Thrift is the New Terrorism: A Cheapskate’s Guide to Airport Security

Not so long ago on a continent far far away….

The train schedule in Zurich was different from the train schedule in Geneva, so I missed my train and tried to stay in the train station overnight instead of finding a hostel last minute. Four ass-hole harassers later and with the promise of no sleep at all in my near future, my plan got thwarted when they closed the train station in the wee morning hours, so I was stuck with 1) renting an ungodly priced room for half the night assuming I could find one on a holiday weekend, 2) getting on a train (any train) asap or 3) staying on the street. Too expensive, maybe, out of the question, respectively–so, I opted for the latter, and the train ended up making one measly connection in a country that wasn’t on my Eurail pass, so I had to pay out the nose for the penalty fair. 

THEN! When I finally made it to Duesseldorf for the my plane to England, security wouldn’t let me through, because I accidentally left a very dull, kitchen knife in my purse from my packed lunch. I’m sure it didn’t help that it fell through the ripped lining of my purse either… or the fact that the hole was very small, and I had to rip the lining of my purse further to get it out. Something about carrying a concealed weapon?!?!? And sewing it into the lining of a purse!??!! Dunno. ::looks innocent:: So much for saving money by making my food.

History, Artistry… and a Moat!

The city of Gouda (g-ow-duh, not g-oo-dah! And the g is guttural like Hebrew or an ach-laut in German) is so old they don’t have newfangled things like stained glass windows in the church. Instead, they’re burned glass. The St. Janskerk church–where the windows are–was built early in the middle ages. The house I am sitting in currently was built 800 years ago. So was the moat. The eels and the herons that feed on the eels have been in the moat and canals for generations. This neighborhood only got a sewer system within the past 8 years. Gouda charms me.  

Discount! Discount! Git Yer Country Now!

Update: Since writing this post I have learned that Danish masquerades as Flemish quite regularly in the mouths of those not acquainted with the language. In light of this new information, I replaced the word Flemish in the following post with the word Danish. Otherwise, nothing has changed.

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Hallo, Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Nein?

Parler Francais? Non.

Danish? ::head shake::

::manic gesturing::

Well, thanks anyways!

Right now I’m in the grand ol’ land of Benelux.

In Gouda Waits My Guru

This just in… the voice teacher I wanted to study with in the Netherlands agreed to teach me this summer! Yahooooooooo!

Jetzt gehe ich nach Holland.

Details: Every two weeks I’ll take a ten hour overnight train ride to Holland, where I will spend two days in Gouda eating cheese and throwing red wax around like confetti. Oh to dream! Want to join me?

This teacher is intense, and I’m going to get some serious teaching. Here’s what I mean…

She doesn’t give one hour lessons. Instead, she spends a HALF DAY on one lesson, working technique, working repertoire, working Alexander Technique, and then working the voice some more. There are lots of breaks, but I gather that it’s all very body/singing oriented. Then, she wrote that she believes she can (Huzzah!) help me with my middle voice, as long as I don’t try to avoid it anymore.

First item on the agenda… Una Voce Poco Fa. Gulp. And then Oscar, Tytania and the Schumann set.

So. No making nice and no fear of the middle voice. 

I’m told Persephone hails from the Edith Bers and James McDonald school of singing.

You ask, what exactly do they teach?

Balls. To. The. Wall. Singing.  

I’m in for a trip.