"Dr Einley explained that even if he caught him and brought him back to the colony he would immediately head back for the mountains. But why? One of these disoriented or deranged penguins ended up showing up at the New Harbor Diving Camp, already some eighty kilometers from where it should be. The rules for the humans are do not disturb or hold up the penguin. Stand still and let him go on his way.
Here he was, heading off to the interior of the vast continent. With some five thousand kilometers ahead of him, he was headed towards certain death.”
— Encounters at the End of the World (2007), Werner Herzog.
Waters have receded after devastating floods in the Balkans last week, but recovery is still just beginning. And threats remain from disease, newly exposed land mines, and the pure staggering cost of the disaster. In response, artists are coming together on Tumblr to spread awareness and support relief efforts. Go ahead and pick out your favorite poster, share it on your blog, and help get the word out.
I had to evacuate my residency in Serbia two weeks ago because of power outages due to the floods. I was lucky enough to carry all my belongings out in a backpack because that's all I had anyways. A lot of people didn't have that luxury; they lost everything. Please - consider donating. At the very least, spread the word.
I often think of myself as having deep knowledge of a few very specific things, but no broad knowledge of any particular area. It’s my fault, of course, since once I learn about a topic, I really don’t want to revisit it, even though a second story about, say, orchids, would be much faster and easier than my first one, since I would come equipped with all the knowledge I’d acquired first time around. I’m just attracted to the process of learning, and then turning around and teaching, but then I want to start the process again with a new experience of learning. I appreciate expertise, of course, but I really crave that deep dive into utterly new, strange worlds, and then telling about the experience. Then I want to dive again. I sometimes am amused by how I have a pretty thorough understanding of such diverse topics as urban grocery stores, Bulgarian tennis, show dogs, trailer parks, and taxidermy.
I guess I assumed that a graduate program full of artists dedicated to seeing beyond the world’s masks would be better on the race front—that despite all my previous experience with white-majority institutions the workshop would be an exception. What can I tell you? In those days I must have needed that little fantasy, that little hope that somewhere shit might be better.
Like I said: I was young.
I hastily throw gummy bears and yogurt into my shopping bag and lock myself in my apartment with my phrasebook until I can recall every suggested useful phrase.
"Istrian Numbers and Measures," three mini-essays, up on the Zvona i Nari website today!
Yesterday, I took a trip out about 10 miles to Pula, the largest city in Istria. James Joyce worked on Ulysses here, the Romans set up an arena for their gladiators...it's a place with history, and I won't bore you too much with the things that make me excited about it.
On the way to the bus stop, a few seven year olds put me to shame by trying to talk to me in four different languages, then (I'm guessing) made fun of my accent and told me that I'm stupid. Quick and correct assessment, dječaci (kids).
Here are some pictures (even a rare picture of me!)!
The Arena:
Very early on, it started raining. Bitch, rain, you think you can affect my day? I'm from Seattle (or at least that's what I tell people because even though my parents only moved there after I graduated from college it just feels more like home than anywhere else). Given the Seattle thing, it takes a lot for me to break out an umbrella. This was repurposed scarf rain.
I genuinely have no idea what this statue commemorates.
Eventually, the rain got a little too much, so I poked my head into Jupiter, a pizzeria I'd read about, for lunch and a drink. God bless my kindle - I'm working through Laura van den Berg's What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us, and with stops for lunch, coffee, and the bus, I'm halfway through. Also, that's my delicious $1 glass of wine. Also, god bless Croatian wine.
While I was waiting for my food, I actually wrote something toward my novel! I wish that was less surprising than it is. Kids, never listen to anyone who says MFA location doesn't matter. It absolutely does. Go somewhere you can write. For me, that's water and mountains. Istria? Just the ticket.
Here's Matt's response to the passage I sent him. Matt's my first and best reader, and since he'll tell me when I screw up, this is cool. Beware: he has discovered emoticons.
Food arrived. Here's the "small" pizza, of which I could only manage about a third. Weird thing about Croatia is that I'm getting very used to eating one meal a day - lunch is the main meal here, and maybe I'm still jet-lagged, but I just don't feel hungry after eating it.
Have you ever had Istrian pršut? Go. Go get Istrian pršut. It's a whole new world.
After eating lunch, I walked toward Caffe Bar Uliks (Ulysses), housed in a building where James Joyce once taught English. As he was about most places (Ireland, Rome, etc), he was a jerk about Istria too, calling it "a long boring place wedged into the Adriatic, peopled by ignorant Slavs who wear red caps and colossal breeches.” Which is especially obnoxious when you consider this was his view on the way to work (The Arch of the Sergii):
It therefore gives me particular pleasure that Caffe Uliks is a lovely take on an Irish pub, home to an unflattering sculpture of Joyce designed for tourist photos as nonstop 80s music pumps loudly overhead (as it does all over this city, apparently). My favorite was the Ghostbusters theme song back to back with Madonna's "Like a Prayer." Hope you enjoyed your life, Joyce, because you certainly don't control your legacy.
Here's the Croatian equivalent to a latte: a bijela kava - literally, "white coffee."
Matt, because you're being difficult about asking for something in particular while I'm here, I'm bringing you back Caffe Uliks' sugar packets.
After looking around a while longer, I walked down Nikola Tesla ulica, picked up a bus pass (Molim vas, jednu beskontanktnu kartu? - even if that wasn't totally right, it worked and I was proud of myself), and went to the grocery store in the mall. I love groceries here - a pound of kebab meat, a burek (phyllo dough pastry - mine was made with sausage), yogurt, a chocolate-hazelnut chocolate bar, a cherry beer (Mmmmmmm), and a half dozen eggs - still came out to under $10.
Of course, that was when I realized Pula doesn't have maps for their bus stops, was across town from where I started, had an hour until the last bus ran, and was walking out into the rain. I made my best guess based on local supermarkets, walked two miles, and HUZZAH - accidentally made it there half an hour before the bus came back. No covering on the bus stop. Hmm.
Cold, wet, and burdened with the remainder of my pizza, plus new groceries, I got off at my stop in Ližnjan, where I thoroughly impressed myself by actually managing to navigate back to my house in the dark (earlier this week, at about 2PM, I managed to get lost for about three hours trying to get back from the bank). I'm starting to get a feel for the local landmarks, like:
That church
That slightly bigger church
That house with the seven year olds who made fun of me
That place with the scuba gear sign
That place where I stepped on a snail and wanted to cry
That gate that's sometimes open and lets me sneak into the backyard without going around the road
That house with the shed that the dogs stand on so they can patrol the road better
That last landmark is right at the end of my street, and those dogs are scary. The thing about Ližnjan is that it's definitely a dog-friendly town - there are dogs everywhere - but the dogs themselves don't seem to be very friendly. Most of them bark a lot, and I think they're primarily guard dogs, not pets. I tend to round this corner very carefully because these dogs like to get up on top of the shed and that's terrifying.
Of course, burdened by all my bags, that was the day that one of the dogs decides to take a running leap off the shed (7 foot drop easy) at me. I'm about ready to smack it in the face with the bag carrying the bottle when it starts wobbling around on its back legs because, clearly, it's just jumped seven feet to the asphalt, but also because it's trying to wag its tail at me. I stopped for a few minutes to play with him (I miss Nora), and apparently, that's all that I needed to do to win a forever friend. He walked me to my house and I gave him a little bit of pizza to distract him while I got past the gate into the compound that houses my residency. Here's his sad little face at being left alone:
I got inside, drank my cherry beer (excellent choice, me) and mapped my walk - 7 miles altogether. Yeesh.
So, after constructing a remarkable safety apparatus using giant rubber bands, locks, seat dividers, and my own body, I felt comfortable in the security of my luggage to sleep at Stansted airport for a few hours. I bought Wheatabix in the morning (unwittingly, the only sustenance I would have for the next two days) at the weird little airport supermarket, dealt with crazy Ryanair rules (which I kicked ASS at, by the way), got to Pula, and was picked up by Ognjen Rađen, one of the coordinators of the conference. He gave me a tour of the area, and I was, as I tend to be in these sorts of situations, too nervous to ask questions or whip out my camera to take pictures.
Of course, as soon as he let me into the house and left me to settle in, I went hog wild. This place is beautiful. I cannot even begin to describe in words, mostly just noises, but here's what I've got on paper: two bedroom, one and a half bathroom upstairs, porches off the front and back doors, a balcony off my bedroom, which as well as my shower, has a view of the sea. Downstairs I have a kitchen and an entire library, plus a writing desk and a couch.
No joke, I want to live here forever. It might be the perfect place. Here are some pictures!
I am grateful for the opportunities I've been given here, that I was lucky enough to have been given this once in a lifetime experience.
I am grateful for blue skies.
I am grateful for the clerk at the market who knows I don't speak Croatian (Ne govorim hvratski.), who cobbles together language with me, pieces of Italian and Spanish and Russian and Croatian and English to help build the sentence: "I would like olive oil, please?"
I am grateful for the cook at the neighborhood restaurant who came out of the kitchen to tell me what produce was fresh, who cooked me an incredible meal I won't forget.
I am grateful to the men at the next table over who warmed my heart by loving the toddler stumbling around the patio so much, it took me an hour to figure out which one was her actual dad.
I am grateful for the English-speaking waiter at the restaurant who told me that if I have any questions about the area, I can come by any time and ask him.
I am grateful for the beautiful blue door to my house.
I am grateful for my 5 AM love letters, the first things I see in the morning.
I am grateful for rocky beaches and sandy shores.
I am grateful for hills and Roman roads.
I am grateful that my smile is real again, for the first time in a long while.
I am grateful for the new wrinkles around my eyes, that my outsides look closer to my insides.
And I am grateful, after years of writing in a place where I felt nothing, that today is the first time in a long while that even though the words weren't coming easily, I didn't want to stop.
Matt and I drove to Atlanta the day before my flight because I'm a notoriously anxious traveler. I tried not to cry; he told me it was okay to cry. One of us succeeded in our goal; the other didn't. I'll let you guess who was who.
Here's Nora, who, by the next morning, knew what was going on:
In preparation for my connecting flight on Ryanair, which has crazy restrictive rules on flight behavior (luggage weight, visa checks, big fines, etc), I had to fit two months of life into a 22 pound bag. Here's a picture of my boot next to my bag for reference:
I do have incredible flight luck, I won't lie. On my overnight transatlantic flight, I had an empty seat next to me. I actually managed to sleep on a flight. It was a miracle. But only after I watched the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special, because I was going to London, after all.
I spent a day in London. I had two goals: go to the British Museum and have Moroccan food for dinner. As it turns out, both goals were...sort of disappointing. The British Museum: a big building full of pillaged cultural icons, now colonial memorabilia. Like, for one, the Rosetta Stone:
With the Moroccan adventure, I had to go to two different restaurants across the city to get the chicken bastilla I'd been hoping for, but when I got it, it was more like...a Moroccan toaster strudel than anything else. Here was my little feast for myself (for reference, the cup in the middle is the size of a shot glass):
Then, it was off to the second airport! I fell asleep on the shuttle, then slept, on and off, (weaved? woven?) woved into seat dividers, in the airport's waiting area. London Stansted is apparently known as "Camp Stansted," since so many people sleep there in preparation for early morning budget airline flights. I was just too cheap to spring for a hotel room.
"While we played Go Fish on the back patio, I asked if angels had to share their halos or their harps or their sandals or whatever in heaven. It made sense, since they said in Sunday school that sharing was godly. And the halos looked so expensive. My Bible said there were thousands and thousands of angels, eleven angels to every newborn child. With all those angels, there was no way everyone was allowed a complete set all the time.
He looked at me like I’d gone crazy and asked if I had any threes."
I used to be a good blogger. When I was in college, I blogged constantly. Since then, I've sort of fallen off the map. Focuses changed (as they do post-college), and yet - here I am again. Back at the beginning. But not quite.
I leave for Europe in just barely over a week. I mostly feel like this:
It probably doesn't help that I was hit by a car while crossing the sidewalk yesterday. Here's a dramatic reenactment of what happened, starring something I found on Google:
(more under the break)
So before you ask, no, my house if not a particularly peaceful place to live. Here's a scientific expression of my emotions:
It doesn't help that I'm one of the world's most anxious travelers. Here's one of my packing lists:
In my own defense, I am going to be traveling through sevev zn countries in three months, and as any lactose intolerant person could tell you, an emergency stash of Lactaid IS one of the most important tools in your arsenal. Still, my novel outlines for the two projects I'm juggling right now probably qualify as overkill (if you're wondering what those titles are, they're "The Magician Novel" and "The Death of Morrissey"):
Also, keep in mind that my first stop is in Croatia, so my anxiety is absurd since I have eight supermarkets within about 10 miles of me. Better safe than sorry? No, just ridiculous.
Anyways, a few people have asked me where I'll be chronicling my trip. The easiest answer is my blog. And (because this is the 21st century), Twitter (find me at @cemiggy). I'll be posting pictures of my anxiety plans - do you need to know every olive oil distributor in Istria? grocery store etiquette? Pula's history? I've got you covered. I'm hoping to post novel updates as I go, but I'm betting we're going to end up in pretty-pictures-with-Croatian-wineries territory after a while. I also need to update my publication info over here, so you can expect more movement on this Tumblr than it's seen in a while.
I have no idea how to end this blog post. Stay tuned?
"They invented watches for us, the boys they sent to die. Belted green-glowing clocks around our wrists, light enough to tell the time and dark enough to keep us hidden in the mired trenches and the green-glowing pools we washed in when our heads and skins had turned to mud."
- "The Radium Girl's Undark," Ninth Letter
My new story in Ninth Letter features a black and white Barrymore, X-ray animation, and a WWI veteran. Please enjoy!
It was only after dinner that Howard's wife began to unravel. She'd made a fine dinner beforehand: roast beef, the center the most perfect pink, scalloped potatoes, fresh summer greens, and martinis, the gin so well-chilled by the metal shaker that her hands quaked for a half hour. And for dessert, a lemon bundt cake just big enough for the pair of them, ice frosting glistening on top.
"If You Want To Destroy My Sweater" Menacing Hedge
"Finally. She’d anticipated it, felt it coming for weeks, and it hurt all the same. She pulled her knees in toward her chest and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the sheets. A heaving, deep-down whimpering convulsed somewhere vocal cords didn’t touch. Her stomach, or her upper intestine maybe. This wasn’t a grief she wanted shared with anyone, but she didn’t have anywhere to go. She wanted to stop but couldn’t. Sam put his hand on her back and rubbed small circles and that made everything worse."
—from caitlinmcguire's "Girl Heads"
(photo credit: 'Catherine Leaning on a Wall' by Lady Edna Clarke Hall)
