello (with his moving statue of John the Baptist), Raphael (personal painter for the popes) and Michelangelo (who could really look after all of your interior design needs; he paints ceilings, designs staircases and plazas and even chisels extraordinary sculptures out of single marble blocks every now and then); as have many who just missed the ninja cut: Botticelli (whose Birth of Venus is absolutely stunning seen in the flesh), Caravaggio (whose vividly dark realism was amazing) and countless others with their superbly gruesome scenes of martyrdom and their ethereal tributes all things biblical and mythological.

Now, I am usually reverent when it comes to art and especially respectful of religious art, but when I happened upon a painting of a very pale and blond baby Jesus, I turned to EB and exclaimed (in a private voice) "Look at how white Jesus is!" Unfortunately, a very not-amused couple was within earshot. I wanted to tell them that he was just far too pasty for a wee Nazarene lad, but I held my tongue and they tried their hardest to bore through me with their glares of malevolence each and every time we ran into them (which was far too often).

Possibly the biggest highlight of the week came last night when I finally killed the pair of mosquitoes (or possibly just one zombie mosquito) that had been plaguing us the past 5 nights.

Since I got to Italy, everyone assumes I am Spanish (apparently I look swarthy) so tomorrow, EB and I are off to Barcelona to look for my people.

I hope everyone is doing well.

Worwickers: I hope you’re having fun with the Christmas Production prep.

Family members: I will see you in 2 and a half weeks!

North America dwellers: try to get rid of the snow before January for me.

Aman: Find us some Guinness in Dakar!

Love,

Jen

Clan of the Travelling Black Gold Update: Stops for the jacket have included: the Ancient Roman Senate, the Colosseum, the grave of Julius Caesar, The Vatican, the Sistine Chapel (well just outside, because you can’t take photos inside), and a statue of Bacchus (the Roman god of liquor!).

The birds of St. Francis and of Galileo

I am officially 33 in all time-zones! Thank you to everyone who sent birthday wishes, both physical and telepathic. I have dubbed 33 the WhatEver age (W=3 fingers and E=3 fingers; three three!), so I am gonna take things as they come, all laissez-faire like. My mom always used to get me the coolest cakes for my birthday (and by cool, I’m talking about a replica of a Starfleet Captain’s uniform, to name the best of them!), so in keeping with this tradition, EB and I headed to Perugia , Italy’s chocolate capital, in search of cake.

Perugia is capital of the province of Umbria, which is a magical place with enough rolling green hills to make Maria von Trapp want to cut up curtains for everyone, enough labyrinthine streets in the hill-top towns to make the Minotaur’s head spin, and enough chocolate to make even the likes of me say "Uh actually, I think that’ll do for now." The city itself contrasts the old (within the ancient city walls you’ll find the most exquisite stained glass I have even seen as well as a billion beautiful Byzantine Christs) with the new (outside the walls, there are blue lights in the public bathrooms so druggies can’t find their veins) and is a wonderful place just to wander. Most importantly, it has the Etruscan Chocohotel, dedicated to all the chocolate a girl could ever want.

From Perugia, we headed to Assisi to hang with the monks, Franciscan style. Assisi is the birthplace of St. Francis, famous not only for lending his name to my youngest brother, Billy Franky, but also for (after a youth of debauchery and upon being asked by Christ Himself to repair His house ) renouncing his worldly possessions and founding the Franciscan Order of monks, dedicated to worshipping God through the beauty of a simple life. The city is absolutely stunning, stretched across a small hill, with peach coloured brick buildings that glow in the sunlight (we were lucky enough to get a little sunlight in an otherwise freezing day). The approach through the winding streets to the Basilica of St. Francis, which sits perched on a cliff overlooking the patchwork of fields and vineyards below and is fronted by an almost quixotic looking statue of Francis on a horse (one of the most moving statues I have ever seen), is absolutely spectacular.

Legend has it that St. Francis had an Ace-Ventura way with animals and even preached to a flock of enraptured birds who did not fly away until he was finished. Figuring ‘when in Assisi’, I took it upon myself to do some preaching of my own, armed with a sermon prepared about the glory of the dinosaurian ancestry of birds. Unexpectedly, the birds did not seem that eager to flock to me. I did manage to corner one or two at the train station and after hitting them with the revelation that they come from greatness, I did my best to convince them that they can do better with their lives. I will admit that my congregation of two didn’t seem outwardly moved by my speech, but I’m sure they’ll go home and ruminate for a while. I am pretty sure I saw tears in those glassy, beady eyes, and while EB seems to think they were of boredom, I am banking that they were of exaltation. I’ll post the video on facebook and you can be the judge!

Life in Firenze since I last wrote has included beautiful views and climbs around the city (877 steps yesterday alone; incidentally at the very top of one of the towers, I was greeted by a Storm Trooper sticker on the garbage can!), some wicked Gregorian chanting in a cool little chapel on the hill, and lots of imbibing. The biggest highlight for me was at the History of Science Museum which houses, I kid you not, the middle right finger of Galileo Galilei! It was removed from his hand when they moved his body to its current resting place about a hundred years after he died. It now sits, erect and defiant, in a glass case in the museum, effectively flipping the bird for all eternity to all who opposed his ground breaking views! It has been a wonderful week of birds!

As some of you will recall, the mission for last year’s adventure involved taking photos of my 3PO, R2, and Boba Fett PEZZ Dispensers in various Star Wars locations in Tunisia. The mission I have chosen to accept for my current adventure is a little different, albeit just as odd. Think Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants meets the travelling Gnome from Amelie; but with a somewhat fashionably challenged Guinness jacket. Why, you ask? Dunno! This is just how I roll. This mission will likely culminate in a stop at the Guinness Brewery in Dublin, where I am certain the locals will mutter "bloody lookin’ edjit tourists" under their breath. For those of you on facebook, check out the group Clan of the Travelling Black Gold, for updates on the ongoing saga of the jacket. For those of you not on facebook, whatcha doin’? The latest stops for the jacket have included the statue of David, the Basilica of Saint Francis, Firenze at sunset, and the Duomo of Firenze (look for a rather ingenious, if I do say so myself, photo through the hood of the jacket!). Thanks for having me (this was a long one!).

I miss you all and hope you’re well.
Love, Jen

Greetings

Hello!

If you have received this e-mail, it means you are cool enough to partake in updates on my current adventure (to include parts of Italy (3.5 weeks), Barcelona (5 days), Senegal & The Gambia (8 days), Lisbon (1 day), London (2 days), and Ireland (3 weeks)). Be advised that unlike last year, I don’t expect to be writing about whacking lions, fighting bush fires or rescuing train wreck victims, however I do always manage to get into the odd scrape here and there. I can promise you a lot of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and possibly a blow by blow of every bottle of wine and glass of Guinness to grace this throat. If you know someone who has not received this e-mail, please don’t tell them as I wouldn’t want anyone to think they are not cool! J

If you would like to stop receiving these e-mails, please send me the proverbial feck-off e-mail!

So it is the morning of Tuesday, November 6 and I am still packing up my apartment (yup, the week leading up to my departure was pretty busy, not to mention that karaoke was far more important than packing) when I discover that I have lost my Visa card. After some major, but short-lived panic (because I have no time for panic), EB and I mail my boxes (probably with my Visa packed in one of them) and board the airport bus one hour later than I had planned. Now, for those of you who know me or have travelled with me, you’ll recall that I am anal about arriving at airports at least (if not more than) 2 hours before departure. So, with the loss of my Visa (which I am also always anal about) and my arrival at check-in a mere hour and 10 minutes before departure, I am totally off my anal game (odd choice of words there, I know).

So off my game was I that when the check-in chicky told us we could go to the First Class Lounge (cuz I have a special card) I was all over it! I was utterly blinded by the free food and free internet and even convinced EB that we had enough time. I’m here to tell you that we didn’t, in fact, have enough time, folks! As we approached our gate with 20 minutes to spare (loads of time, I figured, even though boarding time had come and gone 20 minutes ago) we were joking about how they’d be paging us any time now. Even when a frantic looking airport man grabbed the gal beside us saying she was the last passenger to board a plane to Munich, we laughed about the fact that at least we weren’t going to Munich. Then we saw our own frantic looking airport personnel standing at our empty gate. She said "Are you Lee Eunbyeol?" EB nodded affirmative and we were ushered on to the plane in a wave of panic to the sounds of "Ee Eunbyeol shi kabang chim neriji baseyo" crackling over 5 radios simultaneously, which roughly translates into "Stop taking the bags off! I repeat! Stop taking the bleedin bags off!!!!" So that, in a very long-winded way was how the trip began!

Despite that near miss, we did finally make it to Firenze and are relaxing our asses off! The apartment we rented is not too small (at least by Korean standards) and the hot water sorta works (read that as scalding for three minutes and then freezing)! We are living right next to the market which means fresh pasta and pastry every day. Yesterday we visited Galileo’s tomb in the Basilica di Santa Croce (which was pretty cool because of the irony of the fact that the dude was excommunicated and then buried in a church) and then went to hang out the house of Dante Alighieri (which is one of my favourite places in Florence) and the nearby church in which he met his muse, Beatrice. Life is beautiful, indeed.

I hope you are all well.

J

P.S. I have tried not to think too much about work except I had dream in which Little John (who is 6 years old, by the way) brought beer to school to "drink after school with Kevin K" and I was forced to scold them, all the while having a hard time keeping a straight face and wanting to drink the beer with them.