Globe Corner Blogs

Dubrovnik Bradt Guide

I have been in Dubrovnik for almost a week and have successfully sunk into a daily pattern. I have a lot of free time as I only have four hours of class a day, giving me plenty of time to explore every nook and cranny of the old town. The old town of Dubrovnik is actually quite small, and I have spent many summers exploring it, so I feel very much at home and have become a familiar face. Every summer it seems like not much has changed from the last.

People are still strolling or strutting down the main street enjoying ice cream. The cafes are jammed with locals and tourists reading the newspapers, gossiping, and nursing their coffees. Others are just hanging out watching the spectacle. After a while all of the nights start to seem the same, so I am always happy when I stumble upon a new place.

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Hearting Chuck Thompson--photo by Llalan

Any human alive — or any alien familiar with the John Cusack oeuvre — knows the pain of crushes: the sleepless nights, the appetite loss, the general degeneration into a love-lorn automaton capable of nothing more than boring the bejesus out of all his friends with painfully detailed rehashings of eye contact near-misses. What is worst of all (if you are the crushed, not their friends) is the fact that most crushes remain, for all eternity, unrequited.

And this is why we love Mr. Thompson.

We can’t say that our adoration of the man behind Smile When You’re Lying is returned with the same intensity and fervor, or that he speaks of us with the same breathless exuberance that causes us to trip over words and fall in paroxysms of laughter that end in unfortunate snorts.

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Lake Rescue, Vermont--photo by Jess

For better or worse, I’ve spent a good hunk of time touring the New England region in the past couple months. I’ve taken the train to coastal Connecticut, the commuter rail to the North Shore of Boston, the train to New York City, and I’ve driven to southern Vermont, northern New Jersey, and Hartford, Conn. For lack of more exotic travel dispatches, here is some advice on traveling not-so-far from home:

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I made my first trip to Scotland nine years ago; back then I fell in love with the country of mist-shrouded glens and lochs that unfolded through the windows of the Haggis tour bus. This time ’round, I have a fiddle slung over my shoulder and am riding local buses to find traditional musicians who will teach me tunes and, hopefully, a bit of history.

The past month has been, at times, sunny and sopping wet and I have, at times, been in states of bliss, quiet, doubt, and inspiration. Such is the life while traveling but all is positive and making for an incredible experience.

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The Islands of Boston Harbor by Edward Rowe Snow

The day was Sunday, and my parents were on their way. They have visited me many times in Boston, but before there was always a school event already planned for us.  What was I to do this time?  Where would I take them?  The idea of going to the Museum of Dirt again popped into my head, but then I realized I needed an appointment.  This was my dilemma.  Whenever my parents come to Boston we have to go do something. Why, you might ask?  Because I live in a disgusting house with eight other people, and I know that they don’t even want to come in. This is why I need an event for them at all times when they come to visit.

The Boston Harbor Cruise was the event of the day.  I had never been, and neither had my family.  Since it was such a gorgeous day and we all enjoy boating, it seemed like the proper choice.  So off we went on this historic cruise: a cruise of islands, forts, sewage treatment plants, and abandoned buildings.

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I will admit that I do have a soft spot for picture books. Those are little museums for me: I love getting lost in images, the mesmerizing details, in “reading” face expressions, and in thinking through every story caught on camera. Yet at the same time I am incredibly picky when it actually comes to choosing a particular book and taking it home. So it goes — I only want to own those that will keep that grip on me for a long, long time. There aren’t very many of such books, but it only makes my hunt for those gems more exciting.

Now I think I am about to give in and get a new one. Reuter’s Our World Now caught my eye the very moment it appeared in the store, and I still can’t put it out of my mind. At first glance it’s just another world-in-a-year-of-pictures book, but do open it and see for yourself that it’s a real treasure! Every single shot, from oil-covered shores to fashion shows, from subway scenes to soccer matches snaps perfect. Politicians triumph over movie stars in displaying emotions and every single face of a war survivor makes you stop and start thinking…

Yet another wonderful book to get. And knowing that such things don’t last long on a shelf, I better go get myself a copy right now.

Rocking the World--photo illustration by Llalan Fowler

Here at The Globe Corner Bookstore, we like to think we know a little bit about world music. We know the beat of a Salsa versus that of a Tango, we know the whine of an Irish accordion from that of a Cajun one, we know a Buena Vista Social Club from a BigBadBoogaloo — we also know which one’s best to dance to around the bookcases on a slow night. And let’s just say we are quite familiar with the Putumayo ouvre. Sometimes I even wake up in the morning with a track off “Arabic Groove” running through my head.

If I’m not careful I forget that, in all likelihood, most people my age don’t listen solely to the traditional music native to their homes. I, for example, listen to more than just the OSU Marching Band’s rendition of “Hang on Sloopy.” This month’s issue of the music/film/culture magazine, Paste, features bands from all over the world. Whether they buck tradition or embrace it, they all rock — here’s a few of my favorites:

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Montreal Bike Path--photo by Kate McQuillen

In many of the northern cities I’ve lived in, such as Toronto, Chicago, and Boston, the arrival of warm weather brings a sort of delirium. More than just nicer temperatures, there is a feeling in the air of promise and excitement, mixed with relief and thankfulness. We squint, and recognize that bright yellow orb in the sky, from so many months ago. We are ready to sunbathe, anywhere and everywhere, for the next 90 days.

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Tour Eiffel at Midnight--photo by Jess

While your ears may still be ringing from fireworks and your belly may still be full from binge-eating (and perhaps drinking) BBQs, Independence Day celebrations are yet to be finished! Yes, July 4th has passed. But July 13th is fast approaching. If you find yourself forgetting the significance of this date, you need not worry for two reasons:
1) This date celebrates the anniversary of Bastille Day, the French (yes, French) National Holiday which commemorates their own fight for independence.
2) Bastille Day is actually July 14th. However, remembering July 13th is most likely far more relevant to your life as it’s the date of the Bastille Day in Harvard Square day-to-night block party sponsored by the Harvard Square Business Association.

Heralded as the region’s largest Bastille Day celebration, the joyous day will include live music, a traditional waiters race (no, I’m not exactly sure what that entails…), activities for children, and a en-plein-air beer garden. So check out more details on the event’s official website, mark your calender for this Sunday, and stop by the store to enjoy a 15% discount on all France-related items! Quelle coincidence! All our books and maps of France will be on sale for the rest of July, so you can even catch the end of the Tour de France before you race in.

Women Travelers by Christel Mouchard

I have only had one “major” problem while traveling by myself. This happened way back in 1998, when I was working as a teacher in Romania. During my two week Easter vacation my sister and I went on a “sister-bonding” trip through Scandinavia. After dumping her off at the airport, I just wanted to get home and relax. Against my better judgment and multiple warnings from my surprisingly travel-savvy 5th graders to “NEVER EVER TAKE THE NIGHT TRAIN FROM BUDAPEST TO TIMISOARA!!!” I decided to go ahead and take the dreaded night train to Romania. The whole thing was a disaster. Once I got to the train station I was unable to buy a ticket for the “Romanian” portion of my trip, due to local bureaucratic peculiarities that were (and still are) baffling to me. I finally decided that I was going to take a chance and try to buy a ticket from the conductor once I crossed that border, and started to settle into my compartment. While stashing my luggage in the overhead compartment, I was suddenly relieved of my purse by a charming Hungarian petty thief. I channeled my inner Powerpuff Girl, chased the guy down, grabbed my purse back, screamed Romanian obscenities that made no sense whatsoever coming from a girl, momentarily incapacitated him, and made my way back down the corridor to a chorus of “bravos” from all of the Hungarian men that witnessed the event, but didn’t bother to help me. As I sunk into my seat, a large majority of these men surrounded me, pinched my cheeks, told me to be careful, asked why I wasn’t married, and persistently tried to sell me their watches.

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