Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Quote from Susan B.

"I'll tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than any one thing in the world. I rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a bike. It gives her a feeling of self-reliance and independence the moment she takes her seat; and away she goes, the picture of untrammelled womanhood."
--Susan B. Anthony (1896)

Monday, September 12, 2005

Letter excerpts

I realized today as I was writing a daily email that some of my correspondence belongs in the blog. So, here it is, editted for popular consumption:

August 28, Paris
So, after I pulled my ... self together, I went for a walk. Mido suggested that near here is the place where Louis XIV's peaches were grown. I figured, I like peaches A LOT, and I like peach trees too, so maybe that would be interesting.... It was basically some clumps of very old (you can imagine) peach trees around a high-rise apartment complex. Kids played in the streets and guys sat around together chatting. As I left this important historic sight, I found some really cute little suburban cul de sacs overflowing with foliage surrounding cute little houses -- it felt a bit out of place among all these high rise suburban complexes, but it also felt like a relief. I wondered how one managed to buy one of those, just like 10, little houses (when you decide to buy in Montreuil, it can't possibly be what you are imagining).

That was east of the apartment; so, from there I headed south to Blois de Vincenne (woods of Vincenne, the chateau and city that is). There were leaves on the ground, and it almost felt like fall. It did feel like fall. weird. Little families walked and biked and jogged and strolled together along the pathways, sometimes laughing together, pretty below the big shedding trees. Once I hit the chateau, I headed north again, returning to the apartment about 2 hours after I left. It was a good walk.

Sept 2, La Vienne
Some neighbors on the other side of the river had us over for dinner last night. Actually, we cooked, but they hosted. They bought an old distillery (called La Distillery) and are restoring it to function as place for people to go for vacation (rooms, a gite, a dormitory) and also with performance and party spaces. It's really striking, actually. This big industrial distillery (lit up with different colored lights at night) out there in the French countryside next to the river. One of the people who lives there also plays the sitar, and he played for us a few songs, which was really neat. They've painted the walls with lovely designs and they have a large garden out by their pond (with boats!). It sounds like they plan to have an artist community and do environmental education. (I wish I could be the kind of person to do something like that. I am neither that imaginative nor that brave.)

Sept 6, Paris
After class today, I took a walk with Jennifer. After about 30 minutes it turned out we were both very hungry. So, we stopped off at the cafeteria of one of the big department stores and had a pretty nice lunch of salad and dessert (I had a charlotte, she had fromage blanc, the salad included a lot of cold meat products and was good). Then we walked for a little while longer and then got on to the Metro in our respective directions (opposite on the same line). I got home by 4.

Learning a language teaches you a lot about categorizing things. For example, today we learned about when you use "pour", "pendant" and "depuis". We have these same words in English, but as native speakers, we don't think about how we use them (they are "for", "during" and "since" respectively). You use "pour" for something of an non-absolute period of time, often in the future. You use "pendant" for a definite period of time, often in the past. You use "depuis" for something that is still going on. But if you asked me how to define "for", "during" and "since", I am not sure I would be able to do it. We also spent a long time on vocabulary and conversation, which was good. My new teacher is so charming, and that helps a lot.

Sept 7, Paris
I really like trying to learn another language bc it helps me to understand my own. That part about being able to talk to other people is also nice. But since English is the most common second language in the world (it seems), there is a lot less incentive to learn a second one myself.

I also have a theory that it is like vitamins for my brain, helping it grow. When I took calculus for fun between college and grad school (it was my first time taking it) I used to get this feeling like the wheels in my brain were turning for the first time in a long time, and while they were rusty, they were turning and it felt good and fresh and kind of like stretching or doing yoga. It made me feel alive. I never got that feeling from learning anything else, and I haven't had it since. I don't know what it is. But it feels wonderful when I study French.

Sept 8, Paris
I really tried not to take a nap today but it is a difficult habit to get out of. I think I managed to sleep for only an hour, which might mean that I will be able to sleep tonight. I would like that. Even the teacher noticed that I was tired in class today. I think I am tired partly bc it is getting to be the end of the week and partly bc when I sleep for a long time in the afternoon, I can't sleep at night and the whole system doesn't work. Not sure why that is exactly, bc I also believe that my body should be able to manage its own needs, but apparently not.
...

After class, I finally made it to the place where I had such an excellent chocolat chaud last winter. I ordered that and a quiche. The quiche was burned and the milk sour. I sent the chocolat chaud back, altho the lady tried to tell me it was just that it was too chocolaty, and the new one was fine. I didn't feel like I could send back the quiche bc it was obviously burned. Alas. I didn't leave any tip. I sat by the window with a view of the church en face de le Louvre and did my devior (hw). So, I won't end up doing it at midnight tonight again for the third day in a row. That was a win, anyway.

Sept 12, Paris
One problem I always have with public speaking is that I really don't know how to communicate without constant feedback: Do you understand what I am staying? Do you have anything to add? Am I explaining my point enough or too much? Speaking to a room of blank faces really throws me, and I have trouble pacing myself; I end up with long pauses between talking too fast. ...I started to wonder if it is another personality type, like introverts and extroverts. Does someone require feedback to create and communicate clearly, and can they formulate entire universes on their own? I have always really admired the latter group, and it has long been clear to me that I am the former. Alas! (However, my hope is that this characteristic, like most, has its upside, like being a good listener, or using resources efficiently. I hope to have those qualities.)
....

...Mido, JP and I spent a quiet Saturday night. I think I went to be early and slept for a long time, which I certainly needed. On Sunday, I hung out around the house for a long time. We had the rest of the Mexican food from Friday night (which was way too hot -- don't underestimate the power of the French hot pepper!) for dinner....

Around 4, I ventured out and walked the length of the Champs-Elysees, and then sat in the Jardin des Tularies reading until a French man in his late 50s came over and wouldn't stop talking to me. I got away with his phone number, but managed to convince him that I didn't have a phone. Then I walked back to l'Hotel de Ville (a long way in all) and took the Metro home.

Class was good today. We did a little que/qui/ou (boring) and then more passe compose/Imparfait. For the last 30 minutes, we played Taboo (in French, of course). I think it's the best exercise ever (for me anyway) bc my desire to win eclipses all self-consciousness about speaking incorrectly. I loved it. However, my team was weaker, and we managed to tie by the end despite the other side's attempt to cheat.

After class I decided to walk for while, and another guy, a short Tunisian man in a pink sweatshirt, wouldn't stop talking to me. I tried to tell him I was Chinese (I don't know why he didn't believe me?), but generally wouldn't answer his questions, which caused him to call me not very nice. It's strange, I really react when someone tells me I'm not nice, even if I don't want to be talking to them anyway.

Once I got rid of him, I had a pleasant walk and saw signs for a lot of affordable real estate around Republic, which is one of the areas that interest me. Hmm... I stopped at a cafe, had a deca, wrote some postcards, and did my homework, and then came home. I am craving lentils, so I am about to make some.

Artist biographies

I've been reading the Agony and the Ecstasy, a biographical novel by Irving Stone and really enjoying it. Since I have pretty much decided that my next career will be as a world-class artist, it makes sense for me to learn about about other artists (yeah, I mean more than I did as an art major in college; I do things better now). But I don't like to read crap. So, I decided to check the Internet (and the Internet is always right, of course*), and I only found one "best of" artist biographies list:
http://painting.about.com/cs/toppicks/tp/tpartistbios.htm
I'll probably also read Stone's book on Van Gogh, even tho it isn't on the list, not because it is fantastically written (it isn't) but it's good clean fun, sort of a highbrown topic in a lowbrow package. It appears that I like that sort of thing.

* As a brief aside, one of those dumb little things that some of us (those of us who spend too much time web surfing, say is "I found it on the Internet so it must be true", knowing full well that the Internet contains a whole lot of crap. My mother (I think it was) took this to a whole new level the other day when she said "my friend read it on the Internet," adding a whole new level of unreliability, like veils of gauze between ourselves and any possible truth.

Friday, September 09, 2005

I'm committed...

...for the next month anyway. I just bought a Eurostar ticket to London and a plane ticket from London to Zurich. From there the plan is to take the train to Dijon, where my mother will meet me and ostensibly we will take a bike trip. (I am just not sure if her health is up for it, and she is not terrifically talented at knowing limits.)

I considered going back to La Vienne instead of London bc Anne said I should in order to have time with Christian, but my mother told me not to. I think she's sick of me.

Anyway, after the bike trip which may or may not happen, I have one more week of French class. It should be a fun week bc Tina, from last year in Paris, and Michele, another former NN employee, will both be in Paris then too. And I have tickets to an opera and a ballet.

I moved up my return ticket to October 11, and I am going to see my Granny, who is 94 and has lung cancer, for 5 days shortly after I return. I like to keep busy, and I think I have succeeded. At the same time, I am a bit nervous about not having enough down time. Isn't that always the way.

So, here are my questions to you:
1) What show(s) should I see in London and what is the best way to get tickets?
2) What else should I see in London this time? I am thinking art.
3) I won't have much free time in Zurich, but what should I try to see there?
4) Any bike trip suggestions that I might not have thought of already?
5) (I like to have a good number of questions and 4 is not a good number) Anything else you think I should know?

Thanks much, and I look forward to your enlightening input.

Tina's Brown's Washington Post Column - New York's New Mood

Floods Scour the Political Landscape, Too
By Tina Brown
Thursday, September 8, 2005; C01

Even though it is so familiar in our imaginations, it is still a wonderful
moment in the upcoming Discovery documentary "The Flight That Fought Back"
when the doomed passengers on Flight 93 seize the food cart and race it down
the aisle toward the cockpit like a battering ram, united in courage and
rage. At the preview of the movie at the Bryant Park Hotel in Manhattan you
could feel the exhalation of tension in the audience during the reenactment:
the wish-fulfillment, the satisfaction at the virility of the gesture.

New York may have superficially recovered since 9/11, but the Bush victory in
the election last year left a hangover of self-doubt that drained the city's
mojo. Katrina's perfect meteorological and political storm has at least blown
away that mood. New York's sullen sense of carrying around a deviant secret
-- that President Bush is an empty flight suit -- has gone with the wind.

If 9/11 was Bush's Woodstock, Katrina is his Altamont -- the place where his
ability to unite people behind a flurry of flag-waving came to look like the
hollow sham it always was. John Edwards's mantra of Two Americas doesn't
sound so corny now that Bush's soaring vision of democracy on the march has
suddenly been laid as bare as an abandoned Superdome where the toilets are
overflowing.

But for New Yorkers, the dimensions of the pain mean there is not much glee
in saying "I told you so." Ever since 9/11 we've been endlessly stiffed on
"homeland security." Millions for red Montana, nickels for blue New York.
We had to grit our teeth and host the cynical hijacking of 9/11 by the
Republican convention last year, where even Rudy Giuliani franchised his (and
our) authentic moment of heroism to the Bush reelection machine.

The twin towers are still a gaping hole in the ground fought over by greedy
real estate agents, prima donna architects and culture warriors distractedly
arbitrated by a Republican governor preoccupied with national political
ambitions. The current plans for a third-rate office building on top of a
bunker with a censored museum seems like a strange advertisement for freedom.
But perhaps it suits the city's mood of lingering disappointment after 9/11's
squandered goodwill. Osama bin Laden's outrage goes unavenged while we
continue to suck wind in Baghdad.

But now, in Katrina's aftermath, there's something different in the air: the
scent of insurrection. The needless torment of New Orleans has reignited the
dormant passions of the election. E-mails are flying again between friends
who've been out of touch for months, enclosing Web links to new polemics of
disgust. The big donors with wallet fatigue after John Kerry's loss are ready
to write checks again, big time, for any Democrat who shows courage.

It's as if the tragedy in the Gulf Coast has awakened us from a deep
materialistic sleep to acknowledge the pain of poverty and racial inequality
for the first time in years. Those Democrats who still temporize for fear of
being tagged as "playing politics" don't seem to understand that being all
kissyface and timid is as over as strategy as it is as substance. Better to
play politics than play possum. Maybe Hillary should stop going on
fact-finding trips to Alaska with her new Republican pals. Even before
Katrina changed the landscape, her careful tactics of sleeping with the enemy
had begun to annoy the town that adored her.

Out, damned euphemism! We are in a blazing moment of truth-telling that is
holding the nation rapt before its TV screens. Two days after CNN's Anderson
Cooper bawled out Sen. Mary Landrieu of Louisiana for her and other
politicians' "thanking each other" on the fabulous job they were all doing --
even as he'd just seen rats gnawing at a woman's body in the water behind him
-- we saw the real Landrieu on ABC's "This Week."

Red-eyed and combative, she gave George Stephanopoulos an air tour of
devastation and talked about the New Orleans sheriffs gripping handcuffs in
their teeth as they swam to secure prisoners who would have terrorized the
town further if allowed to escape. "If one person criticizes them or says one
more thing," she told Stephanopoulos, "including the president of the United
States . . . I might have to punch him literally."

Way to go, Mary! This is what America needs. The media-political axis has
enabled a culture of talking points and spin to the point that harsh reality
had nearly vanished from the national conversation. It's an index of the
president's disconnect that last week he could utter the words "Brownie,
you're doing a heck of a job!" to FEMA Director Michael Brown. Or that he
imagined he could actually suggest the administration should investigate the
scandal itself. (And drag its feet on its conclusions until after the next
election. We know the score now.)

In yesterday's New York Post, Dick Morris wrote that W's reputation will
surely recover because rebuilding New Orleans can now become a rallying
theme, a "new source of popularity. . . . A disaster like Katrina is just
what a president needs to anchor his second term." The cynicism is
breathtaking but also shrewd.

What's so troubling about Bush is not that he is incompetent, as many
currently charge. It's that he is dismissive, unless programmed to be
otherwise. His competence, as Justin Franks pointed out in "Bush on the
Couch," extends only to personal self-preservation -- to winning. When the
less fortunate are endangered, he reverts to the primal aphasia he learned at
his mother's knee. "Everybody is so overwhelmed by the hospitality," Barbara
Bush commented from Houston on NPR Monday evening, adding, with a chilling
matriarchal chuckle, "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know,
were underprivileged anyway. This is working very well for them."
Wow. How's that for one family's values? New York's only consolation this
9/11 is that we no longer feel so marginal as we recoil.

2005Tina Brown

Friday, September 02, 2005

Update: August 20-24

Eric arrived from San Francisco that Saturday. I moved myself over to Muriel’s beautiful and central apartment, and then headed over to the airport on the RoissyBus from Opera. (I had grand ideas of buying loads of fabulous foods and filling the apartment with flowers, but it turned out there wasn’t time for any of that.) I arrived at the airport without incident, although I nearly had an anxiety attack that Eric might get there first and not be able to find me.

But his plane was late. (Every time I bring this up, he apologises, which is silly bc of course it isn’t his fault the plane was late.) And there was another plane from London (where he changed) that came in first. Unfortunately, I thought that he should have come off the first plane (unaware of the second one, which he was on) and when people started piling out of the arrival porte with loads of baggage, I wondered how I could have missed him and if he had arrived when I was looking the other way and headed into Paris without me. Then I thought of something else. Maybe he wasn’t coming at all. Maybe it wall some big practical joke invented to embarrass me. I am not known for emotional generosity, and having been incredibly excited about his visit, I knew that this would be a really thorough way to humiliate for me. (OK, people, you know you all have these kinds of thoughts!)

Finally, at long last, he stepped out of the gate. I saw him first and was able to position myself so that he could roll out of the door and into me. We returned to Paris on the RER, per his preference, so that we didn’t have to walk with the bags, and probably also because trains are just cuter than buses. (Although, I have to say that I had a nice rapport with my driver on the RoissyBus, and it reminded me of how important bus drivers can be as community guardians. Trains can be painfully anonymous.) We installed ourselves at Muriel’s and headed out for a walk and a picnic dinner by the Seine just in time for sunset.

It was also the last night of the Paris Plage, where they convert the river’s usual side-highway into a public open space for people with games, cafes, services, music and activities. The idea is that the riverside becomes a beach. They even install large sandboxes where people can sunbath and then shower themselves off. Because this summer, Paris’s theme is Brazil, there was a Brazilian garden too. However, we chose to picnic on the western point of Isle St. Louis, with cheese and bread, a bottle of wine (but we forgot the glasses, making it that much more romantic) and of course pastries for dessert, the most memorable of which was the uber-chocolate “Opera”.

I had forgotten what we did on Sunday, but here is what Eric said when I asked him: “Sunday we wandered through the city looking for concert schedules at churches. We stopped by the one near Les Hales (just looked it up - St. Eustache), then walked over to Notre Dame and St. Chappelle, then over to the Left Bank, where we wandered through that quarter for a while. Sat at a cafe near St. Germain for chocolat chauds, then wandered back. Caught some of the organ concert at St. Eustache at 5:30, left early because I was falling asleep, then back to the apartment for a nap, then dinner at Julien.” The restaurant, Julien, is in the same building as Muriel’s apartment, and I have wanted to try it for a long time. It’s interior is decorated in a beautiful art nouveau style. It was good, but in the end ranked third (of 3 meals eaten in restaurants) among our culinary experiences together during this trip.

Likewise, I had forgotten what we did Monday too. Here’s what Eric said: “We wandered up the canal to the Parc de Villette to look at the big mirrored dome, took the metro to Bastille, back to Place des Vosges for cocktails, …wandered through the Marais, and bought food for dinner (we stopped by the minimart near Pompidou and got salmon, salad, cheese and bread).” Eric, like the French, is wild about baguettes. I am not sure how it is possible that I had never before seen that big mirrored dome in Parc de la Villette; it’s super cool. The whole park is pretty neat, and it was nice for us both to experience it together for the first time.

Tuesday morning we got up early and took the train to the Loire Valley. We travelled, checked into out hotel (which was not as nice as it looked in the web, IMHO), and headed out again to see the city of Blois without incident. The Blois Chateau is large and imposing above the cute town. The town center is pedestrianized and approachable, with lots of parks, but I found it a bit difficult to navigate. For lunch we got some savory pastries (quiche, something with sausages) and a “Brazilian salad” that did not include chicken (it was bamboo shoots or something that looked like chicken) as we had hoped but was good none the less. We ate it midway up a long, wide public stairway that led down to the town center with a fabulous view of the city and adjacent countryside.

The chateau has 4 distinct styles: feudal, gothic-renaissance, renaissance, and classical. We were most impressed by the François I staircase which winds round (it is a spiral staircase in an octagonal shape) on the exterior of the central court yard with a series of balconies off of it so that members of the court can see who is arriving from above. We also enjoyed seeing the coats of arms of the families which included strange animals: the porcupine, the salamander, and the duck…? On the first floor of the royal compartments of the François I wing is a room with many secret compartments used to hide jewels, etc., and possibly poisons belonging to Catherine de Medici. The fine arts museum is housed in the Louis XII wing of the castle, but I don’t remember anything in particular from their collection.

It is always important to take a nap in the afternoon, but even more so when you are travelling. My parents met us at the hotel in the early evening, and we went to a very cute sidewalk café for an aperitif or 3. Later, we found another delightful restaurant on a tiny, pedestrian-scaled side street that we think was this one: "Le Castelet" on Rue Saint Lubin, http://www.castelet.fr/. It was our best restaurant meal together that week and very affordable. I think for our plats we all got either duck or lamb, which were perfectly cooked, but the thing that really put it over the top were the sauces. They were both wonderfully complex and blissfully simple and harmonized perfectly with the food and the wine. And food is always better eaten outside in warm evening weather.

Our next day was a big one – we planned to rent bicycles and ride them out to various chateaux. In an attempt to kill neither ourselves nor each other, we decided to ride in one direction, see 2 chateaux, and then ride back that same way. The whole ride was probably about 40 km (is that about 25 miles?). A good portion of it was on a carless roadway thru the forest, which was really pleasant on the way there (on the way back it made the ride bearable).

We chose Chateau de Cheverny as our main chateau destination because of its furniture. Cheverny is built entirely in the classical style and forms an imposing white edifice rising up from the flat landscape. It is still owned by the family who built it in the 1600s. I guess I don’t really have anything to say about it other than what was most striking about this chateau to me was how imposing and white, and really out-of-place, it looked on the flat, flat earth.

Chateau de Beauregard is built in the Renaissance style. It is most famous for it’s portrait gallery, where we found a few familiar names like Catherine de Medici and Amerigo Vespucci. The floor is covered with tiles from Delft with white and blue designs, little people or farm animals against a horizon. They also have a modern garden designed in the Renaissance style, but the thing we liked most about the castle was a ruined church with no walls in a lovely meadow in a forest.

It wasn’t a perfect day. We got a flat tire. We didn’t plan our eating schedule very well and ended up missing lunch (we were carrying some snackies, but that doesn’t always count), and we accidentally took the long way both there and back. After we made it back to Blois, we drank beer at our favorite café before catching the train back to Paris (late). Then, of course, we quarrelled on the train (our first one, perhaps?). But nobody died as a result, and we made it back together and with all our belongings.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Past Journal entries

The following are excerpts from my journal that I have typed up for... I was going to say "your enjoyment" but I will stick with "the record" instead.

Paris to Budapest
The line to check in for my flight between Paris and Budapest was thick with human drama. Behind me in line, a middle-aged, average-looking man talked on his cel phone:
-I was at work all day after arriving here and now I’m at the airport. This is the first chance I’ve had to call you since I got here.
-It’s like that when I come here.
-I called you as soon as I could
-I will destroy all the photos and delete it.
-No, I don’t want to fight about it.
-It’s a digital photo, so all I have to do is delete it from my computer.
-There is no original bc it was a digital photo and I will delete it.
-OK
-If you change your mind and decide to meet me in Budapest, I’ll be there until the 28th.
-Well, last year we met in Budapest, and we had no future.
He turns away so that I can’t hear the conversation.
-Well, I have to check in now. I’ll call you later.
(He was not yet at the front of the line.)
In front of me in line, there was a woman with a 1-year-old and a 5-year-old. The 1-year-old kept crying and the 5-year-old drove the stroller into me and everything else around him. The woman wilted and rolled her eyes when I made eye contact with her. The 5-year-old had some of the widest eyes I had ever seen. The 1-year-old did not. The mother gave her baby a bottle that looked like it contained yellow juice but there was unmixed powder at the bottom.
Boarding the plane, there was a group of Albanians in front of me with red passports. Behind me, Americans with someone from someplace else who spoke excellent English with a very cute accent. They were discussing curry: “It’s like a spicy stew. I don’t like it. You know that yellow spice?” I felt sorry for them. I also wanted to get away.

Budapest
Things that Markus (a friend from the conference in Budapest) thought were funny about me:
- that I get excited by toy train sets (at the Transport Museum in Budapest)
- that I collect beer coasters and postcards
- that I carry a compass.
“You are such a strange girl,” he said.

Koper
“We only have toast,” replied the waiter to my attempt to have desert for dinner. Instead I had 0.5 l of beer. I misjudged this town – it’s good-sized but appears to have no restaurants. That’s fine. I’ll save my money and have my lunch out, but tonight it has left me unprepared.

There’s a little girl on the bus between Piran and Koper, facing me, licking the side of the bus and reminding me of how I used to like to lick the side of the bus or my mother’s car. I sometimes still have the impulse. Will she?

It’s pouring rain here and I am sitting in an incredibly pleasant café across from the palace. The music is good (later, Gregorian chanting of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven; does that count as Muzack?) and the chair comfortable. I say incredibly pleasant except for the fact that I am freezing my ass off. This can’t possibly be August in southern Europe.
I guess now I have to have some experiences so that I can write about them. I wonder what portion of the world’s human population is motivated by that need – to do things in order to tell about them to be interesting.

Recent Changes to London’s Public Transport System

My parents had 2 young houseguests (until this morning), an American painter (m, 24) and an English English-major (from Oxford, 22, f). Hannah is a Londoner, and this is what she said had recently changed about London’s public transportation system.

1) Fare collection
You are now required to buy your ticket at a machine rather than onboard in Zone 1. The problem is that many of these machines are broken and sometimes they eat your money. Hannah said that she suspects that people stick gum up into them in order to get the money out. The drivers are not helpful at all, and they ignore passengers who do not have a ticket and just wait for them to get off the bus before moving. These machines have been there for more than a year, but it has only recently been forbidden to buy the tickets onboard.

I asked Hannah if it was possible to get tickets at little stores around the city instead, and she that that was a brand new possibility, but obviously they aren’t always open late at night. Of course, the rational here is that loading will be quicker if you already have your ticket. However, ticket collection also takes time, and confusion about the purchase of tickets probably also delays the buses. Loading from a prepaid area might solve this problem, although it would be capital intensive to build these areas.

Hannah also said that she much preferred when there was a second person working on the buses who was responsible for ticket collection. Not only did this increase efficiency of loading, it also reduced confusion about ticket purchasing and frees up the driver’s time to drive (which is safer). These people also cared for the passengers, giving them the assistance they needed with directions, caring for young people traveling alone and providing other needed information.

2) Vehicle Types
London buses used to have an open back where you could jump on and off while the conductor dealt with the collection/distribution of your money/ticket. London has bought new, much longer and skinnier buses (probably to handle the increased capacity due to the congestion pricing/improved bus speeds) and taken the older, historic ones off the road. Hannah prefers the old ones.

3) Advertising on the vehicles
The new buses now have TVs on them that play advertisements and horoscopes (no sound). The ads include credit card offers. It can be difficult for the passengers not to look at the screen. Hannah said that the screens do not display any information relating to the bus such as schedules, next stops, or travel time.

Other: Response to the bombing
Hannah said that she did not see any reduction on passengers on the Tube or the buses because people simply don’t have any other option. However, she has heard people say that they want to change jobs work closer to home so that they don’t have to ride public transportation (or at least the Tube). Also, people are now reluctant to go on to the top deck of the buses because they perceive it to be less safe (from bombs and rowdy teenage gangs). This causes crowding on the lower decks.

Other: Response to Congestion Charging
People are now driving to the outer edge of the congestion-charging zone and leaving their cars there for the day, taking the Tube for the remainder of the trip. (I am not sure why they don’t have permit parking around Tube stations.)