New Year's Part Un - Dorset

Okay, so I have been a little busy, mainly with two things: school and my new bf, Josh.  I worked extra hard on my essays, which were due last Monday, then I hung out with my poor, neglected boyfriend.   We both kind of have those cartoony hearts in our eyes, so I have neglected you, dear readers.  I apologize if this is overly sentimental and focused on my new beau.  Actually, no I don't.  Also, the most important part is at the end, so read to that part.

First, I have to talk about New Year.  I went to Poole, Dorset(shire) in "Southern" England on the coast to visit Josh and his family.  His mum, Lin, and dad, Pete, were both sweet and funny, and his younger brother, Sam, is a talented artiste who's going to study medicine at Uni.  The first day there we walked the dalmatian puppeh Charlie on the beach and went ice skating (re-enacting our first date, which neither of us realized was a real date till later).  I was basically wearing all the clothes I possibly could (yes, even the long underwear Mom), and it was still freezing.

The scenery in Dorset is magnificent, and we spent New Year's morning eating bacon buttys (or, as I call them "buddies") cooked by Josh's mum on the beach (well, in their cabana).  Only the Brits could come up with something so simultaneously horrible and wonderful to eat.  The recipe: You take two pieces of bread and slather each side with butter like you're making a sandwich.  Cook bacon, put it in the middle.  It is delicious, and I worry about gaining a stone just from eating them.  Back to the beach, it is beautiful, but it was as cold as... well, it was cold.

Here's a picture of Tom (Josh's best friend), Josh and Sam (the little brother).  Tom is basically what I thought every single British person is like (he's even wearing a fedora, come on!).

The afternoon on New Year's Day was one of the best experiences of my whole life.  I'm just going to throw it out there.  We went hiking to Lulworth Cove and looked at geologic formations then...to see...SHEEEEEP!  

Just to give you an idea of how much clothes I am wearing, I have on long underwear (top and bottoms), jeans, two pairs of socks, Josh's sisters wellies, a tshirt, one of Josh's fleece pullovers (enormous) AND my coat.  That's why I look like a 4-year-old on a snow day.  And to be honest, I was still cold.

You may not know this, but I have a longstanding love-affair with sheep.  They might be stupid and smelly, but the are so awesome and fluffy.  I love seeing them like little cotton balls on the English green hillsides.  I always wanted to squeeze one to see if it was all fluffy or if it was solid.  I tried to in Yorkshire, but they always ran away.  Josh's best friend Tom and his brother, Will, took me to their house (out in the country, in a town appropriately called Wool), and I got to feed their tame sheep and squeeze them, and it was GLORIOUS!

First, we went to their house to see the "lawnmower" sheep, which are tame.  The picture below is me feeding them.  The tame sheep are the Portland breed, which means they are fluffy and awesome.  I squeezed them and squealed quite a bit.

Then, we went to feed the pregnant ewes (there are lots).  I found one that had a big abcess on its face, so I actually did help Will with something other than feeding them.

This is Will and the ewes.  Isn't he a cute British sheep farmer?  If you are looking for one under 21, let me know.  By the way, sheep are kind of aggressive when you are feeding them, and they're preggers too, which probably means they are more hungry/mean than usual.  They kept biting my legs (just nibbles through my trousers) and they almost knocked me over.

ZOMBIE SHEEP!  Not really, they're just the sick/weak ewes wanting me to feed them.

Finally we got to see the lambs.  This part will actually be in the 2nd installment because there are lots of pictures as well as something close to my heart (i.e. Chester).

Christmas and Boxing Day in NI

Okay, I'll eventually get to the New Year's post, which will be the best.  It involves sheep and the beach, and that's all I'll say.

First things first.  After spending the night at the Europa Hotel in Belfast and touring around on the 23rd, I took the train just 20 minutes outside the city to Moira, the home of my lovely hosts, Sam and Evelyn Briggs.  They have a son my age living in Belfast (Simon) and another who is married with two children.

On Christmas Eve we went to a party with an eccentric but fun host and hostess, who raise sheep and are the N. Ireland leaders of the Int'l Young Farmers or something, which I think is the international equivalent of FFA or 4-H.  John had actually worked in cotton and peaches in South Carolina when he was younger, so I think he had a better idea of where I was from than anyone else.  The church where went went to midnight service was small (and FREEZING-due to someone not remembering to turn the boiler on).  There's a shiny lit thing in the photo which is actually Santa Claus on a motorcycle.  Apparently, the rector is into motorcycles, which didn't really explain the presence of the bizarre decoration, but I was too cold to care.  The parish, Aghalee (pronounced ACK-uh-lee), like the rest of NI lost a significant number of men during WWI and there's a large war memorial on the wall as well commemorating it.  I wanted to take a picture of the church's exterior, since it's around 350 years old, but I was too focused on staying warm.

After a mince pie (they are everywhere!) and a sherry we all went to bed and woke very late on Christmas morning.  "Dinner" (i.e. lunch) was to be served around one, approximately (I was warned).  Well, since none of us woke up until nearly 11 (which is definitely a record for me), this was obvs not going to happen.  We had a lovely salmon appetizer with sparkling wine around 2 while we unwrapped gifts.  My mum gave me pajamas (a long-running tradition) and a new denim jacket.  Sam and Evelyn got me some Marks and Spencer soaps and Simon burned me some CD's of Irish artists.  

Then, around 3:30 we actually sat down to a lovely meal, prepared by Evelyn (with two kinds of stuffing by Sam, which were awesome!).  Turkey, gammon (ham), cranberries with port (delicious!), brussels sprouts (also delicious, don't knock 'em till you've tried 'em), goosefat roasted potates, Christmas pudding, etc.  Of course there were crackers involved.  Crackers are gunpowder-laden toys that always have a terrible joke, a toy and a tacky paper crown in them.  Strangely, everyone in the UK is serious about wearing the funny crowns and doing the crackers before meals.  It's really odd to see grown-ups (even on tv specials) wearing funny hats eating Christmas dinner.  The rest of the day was nice and relaxing (unlike now, with my essays due), and we just watched television and read.

The day after Christmas is Boxing Day here in England.  Boxing Day was formerly St. Stephen's Day, after the martyr, but apparently, it used to be the day when bosses would give their employees bonuses in boxes, hence the name.  It's actually a bank holiday in the UK, Republic of Ireland, Canada, and Australia (and probably a bunch of other places, too).  In the UK and Canada, Boxing Day is also the equivalent of Black Friday and all the high street shops have their huge sales then.  I gladly stayed home with the Briggs' and sat in front of the fire while callers popped in and out.  In the evening, their older son, Robert, his wife Pam and their two children (Christopher and Lucy) came to visit, so it was lots of fun.  They were adorable.  Lucy wore her Sleeping Beauty dress all day, which is awesome.

The next day, before I had to leave, we went to Hillsborough and Government House, the former home of the NI governor (and where the Queen stays when she visits, which is probably not very often).  It's no longer used since NI doesn't have a governor anymore, but it does have a thousand year old fort and a Gothic Revival church from the 1640's, rebuilt after the Restoration (when the previous St. Malachi's church was burned in a rebellion).  The sentry posts in front of the house are the same as the ones at Buckingham Palace.  Evelyn and I were standing taking photos when the gate opens and some guy runs through.  Evelyn goes, "That's Shaun Woodward!"  Turns out, it was the NI Secretary of State!  He had been running, so he didn't shake our hands or anything, but he did say hello and hoped I enjoyed my visit.

This is me in the Queen's box which has a door and fancy blue curtains.  She goes to this church if she comes to NI.

Then, on to Newcastle, a Victorian beachside town made famous by 19th century musician Percy French's Mountains of Mourne.

"Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight

With people her working by day and by night

The don't sow potatoes, nor barley nor wheat

But there's gangs of them digging for gold in the streets

At least when I asked them that's what I was told

So I just took a hand at this diggin' for gold

But for all that I found there I might as well be

Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea."

And indeed, they are beautiful, and the weather was amazing.  We ate lunch at the Slieve Donard (the highest peak in these mountains) Hotel which has been around since the 1890's.

Finally, back to Belfast, where I actually walked onto the tarmac to get into my plane with propellers! (Atlanta folks will understand how remarkable this is.  I felt like the president walking out to Air Force One or something.)

Anyway, I've taken half an hour of valuable essay-writing time to post this, so I won't be posting my New Year's tale until after the 19th.  I am here to go to school, you know!

Belfast/December 23

So, I flew into Belfast the day before Christmas Eve (when I was to travel to my host family).  I've never been to Northern Ireland (for you lawyers, hereinafter referred to as "NI"), and I was excited to see the land of pots of gold, rainbows, and decades (if not centuries) of civil war. My first reaction when getting off the plane was how tiny the George Best City Airport is.  Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Int'l Airport is the busiest in the world, so actually taking the stairs off of the plane at one of the 4 gates was quite amusing to me.  By the way, George Best (the greatest soccer player ever to play the game - so I'm told) is from the same area of Belfast where the airport is, hence the name. 

Here's the view from my room at the Europa, which was Belfast's only hotel during the Troubles (more on this later).  It used to hold the title of "World's Most Bombed Hotel".  Luckily, it has not even been in the Top Ten for at least five years.  My dad would have loved this (his advice to me before going: "Don't tell anyone you're a Protestant." Similar to his advice about living among the Islamic population in the UK: "Don't tell anyone you're an American.")  Despite the title, I found it to be gorgeous and have delicious food (I ate dinner and breakfast there) and the hotel staff were lovely.  

This is the Crown Bar, a Victorian "saloon" from 1849 that had delicious food and a nice pint of Guinness.  I had the beef and Guinness pie for lunch.  Also, the lamps in the lower pub are still gas-lit.  And there's a funny sign that says if you're wearing a football jersey, you'll be kicked out (apparently Irish nationalism isn't the only thing people in Belfast are militant about).

I took the freezing open-top bus tour of Belfast, which is actually a beautiful city, surrounded by mountains on two sides, the River Lagan and the Belfast Lough (pronounced Lock, a lake/harbor).  

Okay, on to the really political/educational part (that's interesting and informative!).  All of my American readers are somewhat informed about the city of Belfast in that we remember or have heard about the IRA/Sinn Fein/bombings that occur there.  What you don't really see is what was really going on (according to our witty and very educated tour guide, Aidan).  I have always thought that the fighting that went on in NI was about religion (Protestants v. Roman Catholics) because that's how it was presented on American news.  According to Aidan, the Troubles were really a result of tension between royalist/unionists (those in favor of being ruled by the Queen/Britain) and Irish nationalists (those in favor of NI/Ulster being self-governed).  There's a lot more to it than that, and I think Wikipedia is quite knowledgeable about the Troubles, so check it out if you want more info.  

The picture just above the previous paragraph was taken while I was on the bus tour.  There are two main roads on the west side of Belfast where most of the problems took place.  One road is the Shankill Road and the other is Falls Road.  Shankill is Protestant/Ulster royalist and was seriously bombed several times.  Falls Road is Roman Catholic/republican and had its own share of casualties.  To help separate the two from sectarian violence, there is a Peace Wall (which is a fence in most places).  The green fence in the picture shows how the Peace Wall splits the street in half in some places between the two neighborhoods.  These have been in place since the 1970's and the gates between them are still closed between 10 pm and 6 am.  Due to this, the two communities have formed completely separately, which I think doesn't really create peace, it just continues to separate the two areas.  There have recently been talks to take the walls down, but it apparently creates a lot of tourism (which makes sense-I took the tour to see it, didn't I?).  

Regarding the picture above, you can also see the mountains in the background.  If you look on the side, you can almost make out the shape of a man lying down on the side of the mountains.  It was much more visible in other places, but I couldn't get a good photo.  Anyway,  that man lying on the side of the mountain was the inspiration for a certain Brobdingnagian in a little book called Gulliver's Travels by Mr. Swift.

Also very particular to Belfast are all of the murals painted on just about every blank surface in West Belfast.  Some of the murals are about WWI or the Queen or the paramilitary groups involved in the Troubles.  The link shows more pictures of the murals because I couldn't fit all the photos I took here.  There is a push to try to have more positive and less militaristic murals put up in place of the more violent ones, but again, the tourism generated by them may outweigh the peace process in the end.  The picture above shows the love and admiration that the Northern Irish people have of our president as well (there are several of these).

Headquarters of Sinn Fein (which means "we ourselves").  Headed by Gerry Adams, the political party is left wing and Irish republican.  Thank you, high school Quiz Bowl (that's what I remember that information from).

Because George Best (who's the best football player ever) played for Manchester United, there are several pubs with very dedicated ManU fans.  This is one of the most popular, in West Belfast.  There's a saying in NI: "Maradona good, Pele better, George Best."  Which, I assume, is ranking famous footballers.  

Like London and several other cities in the UK and Europe, Belfast has a Big Wheel, which I didn't ride but is a major tourist attraction.  This photo is of Belfast City Hall and the Big Wheel.  The red letters on the front of City Hall say "B(elfast) Festive" because they have lots of Christmas things going on.

This is the Prince Albert clock, a memorial to Queen Victoria's late husband.  Because Belfast is built onto what is essentially a riverbed, the Clock is sort of like a leaning Tower of Pisa and the foundation is supposedly sinking into the River Lagan.

This rundown building is the former headquarters of Harland and Wolff Shipbuilders, the famous manufacturers of the White Star Line (and numerous HMS vessels as well).  It is the world's largest dry dock, and the Titanic was famously built there.

The most famous part of the Belfast skyline is not a building but two giant (and I mean enormous - there's a restaurant in the little red thing on top) yellow cranes (H&W for Harland and Wolff) which were used to build ships.  Now they are used for other purposes.  The two cranes are affectionately known as Samson and Goliath.  To me, this did not bode well for the Titanic, as the two cranes used to build it were named after strong dudes who met a bad end.

This is Stormont, the home of the NI Parliament.  It's on very lovely grounds with parks.  They weren't in session (Aidan joked that they were on their "Christmas break" from October to March).  The NI Legislative Assembly was created under the Belfast Agreement, and the Executive Committee there is a shared cabinet, meaning that both parties are effectively ruling together in a consociational government.  Also, Evelyn got a NI Assembly cookbook from her daughter-in-law that made everyone laugh since it contains recipes from all of the MLA's.  It would be the equivalent of the Georgia State Senate putting out a cookbook (which they probably do, come to think of it).

Anyway, Christmas and Boxing Day in Moira will be in the next post.

"Crisps"-mass

I went to get another curry and bottle of cough medicine to hopefully unblock my stuffy nose, when I spotted this gem of marketing/commercial festivity:

That's right.  Turkey and stuffing flavored crisps.  Do they taste like turkey and stuffing?  To quote my dear friend Heather: "Hells to the yeah!"

Good things come in small packages.

I have bronchitis (which is weird, considering my mum and Granny just had it and they are 10,000 miles away).  I feel like crap, and the doctors here (no offense to the good ones that I haven't obviously met) are not really in the business of preventative care.  They want you to get really sick, THEN they'll treat you.  

In America, we pay to go to the doctor, some people exorbitant amounts, but the doctor usually feels as though they should provide some sort of service for that money.  In the UK, you don't pay to go to the doctor, so they really have no incentive to do anything for you.  They get paid to see patients, not help them.  "First do no harm" does not apply here.  My coursemate Vicky said that she couldn't get treatment for a chest infection (of course they wouldn't give her one of those evil, overused antibiotics), and she developed pleurisy (a very painful infection of the lining surrounding the lungs that many famous people have died from)!

Anyway, I was feeling particularly poorly, and after I dragged myself back to the dorm after my first seminar, I checked my mail.  In it was the Christmas present/package from my dad.  I wasn't planning on opening it until later, but it was heavy, and I don't think it would fit in my suitcase to Ireland. It contained exactly what I needed to feel better/home.

The Braves, grits, Sour Patch Kids, Entertainment Weekly.  Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

Christmas on crack (or brandy butter)

I've been super busy, and although I've been meaning to for weeks, the update has been a long time coming.  

Just for a bit of editorial opinion, the Brits are crazy about Christmas.  Not necessarily the holiday itself, just the season in general.  Every, and I mean every, restaurant has some sort of Christmas dinner, and you cannot go to church or class or anywhere without there being mince pies for consumption.  I don't know how they don't gain a stone* in the month of December (actually, they probably do).  The "Christmas dinner" is very popular here and every group you're in has to have one.  For example, the International 16 and the Int'l Society have had one, and I made a Christmas pudding for our Student Bible Study Christmas dinner.

Actually, Josh and I made the pudding.  I'd never had Christmas pudding, so I wasn't sure what to expect, but I think if you're going to cook, you might as well go all out, so we did.  For the US folks, a Christmas pudding is sort of a fruit cake (not a fruitcake, just sort of an improvised sponge cake packed with fruit).  Generally, you're supposed to make your pudding a month before Christmas and just let it sit in a cool dark place until you eat it, but we made it the day before and everyone at our Christmas dinner raved about it.

The original recipe and what we ended up actually making were quite different, so I'm posting the recipe we ended up with and pictures of the process.  Also, I am putting the American and British measurements on here.  Something else I learned: a British measuring cup is different.  A cup is 10 oz where a US cup is 8.  This may have been why my biscuits (scones) have turned out dry lately.  Anyway, the recipe:

Ingredients:

1/2 cup (110 g) shredded suet* (we used vegetable suet)

1/4 cup (50 g) self-raising flour, sifted

1/2 cup (110 g) white breadcrumbs

1 tsp. ground mixed spice (in the US I think you can just use pumpkin pie spice, same mixture)

1/4 tsp. grated or ground nutmeg

pinch of ground cinnamon

1 cup (225 g) dark brown sugar

1/2 cup/4 oz (110 g) sultanas (yellow raisins)

1/2 cup/4 oz (110 g) raisins

1 and 1/4 cup/10 oz (275 g) dried currants

1/8 cup (25 g) ground mixed nuts

1 small cooking apple, peeled, cored and finely chopped

zest of one orange

zest of one lemon

1 bottle (200 mL) stout (we used Guinness)

2 large eggs

1 grated carrot (Josh's Granny's secret ingredient)

In a mixing bowl, thoroughly mix the suet, sifted flour, breadcrumbs, spices and brown sugar.  Gradually mix in the dried fruits and nuts, then the apple, carrot and orange/lemon zests.  In a smaller bowl, pour the stout in, then add the eggs and beat together thoroughly (the beer will probably foam up, but it doesn't really matter).  Pour the egg/stout mixture into the dry ingredients and mix well with a wooden spoon.  It should be stirred very thoroughly and let all involved have a turn.  The consistency should be very wet/sloppy - it should fall instantly from the spoon when tapped on the side of the bowl.  If it doesn't, add a little more stout (or, alternately, the recipe calls for 2 oz of rum, but we didn't have that).  Cover the bowl and leave for half an hour (or overnight if you have plenty of time).

Pour the mixture into a lightly greased pudding basin (this is essentially a glass mixing bowl, 2 pint sized, that can withstand a lot of heat.  You could probably use a Pyrex mixing bowl in the US, but it needs to be sort of deep because the mixture expands as you cook it.).  Then, you cover the bowl with Saran wrap (the recipe said parchment, foil and string, but we were kind of lazy and didn't have that stuff).  Place the pudding in a steamer set over a saucepan of simmering water.  I don't think this part is feasible for the US people, but basically, we put boiling water into a wide, shallow slow cooker with a lid and let it steam for 6-8 hours until it's puffed up (you'll know it) and you can smell the deliciousness.  You'll have to keep adding boiling water every couple of hours as the steam evaporates.  We also replaced the Saran wrap once because it seemed to be getting kind of tacky and we didn't want it to melt.

Josh is showing off the cooking process. Note: there is a lid that goes on the slow cooker.

The lovely finished product.  It's not very pretty, really, but it tastes awesome.

Leave out overnight or until you're ready to serve it (don't refrigerate).  To heat, either steam it in the slow cooker until warm if you have time (an hour or two?) or do like we did and just microwave on half power for a while.  Be careful if microwaving because the dried fruit can get molten and sometimes pop.  Run a knife around the bowl and turn over onto a plate (something with sides is advantageous with the next part).  If, like ours, it sticks to the bottom, just rearrange it or put something on top to make it pretty, like holly.

Heat a ladle-full of brandy over the hob* and when it's hot (don't let it get too hot, or it'll explode and set you and your house on fire), set it (carefully) alight and pour slowly over the top and sides of the pudding and watch it flame to the cheers of the assembled company.  I enjoyed this part, since I'm kind of a pyro anyway.  You can't tell from the picture, but there's a lovely blue flame over the top.

Serve with brandy butter (the bestest part!!! - it's almost like cream cheese frosting): equal parts butter and powdered icing sugar (1/2 cup - 1 stick was enough for us) and however much brandy you want (Josh used just a couple of spoonfuls, but you could probably liquor it up good if you wanted).  Blend or smoosh together with a spoon and serve with the pudding.  It helps to have Christmas crackers and party poppers about (see Andrew below in the fun crown and our vicar's wife, Rachel doing the honors).

*stone - British weight measurement (14 American pounds)

  suet - vegetable or beef fat that's solid (like lard, I guess)

  hob - the cooktop on a stove or "range"

That's all for now.  I'll be in Northern Ireland for Christmas and in Dorset (southwest England) with Josh for New Year's, so expect exciting posts after my essays are finished.

To close, an English carol I find particularly poignant being in Manchester:

In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone.

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow

In the bleak mid-winter, long, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak mid-winter, a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,

Breastful of milk and a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him whom angels fall before,

The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim thronged in the air;

But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,

Worshipped the beloved with a mother's kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what can I give Him: give Him my heart.

Merry Christmas!

Snow, yay! I mean, ugh!

I loved the snow Monday night when it fell beautifully while I was at Revolver.  When I came out with Stephen and Martin about 3:30, it was snowing sort of hard.  There was enough snow on top of Martin's car to make several snowballs and throw at folks.  After getting home, I took these pics from my window (I had to lighten them a bit).

It wasn't much, but it was enough to make singing "White Christmas" worth it.

However, yesterday, not as much fun.  It was literally below zero.  (Celsius, but still, that's cold.)  Anyway, you see the beautiful courtyard next to my dorm in the photos that they have only recently completed.  What you don't see is that the snow freezes and makes a layer of completely clear ice that makes said courtyard like walking on greased marble.  I went to get a coffee next door, and I fell right on my bum.  Luckily, I had lots of pants on and a big coat, so my fall was somewhat cushioned.  Then, I went to carol rehearsal and fell AGAIN last night.  It didn't hurt either, but I'm considering investing in those little shoes with the spikes just to preserve my dignity.