What I learned today in the British Museum.
After cooking myself a full English breakfast (I had some sausages to finish) at noon I walked to the BM together with my flat- and country mate P. and there I spent a nice and educational non-Uni-related day learning the following:

1. Britain in the 4th Century AD was attacked from the east by the Angles and Saxons and from the north by the Picts (from Scotland). Hence Britain = England. (hè???)
2. Mayan art is still the most fantastic in the world and goes BEEEEPPP when approached too close.
3. When the Ancients ship-buried their king at Sutton Hoo, the ship apparently crash-landed in the hole they had dug for it resulting in an awkwardly positioned ship and the loss of the regal corps. (that last bit may actually be my own imagination, but it is true a skeleton was never found)
   
4. The British Museum is much like the 'Shades'-area in Ankh-Morpork: streets have a will on their own and can decide to switch left and right, resulting in severe disorientation.
5. Celtic jewelry seems a bit heavy, occasionally. I wonder whether they gave those massive copper bracelets to their prisoners to prevent them from doing any harm.
6. Evil mother-in-laws are not limited to the western imagination: they also feature on Haida 'totem'-poles. And so do top-hatted chiefs.
   

And after I returned to the safety of my home I learned some more things:

1. Hotplates can be very hot.
2. Fingers placed on a very hot hotplate sizzle like sausages in a pan.
3. Miracle cures exist and derive from France.
   

Finally a random London link: Derelict London a nasty looking site but with pictures of many places I definitely want to visit now.

Today I read the following words etched into my table during a lecture: "Popol Vuh" and that really made my day. This was extremely odd though; apparently some student knew about this text and found its name worthy of communicating with his fellow students.

But that aside: what you all (and I mean you, the proverbial halve paardekop) are waiting for, is obviouslyy, the revelation of a new purpose for this blog that I promissed last wednesday! It has transpired I am one of the few who actually took the mission seriously (but then I found the idea of relieving my conscience from feelings of "I really should write X an e-mail / old-fashionned letter" very atttractive as well) as I was one out of two admitting to having started a diary - out of thirty. It appears that what we need to learn is to reflect on our days, and (obviously) train ourselves in the arcane art of the Anthropologist's Eye which "makes the strange familiar and the familiar strange." Hmm, I wonder whether I'll not be too lazy for this (see lack of posts recently), only time can tell, I guess.

(this bit below you can skip if you want, it's long and boring info on what I heard and did last wednesday)
I did eventually do some "Participant" Observation, inspired by the lecture earlier that day, during the compulsory weekly Research Seminar. This compulsion is actually not that bad as it is a great way to bring all post-graduates together, and afterwards we all get to go to the UCL Senior Common Room, which is pretty nice (think: slightly up-dated English Social Club), as you mere mortal student can only enter this exclusive place when accompanied by a teacher. Class distinction must indeed be alive and well in England mutters the one who is looking to be confirmed in stereotypes to himself, but then: this is no worse then a Lerarenkamer, except maybe a bit fancy and UCL is a pretty big university. Hmm, all this making strange familiar, all this scientifically correct kills my prose .. Anyway, last seminar had an interesting figure to speech, never mind the topic, which was interesting - although open to criticism (WHY COMPARE THESE TWO SOCIETIES? WHY?!?) - our researcher had a rather severe speech deficiency, allthough no-one seemed to notice (politeness, it seems, I need to learn something still), resulting in a mix-up of, no less than the following letters: v w l and r . Hence 'wife' and 'rife' for life. Needless to say it was somewhat hard to understand, so one's mind wanders resulting in a nice drawing of a teacher with, well, something in his mouth .. (that's the participant observation bit) .. From what I undestood, though, the man had done his research among a cult in Trinidad who wanted to return to a pre-European African life-style and who therefore rejected, amongst others, money and clothes. How the man must have done his work for Science I do not want to envision, esp. given his, erm, slight, erm, corpulence.. This feeling does bring up some good questions on our ideas on nudity, though, but these seems perfunctory ('plichtmatig' voor de eventuele woordenboekzoekers) to me now because I am lazy [I actually did try to analyse Western ideas on nudity here but I deleted them as they were shit, and indeed rather perfunctory]. His other research was in Albania in a mountain village that returned to the pre-Communist times. And now he was comparing 'ways of forgetting' (of slavery/western society and Communism respectively). He never quite explained how, or what his results were, but this is 'work in progress' after all.

On another note: Anna brought up in her blog the issue of Poppy Appeal, which seems to have started given the first poppies sighted on natives' breasts today by the undersigned. For those less-versed in British Society (harken to the words of this Masters of Truth who shouts down from the mouth of the cave (he's too lazy to climb down all the way; moreover, as Plato already reasoned, he might get killed in the end by the incredulous "holbewoners", isn't it Albert? If only they had weblogs in those days...)), Poppy Appeal happens around 'Poppy' or 'Remembrance' Day, 11th of November I believe, when the end of the First World War is remembered with two minutes Silence, not unlike our 4th of May, I guess. The name, by the way, refers to the poem "In Flander's Fields" by the scotsman (corection: Canadian) John McCrae; apparently the shells and bombs tore the earth in such a way that the long-dormant poppie seeds prospered among all death and destruction. Anyway, I agree to a large extent with her argument against the poppies, but thankfully already in the 1920's the anti-War movement introduced the White Poppy! Surely that's something to consider? I might, if I ever encounter anyone selling them, I still need to find out how one acquires them (apart from buying over the internet. You see? I did actually read the website).

I know Anna reads this and I shall throw latin at your thoughts, may they enlighten. You know the source, as you quoted from the same epistle 28 by Seneca.

Hoc tibi soli putas accidisse et admiraris quasi rem novam quod peregrinatione tam longa et tot locorum varietatibus non discussisti tristitiam gravitatemque mentis? Animum debes mutare, non caelum! (source) Translation for non-freaks here.

Amen.

Yes! Today's Anthropological Methods day, and guess what's on the programme? Correct, the field diary, amongst others, I hope I will finally get some professional guidance on what a field diary is suppossed to be. I hope it'll still make an interesting read afterwards, and oh, what does it mattter? The only ones who will read this will be my professors ..

I was going to try and focus this diary on the group of Anthropology students who accompany me on this academic voyage, and maybe I should give somewhat of an introduction into their life as I so far observed it. It will not seem too exciting, as I am only starting to perceive the underlying networks, but here goes anyways. The main loci of this community are the following: the most important, in one way, is the classroom when classes are taught that all attend ("duh!" I hear someone in the back, I reply to you: "Shut up! This is Science!"), although some classes are not attended by all on the account of being optional, so these classes are loci of sub-communities (e.g. we might identify a Museology sub-society (which consist of three, myself included)), the third locus is the Library, esp. the DMS Watsons Science Library's Anthropology Department, which is a relatively loose locus of what we might classify as, broadly, the educational locus of the Anthropolgist's Community. The library being loose on account of it being a less structured, but no less important part of the community, in fact, the library is where the Educational locus and the Social locus meet. The social locus consisting of the following locations: the Post-graduate Common Room, the Refectory & Senate House restaurants and several others, places like pubs etc. However, the less structured geography of the social locus reflects its equally less structured social network, as socially the very recently created group (or network) "M.Sc Students in Anthropology" is already dividing itself in smaller sub-groups.

OH. MY. GOD. (this irony, I am not American, remember?) How am I ever going to make this bearable for anyone, even my professors, to read?

Yes, whoever said that Anthropology is a Humanities subject? I'm getting a M.Sc. here, id est: Magister Scientium, and the debate, which started some 50-60 years ago on whether Anthropology could be anything else than a Natural Science (like a humanities subject) is not quite over yet.. Well, at least not for the Dead White Men I am having to read these days, and that reflects in this graphic example of anthropological prose. I really need to sort out my terminology...

Tonight: hopefully an example of the Anthropologist's society at work! The social locus I forgot to mention here - but which is indeed very important - will be activated: the Weekly Research Seminar!

Well good morning! Yesterdaynight I passed out somewhere between 8 and 9 in the evening only to wake up at 1 to close my window and then to sleep again until my alarm clock went off at 7:20. I'm glad it worked out that way, I feel pretty good now, awake and all, at 8:00 in bloody morning! I decided however not to use my newly found energy to throw myself at Claude Lévi-Strauss, but first to adress whatever reader may have stumbled upon this and to full-fill my now long-neglected duty of keeping a field diary .. How nice is that?

First some anthropological observations on the usage of mobiles in these countries: I can deduct from the reactions and behaviour of the natives surrounding me (of all nationalities, remember we studying a very ethnically diverse population here) that my decision to remain a-mobile is not so much disaproved of, but rather considered odd / silly / stupid. People assume one to have a mobile these days, and the fact that I also cannot produce a landline rather complicates matters. But I shall struggle on! I am not back-ward! Ik ben de nieuwe mens! E-mail is the way! I am the cyberhuman! Ahem, völs te völle uutrooptèkens, Mulder.

My parents were here last weekend, as I mentioned before. They had been cycling on Wight for a week before coming to London, and it was really nice to have them around for a bit. We didn't really do much spectacular; in the morning I studied and they walked around town on their own (e.g. to Shakespeare's 'Globe') and in the afternoon we walked around some more, to Soho, Covent garden and Trafalgar Square (see Saturday entry) and Sunday to Regent's Park, where - how British - a (grand-)father was explaining to his three yeard old (grand-)daughter where rain comes from. The explanation was scientifically very sound. Oh, and we had afternoon tea with scones, clotted cream and jam every day.

Meantime it's raining again on my private grave-yard. If I weren't such an amobile, (apparently) anti-electronic-gadget freak, I would have a digital camera and post you a little movie, filmed from my very own window, on the life of the grey squirrels in St. Andrew's Garden, who store their winter nuts in the crooks and crannies of open graves. I kid you not. Oh, talking about winter, last saturday's Independent proclaimed next winter would be the severest in 10 years! I am looking forward to it...

This weekend is two-hundred years since the British won at Trafalgar. I only found this out because I walked around town today with my parents and we bumped into this huge son-et-lumière spectacle that was being prepared at - where else? - Trafalgar Square. It looked awful: with sails hanging from the poor National Galery and lots of navy people (Soldiers!) walking around, but the worst was the pompuous voice who was introducing Admiral Nelson from a first person perspective: "We're 27 ships, and across the horizon are the French and Spaniards, and I remember (follows a list with his naval battles) blah where I lost my arm, blah where I got famous etc., Duty, blah, I know all my captains very well, blah, they're great chaps. Blah. Blah. Blah." Bah, bah, bah: Dulce et Decorum est pro Patria Mori ... Scary stuff, all in all. The newspaper told me today there had been many other happenings, including dropping wreaths at Cape Trafalgar. Thankfully one of the ships present there was the HMS Chatham, which brought a smile of counter-nationalist smugness around my lips: thank you Michiel de Ruiter. The greatest booty he acquired there is still in the Rijksmuseum (the shield of England's flagship Royal Charles that Michiel towed back to Holland, see link for pic (clicker for bigger)). However, if the Netherlands ever prepare such a horrid nationalist feast in commemoration of that raid or something similar like, say, the capture of the "Silver Fleet", I'll .. I'll .. I'll be very angry indeed! Ha, that'll teach them ... Hmm ... Oh, and maybe I'll move to Sweden (which I might anyway, at some point in my life)

Anyway, moving on, and voor de rest: the play went very well yesterday: people actually laughed at me (they were supposed to) and I didn't even forget my lines! My flatmates were there, and people from my programme were there (who brought me a bunch of living bamboo sticks (is weer eens wat anders, niettan?) ), and of course my parents were there.

And, oh, before I forget: Anna, you will want to come back, I know you'll want to now that I have informed you that you missed Charles Dickens' home, which is literally 5 minutes walk from my place. And apparently most of his novels are located north of High Holborn, east of Gray's Inn Road and west of Russel Square (says my parent's guide book, which also has a Dickens walk).

Tot zover vandaags 'London Callling', terug naar Hilversum.

British computers can be so dramatic: today all printer terminals displayed the message "Catastrophic Failure". What might ever have induced them to this political statement and this general strike? Saddam's trial, perhaps? More research would be necessary...

Thanks to F. I can now at any moment enjoy the witches' song 'Destruction's our Delight // Delight our greatest Sorrow', and indeed 'het schalt nu door mijn kamer'. It is a good theme song to my readings today: several articles relating to Durkheim's book 'Suicide' and one on State violence amongst others. Cheery stuff I hope you can imagine. The rest of the opera I mentioned (Purcell's Dido & Aenaes) does actually do some good, though, as it has so far prevented me from becoming a potential statistic for the great French Sociologist to peruse. And the reading is now over, now again sleep awaits me, and tomorrow my parents who shall return from Wight to London. A city, which, I have discovered houses many a familiar face, today I ran into yet another former UC'er, by the name of Frederique - wellicht bekend bij sommigen onder U lezers, geloof ik - that brings the score to 4 now. There must be many, many more though.

Tonight was the premiere of the play I have been working on for the last week and a half (instead of doing my proper course work), and man was I nervous (apparently). On comes Dr. Chasuble, mutters his first words and goes blank, haha. Great. Line ?!? Thank god our prompt girl was having a black-out at exactly that same time, all to the great amusement of the audience, and that's what matters in the end, isn't it? My first appearance was pretty brief, thankfully, so I get the opportunity to curse away my frustrations in the dressing room and re-appear much better, much more concentrated, and, well, (add third tier of the trikolon here) the rest of the performance went quite good. I raced home though, mixedly happy and angry, I guess; let's call it very energised. I was humming Dans le Port d'Amsterdam at full breath while cycling. I hope you get the idea.

OK, this will have to do for tonight, I should really actually read something now before tomorrow's classes (Thursday is my busiest day).

As a last thought, I am not providing you with very many Anthropological observations from London yet, now am I? Indeed, but remember I am still in training, I never ever actually saw a field diary (although I heard Malinowski's - the famous first 'professional' fieldworker, he was, as a German, stuck on the Trobriands, dumped there by the Aussies - is quite bad, full of abuse of the natives he was supposedly living 'happily' amongst). And also I didn't have Anthropological Methods today, it's fortnightly. (Twee-wekelijks, voor wie het niet in een woordenboek wil opzoeken) Instead, it will no doubt please you to hear, I spend most of the day in bed in order to ward off any future illness. It was good, and necessary. I felt I hadn't really had any really good day off since I started this course, as last weekend was taken up by rehearsals and Anna's visit, which was great, though, no doubt about that, but maybe a bit much. My own choice though, and I not regretting anything.

Hmm, I can't really shed the idea that this is not really an e-mail, or a real-life conversation. I am continuously suppressing a tendency to end this text with some greeting, I guess I still need to develop a style or a felling for this sort of thing.

Good night! (see? ah b*gger ...)

Journal implying 'daily' means that really I should write every day, and I have enough honour left in me to not count this mornings remark about my bread, which indeed I had left hanging in a plastic bag on my bike, which for want of a key was parked outside the shed. It remained unstolen the morning after. I guess that this is a very respectable neighbourhood where no-one is needy. Hmm. Or maybe the other fence around this compound helped?

Anyway, here is my second entry. tada!

I am pretending that this is my field diary, and London is my Anthropological field. I am just a fly on the wall listening and observing, but how am I ever going to do that safely when my mind and instincts are firmly set to cycling on the right (as in: correct) side of the road, and also being full of Dutch Customary Law notions of the Supremacy of the Cyclist? Yes, I mentioned it twice now: I have a bike. My trusty old Utrecht bike arrived last monday, with my parents who are now Out and About to return this Friday to come and see the play I am in, and maybe some bits and pieces of this Capital City as well. As an aside: anyone else who is interested and who happens to be around tomorrow (yes that is a wednesday) is more than welcome to come and see Oscar Wilde's 'The Importance of Being Earnest'; Friday, I fear, will be quite overbooked...

Indeed my transformation into a fly on the wall observing native Londoners is also quite hampered by living in a university environment: Halls, Graduate Common Rooms (a great invention to be discussed later, no doubt), Libraries (UCL, SOAS, British Library, British Museum, library over-dose!) are not the places to observe the Common Cockney. Plus I don't live in East End. So, I shall re-formulate my research as follows (did I ever formulate it in the first place? No) : to observe in the London setting a particular subset of the ethnically extremely diverse International Student population, who can be defined and identified by their having bumped into me once or twice, or who are constantly bumping into me due to their habitat location (known as 'flatmates') or study environment (Post-graduate Anthropology students in all disciplines and levels of study, though probably mostly from UCL). You will object, naturally, that as a member of this particular social group I will be unable to take proper distance, but as I am tired and I don't want to fall ill like everybody else did around me, I shrug my shoulder at you and I have an early night.

Goodnight, (or -day if you read at this some random other time)

The fact that my bread was not stolen last night proves that the bike shed is a safe place to keep it.

Indeed, dear visitor, you see correctly, yet another weblog has seen the light (ignoring any arising ontological and phenomenological questions on the sense-ability of weblogs). A secret peeping hole allowing one's peers to peer into one of their peer's life, one of many lives lived by the boring, one more place to read the obvious, you ask Lector? Yes. The author will in all probability be uncapable of making it anymore interesting than that, or otherwise he won't be bothered.

Well... Why did you start this blog then? Well, when a reader starts off with very low expectations, he can only be struck the more by the brilliance of the prose he will encounters, won't he? One first promise should be made here: these sort of ramblings as you read here I shall try and keep at a minimum, but given the purpose of this blog (see below) they can hardly be avoided.

So. (in the categroy famous first words: this one is from Seamus Heaney's Beowulf) This being the (in)famous first post of this (we)blog I shall try and formulate a purpose. And I thought, and I remembered, and I spoke thus:

The purpose of this blog, the excuse so you will, or rather maybe the mission of this weblog is that I need to educate myself into the art of diary keeping as an anthropologist-in-training. That simply means I need to reflect. Every. Single. Fucking. Day.

There it is. Plain and clear. Your purpose, I mean. Last week wednesday I attended my first class in Anthropological Methods at a niet-nader-te-noemen University College in the capital of Old Europe's greatest Island-(wannabe/former) Empire, and it was there that I received the message: thou shalt open a Weblog Mark! Such words came from my Superego, while my Id spoke: "Indeed! Now you need no longer write e-mails to people! Gets rid of that bother too!" Hiep-Hiep-Hoera in de Gloria and there was much rejoicing all over my head.

"So," (very good dear Lector, you learn quickly), I hear you ask, "what will you write about, then?" And the answer, is: you will find out, patient reader, because I don't know yet. However, once I figure this out, you, my dearest reader, will be the first to find out. I shall edit this first post accordingly. (such is indeed the pleasure of electronic data, such as the like you see before you, reader. One can modify it ad infinitum, ad nauseum, and ad baculum. The so-called Orwellian-inclined can rejoice over many an achievement of modern technology)

Here endeth the historic first post of "Nican Nicuica"