After endless amounts of flip-flopping that would make John Kerry proud, I have decided to change back to the 4-year MSci, instead of doing a separate Master's degree. One of my research supervisors has persuaded me that the MSci would be the best way for me to get into research. Apparently, the MSc degree is an inferior degree for inferior students, and even doing well in it would be like 'scoring 10 goals in Division 3 compared with scoring 2 goals in the Champions League', as he put it (he later told me about one of MSc students, who got his degree from Keele, not knowing how to do matrices).
Even when I told him that my main motivation is financial, he told me that it would be better to 'suffer for one more year' than to do the MSc (note that I'm talking primarily about the MSc in Physics, not the Cambridge CASM). Apparently one of my first year lecturers, Mark Cropper, has told him about me, because even though I've only just started working with him, he already has a very high opinion of me. He said that he can supply me with a very good reference, and mentioned that most of his students have ended up in places like Princeton, Caltech, MIT etc., and frankly it was this bit that made me decide to trust him and take his advice.
At one point, he started rattling off his students and where they are now, and my ears picked out 'Curtis Saxton'. As you might know, I used to be a hardcore Star Wars fan (and am still eagerly awaiting Episode III even though my fanaticism has abated), and Curtis Saxton created a website called 'The Star Wars Technical Commentaries' some years ago analysing the technology and science in the movies, and it was noticed by the people at LucasFilm, so he ended up being technical advisor of George Lucas for Episodes II and III (and wrote the Incredible Cross-Sections books for them. At that time, he was Kinwah Wu's PhD student in the Uni of Sydney! He graduated a couple of years ago, but get this: HE IS NOW IN UCL!!! He wasn't in MSSL (our lab) when I was there, but I should have a chance to meet him very soon. I am now officially only two degrees of separation from George Lucas :p.
On another note, I just got notification that I have been selected to go to Paris on 13-15 January next year. The international launch of the World Year of Physics (to commemorate Einstein's 'miracle year' of discoveries) will be held in the UNESCO headquarters in Paris, and I will be going as part of the Institute of Physics' British delegation. Wheeeeee.......
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Sunday, November 21, 2004
They say that a nation's flag should reflect the nation. Most countries have flags rich with symbolism, expressing lofty, grand ideals for the nation to aspire to. Spain's flag is just a yellow section sandwiched between two red ones, with its royal seal encased in yellow. However, it seems to me that apart from any abstract meanings, the colours of the Spanish flag express the physical essence of the country itself.
At least, that's what I thought as my plane approached Barajas airport just outside Madrid just after noon. The sun was hanging in the sky, without a cloud in the sky, its golden rays streaming through the window. Under us, the ground was a reddish brown, with tiny buildings splashed against its flat expanse. After we finally landed, I could see that we were on a great plain, with craggy mountains just visible in the horizon. The entire panorama seemed to suffused with a dusty intensity, as if reality itself has been distilled into a purer form.
Mel had been pestering me and Tom to visit Gara in Madrid for ages (all of us knew each other from Baltimore), and while I agreed immediately, we didn't actually get down to planning the trip until fairly recently, thanks to the demands of the new academic year. Tom, who's up at St. Andrews' in Scotland, didn't feel like travelling all the way to London to catch a flight to Madrid, and pulled out quite early. As the term carried on and work started to pile up, I didn't feel like running away from a weekend either, but I gave my word that I'd go with Mel. We managed to get some cheap plane tickets, but it had to be on Friday morning. That meant that I'd miss some lectures, but I didn't really mind so to speak.
We took the Metro underground trains from the airport to our hostel. The Metro trains were absolutely spanking new, and extremely nice, which would be helpful in their bid for the 2012 Olympics (having been there, I don't think London has a chance now...it's going to be between Paris and Madrid). The parts of the Metro apart from the newly-built lines were older, but still it was better than the London Tube and much cheaper. Gara had helped us find a hostel in the Chueca district, an old quarter, and when we emerged from the station, we were in a small square surrounded by old, faded buildings. Not old and faded from neglect as in most cities, but old and faded in the dignified manner of a place that has not changed for centuries. The streets were narrow and chaotic, with tiny shops in the ground floor of crooked buildings with tiny balconies on the wall. After checking into our hostel, Mel and I went to do some sight-seeing on our own until the evening, when Gara would go and meet us (she had to work as it was Friday). We went to see some of the tourist sights of Madrid, and spent a couple of hours in the Museo del Prado, which was an art gallery which happened to be having a showcase of Spanish portraiture (e.g. El Greco, Diego Velazquez, Goya, Picasso etc), and after that Gara came to meet us. It's been the first time since either of us had seen her since Baltimore, and it was really nice that we were visiting her at her hometown. She brought us to see a few more landmarks before we finally decided to look for a place to eat at around 9pm. We walked quite a while looking for a suitable restaurant before we finally settled on a place around 10.
One of the largest differences the Spanish people have with the rest of Europe is in their culture and lifestyle. The Spaniards are a very laid-back people... the term 'siesta' means to take a nap during a day, a concept which until recently has been regarded as laziness. During the siesta hours, shops traditionally close while people go home for a heavy lunch and siesta, before reopening at around 4pm. Dinner is usually no earlier than 9-10pm, and often later (recall that I mentioned the fact that the Hispanic cabal were extremely reluctant to have dinner at the usual times). While we were there, most of our meals were in tapas restaurants, where small dishes are shared among everyone at the table. In our first meal in Spain, before we had Gara to guide us, we wandered into a crowded little tapas bar like the gormless tourists we were. We stood staring at the menu at the bar counter for about 15 minutes, while Madrilenos bustled around us ordering their lunch and talking loudly. We ordered more or less a la carte rather than a la tapas, because we were too embarrassed to consider the matter further. I ordered a serving of chorizos, a type of spicy sausage, and tortillas verduras, or vegetable-and-potato omelette. The servings turned out to be rather large, but I managed to get it down. Mel, on the other hand, ordered a Spanish omelette (tortillas de patatas) and something called patatas bravas. Now, patatas means potato in Spanish of course, so Mel had the interesting problem of having a large slice of Spanish omelette, and then have a huge plate of potatos with a spicy sauce (presumably called patatas bravas because you have to be brave to eat it). The person at the counter must have thought we were such complete weirdos.
Another thing about the Spanish culture is their love for the night life. In most places, the streets are essentially deserted by midnight or 1am at the latest, but that is the time when Madrid comes to life. Masses of young people (and a lot of not-so-young people) throng the streets, music blares out from discos and clubs that were dormant until then, and the noise is relentless. On our first night, we went to bed at about 1am, and the other people in our dorm room were just about to go out (they must have thought we were totally sad, but we have had a long day). On the second night, we went out with Gara and her friends, and when we left the clubs at 4am, there were still people queuing to get in. When we went to bed, there was still a considerable din outside (hurrah, earplugs, hurrah!).
Note that I made no detailed descriptions of Madrid's architecture and landscapes. That's because I'm letting my pictures do the talking.
Apart from that, a few lessons from the trip:
1. Try not to lose the Metro ticket when you are travelling in Madrid. And then lose a 50 Euro note a few minutes later (OUCH!). (Me)
2. After meticulously writing and affixing stamps to a stack of postcards to send to friends, do not put into mailbox without addresses (we did put names and countries though.... so it was like "Thomas Robitaille, _____________________ Scotland"). (Me and Mel)
3. After checking in for return flight, do not lose the boarding pass. (Me)
4. When buying the return ticket for the train ride to Gatwick Airport, do not accidentally throw away the return ticket after the outbound journey. (Me)
5. Do not walk into lampost. (Gara)
6. When a bunch of bitches appear to be swearing at you in the club in an argument, do not repeatedly say 'Gracias'. (Mel)
That is all for now. Pictures will be up in a day or two.
At least, that's what I thought as my plane approached Barajas airport just outside Madrid just after noon. The sun was hanging in the sky, without a cloud in the sky, its golden rays streaming through the window. Under us, the ground was a reddish brown, with tiny buildings splashed against its flat expanse. After we finally landed, I could see that we were on a great plain, with craggy mountains just visible in the horizon. The entire panorama seemed to suffused with a dusty intensity, as if reality itself has been distilled into a purer form.
Mel had been pestering me and Tom to visit Gara in Madrid for ages (all of us knew each other from Baltimore), and while I agreed immediately, we didn't actually get down to planning the trip until fairly recently, thanks to the demands of the new academic year. Tom, who's up at St. Andrews' in Scotland, didn't feel like travelling all the way to London to catch a flight to Madrid, and pulled out quite early. As the term carried on and work started to pile up, I didn't feel like running away from a weekend either, but I gave my word that I'd go with Mel. We managed to get some cheap plane tickets, but it had to be on Friday morning. That meant that I'd miss some lectures, but I didn't really mind so to speak.
We took the Metro underground trains from the airport to our hostel. The Metro trains were absolutely spanking new, and extremely nice, which would be helpful in their bid for the 2012 Olympics (having been there, I don't think London has a chance now...it's going to be between Paris and Madrid). The parts of the Metro apart from the newly-built lines were older, but still it was better than the London Tube and much cheaper. Gara had helped us find a hostel in the Chueca district, an old quarter, and when we emerged from the station, we were in a small square surrounded by old, faded buildings. Not old and faded from neglect as in most cities, but old and faded in the dignified manner of a place that has not changed for centuries. The streets were narrow and chaotic, with tiny shops in the ground floor of crooked buildings with tiny balconies on the wall. After checking into our hostel, Mel and I went to do some sight-seeing on our own until the evening, when Gara would go and meet us (she had to work as it was Friday). We went to see some of the tourist sights of Madrid, and spent a couple of hours in the Museo del Prado, which was an art gallery which happened to be having a showcase of Spanish portraiture (e.g. El Greco, Diego Velazquez, Goya, Picasso etc), and after that Gara came to meet us. It's been the first time since either of us had seen her since Baltimore, and it was really nice that we were visiting her at her hometown. She brought us to see a few more landmarks before we finally decided to look for a place to eat at around 9pm. We walked quite a while looking for a suitable restaurant before we finally settled on a place around 10.
One of the largest differences the Spanish people have with the rest of Europe is in their culture and lifestyle. The Spaniards are a very laid-back people... the term 'siesta' means to take a nap during a day, a concept which until recently has been regarded as laziness. During the siesta hours, shops traditionally close while people go home for a heavy lunch and siesta, before reopening at around 4pm. Dinner is usually no earlier than 9-10pm, and often later (recall that I mentioned the fact that the Hispanic cabal were extremely reluctant to have dinner at the usual times). While we were there, most of our meals were in tapas restaurants, where small dishes are shared among everyone at the table. In our first meal in Spain, before we had Gara to guide us, we wandered into a crowded little tapas bar like the gormless tourists we were. We stood staring at the menu at the bar counter for about 15 minutes, while Madrilenos bustled around us ordering their lunch and talking loudly. We ordered more or less a la carte rather than a la tapas, because we were too embarrassed to consider the matter further. I ordered a serving of chorizos, a type of spicy sausage, and tortillas verduras, or vegetable-and-potato omelette. The servings turned out to be rather large, but I managed to get it down. Mel, on the other hand, ordered a Spanish omelette (tortillas de patatas) and something called patatas bravas. Now, patatas means potato in Spanish of course, so Mel had the interesting problem of having a large slice of Spanish omelette, and then have a huge plate of potatos with a spicy sauce (presumably called patatas bravas because you have to be brave to eat it). The person at the counter must have thought we were such complete weirdos.
Another thing about the Spanish culture is their love for the night life. In most places, the streets are essentially deserted by midnight or 1am at the latest, but that is the time when Madrid comes to life. Masses of young people (and a lot of not-so-young people) throng the streets, music blares out from discos and clubs that were dormant until then, and the noise is relentless. On our first night, we went to bed at about 1am, and the other people in our dorm room were just about to go out (they must have thought we were totally sad, but we have had a long day). On the second night, we went out with Gara and her friends, and when we left the clubs at 4am, there were still people queuing to get in. When we went to bed, there was still a considerable din outside (hurrah, earplugs, hurrah!).
Note that I made no detailed descriptions of Madrid's architecture and landscapes. That's because I'm letting my pictures do the talking.
Apart from that, a few lessons from the trip:
1. Try not to lose the Metro ticket when you are travelling in Madrid. And then lose a 50 Euro note a few minutes later (OUCH!). (Me)
2. After meticulously writing and affixing stamps to a stack of postcards to send to friends, do not put into mailbox without addresses (we did put names and countries though.... so it was like "Thomas Robitaille, _____________________ Scotland"). (Me and Mel)
3. After checking in for return flight, do not lose the boarding pass. (Me)
4. When buying the return ticket for the train ride to Gatwick Airport, do not accidentally throw away the return ticket after the outbound journey. (Me)
5. Do not walk into lampost. (Gara)
6. When a bunch of bitches appear to be swearing at you in the club in an argument, do not repeatedly say 'Gracias'. (Mel)
That is all for now. Pictures will be up in a day or two.
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