Coming home to Old Europe

It was 2.5-hour bus ride on the National Express service to get to Cambridge. Mostly I slept, until we entered the little roads winding through the towns. There, the bus rocked so much I couldn’t stay asleep, especially on the roundabouts. Those narrow cow-trail roads are scary in a huge bus! The buildings would go by close enough to touch in some cases; not a good place for pedestrians.

I decided to walk to the Moeller Centre, where the conference would be held. Cambridge has multiple “colleges,” like King’s College and Trinity College, which are analogous to "schools" at US universities-- the school of architecture, the school of law, etc. Anyway, the Moeller Centre is at Churchill College, but I didn’t know how to get there, and initially (in my jet-lag fog) I couldn’t even remember that it was Churchill College I was looking for.

But I happened across the Radisson Hotel, and figured I’d get directions. Except that the first thing I did was get my arm stuck in the revolving door. It was too narrow for me and my pull-along suitcase, and it caught my arm behind me. Now I know that revolving doors aren’t dangerous for arms; it just held me there until the doorman came and rescued me. He said helpfully, “It’s usually easier to go in the standard door with luggage.”

I went to the reception desk to ask directions, and could not for the life of me understand what the guy said to me. He turned out to be French speaking with a British accent, and had merely said, “Good afternoon,” but I swear it was a foreign language. Now I have a bit of sympathy for the French, who always claim that Americans speaking French are incomprehensible. At least he gave me a map.

Then I found the Tourist Information Center, which was closing as I arrived, but I squeaked in, and they actually knew where the Moeller Center was. They said it would be a 20-minute walk, and I set off, although I was getting pretty fatigued. It was worth it, though. I crossed the River Cam, where I watched the punting boats steering tourists along. There was a lovely pair of mated swans with nine cygnets! Very cute. And all around, the buildings expressed that curiously wonderful European quality of mixing medieval stonework, gingerbread, and cobblestone with hip restaurants, art shops, and high-tech stores.

This is what Cambridge, Massachusetts was modeled on! And Cornell (where I went), and many other Eastern Ivy-league and quasi-Ivy-league institutions. And for the most part, the imitation is sound. But the original speaks for itself. Ah, Europe. Land of my forebears (Scottish, British, and some German). Perhaps there is some genetic memory of this part of the world that stirs up within me when I visit. Can it really seem like coming home if the last time my family was here was in the 17th century?

The Moeller Centre is a nice little conference center. It’s out a ways from campus, and has simple, pleasant accommodations, a refreshing change from the sometimes-overdone business hotels I usually stay in. My favorite part was the heated towel rack. No kidding, it was plugged into the wall, and it kept the towels toasty warm!

Just outside my window were the Churchill College playing fields, and I was treated to front-row seats on a cricket game that afternoon. I don’t really understand the rules (I’m not sure how many Britons do either, to be honest), but it’s fun to watch for a while. The batters are the same no matter which team is fielding, and it’s very unclear to me when a good play has been made. Of course, they all had on their “cricket whites”—what else would you wear when playing sports on a green field but white pants and a white cotton sweater? Actually, two guys seemed to be referees, standing behind the wickets and watching whether the batter and pitcher were obeying some unknown rules. These guys had on flip-flops (so they obviously weren’t going to be running) and had substituted white lab coats over shorts for the standard whites. I guess they got a break and were allowed to dress more appropriately for the warm weather.

Then my boss arrived and we walked back into town to find food. The restaurant choices were quite diverse—lots of Italian, French, and Middle Eastern, with a smattering of Spanish, Turkish, Indian, and Asian choices. And of course plenty of places offering good British ale—I hope to get some before departing the Isles! We ended up at an Italian place overlooking the river.

The most amusing sight was the “rising bollards.” What might those be? There is a pedestrian zone in the city center (er, centre), but buses are also allowed to drive there. The bollards are posts in the middle of the street that block vehicles. But they are equipped with some kind of RFID system such that when a bus approaches, and presumably emits the right signal, the bollards lower down into the street so the bus can drive over, and then they come up again. I was thinking that in the US, cars might hit them all the time trying to get through anyway, or some clever hacker would figure out the signal to lower the bollards and allow people to download the application onto their iPods.

Anyway, Cambridge is a jolly-good city. It would be fun to live here for a spell. By the way, I am a verbal chameleon. I predict that by tomorrow, my accent will begin to change, or at least the cadence and word choices that I use will sound more British. The most substantial difference between British and American English is actually the meter—the length of words and pauses, and the syllables with emphasis. It turns out I am quite sensitive to meter, and can intuitively mimic it. This is why people say I have a good accent when I speak foreign languages.