Garde Ta Foy

Not many brides go punting once on their wedding day, let alone twice.  But in my case, we had a wedding kickoff time of 4pm, and thus several hours to fill before the celebration began.  So the groom and best man persuaded me that I had time to give them a punting lesson before lunch.

They say that some things you never forget (riding a bicycle comes to mind), but it transpired that after 15 years of zero practice my punting was only marginally better than the beginners.  No matter.  The groom was determined to punt me along in my wedding dress later in the day (which he did, to universal acclaim), and the lesson proved invaluable in terms of avoiding major crashes.

Punting, if you've never heard of it, involves sitting in a long, narrow flat bottomed boat, and being propelled along by a  long wooden pole.  We made it a feature of the wedding, by inserting a punting party between the post-ceremony champagne and before dinner.  It was a huge hit.  In addition to being a perfect day for it, we had professionals managing the poles (much safer) - and it served as an excellent ice-breaker for the guests who did not yet know one another.

Perhaps one of the most memorable moments of the entire day came as our wedding party pulled into the quay, ready to disembark.  There were dozens of Cambridge citizens enjoying the sunshine with a glass of wine or a pint of beer sitting outside.  As we glided into the dock, and folks noticed how we were dressed, the entire quayside burst into a spontaneous round of applause.  For just a few minutes, we were celebrities, basking in the glow of flashing camera bulbs and the goodwill of complete strangers.  It was great.

Lest I lead you to believe that this was the best part - don't be fooled.  The entire wedding was magical. The weather gods smiled on us, the champagne was chilled to perfection.  The speeches were amusing, and blessedly brief.  The guests all looked glamorous, and, judging by the photos, were having just as much fun as we did.  It was perfection, and like all perfect things, exquisitely enjoyable, and impossible to convey in words that could possibly do it justice....

So I shall finish with this thought.  My college motto is "Garde Ta Foy".  It's old French, and the literal translation has long been hotly disputed.  The interesting thing is that it translates two ways, which at different points in my life, have been very relevant.  As a student, I always preferred the informal translation "Look after your liver", which seemed only too appropriate at the time, given the frequency of my presence in the college Bar.  But now, having been married in the college chapel, and walked under the crest with my husband, the other translation appeals: "Keep your faith".   It seems like good advice, at the beginning of a marriage...

Letting Go

We walked along the beach on Sunday, and saw dolphins arcing out of the water, pelicans hunting for dinner and a seal bobbing along some fifty feet from the shore.  And it struck me, this really ain't Manhattan.

Perhaps it was a coincidence, but I had decided just a couple of days before that it was time to relinquish my 917 cell number.  My weary Blackberry Pearl decided about a month ago that it no longer wished to scroll left (making it difficult, although not impossible to navigate around the device).  It's been time to upgrade my phone for a while now, but this was the last straw.

No-one can accuse me of being an early adopter.  I activated my refurbished iPhone 3G on the same day that Steve Jobs announced the shiny new 4th generation version.  ("Refurbished" by the way, does not appear to mean second- hand - my phone was pristine in its box.  Instead, it seems to mean unwanted - as in a returned Christmas gift, which ATT can no longer sell as new, even though it has never been used.  Buying refurbished saved me $50).

And reader, although I know I am late to the party, I love it!  Urbanspoon was the first application I installed.  For the remaining un-Appled masses, who haven't heard about this, I should explain that this is a nifty little program that allows you to shake the phone, and be rewarded with a restaurant suggestion close to your current location.  Even more satisfyingly, given my upcoming travel plans, the shaking trick works in London, which should be very handy once the nephew and niece get fed up with the Tower or Buckingham Palace.  TripIt was second (handy to have my honeymoon plans at my fingertips), and I have spent way too much time at the app store on iTunes since the beginning of the week.

But the really big deal is that my cell number has changed, and with it, the last remnant of my New York life will expire on July 4th.  Which bizarrely, also happens to be the day after my wedding, when I'll also be letting go of my maiden name.  Not to mention the anniversary of some Independence thing.

In the meantime, I have to consider whether marrying an American means that I need to let go of some other allegiances, like my English-ness.  I guess I'll let you know, after the US - England World Cup game at the weekend.  Which reminds me, surely there's an app for that?  I better go check...

Rafting the Canyon - Part II

Only connect!  That was the message of EM Forster's novel, Howard's End, published 100 years ago.  How things have changed.  We now connect on a daily basis; to the internet to check our e-mail, to our friends on Facebook (even if connecting with them in person happens less and less) and via telephone, text and Twitter.  For me at least, it is bliss for a little to disconnect.

Being completely off the grid is part of my pleasure  when I am in the Canyon (or indeed anywhere where cell towers don't exist, or better yet, don't work).  It's an opportunity to get back to basics, restore equilibrium and have a true vacation from the stress and strain that we all shoulder on a day to day basis, whether we realize it or not.  But there are dozens of reasons to go, and I hope that my 2-part musings have at least somewhat whetted your appetite if this was at all on your agenda.

The river community in the Canyon is small,  interconnected and passionate about the place.  One of our guides was on his 130th trip and counting.  Another was married to Kristin Huisinga, one of the authors of the definitive plant guide to the area.  We were lucky enough to meet her late in our trip, when her motorboat trip (filled with Hopi Indians respecting sites in the Canyon sacred to their people) caught us up on our penultimate day.  There are dedicated geologists, wildlife and fish specialists and,  to my great pleasure, even poets.

This year, the book that everyone was talking about was by Amil Quayle .  He does a far better job than I can of conveying the immensity of the place and the intensity of the passions it evokes.  So let's finish up with his words instead of mine:

"I speak now of that Grand Canyon
which lies within each of us.  There
are pre-Cambrian rocks at the center,
the core, and talus from yesterday's fall;
marble and granite grown hard from the pressure and heat of heartbreak and
passion; crumbling sandstone, layer on layer of sediment, sentiment piled on over a lifetime's experience."