Gulliver's Travels

Traveling through spaces

Manchester Airport at 4 am looked just like a tunnel in the space in Strar Trek. It was raining. The lighting and transparent tubes ushered travelers to a point of trasmission through which every passenger would be led to another space and time. My body seemed to be enabled to glow under the surrealistic neon, resumming an alian identity.

Homecoming is, more than any other type of travels, a journey through temporal and physical spaces.

Sun-Moon Lake

It's a mixture of feelings to be at home after such a lapse of time of absence.
Is it really a holiday? Sometimes not quite.

The last time that I went to London was more than half a year ago. King's X station is now quite different from my impression, it changes a bit, in a good way. There has been some construction work going on outside King's X and St Pancras for a long while ever since this city left trace in my memory. Some work still remains, but a new look of this area is only waiting for a final touch, I hope.

Most scaffolds and temperary fences have been removed. Construction of glass facades for tube stations in King's X and St. Pancras have been completed. Their modern designs fittingly provide the old buildings a nice and quiet company. St Pancras station is more visible to the world now. The color of bricks and the grey tone of the sky are so mingled that they seem to generate an elegant color of greyish blue.

I am looking forward to seeing it next time!

A passage from Madame Bovary

I encountered this passage in an earlier draft of Flaubert's Madame Bovary. The imagistic expression of voracious sorrow and devouring memory is enchanting. The English translation is by Paul de Man.


'She clung to this memory; it was the center of her lassitude, all her thoughts converged upon it and nourished it. It was the intimate creation of her idleness. In her life, abandoned, cold, naked and monotonous, it stood alone like a fire of dead twigs left in the middle of the Russian Steppes by departing travelers. She threw herself upon the remembered image, crushed herself against it, joyously, jealously, and with a trembling hand stirred up the embers which were about to go out. To make it burn brighter and flame higher, that she might re-light her sadness by this love-flame which was flickering in the night, she looked around her for things with which to feed it; the most insignificant details of the past or the future, reminiscences of simple words, whims, comparisons, dislikes, all these she threw in and warmed herself before this hearth with the full length of her soul.

For a long time, she watched over this fire to keep it going. Bending over it she nourished the flame. But the flame no longer burned so brightly, perhaps because her provision of fuel was exhausted, or else she had smothered it by piling her fuel on too high. Little by little, through absence, her love too went out, and even her reveries diminished in routine. From this hearth, there now came more smoke than flame, more despair than desire, and the purple light which had reddened her pale sky grew lesser by degrees. The pricks of her daily existence, which fell on her like sharp hailstones, disappeared more slowly. She mistook her hatred for Charles for a longing for Leon, the searing smart of hate for the warmth of love; but, while her torment increased and its cause receded, her hope departed, blowing out the cold embers of her consumed passion. Then she remained alone, and all was total night, an immense wasteland.' (273, Madame Bovary, Norton Critical Edition)

Vincent Van Gogh, 'The Starry Night'


Starry Starry Night

I was walking home on this starry starry night,
remembering a passage that a dear friend wrote for me a couple of months ago
when everything was in a mass and I quite forgot how I would like the course of life to go.

That was a beautiful passage, beautifully written.

I am remembering that passage, perhaps, because the same thought that abused me at the time is now recalled.
But this time, with a sober mind.

'Nothing lasts forever'--a notion that is perhaps unkind,
But so will trouble and sorrow be untied.

To a friend.

The Lake District, 17-19 September 2006: Levens Hall

It's been a while after my trip to the Lake District. Endless travelogues, it seems.
When I was there, it was the end of the summer, and it's autum now (sigh... this lament is a sign of senility.)

Yes, autumn has been around for a while. These days whenever I have a chance to step on the gorgeous orange carpet--a seasonal mantle of the earth woven from golden leaves--the crackling under my feet is very comforting, assuring, even though I also bear in mind a melancholic notion that this path is leading the year to an end, and the cycle of nature to winter.

Around this same time two years ago, when waiting for bus in front of Heslington Hall, I chanced to "hear" a squirrel crossing a field covered with fallen leaves. It made me giggle. : )
A lady sitting on the same bench smiled and said, 'isn't that lovely! It's my favorite time of the year!'

This year the crispy sound constantly recalls to me rustling of green leaves in Levens Hall this summer.

Levens Hall is a 19th-century house especially known for its magnificent gardening.

I only visited the garden.
It was a very comfortable and peaceful experience. Astounding experience too! It must have taken incredible efforts to maintain this huge garden since two centuries ago.

One essential design of the garden contains some spaces that are walled by well-trimmed bushes. It almost looks like a labyrinth.

Standing between the walls of bushes was an intimidating audio experience to me.
I heard nothing but the rustling of leaves.
The sound was so close to the ear that it silenced me.
The rustling was so close and so intense that I was getting nervous.
The sound was so close, so intense, and so unfamiliar that I was led to suspect if there were creatures lying in ambush.
The sound was curiously inviting, I was almost tempted to sneak into the narrow path.
But the sound was also disquieting, so monotonously powerful and overpowering.
I hesitated and, took another route.

I know, it's nothing but wind rustling through leaves as if glasses are chattering.

'Then you are very patient.'

It is my conversation with a worldly-famous and well-respected scholar (abbreviated as S) in a conference dinner,

*******************************
S: When I was in the E dept. in H Univ., H the postcolonialist was invited to take a position there. The faculty in the department was wondering why he was invited since he hadn't had a single book published. You know, in order to be in H Univ. you have to publish at least 6 books. Some faculty answered, 'but he had been a main contributor to this field of study'. Some others confronted the defendants instead, 'but no one understands what he's talking about'.

(the conversation was carried on with the discussion of applications of theories and close reading in literary studies.)

I: H's writing is difficult, but the style is also considered to be a means to assert his identity and idea as a postcolonialist.

S: Have you ever read his work?

I: Yes, I did.

S: Did you understand what he was talking about?

I: yes, but it took some time.

S: Then you are very patient.
************************************

I don't remember whether I was patient or not when I read his work years ago. My english comprehension ability was rather poor at that time, I remember. But I believed, and still do, as long as I tried and as long as I could follow the class instructor's guidance, I would get there sometime.
Even until today, I don't know if I really fully understand every single bit of his thought, but at least I always remind myself to be open-minded and humble whenever I feel upset and impatient with some difficult works like H's.
I always try to keep in mind that before I understand anything, I shouldn't criticize.

Before this conversation, I thought, and still believe so, patience is one of the most important virtues of researchers.
This part of conversation somehow disillusioned me.

Why cannot we be patient?
What are we busy about so that we do not have time to understand other people's thought?
It's this being impatient that really irritates me.

What does patience have anything to do with one's scholarship? It does, and it matters a lot.
Everything should be considered within history and as a bit of history, a part of the history of literature, the literary history.
Why can people easily make value judgement prioritizing one approach over another?
In the spectrum of literary history, these 'notorious' theories did re-enactivate the literary studies once and still do in one way or another, it would be very narrow-minded of anyone to see them as old-fashioned monsters.
They are also a part of the entire culture, which have more or less contributed to what we know, to what we learn, to what our being is, to what we are enabled to know, and to what we can move on with.

Patience is important, for academics in particular.
For me, it's an important virtue that enables the mechanism of acadmia to operate along an ethical path.
It's the starting point of any possible mutual respect.

Or is it 'only' a matter of patience? I hope it is. At least it's simple and seems to be possible to deal with.
But perhaps, or in fact there is, an enormous ideology behind this I-don't-have-time-for-something in context.

Ah! Orange Autumn!

I really love the colors of autumn and the sky of this orange season.

The Lake District, 17-19 Spetember 2006: Kendal Castle

When I saw the castle through the arch from this side of the river, I didn't know that the ruin on the hill top would become one of the most memorable places on my tourist diary. It is Kendal Castle.
The castle was not on my original itinery as I reckoned it would be too far away to reach. It wasn't on my guidbook either. When I strolled across the park, an old lady persuaded me to take a 20-min walk to take a look. 'It is very worthwhile,' she recommended.

So I marched on.



I crossed river Kent and walked into a quiet residential area, seeing the castle ahead of me. The lane was pretty empty then.
I was worried about being a loner in the peaceful quietness and about getting lost, but somehow the steady presence of that target assured me. It never abandoned me every time when I looked up to search for direction.
Its enormous omnipresence continued calling me to move on.




Here I saw the entrance.
Some real hiking was going to take place.








Walking up to the hill was not difficult at all, but the feeling of loneliness was a bit worrying. How long will it take? Can I make it? Shall I just head back? What if I get lost?
But again the castle stood there with ease. I was enchanted.


A dog just finished his daily walk and was walking down the hill. It smartly saw through my nervousness and inexperience on this empty and boundless ground.

My heart was drumming fast. I was nervously excited. I seemed to expect a totally new vision of the world. And I was right! After the last turn of the path, the ancient ruin stood there against the backdrop of the sky.
No strident self-assertion but an air of elegant solemnity.



Kendal Castle is located, perhaps, on the highest point in the region. It overlooks the entire town. Nothing can block the sight of this world. My visual scope of the universe was enlarged and extended as if I could easily reach the seam where the shining green and bright blue met.



The space is free of boundaries.
The experience is empowering: the world seems to be within one casual glance.
But the experience is also belittling: the world is always bigger than it is perceived.






Here I listened to the complete quietness: my own breaths, my steps on the meadow, wind flirting through cracks on castle walls, rustle of tree leaves.
The comtemplative quietude is the sound of Nature.

Here I stood in repose, feeling empowered and humble.

The Lake District, 17-19 September 2006: My collection of pigs

Part of my research work happened to be about sows, and it opened up my intuition for this interesting creature.

Does Cumbria have any particular connection with the industry of pigs?

I kept seeing images of this meaty animal during my entire journey. Pigs are indispensable in the economic life in the Lake District, I suppose. Piglets are exchanged for valuable goods. Pigs' hair is a good material for brushes. I even saw gargoyles of pigs, whose representations are rare I think. In Beatrice Potter's imaginary world, they are gentlemen from the countryside.

I am now quite intrigued by this search for pigs in the UK, any popular pig icons in the country? (I don't like the pigs in George Orwell's Animal Farm though).

Home

We all love this new place to stay for the next year.
Dear housemates, W, K, and Y offered warm help to accommodate us in the house! Your kindness and precious care make the house such a nice home!

I really felt sorry that my helpers had to MOVE SO MANY of my stuffs (you can hardly imagine the amount). I never know (in fact I knew already, I just didn't learn the lesson) that a single woman's household could be so HUGE. The clean lady in Wentworth was very shocked to see my boxes and bags piled up in the corridor waiting to be removed, and so were other residents...
Big thanks to my dear helpful moving hands, TY, AD, KJ, YS, K, WY and C+Y. Without them, I couldn't have done it efficiently and smoothly in 2 hours.

September sends away bright summer and ushers in poetic autumn.
It is a peculiar month especially on university calendar. A mixture of feelings--sadness, excitement, uncertainty--pervades. Everybody is driven to move onward along the course of life. Everything is compelled to change. Some people depart for new destinations, but new people arrive to begin a new year. It takes time for stayers to bridge the emotional gap between memory of the past year and imagination of the next.

"Goodbye" is no more simple-minded.

What is next year like?

Packing

We always have more than we need.

A Riddle

The other day C-chan asked me a riddle. Oh! I am very bad at riddles...so I asked my flatmate for a thought. On the next day, he said it had made him sleepless... but still he didn't have any idea. Could someone very kind and intelligent tell me the answer? : )

The riddle is,
When asked this riddle, 80% of kindergarten kids got the answer,
compared to 17% of Stanford University seniors.
What is greater than God, More evil than the devil, The poor have
it, The rich need it, And if you eat it, you'll die?

Open Air Cinema: "Singing in the Rain"

On Thursday night, York Minster appeared like a giant with a big square belly against the dark sky (giant tele-tubby again?? Sorry for my weird obsession with that children's TV program). Owing to an on-going repairment of the stained glass in the Lady chapel, the magnificence of this side of the Minster has been hidden behind layers of scaffolds. It's been a pain for tourists who have traveled such a long way to witness this masterpiece of cathedral architecture.


However, it turned out to be an ideal screen for Open Air Cinema.
It showed "Singing in the Rain" before the audience submerged in the darkeness.
"Singing in the Rain" is a musical made in 1952 in Hollywood. It is about 3 actors who struggle to change their career from silent movie to sound movie. A typical romance of Hollywood.


The theme song, "Singing in the Rain" is not unfamiliar. I suppose it is one of the best-known songs that shape romantic impression of rainy days. Such a joyful oldie.


It is very chilly now in the evening. Summer is departing, and Autumn is sneaking in.

Travelogue V: Chicago, 7-11 May, 2006

A woman in meditation, I think, in the garden of Frank Lloyd Wright's home and studio, Oak Park, Chicago.

Dr. O's Birthday Party

Our dear friend O. just had his birthday party last Saturday. It was a great occasion in O's fashion: great salsa dance, good food, relaxing music, and good company.

This birthday doctor is a very empathic, optimistic, and caring friend, and an excellent cook too! He made a birthday cake for my first birthday party in 2005 in York and initiated my interest in baking.
He is always smiling, very bright and encouraging smile!

I had a chat with his colleagues from his department and reached a conclusion that "everybody knows O. and everybody loves him!"

Carnations

This carnation is in its stunning blossom.

Mum was talking about removing some old books from the house.
I remember there are boxes and boxes of books of folklore and fairy-tale that I used to read over and over again in my youth.
One of the folktales is about the origin of carnations.

Long time ago (what a fairytale opening!), in the heavens lived a goddess and a lot of fairy girls.
It happened in a year that the fairy girls agreed that each of them would create a new species of flower to be dedicated to the goddess on her birthday.

All the fairies, young and mature, spent loads of time preparing their floral presents, except for one little fairy girl. She was probably only 10 years old and was still too naughty to remember important things. She totally forgot this mission and did not remember it until the last minute. Having been having fun in the wild for the entire day, she did not have any material available to her at the moment. She was crying over her carelessness and worried what she could do instead. She was hopeless, everyone thought so.

Crying hard, she used her dirty skirt to wipe tears from her face.
Suddenly, the torn edges of the skirt gave her an inspiration.
She smiled and had an idea about the present.

She made a flower out of the ragged skirt.
It was a brilliant idea!

This new flower is carnation, from a naughty girl's skirt.

どうも　ありがとうね、浩司さん！
私わ　この　えわがきが　好きです。

York Mystery Plays, 16th of July 2006 (Sun) III: Pentecost

In the end of the play, the characters let go of the balloons with which their aspirations went upwards.
With the balloons rising high, every audience was watching the blue dots until they disappeared into the sky.
It was a spirit-up-lifting scene that spoke to a variety of sentiments in a universal language of image.

We don't need to hold our hope object tight.
Loose our hold, look to it, an entire picture of it will come to mind,
And we will be able to find a path right.

Balloon is a cliched symbol of hope, but sometimes the simpler a symbol is, a more effective reminder it is.



It was toward the evening when "Pentecost", one of the mystery plays, was presented. These blue bubbles were flying against the natural backdrop coloured by sunset blue. In the performance, this scene was used to represent the ascension of the disciples.

This play used to be performed by the trade of potters in the Middle Ages. This time it was brought forth by Pocklington School, a boarding and day public school in the north of England. These teenage actors dressed up like potters and they even composed a dance of the potters. The beautiful smiles and fearless innocence of these youthful performers have best annotated the idea of faith that is central to the original play, however it is interpreted within or without the religious context.

It used to be a roll of toilet paper.

Travelogue IV: Chicago, 7-11 May, 2006: Information Feeders

This is one of the amusing objects that I found in the cityscape in Chicago: magazine and newspaper feeders. These colorful plastic boxes always stand quitely one next to another on sidewalks ready to feed busy city passengers with loads of information. But it's not a charity work unfortunately, you have to pay their hardword for sure!

A variety of "useful" information is provided, including daily newspaper, gossip news and some "small aids" for the industry of human desire.

Usually there are 4 or 5 feeders in a group, but this "troupe" that was spotted in Oak Park, a suburban area of Chicago, is unbelievably and amusingly long. They are not pretty, but they are very loyal companions to the city life in Chicago (I am not sure if other US cities also have them).

They look somehow similar to still-standing teletubbies.

Source of image

Ducks, by Willem Maris, c. 1880, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

I have been complaining to some friends about the cold weather these days in York, even though some of the entries on this blog last month are about my "serious concerns" about the global "warming" issue.

I am just self-contradictory, I know.

This is typical British summer, some friends reminded me, chilly, rainy, harsh, and windy.
No, I defied this explanation, at least last year wasn't like this, I tried to argue, it was always sunny as far as I can remember.

But I don't have a right position to argue. It's only my second summer here in Britain.

There must be something wrong with my memory. The memory.

I should be very pleased about the fact that I only remember sunny days.
Bravo! the memory.

Earlier this month when it was still sunny and warm, all kinds of fowls were easily seen everywhere on campus. Goslings, cygnets, ducklings were busy exploring the world in the sun with excitement. These baby creatures have composed the most favorite touristy sight on the university campus, I suppose. These birds are indispensable to everyone's memory of York.

In addition to these innocent newborn, adult ducks' quack-quack is also unforgettable. (You can vaguely hear that in the background in the video clip too.)
I don't particularly like the sound, but it is indeed very impressive.

It is naughty, funny, scornful, straightforward, sophisticated, and scary, at least to me.

During a Latin class in the early spring of 2005, as I remember, we were reviewing some Latin conjugation and declension. While a coursemate was struggling to chant a string of suffixes, "laudo, laudas, laudat, lauda??, ...,.., mm...", a duck was quacking crazily non-stop outside the classroom.

As everyone was very nervous during the entire drill, the classroom was extremely quiet except the broken chant that the nervous boy tried to sing along.

The quacking was very sharp.

And the quack seemed never to stop.

At that tense moment, I couldn't help but let out a laugh.
The classroom was even more quiet.

It was very embarrassing as I wasn't at all laughing at the poor boy. I didn't mean it.
It's the crazy quack-quack.

It recalled to my mind the hysterical laughter of Stephen Chow, whose recent film, "Kung Fu Hustle", just swept the world. The quack was especially like the arrogant and high-pitch sound which Chow makes to scorn his opponents in his films.
I must have had imagined Chow's merciless face on that innocent(?) duck before that unforgiveable burst.

The quack sound is never kind.
Funny, but never kind, especailly in chilly days.

A Roll of Toilet Paper

Peak District, UK, July 2006
Photo from BBC, 29/Jul/2006

It's a piece of reservoir dried out by the high temperature across the world this summer.

What have we lost because of our carelessness...

The Bombing in Lebanon











C, a friend of mine and of most postgraduates in York, is trapped in Lebanon now. I was so shocked when Sue told me the horrible news. Although a friend confirmed that she is safe now but I cannot stop feeling worried for her.

I know there is a long history of conflict between Muslim and Jewish communities in the Middle East and indeed in the whole world. The hatred and opposition is too complex to disentangle, I think. But my problem is I really don't understand why people always easily forsake peace and conveniently justify their resort to violence. The war has been making both communities suffer, but still military advancement is always given the priority.

I cannot make any judgment between the two countries as the political situation in that region of the world is really not my specialty. At this moment, I am only selfishly worried about the safety of C and her family. To be honest it's a bit abstract for me to imagine the peoples suffering in the war, while it's more realistic for me to only think about C. Her graceful dancing figure in her birthday party last year kept coming back to my mind throughout the day. I wish they are safe and calm.
My wish is selfish, but isn't "selfishness" a sufficient reminder? If everybody can "selfishly" think about their friends and family and "selfishly" want their friends and family to be happy and safe, he will learn to avoid getting involved in the vicious circle of violence. The economy of hatred will eventually crash everyone within it, it is the only way how violence works. No one can take advantage of violence.

"The Heart of Voh, New Caledonia, France" by Yann Arthus-Bertrand

The storm-shower yesterday evening washed away the dull fatigue that was hatched in this suffocating humidity.
The thunder, the lightning, the smell of rain, the smell of earth in the rain, the sound of rain drops, the gleeful people walking in the rain, the splendid sunset after the rain were refreshing.

During the pouring rain, I kept remembering the last canto, "V. What the Thunder Said", of T. S. Eliot's The Wasteland. The canto begins with a drought and a thirst for water. And finally,

In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA

(ll. 393-400)

Eliot is talking about his concerns about the culture in the early twentieth century to which the rain symbolically offers a relief.
I was remembering the poem on a literal level, however, in the context of the global warming mentioned in the previous entry. What did the thunder say?

Andy suggested we visit Yann Arthus-Bertrand's photography works. I was very very much impressed. It's worthwhile to take a look at his works to appreciate the world that nourishes us.

Travelogue III: Chicago, 7-11, May, 2006: Shedd Aquarium

The visit to Shedd Aquarium during the stay in Chicago is memorable.
These water creatures are amazing and their beautiful presences make everyone excited.

We encountered many school kids on school excursions there. Despite the fact that the kids were quite noisy, they were such a great audience of these elegant animals. They were very generous to shout out loud their amazement and joy for these treasures of the world.


Nature always brings to human the best comfort and the most blissful happiness. (I still remember the sea otters' naughty smiles, the dolphins' crescent-shaped bodies, and the toddling penguins. See my album 2)

Nature never disappoints us when we need its solace, and it's very important for us to cherish natural resources and to protect the natural environment, especially in this almost unbearable hot summer. If there's antyhing to be responsible for this drastic change of weather, we can never excuse ourselves.

York Mystery Plays, 16th of July 2006 (Sun) II: Cheerful Medieval Music!

The 12 plays of the York cycle were presented on 12 different wagons according to the medieval tradition. There were 4 spots in York to view the pageantry, and every wagon was drawn from one spot to another to give performance. The performers and the wagons paraded the streets between spots following cheerful medieval music. Sometimes when the current play in the spot was about to conclude, the music was also approching from the street announcing the next play's arrival. The mobility of these shows and the trans-spatial melody brought the whole city together. The fact that the pageantry consolidated the communal relationship is in fact more important than its original religious agenda, both in the Middle Ages and the modern times, I believe.

Every pageant entered and exited the spots with music. The musical troops were amazing actors too, they were properly dressed up to fit the medieval theme! The music was simple and clear enough to lighten the hearts loaded with too much solar energy on that afternoon.

Have a go at the music.

York Mystery Plays, 9th and 16th of July 2006 (Sun) I:
Even angels needed ice cream!!

The quadrennial York Mystery Plays in York by the Guilds of York was a very impressive production. It's my first and perhaps the last chance to attend this event. I will definitely miss it if I cannot make it again in 2010!

Good weather has been "haunting" York for a week, and last Sunday was absolutely sunny without a trace of cloud!! Sitting in the sun (almost a mission unimaginable for me if it had been two years ago...) in the Museum gardens, I was watching 12 mystery plays on wagons with a lot of enthusiastic audience.

It's too warm that every single performers was sweating non-stop, especially in their medieval costumes. They had my sympathy.

The temperature is not a problem to me at all, it's the strong sunbeam...
Today I am serious considering walking out with my umbrella.

D came back to York for her graduation ceremony!
We haven't seen her almost for half a year. She's still such a sweet, adventurous, friendly and smiley and energetic.
The theme for last night's dinner is Summer's Jewelries: colourful food, colourful life, and colourful mates! Summer beach, sunshine, and greens all featured in the food.

Congratulations!

I am very proud of K, who just passed his viva yesterday!
You are now Dr. S!
Your hard work paid off and you can move onto another stage of life.

Some other friends also received their PhD degree this year.
Congratulations to A and O!

Congratulations to the graduates

Most of my students graduated from the university this and last year. The class that I tutored just completed their undergraduate education a few days ago. I was sorry that I couldn't make it to this important rite of passage for them, both times.

I have been viewing their pictures and feeling their happiness these days.

I hope I was helpful to them in the year when I worked closely with them. Inexperienced and reserved as I was, I made mistakes and failed to offer good advises.
They gave me good lessons, however, lessons on life and attitude.
They were such a variety of individuals, of whom each had a different personality and challenged the bookish me in a different way.

Thanks to them, dear graduates.

Sushi

L, a little sister in my flat, knocked on my door tonight and gave me a lot of sushi!
It was very nice indeed, an innovative blend of a variety of ingredients, and a good taste even without sauce!
Cute shapes too! They were just like small, smiling, happy faces.

Thank you, L and F!
(Sorry that I did not come to the kitchen to express my gratitude properly, as I was already in my night gown even though it was still early...)

L, you should be more proud of your own cooking!
I do not even know how to make sushi! You are brilliant!

I believe you have found the best seasoning in the world! ; )

How many steps will it take?








In order to recycle some numerical tags, I made a decorative work on the board in my room.

Travelogue II: Chicago, 7-11, May, 2006: McDonald's

A. and I traveled together in Chicago. It's the first visit to this city for both of us. The city-scape of Chicago did not attract me at first sight because it appeared to me to be a world of machinery giants, while York, where I have got used to, was such a cozy town of miniature. Although this city of skyscrapers is really not my cup of tea, my 4-day stay did allow me to appreciate it, an extensively developed space that parades a very metallic and edged beauty of modernity. An intimidating friendliness, I think.

Modern theorists have commented that some international chain-stores successfully create images of a universal nostalgia for every global citizen. That is, whenever and wherever you travel, no matter how exotic the place is, once you see the signboard of, for instance, McDonald's, Starbucks, etc. (sorry that my examples are extremely limited, please help me with the list if you come up with any idea), your feeling of estrangement and fatigue as a traveler (if there is any) will be soothed and eased.
For a list of nostalgic objects like this, McDonald's can hardly be forgotten.

If my suggestion is valid, as an object of universal nostalgia, McDonald's should have worked hard to keep its appearance no matter where it locates. However, A. and I found interesting how McDonald's has managed to accommodate itself in Chicago by disguising its trademark: a golden arch against red background. There was a green-yellow McDonald, organic burgers perhaps?! A golden royal McDonald's; and a McDonald's imitating the famous signboard of the Chicago Theatre. There could be a complex cultural discourse behind these changes. But somehow this effort of McDonald's reminds me of a trend in the market of stuffed toys.

It can be a Winnie the Pooh in the outfit of a black cat. Or


a Hello Kitty pretending to be a rabbit, or


Kitty as a tiger (cat and tiger are not that different though...), and


Winnie is disguised as a Paddington Bear! :-O


Yes, I know my imagination has gone too far apparently. But I do feel a very interesting connection between the two incidents. The disguise, or camouflage, might have been created only for fun, but it also satisfies a variety of exotic imaginations of their prospective patrons.

Maybe it's time to stop before I ruin this interesting observation...