Manchester, England Part Deux

So when we left off, Ryan and I had been good students and went to class. I thought this picture would be a good way to lead off the post, because by this time, I really felt like I was reconnecting with my Anglo-Saxon heritage, or at least the Anglo-Saxon heritage of America. I'm unsure if I have any English heritage (perhaps my grandparents, such loyal readers of my blog could shed some light on this?). In any case, more on family origins to follow below.

That night, we decided to take it easy and just go to a hookah bar. Before you take our morals to be suspect, allow me to assure you that hookah bars are in fact laid back cafes with cushions and pillows to chill on that offer large water pipe contraptions for smoking mild tobaccos. It can have one or two hoses to pass around casually. They’re popular in the Middle East, as sharing pipes or hookah is considered a sign of respect and hospitality. All in all, it’s very relaxing, and perfect with a cup of English tea and some good friends for conversation.

This is a picture of some English girls across from us at the bar taken by Ryan’s French friend Remy. That’s right, as in Jerry Remy, the Remdog. I had to resist calling him this.

For most of the night, I spoke with a few Italians, a Spaniard, and a German about stereotypes and the ways in which people misunderstand or generalize societies. Each had something to say about their native country, and the regional differences that exist and make nations more diverse than the associations and basic labels people give them. I learned some nuances of their countries, and they were interested to hear what I had to say about America and how the images and things they perceive the U.S. to be only encompasses a small part.

From there, we got on to talking about globalization, and I mentioned how shocked I was at first to see products, music, and business chains from America everywhere I went in Europe. As part of explaining the pluralism of America, I had noted before that I am of Irish, French-Canadian, Italian, and probably several other descents. By putting the presence of American culture and enterprise in Europe together with the fact that Americans are mostly of European descent, you realize that the very peoples that left Europe have now formed a new “nationality” and returned to the countries they migrated from in the form of pop music and fast food chains. It’s both remarkable and frightening.

I hope I explained that alright – it was just a really crazy conclusion that I came to in my head between respectable drags of strawberry flavored tobacco. You may want to re-read that paragraph a few times. It’s at least worth contemplating. I spent awhile trying to phrase it in a way that didn’t confuse the hell out of me. This is just probably one of the heavier epiphanies I have had here, so I needed to share it. This picture was taken shortly before it hit me.

Alex, a good guy from Valencia I believe, seemed to have a lot more to say than most Spaniards I have talked to. Granted, I haven’t had many serious in-depth conversations on the subject.

Pardon this tangent, but I think it’s relevant to my whole stay in Spain. The Spanish have a unique history in Europe, particularly during the 20^th century. Spain’s absence from WWII due to a brutal civil war during the late 1930’s followed by the rise of Franco, a ruthless dictator that ruled until the mid-1970s removed the country from international participation that fostered economic prosperity and political freedom in other European states. The way my international relations professor explained it, the Spanish are “en su misma miento,” meaning they are an inward-looking people, existing for many years as a partially separated entity from the rest of Europe. This resulted in backwardness that began to be corrected during the 1980’s with their admission into the European Union. Currently, they are still behind other European states, but they have made significant progress over the past 15-20 years both economically and politically.

My knowledge of Spanish history was very limited due to their near-absence from modern history books, but coming here has allowed me to understand some of the reasons first-hand in a way an assigned reading could not. I always wondered why Spain never really came up in history classes. It turns out the answer lay in the fact that they were off doing their own thing.

After the hookah bar, Ry and I went back to his room and made ourselves a few drinks. (Wow, that may have been one of the worst transitions I have ever made in this blog, my apologies. I did warn you that the Spanish history segment would be a tangent.)

On my way back from the bathroom, I met a few ladies in the hall and they came back to the room. They weren't cute, lacked a sense of humor, and claimed to dislike Robert Plant and Led Zeppelin. Despite all this, we still ended up talking about nothing significant until like 4:30 in the morning. Why? I couldn't tell you.

Robert Plant. Very sexy, very talented, very British. What were those girls thinking?

The next day, Ryan and I visited the Manchester Museum and the Manchester Art Gallery.

The Manchester Museum was alright, they had some very well preserved mummies, but other than that, it seemed more like a museum for the kids (Ryan and I learned that meteorites are rocks from space). It also had a little of everything, which felt forced. Ryan's favorite part was this huge crab. A fine impression, wouldn't you say?

This is the only picture I have from the art gallery, it's from the interactive exhibit. Ryan and I had perhaps too much fun dressing up hahaha. After having seen so many masterpieces in Spain, I've been trained to not even try to whip a camera out in an art museum. I enjoyed the pieces they had, particularly the selection of local artists. There was some surprisingly good art. A modern art critic would probably stick their nose up pretentiously much like my art history teacher at the university does, but to hell with them. Here's one of the most famous pieces in the collection, titled "Hylas and the Nymphs." They wouldn't stick their nose up at this. See, now you're cultured too.

We all know that my visit would not have been complete without a sampling of beers. I got to try my share of ales, bitters, stouts, and other brews. Like the Copenhagen experience, it was glorious, though this time I prepared myself mentally so I wouldn't go too overboard. It worked somewhat. This is a mix pack of one of the local breweries.

When I carried the case home from the grocery, I was wondering why it was so damn heavy. I thought it was probably one of the heaviest 12-packs I ever carried. When I opened the box, I realized they were pint bottles. Bonus brew? Ballin'!

What I was a little concerned by were the beer choices made by Ryan's British friends. For example, his buddy "T" that lives down the hall absolutely loves Coor's Light. I need not go into the laundry list of reasons why this is unacceptable PARTICULARLY for a proper Brit. It was disappointing, but he's a great kid, so I forgave him. Coor's Light is a popular beer back in the States, so while I disapprove I was even more taken aback to see another friend of his drinking San Miguel, a fairly unpopular Spanish beer. I have yet to introduce you to San Miguel, mostly because I have never actually drank a full one and luckily I don't ever have to deal with it being the only option on tap. All I need to say is that it is a step down from Cruzcampo. To sum up, we have two Brits, one drinking Coor's Light (and really wanting it, because it's 3-4 times more expensive because it's imported), and the other drinking a step down from Cruzcampo. Unbelievable.

That beer rant was brought to you by Samuel Adams. Oh how Keith longs to bask in it's hoppy malty paradise when he comes home. Never mind that in returning to America, he will technically surrender his legal right to purchase and consume for approximately two weeks and four months. Now is not the time to dwell...

When we awoke the next morning, before even getting out of bed, Ryan and I chugged Red Bulls to kick our day into gear. It resulted in us being exceedingly energetic considering how hung over we were. Our plan for the day was to go check out the Imperial War Museum, The Lowry, and Old Trafford Stadium, home of the Manchester United football club. Ambitious it was.

A description from the website: "One of the most talked about Museums in Britain today, Imperial War Museum North is about people and their stories, about how lives have been and still are shaped by war and conflict. The award-winning building by international architect Daniel Libeskind is a symbol of our world torn apart by conflict and is situated at The Quays, a waterfront destination 2 miles from Manchester city centre."

The exhibits were very well done. They incorporated pieces from numerous wars around the world. It was leveling to read hand written letters by soldiers on the front lines. For all I knew, some that I read may have been that particular soldier's last communication with his family. Though the museum has been denounced by some European critics for glorifying war, I did not get that impression at all. It's a brutal thing, perhaps unfathomable level that can't be understood without a first-hand experience. It got me thinking that while many of the narratives surrounding WWI and WWII are so well known to us, modern warfare has a different connotation. America is currently at war, but I doubt all Americans realize it (if they don't watch the news) or give it much thought (if they are sick of hearing the same news) in their everyday lives. The main reason is because the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are limited wars without the drafts, mega-military production, and straining domestic wartime policy of total war. Even though the average American is not directly affected by the situation in the Middle East, does that make the war any less brutal? I would be interested to know what an Iraqi civilian would think. Okay, for the most part I've avoided getting too political in this blog, so I'll stop there. But it was just a passing thought I wanted to share.

It was probably one of my favorite historical museums I've been to, because the collection was so rich and emphasis was put upon constructing history out of individual stories and memories retold through artifacts and possessions.

A view from the top of the War Museum. The funky building directly across the river is called The Lowry, a super modern looking building that has facilities for the performing arts, art exhibition space, cafes, bars, restaurants, and other attractions. We just strolled through, got a look at the view of the river, and scoffed at the 4-5 pound ($8-$10 and change) beers.

Here's a shot of Old Trafford. We would have toured it for some exorbitant fee, but I didn't feel all that disappointed to not be able to see the field or "the pitch" as they call it.

Across the street from the stadium, we were making our way to the pro shop when we came upon a sign that said "Humped Zebra Crossing." As you can see, Ryan is humping, so that makes me the Zebra. It was funny at the time.

The day before I left, Ryan, myself, and some of his friends went to a pub a few blocks from Ry's place to watch Manchester United play Arsenal. I have to say that cramming into a pub and throwing back pints with the Brits gave me a new appreciation for the game. They take the sport quite seriously and the fresh pints taste that much better when you're enjoying it during an intense match. I was rooting for Arsenal (Manchester United is kind of like a Yankees franchise of European soccer) and I was one of the very few. I would not have openly cheered for Arsenal if we were in a townie pub, but it was mostly people our age, so I banked on the fact that uni students don't typically throw punches over the same things the more hardened supporters would. The pub also had a kitchen, so for dinner, I ordered the proper English supper of fish and chips. It was a fitting end to my trip.

We don't have to go into how I bought some pints to go in celebration of my last night and later ended up shouting about my hate for redcoats to all the Brits in Ryan's dorm...