The Family

"Why land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts."
--Gerald O'Hara
Gone With the Wind



In what has now become a Joyce familiy tradition, this past weekend I made my pilgrimage to the town of Renhold, England. Mapquest doesn't exist in Europe, so during the last 10 or 15 miles I was guided almost entirely from my own memory. It was my third trip to the Joyce estate, but somehow I can still remember the details of what it looked like even from my first visit in the fourth grade. Although the farmland that makes up the property is very similar to what you might find in Atlantic, Iowa (home of my great great grandfather) or Plainview Nebraska (where the past three generations lived), the unmistakable feature of Renhold is the chapel which has stood at its center since the 13th century. It was at the top of this building that I remember being told as a child to look out as far as I could see, and when I couldn't see any further, that's where the family's property ended. After meeting up with my relatives, I went with Sarah (distant cousin) over to the church tower where they were getting ready to ring the chapel bells for a wedding. In England, it is a tradition that church bells are always rung by hand (something that has been automated in the rest of the world). From the bell tower, I was able to peer through the dirty glass of a window that overlooked the chapel. As I watched the bride and groom taking their vows, I realized that for the past several hundred years the Joyce men had been giving away their daughters in this very spot. In fact, Sarah was the most recent woman to be married in just this way. Of course the thought crossed my mind that with destination weddings becoming so popular there is a pretty good chance she won't be the last. For this reason, I have started praying that my first child will be a masculine child. After the ceremony we climbed down and walked around the grounds that surround the church. After passing by a dozen gravestones with the name "Joyce" on them, we finally came upon the place where my great great great grandparents are buried. Explaining to you how it came about that four of their five boys ended up finding their way to America is a story that will have to wait for another blog.

In the meantime, I spent Sunday morning on a punting tour of Cambridge University (very close to Bedford where my relatives live). My tour guide was an Itallian named Calo whose English was as bad as his driving, but we had a good time anyway and only managed to take out one other vessel filled with elderly tourists at ramming speed. The weather was absolutely magnificent, so I decided it would be a good opportunity to head into London in order to experience "The Globe." Antony and Cleopatra was playing, and I have to say it lived up to all my expectations (even if the live snake was a little disappointing). Standing with my arms resting on the stage, I came within one inch of getting a face full of Ceasar's wine as he fell over in a drunken stupor. The RSC has truly mastered the art of show business in this venue, and I don't think I'll ever see anything quite like it again for the rest of my life.

Norway

This past weekend I caught a flight to Stavanger to visit my friend Sam. We caught a ferry Saturday morning heading up the Lysefjorden towards Lysebotn. Don't worry, I don't understand what I just typed either. In Scandanavia, it's not as easy to translate the language as in other parts of Europe. I'm used to being able to detect similarities with the English counterparts, but I've found that with words like Fartt and Slutt that rule of thumb doesn't apply. But I digress... Heading up the fjord, we witnessed some incredible views of the cliffs thousands of feet above us. The most noteworthy of these was pulpit rock--a large flat diving board shaped schist (ask Sam if you want to know more about the metamorphic features of this rock) where people congregate to peer over the edge at the chasm below. Unbelievable. We finally reached the end of the Fjord and decided to look around for a shop that might be selling maps. As it turned out, there was only one shop open that was selling some type of outdoors equipment. Curious, I peeked in the window and recognized the familiar shape of parachute rigs hanging on the wall. In disbelief, I proceeded to venture into the shop where there was a list of prices for lessons and rentals. I'm not making this up. Base jumping is LEGAL in Norway. After further inquiry, I discovered that I am currently about 100 freefall airplane jumps shy of being eligible for the course.

We then proceeded to venture up about 30 switchbacks until we reached the base of the hike toward Kjeragbolten. This four hour hike quickly found a place on my High Fidelity Top Five Hikes list for reasons that will become clear if you continue reading. The hike combined the verticle incline of Square Butte, the longevity of Baldy (almost), and the adventure of the Ice Caves. After nearly rapelling down several rock faces, hurdling over chasms that were about a foot wide and 1000 feet down, and stopping to pet the sheep along the way, we made it to the last plateau before reaching the summit. As we were chatting it up with some of the locals who passed us on their way down, we learned that there were some jumpers preparing for liftoff just a short distance ahead. We quiickly scampered to the top, exhausted from the journey but determined to get there in time. Finally, we scurried over the last boulder and stopped in our tracks. There in front of us was a kid that couldn't have been more than 17, perched on the edge of the cliff. The look of sheer terror and fear in his eyes was something I had never witnessed, even during my years as a jumpmaster. As I reached down for my camera, he leaned forward, stretched out his arms, and was gone. Several seconds later we could hear the distinctive sound of opening shock. He was followed by four more jumpers. As we were waiting for the last two guys to make their tandem plunge, one of them encouraged us to come stand next to the place where they would be jumping off. Turns out you can get better pictures if you're actually hanging over the edge of the cliff. During the 20 minutes we spent waiting for them to dive, Sam and I asked about 10,000 questions about base jumping. Finally, our new friend announced that he would be doing a gainer. Specifically, this one would be a "Jesus Gainer." This of course prompted the question: What is a Jesus Gainer? He replied: "A Jesus Gainer is when you slowly rotate backwards with your arms oustretched like Jesus...and hope that you don't meet him at the bottom."



After there were no more jumpers to talk with (all of them having taken the plunge) we made our way toward our target destination: Kjeragbolten. We were almost there when we noticed a group of people standing at the edge of the cliff across the Fjord from where we were climbing. Sure enough, within seconds three of them went airborne and we witnessed their entire free fall. I was convinced that one of them was going to ride it in until at the last second I caught the faint glimpse of his pilot chute from behind his rig. Finally, we kept pushing on until we reached our destination. There are some other details to the story, but since my mother might be reading this blog and I know she already has a pretty lengthy list of things to pray about, I'll just leave you with a picture.

Dublin

"Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age."
--James Joyce

This past weekend I finally made it across the Irish Sea to Dublin. Although my air travel experiences could fill an entire blog, I will simply mention that I was very close to pulling a Ben Stiller at several points--I'm not raising my voice. THIS WOULD BE RAISING MY VOICE TO YOU, okay? I don't want to check my bag, okay? And, by the way, your airline? You SUCK at checking bags, okay, because I already did that once and you lost it, and then I had everything screwed up very badly for me, okay?

I was picked up from the airport by my Hopkins counterpart, Chris, who is paralleling my overseas experience at the Beaumont Hospital in Dublin. It was great to finally have a chance to reflect on my experiences abroad so far with the one person in the world who understands exactly what I've been going through. We exchanged horror stories from our first nights on take, and I was reminded of how lucky I am to have a classmate at Hopkins who is such a "brick" (or solid guy in American terms). If I stay at Hopkins for cardiothoracic, Chris and I will share the distinction of spending the 2008-2009 season as the "1109." (When you become a fellow, they strip you of your identity. Since "24601" was already taken, they had to come up with a new number for the paging system.)

I was delighted to learn that Chris's twin 3-year-old boys have the same favorite movie as me, and so I spent most of Saturday morning under the alias of "Darth Maul." After being chopped in half about 743 times by the two young Jedi, Chris and I took off for a tour of the city. We started out at the James Joyce Centre, where we arrived just in time to catch the walking tour. I have to digress for a minute and tell you that one of my goals has been to read all 100 of the top literary works of the 20th century during my lifetime. Since Laura challenged me with the list in 1999, I've made pretty good progress, but have always been intimidated by the book at the #1 spot: Ulysses. I always figured that until I could master Faulkner, I didn't have any business delving into the work of my distant relative. After this weekend, though, I can tell you that it is next on my list. The book was set in 1904 and was an attempt to paint a portrait that would allow the city to be reconstructed from the ground up just from the words in the text. The walking tour essentially followed the path of this odyssey, and despite my ignorance on the subject matter it was a fascinating stroll.

Our next stop was the Guiness factory--site of the best aerial view of the city. Of course to get to the top of the building you have to take the company tour. Even though I've tasted horse urine that was more appetizing than beer, I enjoyed learning about the business model that had propelled this company forward from a family run business to a multinational enterprise. Overlooking the city with Joyce quotes scrawled on the window glass to point out the major landmarks, people drinking Guiness all around me, and "With or Without You" playing in the background, I realized that you just can't get any more Irish than this.

We had dinner at the Johnnie Fox Pub, which is probably the most authentic joint in the UK. After a delicious 4 course meal, we were entertained by Hooley dancing, card tricks, and of course Celtic music. Although I don't have enough time to elaborate on all the details of the performance, I will say this: Probably the reason the Devil went down to Georgia is that he knew he couldn't cut it in Ireland.

Sunday I visited the Powerscourt estate in the Wicklow mountains. The land surrounding this monument rivals anything I have seen from Versailles to Busch Gardens in Florida. We also had the opportunity to hike around the waterfall, which is just a short car ride from the estate. Since I didn't have time to drive the ring of Kerry or peer over the cliffs of Mohr, I was thankful for this opportunity to see some of the beautiful scenery the country has to offer.

Stratford Upon Avon

Just declaim a few lines from "Othella"
And they think you're a heckuva fella.
If your blonde won't respond when you flatter 'er
Tell her what Tony told Cleopaterer,
And if still, to be shocked, she pretends well,
Just remind her that "All's Well That Ends Well."
Brush up your Shakespeare
And they'll all kowtow.

--Cole Porter

I had to make a slight change in my weekend plans Friday morning when reports from the BBC showed people lined up all the way to Birmingham trying to get on their outbound flights from London after the alert level was raised. Ryan Air, desperate to contain this chaos, was more than happy to postpone my flight to Dublin one week at no extra charge.

Having a ticket for four more attractions at Stratford to cash in on, I immediately made plans to return for a second dose of Shakespeare. This time I visited the Nash House/New Place. The building that remains is the former home of Shakespeare’s granddaughter. However, the site holds more significance as the grounds on which Shakespeare’s home once stood (before being torn down by one of its owners who didn’t want to pay taxes on it). The thing that impressed me the most about this visit was learning that at the age of 30, Shakespeare was a multimillionaire (by today’s standards) when he built the New Place. Of course it’s not the fact that he was wealthy at such an early age that impresses me. It’s the realization that this guy was probably younger than me when he penned verses like: “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!” I can pretty much guarantee that if you read all of my publications in their entirety you won’t come across anything that even remotely resembles this kind of beauty. And this in spite of the fact that I’ve probably spent twice as many years in school as Shakespeare did. Clearly the man was a genius.

I spent the remainder of the day enjoying two more performances by the Royal Shakespeare Company. There is truly nothing that can compare to hearing history’s best use of the English language read by members of the world’s most prestigious acting company (having produced the likes of Judi Dench, Kenneth Branagh, Dustin Hoffman, Ian McKellen, and Alan Rickman). I think the best part about Shakespeare is how real his characters are. When you go see a Hollywood production, what you usually get is a protagonist character played by someone like Kevin Costner whose character combines the charisma of Henry V, the sense of humor of Falstaff, the thoughtfulness of Hamlet, and the courage of Julius Ceasar. With Shakespeare, you see humanity revealed in its truest form. Henry VI is a character that portrays unquestioned moral virtue. But Shakespeare reminds us that in the real world, this quality is not a free pass for never-ending happiness. Queen Margaret (played spectacularly by Katy Stephens) is one of the clearest examples of evil that the stage has ever seen. But I can tell you that in comparison to some of the women I’ve dated, she’s pretty normal by today’s standards. It is this complexity that makes his work so brilliant and keeps me coming back for more.

Literary Legends

If you have ever learned how to read, it is impossible not to be impressed by the unparalleled depth of literary talent that has existed in England during the past 1500 years or so. As an English major drop-out, this was one of the things I looked forward to most about coming over here. When I lived in Boston, I used to think it was great that you could visit Walden Pond and Louisa May Alcott's house in the same afternoon. You can imagine the chills I get walking around Headington and realizing that I'm probably following the same path as some of the world's greatest writers. Although it's hard to know where to begin exploring with so many options to choose from, this weekend I decided to focus on the two personalities that have probably had the greatest influence on me: C.S. Lewis and the incomparable William Shakespeare.

I started out the morning in Oxford on a guided tour of C.S. Lewis's world, given by a man who was a childhood friend of Douglas Gresham (Lewis's stepson) and knew the Lewis family well. Our first stop was the Eagle and Child pub (a building I probably walked past 50 times before realizing its siginificance. This was of course the site where a group of 19 writers (including Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Charles Williams) gathered every Tuesday morning between 1940 and 1963 for reading and criticism of their literary works.



As we were making our way around Oxford, our guide made several comments about how most people living around here don't have any idea who Lewis was. There is no shrine or memorial to any of the Inklings to be found in all of England. At first I found this unfathomable, until I realized that there is probably a good reason for it. As an alumnus of a school who graduated its first class in 1959, it's hard to appreciate the sheer magnitude of the contrubutions made here during the last 800+ years. As a case in point, we were just rounding the corner on our way up to Headington when our guide said, "Oh yeah--that building right there is the pathology lab where Fleming discovered penicillin."

We drove up to Headington and stopped the van to get out and walk around a quaint neighborhood that looked a lot like something you might read about in a storybook. As we came up to one of the houses, I noticed a plaque on the front that read: J.R.R. Tolkien Lived Here. I stepped back, took a deep breath, and smiled at the realization that this was as close as any human being has ever gotten to The Shire. It was at this point that our guide began telling stories of how he used to run around the Lewis residence (the Kilns) playing with Doug as a child. He started telling us about the gardener that was almost like a part of the family to them. It turned out this gentleman was the inspiration for the character Puddleglum--hands down the most fascinating character in the Chronicles of Narnia (actually Thornbutt the dwarf was a close second). Along with Lee (East of Eden--based off Steinbeck's housekeeper) and Tom Bombadil (Lord of the Rings--based off a children's toy), Puddleglum lives on as one of my favorite characters in all of fiction literature. I asked our guide about the liklihood that the wardrobe purchased by Wheaton College was the genuine article. Turns out it's a total fraud. The wardrobe existed only in Lewis's imagination. In fact, the idea originated one day as Lewis was visiting the Brasenose church in Oxford. He evidently didn't care for the preacher, and in order to avoid greeting him after the service, Lewis exited the church from the opposite side of the sanctuary. There were several coats obstructing the passage to the back door, and after brushing past them Lewis found himself in the snow-covered ground of an Oxford winter. The lamp-post still survives in this location.

We then visited the Holy Trinity church, where Lewis and his brother worshiped for over 30 years. I sat down in the pew that he used to sit in and contemplated the fact that it was in this very spot that Lewis first got the idea for "The Screwtape Letters." We left the sanctuary and made our way to the cemetary outside the church--Lewis's final resting place. The inscription on his gravestone reads "Men must endure their going hence," which is of course taken from King Lear.

It was on this note that I departed from the Lewis tour and made my way up to Stratford Upon Avon to explore the world of William Shakespeare. It was already getting late by the time I arrived, so I only had time to see his birthplace. The small room where the Bard was born represents a Mecca for writers, having been visited by the likes of Emerson, Scott, Hawthorne, Dickens, and Mark Twain. After a brief visit, I headed back towards the theatres, where I had tickets for Henry VI. I can honestly tell you that I had no idea of what I was in for as I climbed the stairs to the gallery seating section of the Courtyard theatre. I had read Richard III and Henry V during one of my speech classes at the Academy, but I'll readily admit that I have always been confused by the history of the English Monarchs. Since it was only during the past week that I figured out that Prince Charles was next in line to the throne and that the War of the Roses was not just a Danny DeVito movie that I never saw, I was a little nervous about my ability to follow what was going on. I should also mention that this was Henry VI Part 3, and I can still remember how difficult it was to follow Die Hard 3 having not seen the first 2 at the time. As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about. From the opening scene of the play, I was on the edge of my seat waiting to see what would happen next. The RSC does such an amazing job of bringing the story to life, that you don't really even need a program to follow it. In fact, in some ways it was even more fun that way. It wasn't until the end of the first Act that I realized that Gloucester (played by an actor who looked almost identical to a younger version of Ian McDiarmid) would later become Richard III and that I was actually watching a prequel to a show I had already seen and loved. I am now completely addicted and have vowed not to leave the UK without having watched the entire historical works on stage. At 5 quid, how can you NOT take advantage of this kind of opportunity?

Stonehenge

"In ancient times, hundreds of years before the dawn of history. There lived a strange race of people...the Druids. No one knows who they were, or what they were doing...but their legacy remains...hewn into the living rock of Stonehenge..."
--Spinal Tap



Today I decided that in spite of the numerous recommendations I was given to skip Stonehenge, I couldn't just not get in my car and drive the 45 minutes that it would take to see this amazing spectacle. As far as world famous tourist sights go, this one didn't disappoint. I would put it in the Mount Rushmore/Golden Gate category rather than the Mona Lisa/Liberty Bell category for living up to the hype. As you drive in after miles and miles of open fields and suddenly see this huge rock structure surrounded by hundreds of people, it is impossible not to ask yourself the question: how did the aliens build this thing?

I should tell you that I was quite surprised by the misinformation of the audio tour. While I appreciated their honesty in admitting that nobody really has any clue how the stones got there, they seemed to be a bit delusional about the facts related to this matter. From listening to their propaganda, you would almost think they believed those "myths" about ancient civilizations putting up this monument as some sort of calendar designed for pagan worship. Personally, I think that the "Merlin the Magician" hypothesis holds more credibility. Now I'm not saying that it isn't possible that some Precambrian society learned how to use the Force analogous to Yoda lifting Luke's spaceship out of the Degoba swamp in "Empire Strikes Back." However, I just don't feel that there is enough archeological evidence to support this kind of hypothesis. Let me offer you exhibit A: multiple cow pastures within a few hundred feet of the "slaughter stone." Clearly the aliens who landed here in Europe were relatives (or maybe even the same group) that touched down on Square Butte nearly 5 thousand years ago. Evidence would suggest that they probably used a slightly different type of spacecraft--the trench surrounding the rock structure implies a more conventional "flying saucer" design than the one employed in Montana.

Now I don't want you to get the wrong idea about things. It's not like I'm running around in my flat wearing a Jedi Cloak and wielding a light saber...well, I'm not carrying a light saber....It's just that I think we know enough from documented experiences of UFO sightings and even personal encounters with extra-terrestrials, that to propose any other explanation for this structure seems a little ridiculous. The real question is why they chose this part of England to stage their next invasion, and when do they plan to return? It is likely that we'll never know the answers to these mysteries.

Scotland

After completing my first week of "take," I was out of the hospital by 9am Friday with no weekend commitments. In a moment of spontaneity, I grabbed a few things, hopped in the car, and started following signs pointing to "The North." Before long, I had crossed over Hadrian's Wall and was on my way to Glasgow. This marked the first destination point on my journey through Europe that I would be returning to (aside from London), having visited Scotland extensively in middle school. The funny thing is that I really didn't remember very much from my previous trip, even though it wasn't that long ago (Yes I AM in denial about my age). After checking in to a student dormatory (one of the last available rooms in the city) I explored around the city and formulated a plan for the rest of the weekend.

I got up early Saturday and drove up to the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond, where I had breakfast and hiked around a little. Being in the foothills surrounding some of Scotland's lakes started making me feel a little homesick, since it closely resembled many of my favorite hikes in the Little Belts (yes I'm still eating my heart out about missing the ranch this year). For comic relief, I stopped at the Rob Roy visitor center for some of the most priceless amateur acting around. I'm serious, this was even better than the Ben Franklin Museum in Philly. I felt like I was watching a waterbed commercial or something. Anyway, I pressed on to Stirling where the castle and William Wallace monument could be seen towering above the trees. After touching up on a quick history lesson at the Wallace monument, I went down to the site of the Battle of Sterling Bridge and cued up my iPod to listen to the words of Scotland's Patron Saint (Mel Gibson): "Sons of Scotland! I am William Wallace...And I see a whole army of my country men, here, in defiance of tyranny. You've come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight?....Aye, fight and you may die, run, and you'll live... at least for a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willin' to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, JUST ONE CHANCE, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take... OUR FREEDOM!" To round out my tour of Stirling, I went to the statue of Robert the Bruce and sight of the Battle of Bannockburn where Scotland ultimately achieved her independence.

By the time I got to Edinburgh that evening, there were no rooms left in the entire city. For the first time I had to pay the price for the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants approach to traveling. Fortunately, it was a small price to pay. Just an extra 10 pounds and on hour and a half of driving around aimlessly in a city that would have made a great location for a U2 concert. (Technically the streets DO have names, they just aren't written down on any signs anywhere). The Bed and Breakfast turned out to be 2 blocks from a beach (I went to a public high school so I haven't quite figured out the geography of how that one works out yet). I got to bed early and arrived the next morning at the Royal Museum and the Museum of Scotland for a quick tour before heading back to Oxford.

Wimbledon

(7-8-06)

This afternoon I headed into London in the hopes of catching at least a part of the biggest tennis tournament in the world. I stopped in at the tourist office to ask about my chances of getting in and was told not to bother--tickets were sold out a long time ago and I would have no chance of getting in. Nevertheless, I was so desperate to see a game of live tennis (since until today the only games I had ever been a spectator to were at the XZ ranch) that I hopped on the bus and headed over to the complex. When I arrived, there was a line about a mile long of people waiting to get into the grounds. I hopped in line under the premise that I had once waited in a 4 hour line to spend five minutes looking at a coffin that contained the remains of Ronald Reagan, so I could at least wait an hour and a half to see some of the best tennis ever played. Within 15 minutes, the women's final had just finished, and they were waving me through (since many people were leaving the grounds at this point). As I could hear that the men's doubles final was about to start on court 1, I quickly threw down an extra 13 pounds in order to watch what promised to be the best match of the tournament. I found my seat and was immediately overwhelmed by the excitement of the atmosphere around me. The next thing I noticed was that the Bryan brothers were quite a bit older looking than what I remembered from watching them on TV. To my horror and disappointment, the match I was expecting to see was over in "Centre Court," where I couldn't get access to with my ticket. Instead, I was watching the "Old" Men's Doubles Final. Nevertheless, I still had a blast watching some amazing volleys in the very tournament where Andre Agassi played his last game. As I was watching them, I couldn't help thinking that if I kept working on my serve and made friends with Maria Sharapova, there's no reason I couldn't at least qualify for the 2036 mixed geezer doubles bracket of the tournament. Of course that is assuming I'm not in Pamplona that year running the bulls (since work schedule did not permit that opportunity this go around). After the game I caught the bus back to central London just in time to catch the 22,338th performance of "The Mousetrap." It was an unbelievable show, and I can see why it has been packing in the seats for 54 years--the world's longest run. While I will keep the time honored tradition of not revealing who dunnit, I will tell you that Agatha Christie is a genius--I was way off in my guess.

The English Patients

(7-8-06)

I completed my first week as an "Honorary Registrar" yesterday. The differences between England's NHS and the American health care system are striking. One characteristic common to both countries, however, is the state of financial crisis. I watched a story on the local news channel shortly after arriving in England that described the layoffs that were going on with doctors and nurses throughout the Oxford community. I was impressed by the state of uproar that the community seemed to be in, but would have never guessed that these "redundancies" were going to affect 2 of the 3 Consultants (Attendings) on my service. Unbelievable. I mean the JR seems to be worse off than Wernham Hogg. Although it does not seem to be as difficult as I would have expected to obtain testing for patients, every CT scan and procedure that we order has to be approved by a radiology consultant. The length of waiting times are much greater here than in America, both for surgical procedure and for clinic visits. My first experience in the operating room came on Wednesday, when I participated in a laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Probably the wierdest thing to get used to was walking into the theatre without a mask on. I probably would have felt more comfortable walking around Times Square in my whitey tighties. The funny thing is that after awhile you kind of get to where you actually prefer that unconstricted feeling. Probably the most awkward moment came when the consultant I was working with came around the table and stood next to me. One of my good friends at Hopkins used to tell a story about one of the breast surgeons back home who used to operate that way. He described it as similar to walking into a restaurant and seeing some elderly married couple sitting next to eachother at a booth. It definitely wierded me out a little, particularly because most of my movements required reaching accross the table in order to manipulate a "grasper" that was apparently not made for grasping tissue. In spite of the adjustments, the gallbladder came out pretty easily. As I was preparing to close the skin, they handed me a straight needle--something I hadn't seen since my 8th grade home economics class. But by far the biggest adjustment to working over here is the differences in vocabulary. I've had to resort to putting together my own travel dictionary:
Elevator=Lift
Follow the drain output=Chase the drain output
Cap the bile drain=Spicket the bile drain
I've lost exactly 21 pounds of weight=I've lost a stone and a half
That's a load of crap=That's a load of bollucks
That's the bomb (or "tits" in some places)=That's the dog's bollucks
Electrocautery=Diathermy
Yankeur<>Wanker
Thyroid retractor=Langenbeck retractor
Reinhoff=Clip
Balfour retractor=?????? (still working out the spelling on that one)

Independence Day

(7-4-06)

The Fourth of July has always been one of those holidays where I tend to look back on past years and think about where I am and where I've come from. I think this type of reflection started in 1993, when I celebrated the holiday with 1100 young men and women in Colorado Springs on day 4 of Basic Cadet Training. I remember one of the cadre explaining to us that as members of the armed forces we would have to make sacrifices for our country, and that missing out on having a 4th of July picnic with our families was only the first example of this kind of sacrifice. Ever since then, I've always made a point of taking note of where life has taken me, thanking God for the times when I was fortunate enough to spend the day with my family at the lake or watching fireworks while listening to the Boston Pops. Unfortunately, most years it seems like duty (albiet outside the military) prevails, and I find myself in the hospital taking care of trauma victims. Although this was not my first Independence Day outside the USA, it is certainly the most unique holiday I have ever celebrated in the sense that I am currently behind "enemy" lines. Fortunately, I was able to celebrate with some American friends. I got a last minute notification that Greg Sauer would be in town, and I managed to meet up with him (along with Aaron Akins) in London. We ate at an authentic Lebanese restaurant, complete with music, belly dancing, and hookah pipes. The food was probably the best meal I had since arriving in Europe. It was great to have the chance to spend some quality time reliving select scenes from the movie "Swingers" with a couple of Americans who like me were still feeling a little out of place in the big bad world outside America.

The British Museum

(7-2-06)

Today I caught the shuttle to London with the hopes of getting a chance to watch part of the Wimbledon. I arrived at Victoria station only to discover that there were no matches today. Instead, went up to Hyde park to have lunch. I have to say that despite all the hype, I was a bit disappointed. It was not even comparable to Central Park or even the Boston Common. Nevertheless, it was interesting to note that Henry VIII used to hunt deer there, and like everything in Europe the history attached to the place is clearly the main appeal. After that, I hopped on the tube to check out the Brittish Museum. After viewing the artificacts from Egypt, Greece, Rome, and the rest of Western Europe, I couldn't help wondering how long America's prominence as the epicenter of civilization would last. Lately there seems to be a lot of discussion about our economic prominence being overtaken by Asia, and from what I hear "The World is Flat" is a must read. After spending a few hours reflecting on the entirety of the history of human civilization, I was struck by how small my role would appear to be in this grand design. It was an excellent lesson in the ability of time to wear away any contribution we may make to the world during our lifetime. As a case in point, probably the one human being that gets the most attention in the British Museum is Alexander the Great. As far as I can tell, if you ask most people today what they know about him, they'll tell you that he was gay and played by Collin Ferrel. I'd hate to think what Alexander would have done to Oliver Stone if he was alive today.

Homeward Bound

(6-30-06)
The last day of our trip was almost entirely consumed by traveling. Our train was 2.5 hours late getting from Ljubljana to Budapest, so by the time we arrived I barely had time to grab a quick bite to eat and catch a taxi to the airport. As I near completion of my first tour backpacking through the continent, I feel much more acclimated from when I first arrived. After finding my way around cities with currency that is less than 1/200th of a dollar, where English isn't universally spoken, and where I'm not always sure where I'll lay my head at the end of the day, returning to the comforts of Oxford should be a cinch. In the meantime, I'm already looking forward to my next opportunity to venture out past the English channel again.

Slovenia

(6-28-06)
When we got to Ljubljana around 11:00 yesterday morning, for the first time since arriving in Europe I reached a point where I had no list of things to do, no agenda, and really no plan other than to pick up Jackie in Klagenfurt and find our way back to Lake Bled. Since neither Sam or I had any clue how to navigate around the country, we made obtaining currency and a map our first priority. This turned out to be relatively straightforward--even though I was nearly as far from home as I had ever been in my life, just about everyone spoke English. This was very helpful since we had nothing but a street address from which to locate our car rental. When we finally located the rental car company, we were told that our economy sized vehicle was not available, but for no extra charge we would be given a brand new Euro-station wagon. Perfect for transporting 3 people and all of our luggage. As we made our way north into Austria, we were surrounded by the beauty of the Julian Alps. Even though I spent some of the most formative years of my life living in some of the most beautiful mountains on the planet, I was still amazed by the breath-taking distinctiveness of southern Austria. The occasional church steeples poking out over the landscape were a constant reminder of the history that surrounded us. As we returned to Slovenia after picking up Jackie, I became acutely aware of my good fortune in having 2 travel partners with so much experience. As I handed our passports over to the border patrol, I realized that the two of them had stamps from countries that I had never even heard of. After driving for about an hour through terrain that could have been used for the set of a Peter Jackson movie, we finally arrived in Lake Bled. The first glimpse of the lake with its castle overlooking from a cliff and historic churches on its banks and island were enough to convince me that this was truly one of the most unique and beautiful locations I had ever been to. I am still scratching my head as to why anyone would waste a trip to Europe visiting the Tower of London, the Vatican, or the Eiffel tower and miss out on seeing this unvelieveable sight. Lake Bled is literally one of the world's best kept secrets. Being here gives me a feeling that I have only had a couple of times in my life during trips to the crater in Tanzania or diving in the underground Sinoras in Cancun where you realize that you are taking part in something very special that most people will go through life and never see. Our bed and breakfast overlooked the lake, and after checking in we immediately set out to explore the city. Many gigabytes of memory were wiped out in the space of the first hour taking pictures. We eventually found our way into town, where we stopped for a pizza while watching the France/Spain game. Jackie had a vested interest in the outcome, having just scored tickets to watch the winner take on Brazil back in Germany. On our way back to the Bed and Breakfast, we witnessed a spectacular lightning storm just behind the Bled Castle up on the cliff across the lake. Sam and I slept in a little the next morning, and then the three of us went down to a cafe for breakfast and a cappuccino. We then piled in the car and headed for Bohem. We took a gondola there to the top of one of the ski resorts, where we spent the morning hiking, having lunch at the top of one of the peaks. We then drove back to Bled, where we drove up to the Bled castle overlooking the lake. The views from the top were nothing short of spectacular. After that we hiked along a gorge to a waterfall nearby, which was remniscent of something from Lord of the Rings. We made it back just in time to catch the sun setting over the lake. We enjoyed dinner at a very nice restaurant that was right on the waterfront before turning in for the night. Although we had all fallen in love with Bled to the point that we never wanted to leave, the next morning we decided that with the rest of Slovenia unexplored and another day on our rental car, we really owed it to ourselves to venture out to the south. Before departing, we visited a beautiful church that was perched overlooking the water. The inside walls were covered with a beautiful series of paintings that depicted various elements of the Lord's Prayer. It was pretty money--reminded me a little of the Naval Academy chapel where the stain glass windows all have a maritime theme. We then hopped in the car and set our course for the Predjama castle. This castle was originally built in the 12th century and was constructed directly on top of an elaborate cave system. The building literally merges with the face of a cliff which contains the numerous hidden passages. I don't know if Tolkein ever visited Predjama, but it is inconceivable to me that its legend didn't in some way shape his creation of Helm's Deep. Historically, the castle's most famous inhabitant was Erasmus the loyal follower of Hungarian king Matthias Corviscus, who rebelled against the Austrian Emperor Frederick III. Erasmus withstood a year and a day of attacks against the castele walls before being betrayed by one of his servants, who tipped off the imperial troops by shining a light on the target for the catapults--the room where Erasmus was taking a squat. We returned to Ljubljana after finishing our tour of the castle, only to find that our reservations in the hostel (famous as the sight of a former prison where each room is a cell previously inhabited by an inmate) had been screwed up by the tourism office. Fortunately, there was a 3 bed private room available in a hostel down the street, so we dropped off our things there before setting out to explore the city. We were not disappointed. We climbed to the top of a hill that overlooks the city and wandered around the castle that was built there. After taking some pictures of the sun setting behind the mountains that surrounded the city lights, we climbed back down to the village below, where we had dinner at a Greek restaurant. The city was booming with acivity, with street performers and outdoor seating from the many restaurants that were packed full. It was impossible to confuse this Eastern European flavor with any city I had ever visited before. Eventually, we returned to the hostel to catch a few hours sleep before catching an early morning train back to Budapest.

Venice

(6-27-06)

We arrived in Venice and spent the better part of an hour flailing around with a new currency, a new language, and a new city that mapquest has yet to discover. We eventually found the campground where we dropped off our packs, refilled our water bottles, and embarked on our tour of Venice. We rode the water shuttle along the grand canal before getting off at the Basillica of San Marco. After viewing the beautiful interior (also famous as the number 1 tourist trap in Italy) we got back on the water taxi and had dinner near the beaches of Lido, one of the adjacent islands. Our waiter seemed very distracted throughout the meal, as did the entire restaurant staff. Eventually Italy scored a goal on Australia, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and we got to eat our dinner amidst the symphony of car horns, fireworks, and screaming Itallians. We returned to the square of St. Marcos, where we took the elevator to the top of the tower just in time to catch the sunset. From the top of the tower we could hear 4 seperate orchestras warming up around the square, so we went back down and grabbed a table next to the one playing Con te partiro. After putting down a couple of espressos, we returned to the campground where we found college students from all over the world participating in one huge drunken orgie. We decided to forgo this opportunity to live like a European, and although I'm sure Rick Steves would have been disappointed, the images from studying Sodom and Gomorrah in BSF this past year were a little difficult to erase.

Midnight Train

(6-26-06)

We arrived at the station just in time to board the train leaving for Venice. We were initially assigned to a couchette with 2 other travelers. The first was an American named William. William was from California, but had spent the last year in Alaska after graduating from Harvard (class of '05). He was on his way to meet up with some friends in Rome before heading back to the US, where he was planning a move to DC. Prior to returning, however, he had plans to visit Pamplona for the running of the bulls. Our other bunk-mate was a little Itallian guy named Charles who had been vacationing in Budapest and was on his way back to Milan. As you might expect, it wasn't long before the four of us (at least three of whom had seen "The Sting") decided that it wouldn't be a night train ride if we didn't break out a deck of cards. Charles only understood about 5 words of English, so it took several hands before we were successful in explaining to him that the Queen of spades (or peakes if you will) was worth 13 points. Several hands after that we were successful in communicating to him that points are bad in Hearts. Our game was briefly interrupted by the wind blowing away our discard pile, but Charles was kind enough to donate his 3 gram miniature stick of Old Spice deoderant (fresh from being applied all over his body) to the job, serving as a paper weight.

Before long, everyone was getting pretty sleepy, so Sam and I said arrivederce and snuck into an empty couchette, where we pulled the bunks down and watched the sun set over Hungary's hills and lakes with the wind blowing in our faces. I fell asleep relatively quickly, only to be waken up every couple of hours as we crossed the borders of Croatia and Slovenia on our way to Italy.

Budapest

(6-27-06)


We checked out from the hostel early, grabbed a quick breakfast, and hopped on a bus for St. Stephen's Cathedral (Szent Istvan). This was the largest basillica in Hungary, named for the first Hungarian king to be baptized. He subsequently converted the rest of the country to Christianity "by hook or by crook" before his death. Legend has it that his hand is still preserved in the cathedral in a hyperbaric chamber similar to the one worn by David Decovney in the movie "Zoolander." Unfortunately, public viewing of the hand didn't open until 1330, so we had to forgo witnessing this miracle of taxidermy in order to move on with our tour of the city. We climbed to the top of the Basillica's tower, where we were able to see an excellent view of the entire city. From the tower it was easy to appreciate how the Cathedral had been built in the city's highest point, constructed after a flood wiped out the rest of the city in the mid 1800s, prompting its residents to pray for God to spare them and promising to erect the cathedral if their prayers were answered. We then visited the "liberation" monument, climbing to the top of a hill where the citadel was located across the Danube. The citadel was built in 1849 by the Austrians after defeating the Hungarian rebellion. The freedom statue was built after the communist takeover in the 20th century, during which time the Russian artillery shelled the city for several days from the citadel.

Having the opportunity to visit these sites with Sam (who had previously lived in Budapest for 6 months) was a tremendous enrichment to my experience, even if he did disagree with my claim that the word "Budapest" actually stems from the German word for "a whale's vagina." We had a quick lunch and then visited the Szecseny Furdo Turkish bath house, which was notable for a huge collection of pools which ranged in temperature from Big Trout Lake in April to McDonald's coffee. There were also a number of saunas and steam rooms, and on a cultural note, PDA seems to have been perfected in Hungary (if it wasn't invented here). We ate dinner on Andressi St. where I inhaled a bowl of Hungarian goulash before racing to the train station to catch the evening train to Venice.

The Hostel

(6-24-06)


I arrived late in Budapest and didn't make it over to the hostel until nearly 1 am. My worries about missing the curfew were quickly relieved when I walked in the door and realized that the party was just getting started at Hostel Marco Polo. There were dozens of sketchy looking travelers like myself from all over the world hanging out in the street outside. I checked in and headed up the elevator to the fourth floor where Sam was already unpacking in our room. The accommodations were actually quite good, apart from the fact that there was no air conditioning and it was as hot as an oven. Nevertheless, I can't imagine paying a Forent more to stay in any hotel in the city, since this one was equipped with a private bathroom! Despite the traveling and late arrival, I found that I was so amped to be on the continent that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep. Therefore, Sam and I set out for the city, where a nearby Pagan Summer Solstice festival was attracting a crowd of young people to the Magyar Nemzeti art museum. Out in the courtyard of the museum, people were gathered around watching some performers juggle fire. I looked at Sam and said, "I can't believe we're in Europe watching some dudes throwing around fire at a pagan festival." It was unbelievable. After getting our fill of the gymnastics and fire-eating performers, we grabbed some ice cream at the local coffee shop and headed back to the hostel.

The Terminal

(6-24-06)

I'm just killing some time in Heathrow waiting for my fligt to leave for Budapest, so I thought I'd take a minute to update my traVel log. Every adventure has to have a few unexpected twists in order to be interesting, and in my case this came in the form of both my laptop and my compass watch losing battery power before I left the airport in Minneapolis. As a result, the next several days became quite a challenge without internet access or navigational capabilities, not to mention having to figure out what time of day it was with my jet-lagged body only confusing the issue. Fortunately, the department of surgery had done an outstanding job making preparations for my arrival. After reassuring the customs agent that I was cool to enter the country for six months and occasionally cut open human beings in England, I met up with Steven (my driver) and headed for Oxford. I was delighted to see signs for "Slough" as we made our way toward M40, but was told that I was going to have to make it a seperate trip if I was going to meet up with David Brent and Gareth Keenan. I was surprised upon arriving at the flat at how small a 2 bedroom apartment can be.

At first finding my way around the city was quite a challenge. It took me 5 attempts at entering my car from the left side before I remembered that the steering wheel was on the opposite side. Although they have been few in number, my experiences with the roundabouts have involved 1 or 2 "look kids, Big Ben, Parliment" episodes.

I spent most of Thursday traveling to London in order to process my medical license at the GMC. After verifying that all of my paperwork was in order, I breathed a huge sigh of relief knowing that I could now spend the next week relaxing before starting work on July 3. Yesterday morning I made a visit to the JR to meet up with my teammates on the UGI service. Seems like a great group of people, and I look forward to getting started.

The Lake Home

Today is the day. In about 4 hours I will be getting on an airplane and leaving the country, not to return for over 6 months. In order to say goodbye to the USA and kick off my journey, I decided to spend the weekend in the place my mother once described as her favorite destination of everywhere she had traveled in the entire world: Crosslake, MN.

The weekend started out like a typical Griswold family vacation, with flights getting delayed due to bad weather and bags getting lost. We were finally able to sort through all the travel mishaps, however, and by 2 am I was pulling in to the cabin with my brother-in-law, Dave, and my friend, Coach. After getting a few hours sleep, I wandered up to the kitchen where the activity was already starting. Much to my surprise, I quickly learned that my sister, Laura, had somehow managed to ditch out on her family responsibilities and jury duties in Oakland to join us for the weekend! For someone who is not easily taken by surprise, it was a truly joyful moment. There are not very many opportunities when the entire Joyce clan gets the whole crew together, and although there was still a major void with the absence of Chubbs (my other brother-in-law), having Laura there was analogous to Clemens being back with the 'stros.

We spent most of Saturday morning putting in the dock, which went pretty quickly with all the help. In addition to my family and Coach, we also got to spend the weekend with Nick and his sister, Sara, as well as Anna (Daniel's friend). By the time evening rolled around, the weather had cleared up and the water was absolutely perfect for waterskiing. After taking a few runs, we secured on the barefoot boom and took turns working off the short rope. By the time we finished, it had been pitch dark outside for at least an hour. The next morning we went to Drive-in church, where amazingly they were having the yearly tradition of "bless the animals" day. After securing Stan's salvation, we went home and played some hoops, hit the mini-golf course (an annual Joyce tradition in which the loser is required to purchase a douche), and went back to the lake house for a steak dinner. Monday provided another evening of picture-perfect conditions on the lake. Unfortunately it was a day of failures as well: the Joyce kids were unsuccessful in getting up behind the boat (all 5 at once) after yours truly suffered a debilitating Charlie Horse (KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS THAT HURTS!!!). I also missed after 3 attempts at doing a deep water barefoot start. Rubbing salt in my wounds, Daniel nailed his on the first try.

By Tuesday morning, we were back in the Twin Cities and I was making preparations to leave the country. Stay tuned for the journey abroad...

The Match

Ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention. I've just been handed an urgent and horrifying news story. I need all of you, to stop what you're doing and listen. Tomorrow at 12:00 p.m., fourth year surgical residents all across the world will be opening an envelope that contains inside the location of where they will be spending the next 2-3 years of their lives. That’s right, it’s Match Day 2006 for Thoracic Surgeons!!! So it breaks down like this: 35 states. 88 programs. 150+ fellowship positions. 42 applicants. 27 of them speak English. You do the math. In the words of my Division Chief: “It’s a buyer’s market!”

So that leaves me with 365 days and counting to narrow this list down to 1 program and make a decision about where I will take my stand during the crucible of fellowship training. Fortunately, most of the programs can be quickly eliminated based on geography and lack of volume. After making some quick modifications to my excel-based decision calculator, we are left with the following options:

1. Los Angeles. UCLA Medical Center
2. Palo Alto. Stanford University
3. Denver. University of Colorado
4. Atlanta. Emory University
5. Ann Arbor. University of Michigan
6. Minneapolis. University of Minnesota
7. Rochester. The Mayo Clinic
8. St. Louis. Washington University
9. Durham. Duke University
10. New York. Columbia University
11. Cleveland. The Cleveland Clinic
12. Nashville. Vanderbilt University
13. Houston. The Texas Heart Institute
14. Houston. Baylor College of Medicine
15. Salt Lake City. University of Utah
16. Charlottesville. University of Virginia
17. Seattle. University of Washington

It may seem like this should be an easy thing to figure out, but let me tell you something: it’s not. The American Board of Thoracic Surgery doesn’t give you the opportunity to ease into getting to know these programs by asking a series of random questions, followed by a list of “must haves” and “must not haves” the way eHarmony does (I mean, that’s what people have told me). You have to just show up at the interview and figure out if you’re ready to commit to them or not.

The clock is ticking…