tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83835226549956948632024-03-13T13:14:32.058-06:00Big History on a Small StageAnnie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-17086260356704539102014-04-23T11:49:00.001-06:002014-04-23T11:53:38.010-06:00Guest Post: Eric Goes "Behind the Lines" at the National World War II Museum<i>Editor's Note: This is a guest post from Eric Muirhead about our recent trip to the National World War II Museum in New Orleans, Louisiana. You can read my review of our 2012 visit to that museum <a href="http://anniemuirhead.blogspot.com/2012/10/museum-review-national-wwii-museum.html">here</a>.</i><br />
<br />
As
the culminating event in my post-Afghanistan leave, I was able to convince my
better half to indulge me on a three day stop in New Orleans, Louisiana as it
lay about half way between Disney World and our return to Killeen. The primary
reason for this visit is that I have been very anxious to try the new <a href="http://www.ww2museumtours.org/behind-the-lines/">“Behind the Lines”</a> experience currently being offered by the National World War II
Museum. However, since my wife is both a public historian and an aspiring World
War II buff herself, it didn't take much effort on my part to convince her to
go along. One of the highlights of the tour is access to artifacts and parts of
the museum not normally available to the general public.<br />
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Though the trailer for the tour (yes, there is a trailer)
went into great detail about the features of “Behind the Lines” I was still
unprepared at just how much access we would be treated to upon our arrival at
the museum. Since I’m sure that “Behind the Lines” is something that many of my
friends and family would be interested in attending,I've decided to write a
detailed breakdown of our itinerary and my reflections.<br />
<br />
I would be remiss not to mention that “Behind the Lines” is NOT for the casual
tourist looking for a few hours to kill. It is only offered on Fridays and the
cost is $395 per person (or $750 a couple) and includes 12 hours of experiences
at the museum including what amounts to concierge service from the wonderful
travel and conference staff during the visit, personalized guided tours from
the volunteer docents, and one and one time with a member of the curator staff.
You also receive two meals from the fantastic in-house restaurant, The American
Sector, tickets to the two multimedia experiences currently offered at the
museum, “Final Mission” and “Beyond All Boundaries,” and finally seating at the
evening show offered at the Stage Door Canteen (in this case, “The Andrews
Brothers,” a musical review of popular USO music).<br />
<br />
In the week prior to our tour, we received an e-mail from Molly Bergeron, Sales
Manager, who would be our overall Point of Contact for the visit. She let us
know who would be accompanying us on the tour and also a few questions to help
personalize our visit. Ahead of time, the museum wants to know what interests
you have in the World War II history, what family connections you have with the
Second World War, and what connections your home-town had to the conflict so
the docents could include more personally relevant information to their
presentations.
<br />
<br />
This led to a discussion between Annie and me as to what this meant for the tour. I
admit, rather cynically, I hoped this meant that “Behind the Lines” would be
what I like to term as a “Graduate Level” experience. Too often, when I visit
World War II themed attractions, I get the standard “The U.S. entered World War
II when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, etc. etc.”
Though this is important, as someone who literally strives to learn something new
and fascinating about World War II every single day, 101-level information gets
a bit boring and redundant. We did end up covering the basics again, but I am
pleased to say, I wasn't at all disappointed.
<br />
<br />
Also included in Molly’s packet were our complete itinerary, museum information, and
instructions to arrive at the main lobby promptly at 9:00 am. As both a Soldier
used to “ten minutes prior to ten minutes prior” and someone who was excited as
a six year old on Christmas morning, Annie and I arrived around 8:30. Though
the main museum was not open, the soda fountain/coffee shop adjacent was and we
were able to have a light breakfast while we waited for the other members of
our tour to arrive.
<br />
<br />
Right at 9:00, Annie and I met the other eight members of tour group and Molly
Bergeron. I can’t say enough nice things about Molly as we learned she would be
with us the entire day and had the somewhat daunting task of ensuring that Eric
Muirhead, World War II junkie, and the rest didn't dawdle and miss our time requirements.She distributed special name tags that marked
us as “Behind the Lines” participants and introduced us to one of the best tour
guides I've ever met, Volunteer Docent Ronnie Abboud. Ronnie began introductions by offering every single lady a hug and every man a hearty
handshake. He explained he was born in 1938 and therefore was a little
old-fashioned. We didn't mind at all.
<br />
<br />
Behind the Lines” began with the museum’s new “Train Car Experience” a multimedia
kiosk modeled after a Pullman car of the early 1940s. Each seat was equipped with
a television monitor that showcased pictures and oral histories of various WWII
vets telling what it was like to leave home and ship to basic training. It was
a rather unique way of opening things as it gave a brief overview of what it
was like for people from different social backgrounds, genders, and services to
begin their journey through the Second World War. It also brought up some
rather fond (and not so fond) memories of my own experiences with recruiters,
MEPS, and the trip to Fort Benning, Georgia that began my own military career.
<br />
<br />
After the “Train Car Experience” we went to the Second Floor to begin Ronnie’s tour
through the European gallery. He did an outstanding job of relating the
experiences of the Greatest Generation to the tour participants and most
importantly made the history relevant. When he found out that I was active duty
Army myself, he let me interject a few anecdotes that really connected my
modern experience to what a new recruit in 1942 went through that really made
the tour much more enjoyable to me and (I hope) more enjoyable to my tour
mates. A particularly moving moment for me was when he recounted the story of a
Sherman tank crew’s experience in the hedgerows of Normandy encountering German
Tiger Tank at close range. Another fantastic moment that Ronnie brought to life
was at a rather banal display showcasing the weapons and equipment of a typical
World War II American “Joe” and a German “Landser” that I've seen at a dozen
other places. Not expecting anything more than a quick overview of equipment, I
began snapping pictures of the equipment as I’m currently working on setting up
my own reproduction equipment correctly. Suddenly, Ronnie did something that
caused me to pause and reflect. He asked us to realize that the two mannequins
beneath the uniforms were the same. It wasn't the differences that were
important. It was that they were just two 18 year old kids on opposite sides of
history. He highlighted this by asking everyone to look at the Wehrmacht belt
buckle on the German Soldier that read “Gott Mit Uns,” revealing the Germans
felt like they were fighting on the right side as well.
<br />
<br />
I could go on and on about Ronnie’s fantastic tour, but at 10:45, Molly appeared again and handed us
over to Gaston Andre, a Marine Corps veteran, and member of the museum staff
helping to restore an original PT Boat, PT 305. The craft was built in New
Orleans and is currently being rebuilt at the museum’s normally off-limits Kushner
Restoration Pavilion. Gaston took us around the ship and through the workshops
striving to bring PT 305 back to sea-worthy shape. Annie was very interested in
both the process of the restoration and the interpretive plan as it was a major
artifact being brought back to life. Thought the museum hasn’t quite decided
what the ship’s final disposition will be, Gaston hinted you could be seeing a
wooden-hulled, World War II speed demon capable of hitting 50 miles per hour
coming to Lake Pontchartrain.
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkPwNfbhQzB_PjBFCdENSrGazW0PGxKoaSuCZoMHvk5-Cm1pdTGdchLOFt9WW0LxoVgcN03t-ufNFWv2ixUrtUVCndYCbz0tiESq-VD5jDg-muACynjabs3GB0nQ9udFTPWIbQpRgSB5f/s1600/IMG_2967.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkPwNfbhQzB_PjBFCdENSrGazW0PGxKoaSuCZoMHvk5-Cm1pdTGdchLOFt9WW0LxoVgcN03t-ufNFWv2ixUrtUVCndYCbz0tiESq-VD5jDg-muACynjabs3GB0nQ9udFTPWIbQpRgSB5f/s1600/IMG_2967.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The prow of the reconstructed PT 305. While much of her is newly built using original plans,<br />
the restoration team salvaged about 20% of the original craft and will incorporate them<br />
into this fully operational PT Boat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At noon, Molly appeared
again and ushered us all to the American Sector Restaurant adjacent to the
Solomon Victory Theater. In a private dining room in the rear of the restaurant,
we sat down to our lunch and were introduced to Toni Kiser, Assistant Director of Collections
and Exhibits, for our “Lunch with a Curator” segment. While enjoying my
delicious Shrimp po-boy, salad, and red-velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing
(I’m a tanker and I love food) Toni talked to us about the museum’s on-going
expansion and mission statement. Annie and I also bombarded her with questions
about the museum’s interpretive plans and philosophies. Toni actually answered
one of the questions raised by our previous visit to the museum in October of
2012. Apparently, the museum makes a conscience choice to omit large references
to the war prior to December 7, 1941 for the simple reason that to discuss all of
the Allies’ experiences in the war is beyond the scope of a single facility.
Our national museum wants to focus on the stories of our own fighting men and
women.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvKOYFuftkd-W5ehSvf-uhwj9kULzpT5HDhDyOwvrmcc8Rsoyy1givfDSHtAFBi8sj4_kzik5g3_oTZ3OmCx7MPIpXc7B2lV8NvtcQC4aHxp698PQLSLAwK6hB8c7JvZVHzfG3lKt5D6G/s1600/IMG_2995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvKOYFuftkd-W5ehSvf-uhwj9kULzpT5HDhDyOwvrmcc8Rsoyy1givfDSHtAFBi8sj4_kzik5g3_oTZ3OmCx7MPIpXc7B2lV8NvtcQC4aHxp698PQLSLAwK6hB8c7JvZVHzfG3lKt5D6G/s1600/IMG_2995.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with the Museum's STG-44. Yes, it is fully operational and the smile is real.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our next few hours with Toni were
the highlight of my “Behind the Lines” experience. After lunch, she took us up
to the third floor which is solely the purview of museum staff and home to the
vault. After being issued a set of white gloves, we were allowed into the space
that houses ninety percent of the artifacts belonging to the museum. Toni
showed us dozens of items including a piece of the USS Arizona, uniforms,
footwear, and drawers filled with original (and for the most part fully
operational) weapons (she informed that she has a very friendly relationship
with her local ATF agents as a result). I worked very hard to contain my glee
as I handled items that most will never get to see except behind glass; including
my beloved STG-44 and MG-42.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiR6MU6yE4kDMPrXUe7RSWsVZ3lPuzTfMDmSqe6ylmtcBASY4GYdrVxWO0GCd0YeNgxoYVnStYK8P_wlLtlteu9OzACbAQL7tf2hIznR4R2xJTBUi8FZCQPzcGPNCFSS9MLT3C878hPg-O/s1600/IMG_2994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiR6MU6yE4kDMPrXUe7RSWsVZ3lPuzTfMDmSqe6ylmtcBASY4GYdrVxWO0GCd0YeNgxoYVnStYK8P_wlLtlteu9OzACbAQL7tf2hIznR4R2xJTBUi8FZCQPzcGPNCFSS9MLT3C878hPg-O/s1600/IMG_2994.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curator Toni Kiser showcasing some of the museum's world class artifact collection.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLBeM337WlCeO6g2UM8kaxubG5SSSEcKIxEM8xiQ4dVnR2fmkqjs6KjPGA4BmOWBtjvbS7681p_6fInLSJRvw1cPvutVHtM16N3wAcJx3UvWfgssy34kbUP77RMRjnS1RFPZoyPn7Uz6-/s1600/IMG_2998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLBeM337WlCeO6g2UM8kaxubG5SSSEcKIxEM8xiQ4dVnR2fmkqjs6KjPGA4BmOWBtjvbS7681p_6fInLSJRvw1cPvutVHtM16N3wAcJx3UvWfgssy34kbUP77RMRjnS1RFPZoyPn7Uz6-/s1600/IMG_2998.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Soviet drawer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Molly appeared again and informed us
it was time to head to the new Boeing Freedom Pavilion to experience the
museum’s incredible collection of restored World War II aircraft (including a
B-17 heavy bomber suspended 100 feet off the ground) and climb through the
museum’s operational M4A3 Sherman Tank. Now, as a US Army Armor Officer,
getting into the Sherman was a real treat. However, as someone used to the
modern vehicles in the Army’s inventory, the Sherman was a real eye-opener. I
get constantly made fun of as an incredibly short and skinny 19 series Soldier,
and I had significant issues getting into the Sherman’s cramped interior. I can
safely say that well over half of modern tankers wouldn't even be able to fit
through the hatches on that thing and I may have uttered an inappropriate
expletive or two wondering how the tankers of past took this vehicle into
combat.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjCCPWeuqPr8a7l6u6SyaFBNqlMv4AO55Wxhw8r540KHo2rL4F2-z0C0aBmdYHIKQUn472M105fK9Cfyg5uhgakVz4phIr2icw6fN9ngRokUJmx2tB0K0PFJCRYJxCL-kHz1GUN_DlLnLA/s1600/IMG_3015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjCCPWeuqPr8a7l6u6SyaFBNqlMv4AO55Wxhw8r540KHo2rL4F2-z0C0aBmdYHIKQUn472M105fK9Cfyg5uhgakVz4phIr2icw6fN9ngRokUJmx2tB0K0PFJCRYJxCL-kHz1GUN_DlLnLA/s1600/IMG_3015.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me barely squeezing into the driver's hole of the M4A3 Sherman.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sitting in the commander’s seat, I realized the shield on
the 75 mm main gun was shaped to accommodate the commander’s shoulders to such
tight tolerances that I (all five foot eight, 155 lbs of me) couldn't rotate my
upper body to access the remainder of the turret. The loader does not have a
separate hatch so that in the event the turret is disabled, he would have literally
been hopelessly trapped inside, and after the requisite combat yoga required to
access the gunner’s seat I realized just how crude the sights and optics were
on tanks of this generation. I've been blessed enough to have been able to
climb through a Sherman, a Tiger, and stick my head in a T-34. I can now
unequivocally say my preference for Axis designs is totally justified. On a
side note, I do have to apologize to Toni for accidentally rotating the turret while
she and Annie were on the front slope (honestly, I didn't realize that the
turret was unlocked and the manual traverse was also located on the gunner’s
hand station). Luckily, she stopped me before I went more than a couple of
degrees, but I can assure you I still feel very bad about this.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hNKrHx8SRhv_H_1lz70sYUhtxqZe8EHTc42f2ge1VuH-gg4iRheeyDGtrvbnOi5Vx04qo2PmQgnO8s8hDrJRbEk_o4tQi_E9leVC45dRBs23QihgyzUZqDlR5lZIkUZvimEh29Z37w1L/s1600/IMG_3014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3hNKrHx8SRhv_H_1lz70sYUhtxqZe8EHTc42f2ge1VuH-gg4iRheeyDGtrvbnOi5Vx04qo2PmQgnO8s8hDrJRbEk_o4tQi_E9leVC45dRBs23QihgyzUZqDlR5lZIkUZvimEh29Z37w1L/s1600/IMG_3014.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Curator Toni Kiser poses with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PublicHistoryBison">Public History Bison</a> on the M4A3 Sherman.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We then had to say goodbye to Toni
and head to the new “Final Mission: The USS Tang Submarine Experience.” An
extra that anyone can purchase when visiting the museum, it is an immersive
experience where each person assumes a different role as a WWII submariner (my
role was a throttle control technician in the engine room) during the famed USS
Tang’s final mission. We received our briefing from the ship’s commander and
then went to our battle stations to attack an enemy convoy. You have to listen to the commands given over
the intercom and work your controls appropriately. Some guests had to reload
torpedo tubes, adjust the helm, or work the weapons control stations. I’m sure
Navy vets would get a real kick out this until the last few unfortunate moments
when the ship is struck by its own defective torpedo and sent to the bottom.<br />
<br />
After the Tang, Molly escorted us
back to the Louisiana Pavilion where we met Volunteer Docent Barry Simon for
our guided tour of the Pacific Galleries. Barry did another outstanding job of
humanizing the conflict in the Pacific and in a particularly moving moment,
choked up during his retelling of the Patten family, eight brothers and a
father serving in the Navy during the early years of the war. Chosen by fate to
be at both Pearl Harbor and the Battle of the Coral Sea, they all survived the
destruction of the USS Nevada and the USS Lexington to finish the war together.
<br />
<br />
As the day wound down, we finally
headed back to the Solomon Victory Theater to view the museum’s crowning
experience, “Beyond All Boundaries,” a 4D movie narrated by Oscar Winner Tom
Hanks about America’s journey through World War II. Annie and I had seen this
on our previous visit to the museum and I can only describe it as, “World War
II: The Ride.” It is an incredibly moving, immersive journey through history
that emotionally captivates you through oral histories, large screens, and
special effects. It’s an absolute must for history novices and enthusiasts
alike.
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Finally, Molly took us over to the<a href="http://www.nationalww2museum.org/stage-door-canteen/">Stage Door Canteen </a>for dinner and a show before finally said her goodbyes.
After thanking her for all her hard work, we were treated to a wonderful meal
where all the members of the tour group were able to discuss our experiences
during the day and get treated to a viewing of “The Andrews Brothers,” the
museum’s latest musical review. Performers skillfully brought the music and
costumes of the '40s back to life in the guise of a USO show that suddenly
finds itself without its stars on a South Pacific island.
<br />
<br />
As Annie and I walked back to our
hotel room at the end of the day, both of us were tremendously impressed with
the program the National World War II Museum put together. Molly was there
every step of the way to make our visit a spectacular memory, Ronnie and Barry,
our volunteers both helped bring new life to our tours of the galleries, and
Gaston Andre let us see history getting rebuilt to its glory. Toni Kiser was
absolutely outstanding and it was a real privilege to have one of the museum’s
leaders take us through so many rare and beautiful artifacts. She also indulged
Annie and I and let us see how a world class museum organizes its collection
and constructs the experience for its visitors.
<br />
<br />
“Behind the Lines” is exactly that:
A real adventure through the inner-workings of the National World War II
Museum. To anyone with even a passing fascination with the world-changing
events of 1939 to 1945, TAKE THIS TOUR. It is a gift you give to yourself.
Plus, your contributions will help ensure that this fantastic museum and its
staff will be able to keep telling the story of the Greatest Generation for
many years to come.Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-45655135529305848592013-06-04T11:04:00.001-06:002013-06-04T11:04:13.664-06:00NCPH 2013 Recap, Part 1This April I decided to attend the National Council on Public History's 2013 Annual Meeting in Ottawa, Ontario. I almost didn't get there, thanks to the black hole that is Chicago. Still, after a couple of drinks with one of my professors we managed to get out as standby passengers on the last flight of the night. Thus, I spent most of Wednesday wandering around Chicago O'Hare searching for a power outlet and feeling immensely grateful that I had not checked a bag. The real fun began on Thursday. Here's a rundown of the different panels I attended with some of my notes and thoughts.<br />
<br />
Thursday -<br />
<ul>
<li><b>WordPress as a Public History Platform</b></li>
<ul>
<li>Clarissa Ceglio, <a href="http://chnm.gmu.edu/">Roy Rosenzweig Center for History & New Media</a>, George Mason University</li>
<li><a href="http://mcclurken.org/">Jeffrey McClurken</a>, University of Mary Washington</li>
<li>Erin Bell, <a href="http://csudigitalhumanities.org/">Center for Public History + Digital Humanities at Cleveland State University</a></li>
</ul>
</ul>
I've used WordPress a couple of times in the past, but obviously I don't use that platform for this blog. This session went over many different ways to use WordPress and some of the various plug-ins the presenters have found useful. <a href="http://connecticuthistory.org/">Connecticut History</a> is an ongoing publishing effort that serves as a gateway to museums and other repositories within Connecticut. The interface allows users to explore the connected stories of Connecticut's past and directs them to further discovery around the internet and the state. The <a href="http://www.zotero.org/">Zotero</a> plug-in maintains a database of sources organized by category tags, which update automatically on linked Connecticut History pages. The site also uses the <a href="http://wordpress.org/plugins/edit-flow/">Edit Flow</a> plugin to contain and organize the editorial process. On the educational side of things, Jeff McClurken talked some about how he uses WordPress in the classroom to publish creative and public digital history projects. He does not assume that all his students are "digital natives," but emphasizes how even a WordPress newbie can create a polished website. Another idea for the classroom? Use more experienced, tech-savvy students as "Tech Mentors," who can handle basic questions from their peers. Two other platforms also came up. <a href="http://omeka.org/">Omeka</a> works best for creating online exhibitions or digital repositories. <a href="https://drupal.org/home">Drupal</a> offers similar options to WordPress, but requires more programming knowledge. Another aspect the presenters emphasized was the need to think about advertising from the very beginning of a project, often incorporating social media. After all, what's the point of doing all that work if no one ever sees it? I asked the presenters about copyright issues - both how they handle the use of copyrighted material and how they protect their own work on the web. They weren't very concerned about the second part, but the first generated generated further discussion. They emphasized reliance on <a href="http://creativecommons.org/">Creative Commons</a> licensing and <a href="http://www.copyright.gov/fls/fl102.html">Educational Fair Use</a>, combined with the use of clear citations. One audience member pointed out these don't exactly offer ironclad protection. Linking to external content is definitely OK, but embedding content hosted elsewhere has yet to be tested in court. For an exploration of student privacy issues and some WordPress tutorials, check out <a href="http://commons.trincoll.edu/cssp/seminar">http://commons.trincoll.edu/cssp/seminar</a>. I got to talk with Jeff McClurken briefly after the break about ways of incorporating <a href="http://pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a> into digital history projects. Especially in the costuming world, it has emerged as a brilliant way of organizing visual research. Here is Ava Trimble's article on <a href="http://bygoneglamour.wordpress.com/2012/03/26/using-pinterest-for-historical-costume-research/">Using Pinterest for Historical Costume Research</a> and another one from Lauren Reeser of American Duchess on <a href="http://americanduchess.blogspot.com/2012/09/v263how-to-find-original-image-sources.html">How to Find Original Image Sources on Google</a>.<br />
<ul><ul>
</ul>
<li><b>Connecting Communities: Social Media and Public History Practice</b></li>
<ul>
<li><i>Hey Girl: Popular Culture, Digital Media and the Practice of Public History</i>, Rachel Boyle and Anne Cullen, Loyola University Chicago</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<div>
Ok, there was no way I was going to miss this talk. I discovered <a href="http://publichistorianryangosling.tumblr.com/">Public History Ryan Gosling </a>during Fall 2011 exams and he made me laugh rather a lot. Rachel and Anne dissected the creation of a meme, but I most enjoyed their discussion about community and social media. They asked whether memes create new communities or reinforce existing ones and also suggested <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> as a form of shared authority. I'm definitely still thinking about their talk every time <a href="http://www.grumpycats.com/">Grumpy Cat</a> shows up on my newsfeed.</div>
<ul>
<li><b>How to Celebrate and Remember WWI</b></li>
</ul>
<div>
I got to this panel a little late because of Public History Ryan Gosling. I managed to grab the last open seat, but missed out on the headphones for simultaneous translation.</div>
<ul>
<ul>
<li><i>Remembering the First World War in Britain in the 21st Century</i>, Dan Todman, Queen Mary University of London</li>
</ul>
</ul>
I came in a few minutes late into this talk, but I really wish I'd gotten to hear the entire thing. Todman talked about the fundamental problem of combining commemoration and public history. In regards to WWI, this leads to a struggle between the traditional narrative of sacrifice and any historical questioning. He also touched on the connection between remembrance and national identity (you can bet that set off my Falklands alarm!), the politicization of the past, the roles played by mythical narratives, identifying key stakeholders, and difficulties concerning Irish and Scottish narratives. I actually ran into Dan Todman on Friday outside the Canadian War Museum, so we got to chat for a few minutes.<br />
<ul><ul>
<li><i>Commemorating a Foreign War in a Neutral Country. Recent WWI Interest in the Netherlands</i>, Kees Ribbens, NIOD Institute for War, Holocaust, and Genocide Studies</li>
</ul>
</ul>
Did you know the Dutch commemorated World War I? I sure didn't. Apparantly integrating it into Dutch history is a fairly recent project connected to ideas of modernity.<br />
<ul><ul>
<li><i>Battlefield Tourism as a Memorial Practice. Centenary of the Great War, Commemorations and Changing Actors in the Ypres Salient, 1914-2014</i>, Delphine Lauwers, European University Institute of Florence</li>
</ul>
</ul>
Battlefield tourism started in Ypres as early as 1919. World War I completely destroyed the city, but British families still came to see where their men had fallen. Veterans oftened guided these groups, lending authority to the expeditions. Questions arose regarding the site: should the ruins be preserved or the town rebuilt? Belgian and British interests clashed on the future of Ypres, but centennial commemorations have settled on a theme of peace.<br />
<ul><ul>
<li><i>The Great War: An Economic Asset for French Local Institutions</i>, Joelle Beurier, Rheims University</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<div>
This talk was in French and I was trapped in the back corner with no translation headphones. Sad Annie was sad...and confused.</div>
<ul>
<li><b>Public History in Postcolonial Spaces</b></li>
<ul>
<li><i>Telling New Stories: Public History and Collective Identity in Post-Conflict Belfast</i>, Julie Davis, College of St. Benedict/St. John's University</li>
</ul>
</ul>
I love Belfast. I haven't been since I was 14, but my family has a pretty strong connection to the place. We were Usltermen centuries ago and my dad served at the US Consulate in the early 1980s. Julie observed that Belfast is a city made of stories, all dying to be told while the city struggles to reinvent itself. The 30 years of the Troubles remain one of its most defining features, sustaining a culture of sectarian conflict and entrenched narrative oppositions. While Northern Ireland is often excluded from postcolonial societies, Julie uses the ideological framework of settler colonialism to help understand her subject. She also draws on cultural geography to rethink ideas of place - for example, placing Northern Ireland in the context of the pre-1690 North Sea world. During Julie's visits to Belfast, she made a number of observations about stories currently being told for tourists and residents. She attended a theatrical performance which has used individual stories to construct a a raw narrative that confronts the Troubles. Efforts to commemorate the Ulster Covernant raised a question of whether such activities promote reconciliation or continue sectarianism. The Titanic has emerged as the primary tourist attraction in recent years, but the the exclusion of Catholics during construction makes that narrative inherently sectarian. A rise of interest in industrial history has also accompanied the Titanic vogue. Julie experienced another Belfast narrative which crosses the Protestant/Catholic boundary. Punk music thrived during the Troubles, centered on Terri Hooley and his Good Vibrations Record Shop. That history may offer another opportunity for the new Belfast. These observations and ideas mark the beginning of Julie's work on identity in Belfast, but I can't wait to see what she comes up with next. I spoke to her briefly after the session in order to put her in touch with one of my classmates (also named Julie!) who will spend three weeks in Belfast collecting oral histories later this summer.<br />
<ul><ul>
<li><i>When the Audience is the Subject: Practicing Shared Authority, Developing Cultural Competencies</i>, Katrine Barber, Portland State University</li>
</ul>
</ul>
Katrine Barber developed this session to reflect on a recent course she taught on regional American Indian history at Portland State. Much to her surprise, American Indians made up a sizable portion of her class, adding an additional challenge to an already difficult subject. How could she, an Anglo academic, teach these students their own history? We received copies of her syllabus, in which she used ideas including "shared authority," "contact zones," and "survivance/tragic wisdom" to address this postcolonial narrative. The class worked with a few local tribes on producing public events.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yeah, I went to a lot of sessions. I'll write the rest of them up in my next post. Now - pictures!</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0C6wO1CLE3U2moLl7sbPeMiUjfVWhjMyqn1K01yV85DsdyakB1jw0Kf1FB0vhWc6FQZjaVJhGJrHljRUlO8I70fjnWnCC8VLCHa5a3freR565MMhhLjm4vDioGw3UCBDLdXxBBOZRakz/s1600/IMG_1318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0C6wO1CLE3U2moLl7sbPeMiUjfVWhjMyqn1K01yV85DsdyakB1jw0Kf1FB0vhWc6FQZjaVJhGJrHljRUlO8I70fjnWnCC8VLCHa5a3freR565MMhhLjm4vDioGw3UCBDLdXxBBOZRakz/s640/IMG_1318.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bicycles for rent! I saw these stands every few blocks in downtown Ottawa. It seems to be<br />cycle city - I also saw lots of riders and enjoyed walking along some of the bike paths.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghylVCN742cdY-tRyZI4FKJgzEc890PJd5uwyC9UtkxphlvBfsAdF2Lt8xgdXkap-T-KaaRLDa_ujIBbUEYayWHZqGniPmB0ACYfb-YSbcwlHh91qbbQaYELb2E4rJu3jZeDxsQ9-MDZyg/s1600/IMG_1340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghylVCN742cdY-tRyZI4FKJgzEc890PJd5uwyC9UtkxphlvBfsAdF2Lt8xgdXkap-T-KaaRLDa_ujIBbUEYayWHZqGniPmB0ACYfb-YSbcwlHh91qbbQaYELb2E4rJu3jZeDxsQ9-MDZyg/s640/IMG_1340.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://ottawa.millstreetbrewpub.ca/">Mill St. Brew Pub</a>, housed in a 140 year old former grist mill. Really tasty food.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnmaKJZtHNEuPgkQi4btdZDVU-haboHohdxeJI14-HICDzXGOl7-IjR4UeNAmK8TM1ZDrwX8UeXjTiGxvxflGuehmfcjOGgnwdTjMrb4CK27vsd2HCe7ttRpBSOxiyaKdQYQQZ14Q0p25/s1600/IMG_1344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnmaKJZtHNEuPgkQi4btdZDVU-haboHohdxeJI14-HICDzXGOl7-IjR4UeNAmK8TM1ZDrwX8UeXjTiGxvxflGuehmfcjOGgnwdTjMrb4CK27vsd2HCe7ttRpBSOxiyaKdQYQQZ14Q0p25/s640/IMG_1344.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking down the Ottawa River at Chaudiere Island.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfhc61BZVDXSOQF6V8u1cSEv3zTVWBDatR2N2QP3GQqYbC31_gkaIBUcKoUbtRdIzS3CcaVn6HWpmhlAWv-x3iCBNiJ9VaHHf-MMMUnuomSi_DjvExzZhZNOKQEAWvvZv-Gk_7WtAfP1c/s1600/IMG_1353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfhc61BZVDXSOQF6V8u1cSEv3zTVWBDatR2N2QP3GQqYbC31_gkaIBUcKoUbtRdIzS3CcaVn6HWpmhlAWv-x3iCBNiJ9VaHHf-MMMUnuomSi_DjvExzZhZNOKQEAWvvZv-Gk_7WtAfP1c/s640/IMG_1353.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Canadian Museum of Civilization. Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to go inside. Next time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8rkZv01lkHZflZhvxTWeUMN0YwFMQ7oMaqrSDRrlAFxVJMdNQo1UcqDAGjLOXLX8_ToOv473xpyQYdXkljEspwVSh3ZR0pRRv9GaDiQ8jgP8bpoJyzbBNoxhUhmtGPPSIUQ5ey-C64FX/s1600/IMG_1355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8rkZv01lkHZflZhvxTWeUMN0YwFMQ7oMaqrSDRrlAFxVJMdNQo1UcqDAGjLOXLX8_ToOv473xpyQYdXkljEspwVSh3ZR0pRRv9GaDiQ8jgP8bpoJyzbBNoxhUhmtGPPSIUQ5ey-C64FX/s640/IMG_1355.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alexandra Bridge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWof671qdI5CGzzyNAmfKgrAjNRpq56iH8cw2b33FDtGfrzxN_tN8cVPEx4VaVpFhElHaUlsQEQJCZxuh4e0sZPpSXVedjNiGeQejvCUdeStL7wekS9QRuO7ysoI781yn4nGEeeEx0Qpp/s1600/IMG_1357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWWof671qdI5CGzzyNAmfKgrAjNRpq56iH8cw2b33FDtGfrzxN_tN8cVPEx4VaVpFhElHaUlsQEQJCZxuh4e0sZPpSXVedjNiGeQejvCUdeStL7wekS9QRuO7ysoI781yn4nGEeeEx0Qpp/s640/IMG_1357.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Parliament Hill from Gatineau.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVgSo9MDauRDAspjQrs1vHV0zvBJpBc10eG21SDMWTEQFASU6EYXj28xoATu3vRozcwtdNtlAwmg6_kLMCV-XqzERPrRCpTPRkMA2z-BSPCYKnjblZuJckTuCa-zSYYRzETzcSfhcEdyT/s1600/IMG_1363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidVgSo9MDauRDAspjQrs1vHV0zvBJpBc10eG21SDMWTEQFASU6EYXj28xoATu3vRozcwtdNtlAwmg6_kLMCV-XqzERPrRCpTPRkMA2z-BSPCYKnjblZuJckTuCa-zSYYRzETzcSfhcEdyT/s640/IMG_1363.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica and <i>Maman</i> by Louise Bourgeois, on display outside the<br />National Gallery of Canada.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gV_uTBvZxWhzBIyg9hyphenhyphen1n429lnD24je29Do8ICcqTEzNVqNCAfmpM7WLfcI1mDCmmPhB44hOdhkISZUCwHjWtmw9z9W689tCls8A_Knm3eyZhjRI318RPR8eNNV52zrcLzIkGYFhIqrB/s1600/IMG_1381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gV_uTBvZxWhzBIyg9hyphenhyphen1n429lnD24je29Do8ICcqTEzNVqNCAfmpM7WLfcI1mDCmmPhB44hOdhkISZUCwHjWtmw9z9W689tCls8A_Knm3eyZhjRI318RPR8eNNV52zrcLzIkGYFhIqrB/s640/IMG_1381.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parliament.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb79p370O49oVAz8yEj1rocGMdwYPAAIbW7rsvZ9DGjc8JYk5maeld8RilNDD6yX5l5AG6oUbKuiIYHr2J6hluDMHUyehsohyphenhyphenyJ8NDphOUc7NJu2llbJXLWFxIPWV1flMR-NzcMR0-d3Oe/s1600/IMG_1374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb79p370O49oVAz8yEj1rocGMdwYPAAIbW7rsvZ9DGjc8JYk5maeld8RilNDD6yX5l5AG6oUbKuiIYHr2J6hluDMHUyehsohyphenhyphenyJ8NDphOUc7NJu2llbJXLWFxIPWV1flMR-NzcMR0-d3Oe/s640/IMG_1374.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Locks on the Rideau Canal.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvZZov7ll3lPRd4rseKrm3m3KtpQSl2wB_mrhGr0rh7haeR2UGRkJ8iptHDboFhYAI7oKeXimsKF4IRitVV_ZxwogdL0845fFQMIR8iA1Zo0WfQiDfxBnNhXBeMa9AJYog9r8gVl8nJxI/s1600/IMG_1392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvZZov7ll3lPRd4rseKrm3m3KtpQSl2wB_mrhGr0rh7haeR2UGRkJ8iptHDboFhYAI7oKeXimsKF4IRitVV_ZxwogdL0845fFQMIR8iA1Zo0WfQiDfxBnNhXBeMa9AJYog9r8gVl8nJxI/s640/IMG_1392.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign at Pinhey's Point.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczU_VgUMSe0IiA71yOUmFjO7szrXkfxg4MGZw_wHjw45oNOP06Wvb5fx2ISuizToHs9sHHjl_b61HUOs_lGQ4KDrgrqkYN-15oPF7Jl2Kr6hK3ONjKyusPCz7q7D5I-ZpCdAs65Jk6zzS/s1600/IMG_0306%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczU_VgUMSe0IiA71yOUmFjO7szrXkfxg4MGZw_wHjw45oNOP06Wvb5fx2ISuizToHs9sHHjl_b61HUOs_lGQ4KDrgrqkYN-15oPF7Jl2Kr6hK3ONjKyusPCz7q7D5I-ZpCdAs65Jk6zzS/s640/IMG_0306%5B1%5D.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Police arrive at the Canadian War Museum after an alarm evacuated the building.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdXOhHuQFcPKqfcsMB7M6Gprlc78CMLXZd1otSWJ-ucOBvJhegcMsBp_ML4jynJILRzGvCbet-jYFUQb00eXCi_cJtPCUEtUWRhNPEMpMa0i6ldok7L7q10_8B5-DHUQvEVyA74q38WHB/s1600/IMG_0319%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdXOhHuQFcPKqfcsMB7M6Gprlc78CMLXZd1otSWJ-ucOBvJhegcMsBp_ML4jynJILRzGvCbet-jYFUQb00eXCi_cJtPCUEtUWRhNPEMpMa0i6ldok7L7q10_8B5-DHUQvEVyA74q38WHB/s640/IMG_0319%5B1%5D.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sock!Moose - an excellent use for my last Canadian dollars before dawn at the airport.</td></tr>
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Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-16217417844203401952013-04-25T23:03:00.002-06:002013-04-25T23:03:21.217-06:00Meet Public History BisonThe National Park Trust introduced Buddy Bison to get kids excited about going to National Parks and to raise money for their Kids to Parks scholarship program. For $9.99 anyone can get their own Buddy, perfectly sized for travel. His attached carabiner makes it easy to clip him to a belt or bag and features the URL <a href="http://www.buddybison.org/">www.BuddyBison.org</a>. Buddy's website contains resources for parents and teachers as well as a map where anyone can add to Buddy's adventures. Unfortunately, I don't think much time is spent on its maintenance - my picture of Buddy has not been added. The interface is rather cumbersome and could be easily upgraded by using a Google Map. Still, I'm a fan of anything that gets kids involved with National Parks or any aspect of public history. I saw Buddy in the gift shop at Andersonville National Historic Site and couldn't resist joining the fun. Since then, Public History Bison has accompanied me to two conferences and I hope to include our travels with the larger Buddy Bison experience.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvxmruLUsp77L51PMaIfQXIvsV9FYHeoMhh5VQ0EdzFGoeeHtBsmWoKP1Ri_jAfJZE5Cti8CIiZ5q8l6esPRaDqjupdMKE186AnwRoBsKkCL4pdHR2kdEr5BSYDHgJhsjOi1BFoGcwwZ9/s1600/IMG_1190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvxmruLUsp77L51PMaIfQXIvsV9FYHeoMhh5VQ0EdzFGoeeHtBsmWoKP1Ri_jAfJZE5Cti8CIiZ5q8l6esPRaDqjupdMKE186AnwRoBsKkCL4pdHR2kdEr5BSYDHgJhsjOi1BFoGcwwZ9/s640/IMG_1190.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Public History Bison connects to the memory of US POWs at Andersonville National<br />Historic Site by drinking from Providence Spring after the walk from the Visitor Center.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JtlVoDTqwhsIw4x0oXMHGTHLwIxZGyIZP1p_1Bvdfi2Tj6F1xMbgRKygyHkQp4WGpU7G8vP2f20ZBbu8oQHArbfpAI_0nq59d044hTwqBGIoKk9EXy3hpvvwPxllcZuSyPAE_fCQ0HuX/s1600/IMG_1249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4JtlVoDTqwhsIw4x0oXMHGTHLwIxZGyIZP1p_1Bvdfi2Tj6F1xMbgRKygyHkQp4WGpU7G8vP2f20ZBbu8oQHArbfpAI_0nq59d044hTwqBGIoKk9EXy3hpvvwPxllcZuSyPAE_fCQ0HuX/s640/IMG_1249.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Public History Bison investigates my reproduction historical footwear before our panel on costuming for living history at Bridging Ages 2013. (From left to right: <a href="http://www.medievalmoccasins.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=MM&Product_Code=LOWTOP">Low-Top Moccasin</a> by Medieval Moccasins, <a href="http://www.american-duchess.com/shoes-18th-century/pemberley-regency-leather-shoes">Pemberley Regency Leather Slippers</a> by American Duchess, <a href="http://www.american-duchess.com/edwardian-victorian-shoes-boots/astoria-womens-edwardian-shoe">Astoria Edwardian Leather Shoes</a> by American Duchess, <a href="http://www.dancestore.com/8290-BK-1930s-black-velvet-oxford-dance-shoe.aspx#.UXoIT7WG0aw">1930s Black Oxford</a> by Aris Allen, original 1940s)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RNRzDbdRcq4o_AQPEN5qx7lDbtG2zS2iu5QlD09oRzdEMz7qNRQwQPY4Qd-TBQec1arYnXfE5tFHBU-a8V9JfzrGruPihd2jqHzaTNuPcGrR297qiXeDheqUuLZr25EICZIC6OtvN7g7/s1600/IMG_0305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4RNRzDbdRcq4o_AQPEN5qx7lDbtG2zS2iu5QlD09oRzdEMz7qNRQwQPY4Qd-TBQec1arYnXfE5tFHBU-a8V9JfzrGruPihd2jqHzaTNuPcGrR297qiXeDheqUuLZr25EICZIC6OtvN7g7/s640/IMG_0305.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Are you eating my family?!?!?!" I assure Public History Bison that my burger is elk, not bison at <a href="http://www.millstreetbrewery.com/">Mill Street Brewery</a> in Ottawa during NCPH 2013.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPeiK5nBuok4cCxyI33NF0Uwe8oPnLrHOPX7GnTeXI5gkSEuPqcFcJqqbKAoJM8CwZqU2s6mLcQ2SzofQ4E8q7dLhyphenhyphenrhyZAiudKxAUF5FH-drhK5FBCOklIVxcFF9OzmJwZZSqLomQMQA/s1600/IMG_0318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPeiK5nBuok4cCxyI33NF0Uwe8oPnLrHOPX7GnTeXI5gkSEuPqcFcJqqbKAoJM8CwZqU2s6mLcQ2SzofQ4E8q7dLhyphenhyphenrhyZAiudKxAUF5FH-drhK5FBCOklIVxcFF9OzmJwZZSqLomQMQA/s640/IMG_0318.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nobody checked his ID at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sparks.darcymcgees">D'Arcy McGee's Irish Pub</a>.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKgzTv4UPmPEj7TNz8ZkmsyqQpjtFpSFXkkY1aG8NAl31HMZkrm51mp8iRQH_f1KmXrq75w832sU7GKNBgd1BpBJrEiKEy0P4YRjljwNwvnEnORgCJjhDrjt91s4od8BUYJh622q2HaIjN/s1600/IMG_1637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKgzTv4UPmPEj7TNz8ZkmsyqQpjtFpSFXkkY1aG8NAl31HMZkrm51mp8iRQH_f1KmXrq75w832sU7GKNBgd1BpBJrEiKEy0P4YRjljwNwvnEnORgCJjhDrjt91s4od8BUYJh622q2HaIjN/s640/IMG_1637.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Public History Bison chooses poorly at the <a href="http://www.warmuseum.ca/home/">Canadian War Museum.</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bison not to scale.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36nD3mlqIfHBuSVsHXgbQbiJan5wgEGvo6Uz2SPzDBIt_HEq8VQqGFO77K57Gwi6y6PyPRKKtYCZLCTda6cdYw8uPbScw758c-yWLZ5LwcD4uQrCjqxfciVCiF9G-qBXHd_ic2bjLGevS/s1600/IMG_1643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36nD3mlqIfHBuSVsHXgbQbiJan5wgEGvo6Uz2SPzDBIt_HEq8VQqGFO77K57Gwi6y6PyPRKKtYCZLCTda6cdYw8uPbScw758c-yWLZ5LwcD4uQrCjqxfciVCiF9G-qBXHd_ic2bjLGevS/s640/IMG_1643.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So that's what happened to my Timbits!</td></tr>
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Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-67702623543727921032013-03-20T19:24:00.000-06:002013-03-20T21:30:06.920-06:00Annie's Adventures in TanklandThis week finds me in Georgia for spring break and for Eric's graduation from the Maneuver Captains' Career Course. This proved a great opportunity for a family get-together, so the Muirheads and Moshers descended upon Fort Benning. As a special treat, some of us spent a couple of hours at the Armor Museum Restoration Yard. Since the Armor School moved to Benning from Fort Knox, the Army has assembled an extensive Armor collection at Benning with the goal of creating a National Armor and Cavalry Museum to rival the phenomenal Infantry Museum (review to come!). Unfortunately, a severe lack of funding has put a <i>serious </i>damper on these plans. The only workers we saw there today were Marines doing volunteer hours as part of whatever school they're attending. We didn't encounter anyone in charge, but no one questioned a captain in uniform walking around with three men in coats and ties (plus me). I wish someone had been around, because I would love to talk about tank restoration in the context of what I've learned about museum conservation this semester. The scale of this place was simply incredible - tanks as far as the eye could see from around the world. The real treasures are kept inside, but even those show signs of damage from the elements. As awesome as it was to be so close to such amazing artifacts, it's pretty sad to see them rusting away without homes. Below is a slideshow of my pictures from today. If you think the public deserves to see these vehicles preserved and interpreted, please visit the <a href="http://www.armorcavalrymuseum.org/index.html">National Armor and Cavalry Heritage Foundation</a> and consider making a contribution to the museum's future.<br />
<embed flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&hl=en_US&feat=flashalbum&RGB=0x000000&feed=https%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2F108025567671838930050%2Falbumid%2F5857523035548461937%3Falt%3Drss%26kind%3Dphoto%26authkey%3DGv1sRgCNaxg42y2OSisAE%26hl%3Den_US" height="400" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="https://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="600"></embed>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-45894583750635286522013-02-20T13:49:00.000-07:002013-05-11T21:55:08.545-06:00El Paso Holocaust Museum and Study Center<i>I wrote this review fall 2011 for one of my public history courses. I revisited the museum in January 2013, during which time I took the pictures included. At this time, a multimedia exhibit called <a href="http://www.elpasoholocaustmuseum.org/article.sstg?id=80">"The Memory Project"</a> had taken the place of the introduction video. I observed no other changes to the museum.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qRtwxlIJHf8wT3R9tmoRTS8X2nUCKxB0c9V0gbE0JRYBX3Ix0F7mpXtsdsmkqPTJakBrSKPpcYDbupBW7yVzBsEOwDI55dzDNCA9MGQYSRTpmKe3awohLPIvaxheU9uwgJ2ouIM-mYgV/s1600/IMG_1055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qRtwxlIJHf8wT3R9tmoRTS8X2nUCKxB0c9V0gbE0JRYBX3Ix0F7mpXtsdsmkqPTJakBrSKPpcYDbupBW7yVzBsEOwDI55dzDNCA9MGQYSRTpmKe3awohLPIvaxheU9uwgJ2ouIM-mYgV/s640/IMG_1055.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The El Paso Holocaust Museum and Study Center</td></tr>
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As I approached the El Paso Holocaust Museum, one question found its way into the forefront of my thoughts: what on earth is a museum about events that happened a world away doing in El Paso, Texas? The answer became clearer as I began my tour. Prior to entering the galleries, visitors watch a short introductory film, which covers the Jewish experience prior to the Holocaust and the story of the museum's founding. Henry Kellen, a survivor of the Holocaust, founded the museum in 1984 as a single room in the Jewish Community Center, using his personal story and collection of artifacts. A plaque in the memorial section of the museum reveals that his wife, also a survivor, died one year prior to the museum's founding. It's possible that her death inspired Mr. Kellen to honor both the dead and the survivors by teaching a new generation about the atrocities that swallowed Europe in the twentieth century. In 1994, he moved the museum to its own building, which tragically burned in 2001. The present museum opened in 2007.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A couple of cabinets with a bunch of Nazi artifacts, many of which don't<br />
have any labels.</td></tr>
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This very personal museum tells a story about the millennia of oppression and persecution faced by Jews, which culminated in the twentieth century with the Holocaust. As the museum lost many of its original artifacts in the 2001 fire, it relies on video, timelines, and dynamic environments convey its narrative. I followed the chronological path of Germany's Jews as Hitler's rise to power shattered the illusion of peace after ages of struggle. From there, my path continued past the devastation of Kristalnacht, through deportations and ghettos, to the concentration camps. My tour concluded with the liberation of the camps and memorials honoring those who died, those who lived, and those who helped others escape death. The introductory video continued throughout the galleries, explaining the pertinent events with segments like "The Rise of Nazism," "Deportation from the Ghettos," and "The Final Solution." Besides the timelines, I saw little text to augment these videos, which used still photographs and narration a la Ken Burns. My impression was that this museum wanted visitors to experience history, rather than read it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjSmzY588A8FPrWb668FWElL0eAJhtXqiKSl-GAVu5TNpWPZFV_dTr6d1RXCDmE9SvfWlFLoQBVMm2ifaVVnxcX2mixsRYW44ra2HLjIMn96Y6xWPfqKJf93wVnN0rWcWIXvkLmlB0UJ3/s1600/IMG_1042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjSmzY588A8FPrWb668FWElL0eAJhtXqiKSl-GAVu5TNpWPZFV_dTr6d1RXCDmE9SvfWlFLoQBVMm2ifaVVnxcX2mixsRYW44ra2HLjIMn96Y6xWPfqKJf93wVnN0rWcWIXvkLmlB0UJ3/s640/IMG_1042.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The jarring transition into Nazi Germany.</td></tr>
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The construction of the actual galleries contributed greatly to the active experience. My tour began conventionally, staring at an example of an twentieth century Jewish dining room behind a glass case. Very little distinguished it as "Jewish," suggesting that the Jews had finally found acceptance in European society after millennia of persecution. A helpful timeline on the opposite wall detailed this lengthy struggle. This portrayal of normalcy enhanced the shock I felt upon entering the next gallery, where the walls featured large images of Adolf Hitler and crowds of uniformed Nazis tinted a vibrant and jarring red.The center cases enclosed Nazi headgear, lit from below, adding to the sinister feeling in the room. My tour through Nazi Germany continued with a wall of reproduction anti-Semitic propaganda posters, cartoons, and advertisements. Now in a German street, I saw a shop front destroyed during the violence of Kristalnacht.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88Gjs6tijHO6GJLZ2vGN2VbiKJs1urMTbXu9URonylF8PX6MjwjU2hI5tFNrxIZSLf_FpyBL8zqDe1eRT4ov6EncOyL5eh1uF0gYB-aWfgG6EuSe5XHJWltP527-v3ZH7loyt8YCQueB_/s1600/IMG_1044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88Gjs6tijHO6GJLZ2vGN2VbiKJs1urMTbXu9URonylF8PX6MjwjU2hI5tFNrxIZSLf_FpyBL8zqDe1eRT4ov6EncOyL5eh1uF0gYB-aWfgG6EuSe5XHJWltP527-v3ZH7loyt8YCQueB_/s640/IMG_1044.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kristalnacht.</td></tr>
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Unfortunately, a cartoony quality to this environment evoked thoughts of Disneyworld rather than disaster. Past Kristalnacht, I saw a train car protruding from the wall of the next gallery. If I hadn't recognized it already, at this point I found it impossible to deny the influence of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, which opened in Washington D.C. in 1993. Upon my last visit to Washington, I had walked through just such a train car. On the other side of this train car, a staircase led me down to the entrance to a concentration camp. A guard tower with an obviously fake machine gun protected a small gate bearing the words "ARBEIT MACHT FREI." Like the Kristalnacht gallery, the small scale of these otherwise imposing structures made them almost comical. This gallery also included the facade of a barracks, an example of a gas chamber, and a reproduction of a crematorium oven. The story focused on the dehumanization and murder of prisoners in concentration camps. Any amusement I felt at the tiny gate and tower dissipated quickly. The rest of the museum serves as a memorial. The next gallery talked some about resistance, but an entire wall commemorated those who saved others from death, declared "The Righteous of the Nations" by Yad Vashem, the holocaust Martyrs' and Heroes' Remembrance Authority. A few moments were spent on the liberation of the camps, where the museum found the opportunity to make a local connection. The images and stories of liberators from El Paso adorned the last wall in the gallery. The final room contained a memorial to both the dead and the survivors. One last local connection recognized all the survivors who settled in El Paso after escaping Europe.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A replica train car, similar to that at the United States Holocuast Memorial <br />
Museum in Washington DC.</td></tr>
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Quite plainly, this museum does not tell the entire story of the Holocaust, but the Jewish experience of the Holocaust. The videos occasionally mentioned Hitler's other victims as statistics or in passing, but every time the narrator referred to prisoners or victims as a group he used the word "Jews." This presents a rather narrow view of the Holocaust, possibly encouraged by the very personal nature of the museum. It does not represent an organization or government, but one man's desire that people remember what happened to his people. The narrative also makes no effort to place the Holocaust in the greater context of genocides throughout history. The final video segment went so far as to call it a unique event. Both that segment and the introductory film ask the question "why?" intending that the visitor ruminate on how people could have allowed or committed such monstrous acts. However, I felt that the museum answered their own question in regards to the Holocaust: Germany's vulnerability after the First World War created a power vacuum in which Adolf Hitler found it easy to convince people to follow him.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcNtDXC4jJBOY1vLsK26E9DNSiYTbKUXDaqCnLsjbhtzzzzUYryDAtsiSmgbYFspSn6ZWIpz2jSRDXT75dBzo8gqMPrVeN9pTwge3bix3VotM65jqP1mXu4XSmsJgpBtVwgrHA5DsH0GU/s1600/IMG_1049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcNtDXC4jJBOY1vLsK26E9DNSiYTbKUXDaqCnLsjbhtzzzzUYryDAtsiSmgbYFspSn6ZWIpz2jSRDXT75dBzo8gqMPrVeN9pTwge3bix3VotM65jqP1mXu4XSmsJgpBtVwgrHA5DsH0GU/s640/IMG_1049.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The display case of camp artifacts and the model guard tower.</td></tr>
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I think any real explanation is much more complicated, but the museum did itself a disservice by not expanding its narrative to at least mention other genocides. One holocaust can be easily explained as an aberration, but a long history of mass murder forces visitors to ponder the "whys" and "hows." I found it surprising that the museum did not use this tactic to affect my emotions after making such obvious attempts to evoke emotional responses throughout the exhibits. Poetry, sculpture, and artwork all found places in galleries, where they were clearly meant to impact visitors emotionally (e.g. a statue of a suffering child next to the boxcar). I heard other attempts at sensationalism as my visit coincided with a field trip from a local high school. For the most part, I made my way through the museum alone, but after the boxcar I caught up with their group long enough to listen to the docent for a few minutes. I grimaced as I heard him describe how the Nazis made lampshades, book covers, soap, and other goods out of human skin and fat. As there is no historical evidence to support these claims, I felt a bit miffed that he passed this information along as fact to the unsuspecting group of students. The museum's narrow focus on Jewish suffering takes the visitor through an emotional journey, which loses some impact without further historical context.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtu7MF4q8iZpbyPCkLNe2fkeJLGnIw6w7TG4QQ__LdUn7opsS3KPfuyvY0clfTr3DYnAwvZ33UTvlhZC2q_6d0-yVAKm_cPixImdawem6g4zFTrih9xBG_3dMUknVag2ZSfUEm-NSpEyvi/s1600/IMG_1050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtu7MF4q8iZpbyPCkLNe2fkeJLGnIw6w7TG4QQ__LdUn7opsS3KPfuyvY0clfTr3DYnAwvZ33UTvlhZC2q_6d0-yVAKm_cPixImdawem6g4zFTrih9xBG_3dMUknVag2ZSfUEm-NSpEyvi/s640/IMG_1050.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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After hearing about the devastation wrought by fire in 2001, it did not surprise me to find the museum lacking in material culture. What does remain came from the personal collections of Holocaust survivors in El Paso, who generously donated their memories or returned to the camps to collect new artifacts. However, the museum did not incorporate them well into the narrative shaped by video and environment. One or two artifacts found homes in other galleries, but the bulk of the collection resided in the sections on the rise of Nazism and the camps themselves. This first gallery includes several cases with a veritable hodge-podge of Nazi memorabilia. China, badges, uniforms, books, documents, trinkets, and weapons lay side by side with little explanation. Most objects have no explanatory text at all, much less any cohesive organization or narrative. I saw this jumble repeated in the camp gallery - a variety of relevant artifacts flung together in a case haphazardly. It seems to me that the museum divided their surviving collection into two categories and threw them in cases. This museum needs to work on incorporating artifacts into the narrative to support its flashy videos and galleries.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Q5zUsgMOdhIvGxVP8ZeO4PJ8X-ovQdAqcBZzBea-PBe536J-85e5AWqYn6ShBEEFnpL0PjAA8zC78DRFG8Uiki-uW5GU35We05lOcqNSje2cGpaj2b2sMgKUI1yYl-uRf_J8dVYYy7Z3/s1600/IMG_1051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Q5zUsgMOdhIvGxVP8ZeO4PJ8X-ovQdAqcBZzBea-PBe536J-85e5AWqYn6ShBEEFnpL0PjAA8zC78DRFG8Uiki-uW5GU35We05lOcqNSje2cGpaj2b2sMgKUI1yYl-uRf_J8dVYYy7Z3/s640/IMG_1051.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The final stop on my visit to any museum is the gift shop or bookstore. I think that the gift shop is just as much part of the museum as the galleries, because it is from there that visitors find tangible objects to help them remember or further explore what they learned. Therefore, an excellent gift shop should expand from the museum's focus to other relevant topics. The El Paso Holocaust Museum's shop boasted a small selection of souvenirs, books, and DVDs, which support its focused narrative. Almost all the books retold the experiences of Jewish groups or individuals during the Holocaust, including volumes appropriate for both children and adults. Of the other topics covered, I found one volume on other victims of the Holocaust, one book on Japanese internment camps, two books on Rwanda, one on genocide in general, and one on Holocaust denial. The collection of DVDs contained slightly more variation in genre and country of origin, but focused on the Jewish experience with one notable exception. <i>Downfall</i>, a 2004 German film, which witnesses Hitler's last days through the somewhat revisionist account of his secretary, Traudl Junge. Its presence among the several different versions of Anne Frank's tragic story continues to intrigue me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6YfDGOGmLjum-MaB5sUOhJztBohHKCjkq_JLqADcP9dcPDaWuCx5oe2zcZMX3o8uobNMTX61bmqRGkw16in2nBYhb3j0bG-XH4Hx9Un4MKpq_l4EzbUK2moSfwPyzkz3N3rW_SHZ0LnK/s1600/IMG_1053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6YfDGOGmLjum-MaB5sUOhJztBohHKCjkq_JLqADcP9dcPDaWuCx5oe2zcZMX3o8uobNMTX61bmqRGkw16in2nBYhb3j0bG-XH4Hx9Un4MKpq_l4EzbUK2moSfwPyzkz3N3rW_SHZ0LnK/s640/IMG_1053.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holocaust survivors who settled in El Paso.</td></tr>
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Overall, I enjoyed my visit to the El Paso Holocaust Museum and Study Center. Its narrative, though narrow or somewhat exclusionary in its focus, guided me through a clear and emotional history of Jewish suffering. I appreciated the modern influence of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in creating the museum's environment and structure, but I think this museum could benefit from revisiting old fashioned museum work. Artifacts need more text and should contribute to the narrative, facts and figures need support and documentation, and all the galleries could use more text for those of us who want more information. The museum does a good job at incorporating personal narratives at the beginning and end, but the bulk of the story features no such personal connection. Nevertheless, this museum offers a reasonable introduction to the events of the Holocaust, though I hope most visitors seek supplemental information. I completed my thorough tour in an hour and a half, making it an easy trip for even the most impatient museumgoers.Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-69269526971465128602013-02-11T02:17:00.003-07:002013-02-11T02:17:32.205-07:00Falklands Playlist<div style="text-align: left;">
I was working on my thesis this weekend and dusted off my Falklands playlist from last summer, so I thought I'd share it. For one reason or another, these songs remind me of the Falklands. Some of them I still hear on the radio fairly often and they always make me smile. I never hear the Wurzels played anywhere. A few of these were on heavy rotation pretty much everywhere last summer. Still - I'm amazed that I didn't hear <i>Gangham Style </i>until October.</div>
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<i>Rolling in the Deep</i> - Adele</div>
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<i>Poison</i> - Alice Cooper</div>
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<i>Bruises</i> - Chairlift</div>
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<i>Titanium </i>- David Guetta feat. Sia</div>
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<i>Shake It Out</i> - Florence + the Machine</div>
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<i> We Are Young</i> - Fun. feat. Janelle Monae</div>
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<i>Call Me Maybe</i> - Carly Rae Jepsen</div>
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<i> Somebody That I Used to Know </i>- Gotye feat. Kimbra</div>
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<i>And I Remember Every Kiss </i>- Jens Lekman</div>
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<i>Part of Me</i> - Katy Perry</div>
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<i>Torn </i>- Natalie Imbruglia</div>
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<i>Back In Control </i>- Sabaton</div>
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<i>Girls With Boyfriends</i> - the Extraordinaires</div>
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<i>Falling Slowly</i> - Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova</div>
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<i>Make Me Smile (Come Up and See Me) </i>- Steve Harley</div>
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<i>I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)</i> - The Proclaimers</div>
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<i>Valerie</i> - Amy Winehouse</div>
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<i>Not Fair</i> - Lily Allen</div>
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<i>A Thousand Years</i> - Christina Perri</div>
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<i>The Magic Position -</i> Patrick Wolf</div>
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<i>She's So Lovely</i> - Scouting for Girls</div>
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<i>Or Something</i> - Speechwriters LLC</div>
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<i>Where Have You Been</i> - Rihanna</div>
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<i>Combine Harvester </i>- The Wurzels</div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-56278501783752816022013-02-07T12:11:00.000-07:002013-05-11T21:56:35.613-06:00Spring Semester Round-upAlright. We're now three weeks into the spring semester and I think it's time for a short post about what I'm up. This fall was rough - so rough I ended up taking two incompletes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlCXHFmVLz6PBMBULtD75n6Dj1BYDTWLpxOmnP8B008pNjRLBVjXtFJCFCxItuk3U1WKB9pd3kU3jHINbP2pynsu32eR5mzNW3k3tu6WT7B6DcWTblIfEcdrdIMmZh_RvZrOwVx3OvOgD/s1600/IMG_0826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlCXHFmVLz6PBMBULtD75n6Dj1BYDTWLpxOmnP8B008pNjRLBVjXtFJCFCxItuk3U1WKB9pd3kU3jHINbP2pynsu32eR5mzNW3k3tu6WT7B6DcWTblIfEcdrdIMmZh_RvZrOwVx3OvOgD/s640/IMG_0826.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the books I used during the Fall 2012 semester.</td></tr>
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However, this semester I'm only taking two classes. For my last traditional history course I'm spending one night a week in a basement learning about the Holocaust. I chose this class because the Holocaust remains a hot topic for public history across the country, interpreted by a wide variety of institutions, organizations, and individuals. The other course is already one of the best I have taken at NMSU - Museum Conservation Techniques I. We have lecture on Tuesdays and then lab on Thursdays, where we get to practice what we've learned. The final product for the semester is an actual conservation report about the pot on which we have tested the interactions of a variety of resins, paints, and solvents.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvfUaIqNBMryT80i6QmKcPwG__E3JSYO4iKaqF7Rj-oymIEIRhyphenhyphen3G8g8hjm5nd4N7BoQXkmEAnHcVDUAwAEkv1t9rgxFY3DtWFTRA955lP3Y8JVXwonw5Da4_QMscwdhEtyzn277HIbHh/s1600/IMG_1065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvfUaIqNBMryT80i6QmKcPwG__E3JSYO4iKaqF7Rj-oymIEIRhyphenhyphen3G8g8hjm5nd4N7BoQXkmEAnHcVDUAwAEkv1t9rgxFY3DtWFTRA955lP3Y8JVXwonw5Da4_QMscwdhEtyzn277HIbHh/s640/IMG_1065.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My terracotta pot, currently with 3 different paints and 5 different resins.</td></tr>
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I am also taking the first three credits for my thesis, which I plan to finish during the Fall 2013 semester, wherever I may be. Inspired by my work in the Falkland Islands, I am examining the effects of place on the formation of Kelper identity. Of course, this all depends on finding enough sources to produce something of sufficient length. Fortunately, I have a back-up thesis. I'm currently working on an article about Josephine Foster, but I think there is more than enough information for a longer work if necessary.</div>
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My time in the Falklands has now popped up around the NMSU website:</div>
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<li>The Center for Latin American & Border Studies mentioned me in the Summer 2012 edition of the Nason House News.</li>
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<a href="http://clabs.nmsu.edu/2012/08/21/nason-house-news-summer-2012/"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILJ7KoCCxBUobM5jC61SAI4uYOTUXh0xaREEUAI16wTbptYI3epTszC7GIG04MJ71NqJFx6FIkOieTiB8Wm4m_7uxlQ6jDkrXHHfx-zR-SoOYso_YL06s0Q8FMWuQkkSckFvp_2TOvATe/s640/Capture2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<li> There's now a picture of me with the Super Puma helicopter on the main page for the History department's graduate program.</li>
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<a href="http://www.nmsu.edu/~histdept/gradprog.html"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IYoHWWorkPFGgBMljc6cwrLE3_02Ixsua-J-ztfmLHFwXvkk6QS87K74BKsAJRoDGlrFugL1nLbKnnyRzwT8S1t_mIia9CRISIMlhrz8PCl6KHMsOz65rG-GQ78PjSPiEhALVzuqIS6u/s640/nmsu+grad.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<li style="text-align: left;">And the Public History program's site also features a blurb about me. It's pretty neat that I get to represent the department this much.</li>
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<a href="http://web.nmsu.edu/~publhist/Photos/2/2.html"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqYs0UN9hSf3bIT_h_40C_dWE__YPAztqlFygawNG5eD3HxORQRO2FYA5Z9-6t5k_QGtPIgdHqFWQy4bw1uR8_qaZYcRCF-rNS0rF6y_0AMJvgadJPWiy3y7kTw4RpisD63XiYLlNzY1s/s640/Capture.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
As usual, I'm also engaged in a number of other projects. Next week I lecture to a class on Central America about piracy in the Caribbean. Can you believe I was actually assigned that topic? This will probably be my last lecture at NMSU, so I'm hoping it goes well. I'm also working on content about Las Cruces for <a href="http://nextexithistory.com/">Next Exit History</a>, in anticipation of a workshop coming up later this month. I've also got some conferences coming up. We are hosting the local Phi Alpha Theta conference in March. I'm not sure I'm going to present this year, but I'm definitely planning to attend. April, however, is going to be insane. I'm giving a talk about the Falkland Islands that first Tuesday, and then there are two conference that third week. First, NMSU is hosting the <a href="http://www.bridgingages.com/2/1.0.2.0/10/1/?item=art_art-s2/261">2013 Bridging Ages Conference</a>, which deals with "Historic Environment Education and Living History." I'm participating on a panel concerned with costuming for living history, focusing on how people can assemble period-like clothing without spending a fortune. Second, the <a href="http://ncph.org/cms/conferences/2013-annual-meeting/">National Council on Public History</a> is holding their conference in Ottawa that week. It's much too late for me to present anything, but I'd like to go just to see what the rest of my field is up to.<br />
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Oh, remember what I said about experiential history? Lauren over at American Duchess is currently doing some herself, experimenting with the effects of daily corset wear. She's made some fantastic observations during the first couple of weeks - well worth <a href="http://americanduchess.blogspot.com/search/label/corset%20training">checking it out.</a> </div>
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Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-88626159113250583742013-01-22T22:36:00.000-07:002013-05-11T21:57:18.446-06:00Hands-On HistoryIt's been impossible to ignore the gun control debate currently raging across this country - I see it on the news, on Facebook, and plastered across tumblr. However, one aspect of gun culture rarely addressed in this feeding frenzy is that of historical firearms. Eric and I both collect those weapons which have had such an impact on the world's most recent history. A couple of our examples predate 1900 and are therefore legally antiques, not firearms. The weapons used in the twentieth century's defining conflicts, though, are regulated like any other firearm despite obsolescence in modern conflict. It is far too easy to argue that these weapons should be demilitarized and kept only for display purposes in museums and such. (Eric would hate that I'm even voicing this idea. While I was interning at the <a href="https://www.bliss.army.mil/museum/fort_bliss_museum.htm">Fort Bliss and Old Ironsides Museums</a>, the curator allowed him some time in the armory. The sight of a half dozen demilitarized Thompsons almost brought him to tears.)<br />
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Some historical firearms are purchased as "wall-hangers," but I think relegating all artifacts to this future deprives historians of their value. During one of the first sessions of my graduate "Craft of History" seminar, we conducted an exercise in identifying primary and secondary sources. When we came to a uniform jacket from the Mexican-American War, one student said, "but that's an artifact." Three or four of us in unison proclaimed "it's still a primary source!" Artifacts provide a great resource for historians, as demonstrated by scholars like <a href="http://history.fas.harvard.edu/people/faculty/ulrich.php">Laurel Thatcher Ulrich</a>. Firearms are no different and offer the additional opportunity for what I term experiential history. This process allows the modern historian to glean a sense of the past through the use of an artifact or the application of practical research. My experiences have mostly involved weaponry* and sewing, but other opportunities abound. During our years at William & Mary, Colonial Williamsburg's relationship with the college offered many such to my friends and I. Living history is the most common forum for this kind of history as interpreters immerse themselves in the daily minutiae of the past. <a href="http://colonialdelorean.blogspot.com/">Emily</a> spent a semester in the apothecary's shop; <a href="http://absandthegreatworld.blogspot.com/">Abigail</a> wrestled with colonial cookware for a few months in the kitchens of the Governor's Palace. As part of my seminar on the "Early Modern Book," I got to try working the press at the <a href="http://www.history.org/almanack/life/trades/tradepri.cfm">Printing Office</a>. My page turned out fairly well, but pulling the operating handle lifted my full weight off the ground.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmq7CK5D4sTs35kM0KgvqcVIM-iwk5Lbxrb1f8Vh7j-wpxsSacma6jJ1P0BurTd1JGJNr0u9NhtNCGhuuKauTCltiAHV9-GEnnh2nfDhqF07W0JF744gbU6C3A7OxF2wsHHJKRt0PzlIz/s1600/14391_4519610681137_1803651686_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghmq7CK5D4sTs35kM0KgvqcVIM-iwk5Lbxrb1f8Vh7j-wpxsSacma6jJ1P0BurTd1JGJNr0u9NhtNCGhuuKauTCltiAHV9-GEnnh2nfDhqF07W0JF744gbU6C3A7OxF2wsHHJKRt0PzlIz/s640/14391_4519610681137_1803651686_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My British surplus FN FAL.</td></tr>
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While I don't claim that firing a historical weapon gives you omniscient understanding of the person(s) who used it in the past, it can enrich your impression of those individuals with details that don't come across in written sources. Handling a weapon in an afternoon can hint at where shooters developed calluses, bruises, or soreness. Long-term projects can examine change over time, examining how extended use affects both the individual and the artifact. How accurate is the firearm in various circumstances? How reliable is the weapon in different environments? What kind of maintenance is necessary is necessary to keep the firearm fighting fit? The controlled environment of the shooting range does not offer the same experience as combat, but the observations made can help explain any technical or physical reasons why an individual acted in the past in a certain way. What an individual learns about their equipment affects their decision-making, contributing to the actions that become history.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIluu3mF-LRHAIzjJvEk9R3LorHPMvgtVJVtzbl0J8htjJReUlfDVEFjeqnwsgnlUfjwSmF2ith1UKNSqwmGr7UO9uG8ZnIIHSLrZrb23FXLCrX8xOdiz0cXImkL3vdRcgp_7oLKrO9DG/s1600/598560_4519613121198_2060550789_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeIluu3mF-LRHAIzjJvEk9R3LorHPMvgtVJVtzbl0J8htjJReUlfDVEFjeqnwsgnlUfjwSmF2ith1UKNSqwmGr7UO9uG8ZnIIHSLrZrb23FXLCrX8xOdiz0cXImkL3vdRcgp_7oLKrO9DG/s640/598560_4519613121198_2060550789_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me again, firing Eric's M1903 Springfield.</td></tr>
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I haven't spent an extended amount of time on this sort of project, but I have had a couple of experiences that hint at it's usefulness. A few years ago, Eric taught me how to shoot the musket from his Revolutionary War reenacting days. He had prepared the cartridges, but I was responsible for all other parts of the process: removing each round from the cartridge box, pouring powder in the flash pan, ramming the rest of the cartridge down the barrel, and firing the musket. The thing was almost as tall as I was and proved pretty unwieldy, though at 5'4" I'm probably not abnormally short for colonial soldier. I had trouble reaching to get the ramrod down the barrel and probably would have hit someone with it had I been standing in ranks. I also manged to dump the powder out of the flash pan onto the ground a couple of times. It would have required an extensive amount of drill to prepare me for combat in Washington's army. Simpler observations include the way the grip on a Luger irritates my hand, the difficulty of firing most historical weapons as a left-handed shooter, the kick of a 1903 Springfield compared to that of an M1 Garand, and the finickiness of a Mosin-Nagant bolt. Speaking of the Mosin, I wasn't present for its most absurd moment. Eric and our friend Tim were enjoying a lovely day at the range when the Mosin fell apart in Tim's hands for no apparent reason. There were no immediate risks to the rifle's failure in this environment, but the frustration could be translated to any of the battlefields where the Mosin-Nagant saw combat.<br />
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I briefly mentioned reenacting above, but those weapons used by reenactors of the American Revolution and Civil War are reproductions of antiques. Twentieth Century reenacting requires different tools entirely.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCLgesoGJcl7xYBu7NJft10YCigvQ9ePxnykhwCXwS24RovUKvqRX38xQmwIrWh9jg2D-g4gIhvNIp5wJc9VUIq0BTkiZw9x_27eWYxpVpT9mBPkz0o5Nu1N-tXUGMD5ztop484TGGNwU/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCLgesoGJcl7xYBu7NJft10YCigvQ9ePxnykhwCXwS24RovUKvqRX38xQmwIrWh9jg2D-g4gIhvNIp5wJc9VUIq0BTkiZw9x_27eWYxpVpT9mBPkz0o5Nu1N-tXUGMD5ztop484TGGNwU/s640/001.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me (age 6?) and Dad at a museum in Quebec.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
During the past decade, my <a href="http://militaryphilosopher.blogspot.com/">Dad</a> (yes, history is a family business for me) has expanded his repertoire from two Civil War impressions to include an Irish Volunteer from 1916-1923, an officer with the 1st Battalion Royal Ulster Rifles in WWII, and a member of French Resistance. For these impressions he has spent tireless hours finding appropriate firearms which proper dates and matching markings. He's also gone to a great deal of trouble to accessorize these examples.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2LVdtEWmsmaOTnkjdwqtDHH4Xklyakaa4cpG4qP6KX-8EvkUxThpWSHl9Jm4GXphZrEH3UPHHtEFTuLXQkvNiNPSJSp_6H97Juu50grS_IFxAcnX0M3hlkKYVHr1WAka1-N3kao0DKkT/s1600/481835_10151341015161834_2116941517_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2LVdtEWmsmaOTnkjdwqtDHH4Xklyakaa4cpG4qP6KX-8EvkUxThpWSHl9Jm4GXphZrEH3UPHHtEFTuLXQkvNiNPSJSp_6H97Juu50grS_IFxAcnX0M3hlkKYVHr1WAka1-N3kao0DKkT/s640/481835_10151341015161834_2116941517_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad as a 1919-1923 Irish Volunteer, carrying the SMLE and wearing an <br />
original South African Model 1905 five pouch bandoleer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Irish Volunteer carries a .303 SMLE No 1 Mk III, Lithgow 1914, to which he has added a sling, reproduction bayonet and scabbard, 1914 Enfield brass oil bottle and WWII Australian pull through for cleaning. For him, this collection of artifacts complements the rifle as an educational tool, allowing him to present a thorough and accurate impression. He and Eric fired the SMLE over Thanksgiving, providing more experience for my Dad to draw on in conveying the experience and identity of an Irish Volunteer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuvmWYR3cWi9VTX9wdlRl1FrwRWg0GhcPIF0f2ioav7G-9e-a4uKNxmPAYMAnugAmWcud0X6jEQmXGX0nU4yIbt3w5GlqiPYHDbvn58zhj1CEarzMxM6KwlSGVXQHptRvspCHwz7g7JCk/s1600/546824_4519612121173_1990399475_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuvmWYR3cWi9VTX9wdlRl1FrwRWg0GhcPIF0f2ioav7G-9e-a4uKNxmPAYMAnugAmWcud0X6jEQmXGX0nU4yIbt3w5GlqiPYHDbvn58zhj1CEarzMxM6KwlSGVXQHptRvspCHwz7g7JCk/s640/546824_4519612121173_1990399475_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eric checking the aim on the SMLE.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What does any of this have to do with gun control? Basically, there are valid reasons for the ownership and use of historical firearms, which many legislators and commentators have not acknowledged. While gun buybacks have proved enormously successful in getting unwanted, unused, and possibly illegal firearms off the streets, most don't distinguish between mass-produced modern pieces and historical treasures. A police officer in Hartford, Connecticut saved one such artifact from destruction. The original <a href="http://gma.yahoo.com/blogs/abc-blogs/valuable-wwii-gun-police-buy-back-022155231--abc-news-topstories.html">German STG-44</a> is a lucky survivor. How many other museum pieces with not be so lucky, forever depriving historians of invaluable artifacts? I don't have any answers, but I believe we should consider the historical value of firearms before haphazardly banning or destroying them. From what I can see, we need new thinking and new ideas about gun control, developed by those who understand the nuances of guns, gun culture, the constitution, and the realities of crime. I fear that simply rehashing old ideas won't have the needed effects, will further the great divide within this country, and destroy important parts of history from around the world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiof5Dcf_kC5q_S8nMBGeLwm2PqjMrpV0WT39ZWdQwXTxH2z8G9_CS_v4DOPEsFRrigeUVzlc75frzYCK9HzMVmkAJkpbjF-YCHyLD8B0_VkcRjuo-LV7y1NHEfFfN7PRIpW_sknKvTCRB7/s1600/019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="569" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiof5Dcf_kC5q_S8nMBGeLwm2PqjMrpV0WT39ZWdQwXTxH2z8G9_CS_v4DOPEsFRrigeUVzlc75frzYCK9HzMVmkAJkpbjF-YCHyLD8B0_VkcRjuo-LV7y1NHEfFfN7PRIpW_sknKvTCRB7/s640/019.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, during the month I had blue hair, firing a reproduction GSG STG 44,<br />
produced by American Traditional Imports and chambered in .22 LR.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
*and not just guns! In high school I studied Rapier and Short Sword at the <a href="http://www.vafinc.com/historicalswordsmanship.php">Virginia Academy of Fencing</a>.<br />
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</div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-18224540884848516232012-12-26T10:40:00.001-07:002013-05-11T21:59:27.405-06:00On the Hunt<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Since my semester is
now over I can take the time to catch up on some of the exciting stuff I did
this fall. One of my classes was the required Research Seminar, which this
semester centered around the theme of biography. I decided to continue my work on Josephine
Foster, who I portrayed in our time travels to 1912 last spring. I'd been through most of the sources
available to me in Las Cruces - issues of the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Rio
Grande Republican, Republic</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, and the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Las
Cruces Citizen</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. I requested microfilm of the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Raton Range</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> through Interlibrary Loan, but received word that no
one was willing to lend the necessary reels. Funny, since when I spoke to one
of holding libraries on the phone, they'd been perfectly willing to loan one
reel at a time.</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Rather than continue
wrestling with Interlibrary Loan, I decided the situation called for a road
trip. I made a couple of reservations,
checked opening times, borrowed a couple of audiobooks and prepared to spend my
weekend up north. The hardest part would be leaving my kitten behind. I adopted
nine week old Manticora on October 13, just three weeks before my planned
excursion, and I was a bit worried about leaving her for the long weekend. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUheck33N6m26unvDr7DHl3lXtl14l1r-7PTrZ34acAxHeH7f7zTnsIiWJ6MvmQX0e1jeR4arPVKvRro9KISMShFytb4ytyrUahsx1WkdXCxYIJ2hXMBJBMv1qwxyIyNr-uUGh4nyxHcGD/s1600/IMG_0263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUheck33N6m26unvDr7DHl3lXtl14l1r-7PTrZ34acAxHeH7f7zTnsIiWJ6MvmQX0e1jeR4arPVKvRro9KISMShFytb4ytyrUahsx1WkdXCxYIJ2hXMBJBMv1qwxyIyNr-uUGh4nyxHcGD/s640/IMG_0263.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manticora, shortly after I brought her home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But,
my roommate would be there to take care of her and the research needed to be
done. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I stated right after
my Thursday afternoon seminar, getting out of Las Cruces around 5 pm. Before too long I encountered the rather
comical Border Patrol checkpoint, where all they did was ask if I was a citizen
and waved me on through. That first night I made it to Albuquerque and stayed
in a motel 5 minutes from the UNM campus. I ordered dinner in so that I could
get some homework done and a good night sleep before the next day's adventures.
I also prepared a list of files I wanted to see at the State Archives. I left
the next morning before the motel's complimentary breakfast had begun, intent
on visiting the UNM library.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Walking across the
UNM campus in the pre-dawn darkness was pretty creepy. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbYbp4qDtMJqhpTzEL7P5P9XYp43JNDd-SjR1EeTnYFZjV3Zr-yxSSUNNvptdkAOJPf8uuvvLlkRQVoRa_U9UN88KUsE1CMgQqhkXqEsY2dlDBFBAMei1x6wpQrnIue5DuKPSdRc2mZ0p/s1600/IMG_0327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbYbp4qDtMJqhpTzEL7P5P9XYp43JNDd-SjR1EeTnYFZjV3Zr-yxSSUNNvptdkAOJPf8uuvvLlkRQVoRa_U9UN88KUsE1CMgQqhkXqEsY2dlDBFBAMei1x6wpQrnIue5DuKPSdRc2mZ0p/s640/IMG_0327.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creepy statues on the UNM campus.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I got to the Zimmerman
library at about 6:45 am only to have a security guard bar my entrance.
Apparently, since I could not produce a UNM student ID, I needed to wait
fifteen minutes before he could let me in. At least I got to wait inside - it
was cold that morning! I wouldn't have been able to start immediately anyway as
the area I needed to access didn’t open until 7 am. Down in the basement I
found two reels of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Raton Range</span> in
the microfilm collection, one of which covered the tail end of the period I'm
interested in (1905-1910). Unfortunately, the UNM library appears to be several
decades ahead of NMSU - rather than the microfilm readers I'm used to, they had
these hi-tech USB readers attached to computers. A student working the
reference desk was kind enough to log me in using his credentials and set me
up. I guess the advantage of these readers is that you can create digital
images from the microfilm, but I think the viewing quality is rather
diminished. Since the image travels by cable to a computer monitor it degrades
more than when the film is viewed directly via lenses and mirrors. In any case,
my early hours at UNM gave me the chance to discover the end of the Fosters
times at the <span style="font-style: italic;">Raton Range</span>. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YeQlLixjea4wdgzlXdbiEs_dlH4QSzVyiHpy2H5X17a_ElvIYLT3_gzAzkVmd_RSRVLCKSEJ_0iF5ju3quIRUUS9ncviWMQLr03biNPAH8vY3tTYrHy6Ub2T0sLCiQNOKIMtpVL37PH5/s1600/IMG_0328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9YeQlLixjea4wdgzlXdbiEs_dlH4QSzVyiHpy2H5X17a_ElvIYLT3_gzAzkVmd_RSRVLCKSEJ_0iF5ju3quIRUUS9ncviWMQLr03biNPAH8vY3tTYrHy6Ub2T0sLCiQNOKIMtpVL37PH5/s640/IMG_0328.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UNM's Zimmerman Library before dawn.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think I made it
out of the library by 10 am, at which point the bustling campus was
unrecognizable as the deserted grounds I'd crossed in the dark that morning. My
next stop was the state archives in Santa Fe, where I arrived just as the
reading room opened at noon. They couldn't pull anything for me until 1 pm, but
that hour allowed me to compile a specific list of boxes and get a feeling for
the archives' holdings. I hadn't realized that the Historical Services division
shared their microfilm room with the Southwest Room, otherwise I may
have tried to come earlier. I could have started with those collections as
early as 9 am!</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WOcbZQ6N8tyT6KXHL5BBEPCxiH4IG6CF6wr85jaOHPMwnQvqn8-E5nhzUHF4kiFtjzdxqEstPtd5ZEjwdDlBGmqmVNKcKUVcLg9pcBya9uQiCNZhPnTbO_J2gZ4HkK9h4rRL8ihEOqT5/s1600/IMG_0491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3WOcbZQ6N8tyT6KXHL5BBEPCxiH4IG6CF6wr85jaOHPMwnQvqn8-E5nhzUHF4kiFtjzdxqEstPtd5ZEjwdDlBGmqmVNKcKUVcLg9pcBya9uQiCNZhPnTbO_J2gZ4HkK9h4rRL8ihEOqT5/s640/IMG_0491.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NM state archives in Santa Fe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The problem with
researching someone like Josephine Foster is that there aren’t any
"Foster" collections which have preserved her or her husband's papers
for future historians. Instead, I feel like I have to come at her sideways,
looking through documents concerning journalism in New Mexico and the papers of
New Mexicans with whom the Fosters crossed paths. My requests included the
collections of former governors Herbert J. Hagerman and George Curry, records
from Dona Ana and Colfax Counties, files from the Bowman Bank & Trust, and
WPA research on the history of
newspapers in New Mexico. Quite an odd assortment, which unfortunately produced
very little in terms of results. It was a little embarrassing when after the
staff took about an hour procuring a library cart full of boxes, I finished
going through the files in less than 30 minutes. The microfilm collection was much more promising
as it included all available reels of the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Raton
Range</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> from 1905 to 1910. I kept at it until the library closed at 4:30
pm, but it was good to know I could find the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Range</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
closer than Raton.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Speaking of Raton,
that was my next destination. Spending so much time at the archives meant more
driving after dark than I generally do, but what scenery I saw before sundown
was beautiful. I passed the current offices of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Raton Range</span> on the way to my Bed & Breakfast. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1Bmfl2MlX9LDzhRlpJ86fENwYofbP5fgvK30v8bY5hdKoCWSwuhRUzra-JI2PiMSMf_oepXsG4MDgIMJwWa_jgd2SZbb0t2h3-8Q1C_9tuJbXoW-mLoIl4uS05-CE6nF1s4YtK61e8AJ/s1600/IMG_0367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1Bmfl2MlX9LDzhRlpJ86fENwYofbP5fgvK30v8bY5hdKoCWSwuhRUzra-JI2PiMSMf_oepXsG4MDgIMJwWa_jgd2SZbb0t2h3-8Q1C_9tuJbXoW-mLoIl4uS05-CE6nF1s4YtK61e8AJ/s640/IMG_0367.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heart's Desire B&B, Raton NM</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Heart's
Desire Inn offered an excellent location from which to explore the old center
of Raton and a delicious breakfast each morning. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Victorian Room was a bit
overwhelmingly feminine, but the bed was very comfortable after long days spent
staring at microfilm. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9n0xRQF_VgWm4aqDeozntpejphIceFMP5tszLlDwuogK03m2aw7MwbxGB30BRNR_9w6B9tV_RBViJP2za-mQx3zv1E2OTVCtGjRhDVOMTJ17JXbs9SQNuYqv70EvrUs4O7a3dHicdhkX/s1600/IMG_0348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9n0xRQF_VgWm4aqDeozntpejphIceFMP5tszLlDwuogK03m2aw7MwbxGB30BRNR_9w6B9tV_RBViJP2za-mQx3zv1E2OTVCtGjRhDVOMTJ17JXbs9SQNuYqv70EvrUs4O7a3dHicdhkX/s640/IMG_0348.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The exceedingly pink and frilly Victorian Room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My lovely host - a local schoolteacher - directed me to a
couple of local places that would still be open for dinner, Crystal Cafe and El Matador. I opted for Italian
over Mexican, though both restaurants were almost empty. Apparently Raton is
such a small town that everybody shows up when the high school has a football
game.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After a hearty
breakfast of waffles, peaches, and bacon, I set off in the morning for the
Arthur Johnson Memorial Public Library due to open at 10 am. Only two blocks
away from my B&B, I have to say this is one of the best small town public
libraries I have ever seen. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp47Jj5sn99NHF8WYuzI9X6S9TATT1hAAWNVQMguJ8h9LG3vROGlDQFpBibZHsm_ZY4BZ58fRtgOkoIoOnTtC8izMOdMXZti-ZKTvFjZ4zLZ9CfGeeS_sy7ZzIKZfLgP94U1VJ-E4EV6g2/s1600/IMG_0363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp47Jj5sn99NHF8WYuzI9X6S9TATT1hAAWNVQMguJ8h9LG3vROGlDQFpBibZHsm_ZY4BZ58fRtgOkoIoOnTtC8izMOdMXZti-ZKTvFjZ4zLZ9CfGeeS_sy7ZzIKZfLgP94U1VJ-E4EV6g2/s640/IMG_0363.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arthur Johnson Memorial Public Library, constructed 1912</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Their collection was both varied and extensive,
while the large number of patrons I saw would indicate that the library is also
well used. I asked for directions to their microfilm and was led upstairs to a
back room with several computers and two microfilm readers. One was of the same
model found at NMSU and the state archives, but I was informed that it was a
recent donation and missing parts. The working microfilm reader dated to the
1970s, could not print, and did not even allow the user to zoom in on images. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeq8VU6JtOu_p55mWdn_JfJrjBpd35bONz5AC1ZMQDVlABhyfsGfpx3JDIk20h5IyTQFmdn2nPGSzf9dULdDEFUy9ZaxXP4KV7EeYDgXPgw-oIIiEOdUYiao4Hz_1bCLROBXXB8V0UbZL7/s1600/IMG_0329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeq8VU6JtOu_p55mWdn_JfJrjBpd35bONz5AC1ZMQDVlABhyfsGfpx3JDIk20h5IyTQFmdn2nPGSzf9dULdDEFUy9ZaxXP4KV7EeYDgXPgw-oIIiEOdUYiao4Hz_1bCLROBXXB8V0UbZL7/s640/IMG_0329.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The library's ancient microfilm reader</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
settled in with a drawer full of microfilm reels for the next few hours. When I
broke for lunch, I got a lovely meal at Enchanted Grounds nearby and stopped in
at the Raton Museum. I met the curator, but he had never heard of the Fosters.
Funny, since the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Range </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">became the first
occupant of the museum's building under their leadership in 1908. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Zmd4usH31yrNq_QAY8AU8oP5GDMfHfRngRB6X7LdmLXVg8YAJgLpnAycGB2s3yubYv9RI0blI5qpDYYUFYx56ck1TVxtcjIdJLNEY0mzJUeratIOyDJS7gs4hAT5x-Wq5j8CGip_Xli2/s1600/IMG_0353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Zmd4usH31yrNq_QAY8AU8oP5GDMfHfRngRB6X7LdmLXVg8YAJgLpnAycGB2s3yubYv9RI0blI5qpDYYUFYx56ck1TVxtcjIdJLNEY0mzJUeratIOyDJS7gs4hAT5x-Wq5j8CGip_Xli2/s640/IMG_0353.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">108 S. Second Street - once home to the <i>Raton Daily Range</i>, now occupied<br />
by the Raton Museum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I returned to the library and continued
staring at microfilm until it closed at 6 pm. As I grew tired of taking copious
notes during my brief time with the reels I tried photographing the images on
the reader's screen. This worked surprisingly well and significantly
accelerated my progress through the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Raton
Range.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fF7igOmKtqzF-OQVQcoMb-SoEoowWTMK37LjBLKD9KZ_BmFhGVNoAUKyZQggVOAPDnOPeE_fomwUj1wj2Cqn5V6O_MLPv4EP4Qc7sXJp5wQITfr7ZBVzuAKJZ8UOkPAvVJx4ENjwtG65/s1600/IMG_0331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fF7igOmKtqzF-OQVQcoMb-SoEoowWTMK37LjBLKD9KZ_BmFhGVNoAUKyZQggVOAPDnOPeE_fomwUj1wj2Cqn5V6O_MLPv4EP4Qc7sXJp5wQITfr7ZBVzuAKJZ8UOkPAvVJx4ENjwtG65/s640/IMG_0331.JPG" width="504" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Mrs. Foster's poems, captured with my camera</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_c-JsDDwcCe-LNP6ycsV9sK-0rwGMIQOC7id_ayNR0IHFH2Tz_xr4CGs6CJd8x9A8iqFK_C5gRxqfrB3HpSyStUA-kQTYaNPY_hgIfkG9PAoQK2xHdcYoJC_dw5y6kRyKJHXOf29Jkpc/s1600/IMG_0343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_c-JsDDwcCe-LNP6ycsV9sK-0rwGMIQOC7id_ayNR0IHFH2Tz_xr4CGs6CJd8x9A8iqFK_C5gRxqfrB3HpSyStUA-kQTYaNPY_hgIfkG9PAoQK2xHdcYoJC_dw5y6kRyKJHXOf29Jkpc/s640/IMG_0343.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Raton, New Mexico</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDljfPi2W-jAhHww2GtMkShEYiiv3AWjDlXACIcH0MzVY8jUpidGaKidZD2Xvrikms3Z7IqS4g_SoDUTfKolsAZ3tXmMaiFrgJSCk0NgEXzocp23iwhfdASNL5GaVqhKjVD0Mt5WHBbcu7/s1600/IMG_0366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDljfPi2W-jAhHww2GtMkShEYiiv3AWjDlXACIcH0MzVY8jUpidGaKidZD2Xvrikms3Z7IqS4g_SoDUTfKolsAZ3tXmMaiFrgJSCk0NgEXzocp23iwhfdASNL5GaVqhKjVD0Mt5WHBbcu7/s640/IMG_0366.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The current offices of the <i>Raton Range</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSfpX2T-x4qZHDU-sKKCxF_lKKuWfGyxVnIbIV9n7-NO2UD_IkmWTjSU7zwbkjWzdXDoTEYP71QY-OFJaa6HNgEs8Zdsrf7be85xMuZFLvzZBReKLM2ScE0cDRoqYpW59OpnKUpVbZRBe/s1600/IMG_0346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSfpX2T-x4qZHDU-sKKCxF_lKKuWfGyxVnIbIV9n7-NO2UD_IkmWTjSU7zwbkjWzdXDoTEYP71QY-OFJaa6HNgEs8Zdsrf7be85xMuZFLvzZBReKLM2ScE0cDRoqYpW59OpnKUpVbZRBe/s640/IMG_0346.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Heart's Desire. Lately I seem to only stay at places inhabited by<br />
Weeping Angels</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDjXOgjxAJQwgHdWJ7b1k1eofpABXnUgAmrlvUIGT6s6MbhM4sPPVmmNnBszdN_RNlMgsUw83o8BqMBPtdJ8x4UrVKWJx_dmirn_VbZyiDsNItU3MdBzq5KqV1PB8Ml2S9VTNOeWe7Yiz/s1600/IMG_0354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDjXOgjxAJQwgHdWJ7b1k1eofpABXnUgAmrlvUIGT6s6MbhM4sPPVmmNnBszdN_RNlMgsUw83o8BqMBPtdJ8x4UrVKWJx_dmirn_VbZyiDsNItU3MdBzq5KqV1PB8Ml2S9VTNOeWe7Yiz/s640/IMG_0354.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goat Hill and the old Seaburg Hotel, once home to both the <i>Raton Range</i><br />
and the Fosters</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Since the microfilm
collection in Santa Fe was just as complete as that in Raton, I decided to
spend another full day at the archives. The drive back to Las Cruces would also
be more manageable in one day. Archives are rarely obliging enough to open on Sundays,
so I took the day to travel and go over my notes. I planned to spend Monday at
the archives and then drive back to Las Cruces Tuesday morning. I booked a two
night stay at the Sunrise Springs Inn & Spa and headed back south.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sunrise Springs
proved to be just as relaxing as I had hoped. While the spa was not open on
Sunday, the Blue Heron restaurant had a delicious brunch and a greatly enjoyed
walking the grounds. My pond view room was tiny, but didn't include the
distraction of a television and allowed me to listen to the sounds of the
fountain. The only improvement might have been a desk. The grounds were also
home to at least 8 semi-feral cats who lined up outside the registration office
for their dinner. I enjoyed their company, but was very glad that I'd soon be
returning to my own cat. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgARLCjPVNwJkLMS2VQepMIdvmUajzkCa2mSucI1u3nx1PLX01gsu_1owchxhyphenhyphenlFi_IoZrlAk_wsF0KCAXjMI3tVF67Q0Rtvh-mKZnFaFG9OqQ0YKi5F3jcrkqAvZx8GlTi2Y6BN_kqXk6/s1600/IMG_0377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgARLCjPVNwJkLMS2VQepMIdvmUajzkCa2mSucI1u3nx1PLX01gsu_1owchxhyphenhyphenlFi_IoZrlAk_wsF0KCAXjMI3tVF67Q0Rtvh-mKZnFaFG9OqQ0YKi5F3jcrkqAvZx8GlTi2Y6BN_kqXk6/s640/IMG_0377.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3MQSebhOvtkt3AXXo6L6K70qy4WIWoZnMHs0VlQC4QyQmVIi99MO3YDwIMEyVMdpVFT-VMSgssTbZd1Ao7EzTv6Eb7Wl-X7XcT6Np7NxP7CFnpRs1JxC8uBfjDMmJEB6FwJttR5LdjQW/s1600/IMG_0386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3MQSebhOvtkt3AXXo6L6K70qy4WIWoZnMHs0VlQC4QyQmVIi99MO3YDwIMEyVMdpVFT-VMSgssTbZd1Ao7EzTv6Eb7Wl-X7XcT6Np7NxP7CFnpRs1JxC8uBfjDMmJEB6FwJttR5LdjQW/s640/IMG_0386.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6gRERLP557H7r3yMZ6F7FrurIYd9lHZUAjYxkxSIy7Z28DQwON1LjwtjessfRU2t01Uca_h44UMZC0KTeSSArAqyf2X6xwII5en1oxLLVyQ5wTyxS4KjKFJNfLJziTXPI0Pc0qFVuYr8/s1600/IMG_0389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6gRERLP557H7r3yMZ6F7FrurIYd9lHZUAjYxkxSIy7Z28DQwON1LjwtjessfRU2t01Uca_h44UMZC0KTeSSArAqyf2X6xwII5en1oxLLVyQ5wTyxS4KjKFJNfLJziTXPI0Pc0qFVuYr8/s640/IMG_0389.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBl9E2SICb0SuBbyVDYYpLe5WYHyWLrB3dK6A04aUL8IesOyuXNBvpPdf1NGJg62AokdjVzZxQKmBtMVvns3ysezGKArrxMY8Fj5UAapWBG7lSawrh3yCR7EGWDsuZZkvx2_LUTjyiHCpx/s1600/IMG_0406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBl9E2SICb0SuBbyVDYYpLe5WYHyWLrB3dK6A04aUL8IesOyuXNBvpPdf1NGJg62AokdjVzZxQKmBtMVvns3ysezGKArrxMY8Fj5UAapWBG7lSawrh3yCR7EGWDsuZZkvx2_LUTjyiHCpx/s640/IMG_0406.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My tiny Pond Room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVany2-VUdD69NOAXbe9L0v98nT7mjLKX47MghBbowc3nXv_RiquYwjf-10Tv2M-9TGYje0uKw_hmMM20eaKb9fe6cYoEpjbARDd5_LGe3mvXfmLg4Ov7bG-n-wU7bDF2XqRkUzQOAt7A/s1600/IMG_0493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVany2-VUdD69NOAXbe9L0v98nT7mjLKX47MghBbowc3nXv_RiquYwjf-10Tv2M-9TGYje0uKw_hmMM20eaKb9fe6cYoEpjbARDd5_LGe3mvXfmLg4Ov7bG-n-wU7bDF2XqRkUzQOAt7A/s640/IMG_0493.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The delicious Blue Heron Restaurant </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLiB64wLXp0Twyp0Yq8im4IGsIkbbjQBvUx56D6Z2EowXK-_PaOAraoepkgrlqmA789AALx6BIDuagHBISYUcCRxbVABbQFITa_ERHUAN2-1qyr3wnKO7tmkT2v7L0fjf2aJnTr8o8lNR1/s1600/IMG_0616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLiB64wLXp0Twyp0Yq8im4IGsIkbbjQBvUx56D6Z2EowXK-_PaOAraoepkgrlqmA789AALx6BIDuagHBISYUcCRxbVABbQFITa_ERHUAN2-1qyr3wnKO7tmkT2v7L0fjf2aJnTr8o8lNR1/s640/IMG_0616.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few of the cats line up to say goodbye</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I spent Monday looking exclusively at the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic;">Raton Range</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, but even then I couldn't make it
through the entire paper. Perhaps in an effort to increase the number of issues
for me to read, the Fosters changed the paper from a semi-weekly to a daily in
1908. Those five extra issues each week really slow down the researcher's
progress. However, the state archives did allow me to continue photographing
the reader's screen rather than forcing me to pay for copies or write my own
notes. As in Raton, this helped me get through a lot more film than I otherwise
would have been able to.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Returning to Las
Cruces on Tuesday meant spending five nights away from Manticora and missing
one class, but it was definitely worth it. The <span style="font-style: italic;">Raton
Range</span> charted Josephine Foster's entrance into the newspaper business
and established both context and precedent for her later career in Las Cruces.
I've made a great deal of progress unearthing Mrs. Foster's legacy, but here
are some records that continue to elude me:</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In 1912, H. B. Holt
sued the Fosters for libel, demanding $20,000 in recompense. I could find no
record of the suit in Holt's collection at NMSU or in the Dona Ana County
records in Santa Fe.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mrs. Foster's
personal relationships do raise some questions. Why did she and Charles Hague
divorce? How did she meet Orrin Foster? Why did she and Orrin Foster divorce?</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Equally mysterious
is Orrin Foster's first marriage and divorce with Inez L. Foster.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have an
Ancestry.com tree for Josephine Foster and I would love it if I could track
down a living descendant. I would also be very excited to find an image of Mrs. Foster or any of her family.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3MpwHpGq8-km_7qGRoOxD2EkeXj6bEwYNRrf6TrRTgRAERhsSzMUr6PpEmh1rekGECByF784FXZQ_LQkri2een_bivVQ2XGS8k-CKezOQix9_3h5AyQqJBLlvUaRb-ivnwwdf_3ZIOEy/s1600/IMG_0836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW3MpwHpGq8-km_7qGRoOxD2EkeXj6bEwYNRrf6TrRTgRAERhsSzMUr6PpEmh1rekGECByF784FXZQ_LQkri2een_bivVQ2XGS8k-CKezOQix9_3h5AyQqJBLlvUaRb-ivnwwdf_3ZIOEy/s640/IMG_0836.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manticora at four months old. She forgave me for my brief absence back<br />
in November</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-77913281810874284892012-10-13T12:10:00.001-06:002013-05-11T22:04:03.105-06:00The National WWII MuseumLast weekend I took a much needed break from Grad School to visit New Orleans with Eric and the rest of the Russian House Exiles. One of trip's highlights was definitely our time spent at the National WWII Museum. As I understand it, this museum was originally founded as the National D-Day Museum, the brainchild of Stephen Ambrose and the History Channel, but was rebranded and expanded as the National WWII museum after Hurricane Katrina threatened to shut it down permanently. The museum's complex currently occupies two city blocks and is still growing. We had some trouble finding the actual museum entrance and had to ask for help in one of the three museum stores. We felt slightly better about this when we helped out several other visitors who had the same problem.<br />
<br />
Once inside, is it sad that I was a little underwhelmed by their presentation of a C-47? Besides that, they had one Sherman tank and a Spitfire in the pavilion that holds the vehicle collection. That's a pretty sad assortment if you ask me. Even the Fort Bliss and Old Ironsides Museums has a T-34. Expansion suggestion #1: This place needs a tank park.<br />
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Admission to the museum was a little steep. Our group lucked out since most of us had student and/or military IDs, warranting a decent discount. We paid $12 to get into the museum rather than the steep $21 for adults. However, the museum does offer free admission for uniformed military personnel and WWII veterans. Tickets in hand, we skipped the introductory videos and marched straight up to the exhibit beginning. The first display set the tone for the rest of our visit, demonstrating an aspect of museum work that this place really excels at: the visual display of information. You turn the corner into the Home Front gallery, where the story begins, and BOOM you instantly see the disadvantage of American forces at the beginning of the war.<br />
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Lined up in front of the corresponding national flags, little army men represent the sizes of the various armies. Pretty neat stuff and very easy to grasp the meaning without reading every little piece of text.This first section of the museum depicts the mobilization of the home front to support the war effort, including the development of industry and enlargement of the US army. It was a little strange to encounter the home front before the war had even started exhibit-wise, but I guess it allowed the narrative to leave the United States behind to focus on the fighting.<br />
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From the Home Front, visitors walk upstairs to the European Theater. Since this was previously the D-Day Museum, anyone familiar with World War II will be surprised to find that the exhibits start late in the war with preparations for the invasion of Normandy. The museum's mission statement reads that <span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"the National WWII Museum tells the story of the American Experience in </span><em style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the war that changed the world</em><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">- why it was fought, how it was won, and what it means today - so that all generations will understand the price of freedom and be inspired by what they learn." Very clearly, the museum strives to tell the American story of World War II, therefore all that stuff that happened before the US entered the war isn't all that relevant. They do follow the European Theater through the end of the conflict and they've added a section on the Pacific Theater, but US operations in North Africa receive almost no mention. Naturally, the museum omits the Eastern Front and all that stuff that happened before the US got involved. However much I might want them to tell the whole story of WWII, not doing so is completely in keeping with their mission statement.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So...maybe they should revise their mission statement.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Regardless of huge gaps in the narrative, they really have done some fantastic museum work. Here are some of my favorite parts:</span><br />
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This recreation allowed Tim and Eric to reenact <i>The Longest Day </i>complete with sound effects. I really enjoy it when museums are able to create environments within their exhibits that really transport the visitor to a different time or place.<br />
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This was probably one of the best displays in the entire museum. The lines on the map connect an individual soldier to his location during the invasion. The inclusion of his picture with his story helps the visitor connect with him as an individual, and then there's an artifact that connects to each soldier. This is just so good on so many levels. I might have squeed a bit.<br />
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Eric and I agreed that someday we want to decorate a nursery like this. Do you remember what I said about the visual representation of information? Well, there's the force attacking at Normandy. The visitor doesn't need to read anything to see the size and variety of the force deployed against the Nazis.<br />
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Once you've landed in Normandy, this environment sneaks up on you. The ancient hedgerows in this area of France allowed German forces to easily conceal shooters, which is exactly what the museum has done here. One of the guns is fairly obvious to alert you to their presence, but then it takes a few minutes to find all the barrels aimed at you.<br />
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These booths are integrated throughout the museum. Each one offers four two-minute oral history clips that connect topically to the gallery around them. It's a great way to add a personal dimension to the narrative without trapping the visitor for 15+ minutes or obstructing traffic.<br />
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During my visit, our group got split up as some of us moved faster through the galleries. As explanation, I present the following exchange:<br />
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Evin - How did you guys get so far ahead of us?<br />
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Tim - We didn't have to read anything, we had Eric.<br />
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My husband Eric, the walking encyclopedia of military history.<br />
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The museum also had a special exhibit on entitled "Deadly Medicine: Creating the Master Race," sponsored in part by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. It's so nice to see the various private museums working together.<br />
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We had lunch after our visit at the museum's restaurant <i>The American Sector</i>, which had a very tasty menu offering a mix of local dishes and items reminiscent of wartime rationing. They also had a pretty nice drink list. For a snack or a quick meal, the museum also houses a Soda Shop. The <i>Stage Door Canteen </i>offers live entertainment at Brunch and Dinner shows. Seriously, this place offers the complete 1940s experience.<br />
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On Sunday, while part of the group went to mass, Eric and I came back to the museum to see <i>Beyond All Boundaries</i>, "the 4-D Experience Featuring Tom Hanks." Eric just can't say no to Tom Hanks and I was curious. It was awesome and honestly worth the extra admission cost. Eric described it as "World War II: The Ride." According to the museum's website, they're currently hiring theatre and A/V technicians. Very tempting. Our return trip also meant that we got to check out the third museum shop. The three shops overlap in their stock, but they all carry a good variety of books, DVDs, swag, toys, and clothes. It was pretty cool that they actually had dresses from <a href="http://www.stopstaringclothing.com/sunshop/">Stop Staring!</a> on sale. Even cooler? <a href="http://store.nationalww2museum.org/browse.cfm/gremlins-gift-set/4,947.html">GREMLINS</a>!!! How had nobody ever shown me Gremlins before?!?!?! To prevent you from a similar catastrophe, I offer the following: [EDIT: "Gremlins from the Kremlin" is no longer available, but here's another Bugs Bunny cartoon with a Gremlin.]
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One thing that was also clear from the museum was that they have a very strong volunteer program. Members of the Youth Victory Corps (middle and high school students) were stationed throughout the galleries with artifacts that you could touch and play with. Also, the museum is taking advantage of one very important asset that won't be around forever: World War II veterans. </div>
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Right near the front entrance, this set up enables veterans to come in and volunteer to share their experience of the war. We didn't get the chance to talk to any of the volunteers while we were there, but the program offers a great opportunity for both visitors and veterans.</div>
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Overall, this museum has some great things going for it that make it well worth the visit, even though the narrative skips over some important aspects of the war. Like Africa. Or the Eastern Front. If you don't have an Eric with you, allow 2-3 hours for the exhibit galleries. If you have time, definitely check out the movie and grab a bite to eat!</div>
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</div>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-84897302307810125682012-08-28T20:49:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:05:40.394-06:00The Real WorldIt's now been a month since I left the Falkland Islands and my time there still feels like a dream. It was shockingly easy to fall back into my normal life - so different from my daily experiences in the South Atlantic. Here it feels like the sun never stops bearing down on you, the heat is oppressive, and there are people everywhere. The final account for my work at the museum came to 14.8 hours of new interviews collected, 22.4 hours of interviews transcribed, and a manual for continuing work on the collection. Once things here have settled down a bit I'll do some more of that work myself, but I hope the museum can find enough interested parties to continue the project.<br />
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Things I miss about the Falklands: my friends, the museum, dancing all night, walking everywhere, penguins, the beauty of the land, the lifestyle.</div>
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Things I don't miss about the Falklands: living alone, being cold all the time, wearing a ridiculous amount of clothes, constantly slipping and falling on ice, the limited variety of food.</div>
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A couple of people have mentioned to me the rather large amount of drinking I've mentioned on this blog. I'm generally the sort of person who will tell you something straight up and I did drink a lot in the Falklands. Back in my normal life, I don't have more than one or two drinks a week. However, in Stanley, most socializing took part in the pubs and drinking was part of the culture. It even came up a few times in the oral histories I collected and transcribed. I heard it said several times from those of us on short contracts, that being in the Falklands is kind of like being in university again. So true. </div>
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My main occupation since returning to the USA has been moving to New Mexico, where I have one more year left in my program. Fortunately, I won't be living alone as I'm taking the spare room at my friend Jeanna's apartment. Oh, and we'll be joined by her cat, Mao, and her dog, Buffy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">This is Mao. He's beautiful and he knows it.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">And apparently silly if he thinks I can't see him under there.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">...and this is Buffy. She's a bit skittish, but very sweet and quiet.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I've finally got most of my stuff into the new place after several trips, but I still have another week until I move in full time.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">New room in New Mexico.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiALbEW-4Do04G1dKQI9W4qtdF8eIZz6_zBO8g1r1Pg-bdDduwZJxfwUYoE6RjRmYAiOsYhoCya23Nuf1871BxhcQPs6cg9KdFu_VhXWZoa5JQkgwEr41nkL2jplKd2zC5-TzJuG5I-6jJ6/s1600/DSC00518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiALbEW-4Do04G1dKQI9W4qtdF8eIZz6_zBO8g1r1Pg-bdDduwZJxfwUYoE6RjRmYAiOsYhoCya23Nuf1871BxhcQPs6cg9KdFu_VhXWZoa5JQkgwEr41nkL2jplKd2zC5-TzJuG5I-6jJ6/s640/DSC00518.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">If you've ever sent me a postcard, it is probably on that wall.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRj2a-c8k0bIsoVun0trDppS9FrnP8LbR6196GeudOhBCSXOOBBMkFrQpx_V-wgdHGHjrukeLcADOL5rvDkBBbHDiQiGam_ZzjXJ8vVM4zDuqxyn_JIxaV7GmKvo3qzgd5EifqvY26QVM/s1600/DSC00519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRj2a-c8k0bIsoVun0trDppS9FrnP8LbR6196GeudOhBCSXOOBBMkFrQpx_V-wgdHGHjrukeLcADOL5rvDkBBbHDiQiGam_ZzjXJ8vVM4zDuqxyn_JIxaV7GmKvo3qzgd5EifqvY26QVM/s640/DSC00519.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Eric and I also spent a lot of time this month watching the Olympics. Inspired by this, Eric decided he wanted to take up archery again. As a kid back in Arkansas, he used to have a target set up in his backyard and for a few years he spent hours and hours shooting. I did archery for a few years at summer camp in elementary school, too, but Eric's experience is much more recent than mine. In any case, for his birthday I tracked down a couple of archery shops where we were able to try out some bows. We both got competition-style recurves (mine is left-handed and lighter) and spent a couple days at the range. While fun, the experience left me a bit marked up as it seems every place in town is sold out of arm guards.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRfACoGDj2c45_zXU7Bv9Bx4EAZNGfZBi30vBdKNbSE2Pj3wdKseCt0PfmLSqaAZihyphenhyphen3iWmlEBGN6xHq22Nt0mbSk1A5TRJCSbQ93v_jRMUQMEZhFoyg6L0Jm7L7xsNrpPEFN9-TggyIt/s1600/Stuff+178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRfACoGDj2c45_zXU7Bv9Bx4EAZNGfZBi30vBdKNbSE2Pj3wdKseCt0PfmLSqaAZihyphenhyphen3iWmlEBGN6xHq22Nt0mbSk1A5TRJCSbQ93v_jRMUQMEZhFoyg6L0Jm7L7xsNrpPEFN9-TggyIt/s640/Stuff+178.JPG" width="608" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">This is what happens when you shoot archery with a hyper-rotated </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">elbow and without an arm guard.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHSickkD1vsjo1wyDgap-09l9-1jOhay4VlziTdpfcVRMZG_htWcqCE2it7fNF4B1-FLiVSpqKyvLY6-uBqfUvrk0oiU-9_y6UMcszfYPgBobTDRBQ5rMPlSfq-V2k9cFmIla9IJMs9B3/s1600/Stuff+192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHSickkD1vsjo1wyDgap-09l9-1jOhay4VlziTdpfcVRMZG_htWcqCE2it7fNF4B1-FLiVSpqKyvLY6-uBqfUvrk0oiU-9_y6UMcszfYPgBobTDRBQ5rMPlSfq-V2k9cFmIla9IJMs9B3/s640/Stuff+192.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">This is wrong. See how much my arm is sticking out to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">the left? That's why the bowstring hit it so much.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oTuR1cZClyyVROTDc4BixWrfb4OnJah-a6MmugH85Wi_DvaJxicith9L8zRqZdJ60TP_I2qNk4v7JkGVUA2O8-e7P4rnP2fIqsnLndilrtR4mxxpnykbeswlfRNR64rs2C7dVzOP2XZA/s1600/Stuff+193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5oTuR1cZClyyVROTDc4BixWrfb4OnJah-a6MmugH85Wi_DvaJxicith9L8zRqZdJ60TP_I2qNk4v7JkGVUA2O8-e7P4rnP2fIqsnLndilrtR4mxxpnykbeswlfRNR64rs2C7dVzOP2XZA/s640/Stuff+193.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">This is right. My arm is safely out of the bowstring's way. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">However, I </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">have </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">to consciously think about holding my </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">arm in this position.</span></td></tr>
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Classes started last Thursday and I've now had at least one meeting of all mine. I'm going to be doing a lot of writing this semester. It'll be good for me. To finish my program, I have four classes left (research seminar, reading seminar, two traditional history) and my master's thesis. I'm knocking out three of the classes this semester, so I'll be focusing on this thesis this spring. The Research Seminar this semester focuses on biography and I hope to continue my work on Josephine Foster, possibly even producing a publishable paper. I'm taking World War I as my traditional history course, which seemed timely to me as the centenary is coming up soon. Also, this class is spending a lot of time on the social and cultural aspects of the war as well as its legacy. Fun stuff. My third class is the reading seminar, on the theme of Myth, Memory, and History. This class is actually one of the things that attracted me to this program in the first place. Back at William & Mary, ProfCor definitely converted me to memory studies. I find the interaction of these three concepts absolutely fascinating - it doesn't hurt that it fits in well with my background in Russian/Soviet history. My only disappointment is that I've already read two of the books on the syllabus and we're not using ProfCor's book (it's been used in the past for this class). I'm also a Teaching Assistant again this semester - this time for two professors, one of which has an intro US History survey class. I'm doing a lot of work for that one, but I'm finally getting some good US History! My first lecture is less than a month away. It also looks like I'll be giving a talk sometime this fall on my time in the Falklands.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My office in the History Department. I share it with 3 other Teaching </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Assistants, but I think the flag has appropriately marked my </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">territory. Oh, and the Department of Languages and Linguistics is on the</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">same hallway. I wonder how long it will take the Spanish professors to </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">identify the flag of the Falkland Islands.</span></td></tr>
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Oh, and I dyed my hair blue yesterday.</div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-50559498148082775092012-08-20T16:45:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:06:08.684-06:00Sad to Leave, Happy to Go Home: July 27 - 30<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I spent Friday morning at the museum finishing up my work, before hitching a ride across town to the Narrows Bar. The guys were heading up to Elephant Beach for a hunting weekend so we got together for lunch before they left (Vanessa and Paula came, too). The fish and chips was awesome - really good batter and Joss let us have salad instead of mushy peas. We also played a few rounds of pool, including my first victory. I actually beat Steve! Steve and Joss also surprised me with...FACE CAKE!!!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Face Cake...so delicious!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I was sad to say goodbye, but I had to get back to the museum. The ladies were excited to share my face cake and gave me a book of beautiful Falklands photographs. I did a last bit of shopping too, stocking up on books and another batch of small gifts/souvenirs. There was just enough time for me to catch Sam at the radio station to pick up a copy of my interview and say goodbye to her. Debs had already claimed me for friday night, so a few hours later I called a cab to her current abode on the other side of town, bearing the last of the face cake and a couple bottles of wine. The Olympic Opening Ceremony was on in the background, but the main event was an Asian potluck dinner. I'd only met a few of the other guests before (most were from the Fisheries), but it was a good bunch and they brought some delicious food. I even got to try some raw toothfish (aka Chilean Sea Bass). Unplanned by Debs was the extremely difficult quiz conducted by a mad Russian scientist. Paul wisely fled to the pubs. I stuck it out, so I missed seeing some of the Chilean girls, but I got to spend more time with Debs. I got a cab home and called it an early night.<br />
<br />
As an experienced traveler I put off packing until Saturday morning. I still finished very quickly, leaving nothing to do but sit, wait, and discuss the Falklands with my hosts. Alex was headed to Chile for a week on the same flight so I got a ride to MPA with him and Vanessa. The road was in pretty rough shape and Alex's truck was completely covered in mud by the time we got there. And so was my suitcase that had been in the back. The first flight was uneventful. I said goodbye to Alex in Pumta Arenas and got a cab to my hotel in the center of town. Thus began my adventures in Spanglish. The guy working the front desk did not speak English, but we muddled through and he got me checked into my room. It was awesome, had a balcony, and made me feel like a princess! Back at the front desk I asked "donde cena?" and got directions to a restaurant. Out on the street, I found it, but it wasn't open yet so I moved onto a coffee shop for a chicken sandwich with tomato and avacado. Yummy!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDObBrFwkhIPeXrTunSOg5K_nxqZpQluCtK5LlWw2NoYFtnoD8Oc6h9FzVTH_gVqkpvRvK8BnBEeFjgCAMt55y4b6jlYEtHDHC6Bun7-sRvh_vMKA-L6QmpkfhuQVLsz9HVUP0tSGZPEk4/s1600/Stuff+172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDObBrFwkhIPeXrTunSOg5K_nxqZpQluCtK5LlWw2NoYFtnoD8Oc6h9FzVTH_gVqkpvRvK8BnBEeFjgCAMt55y4b6jlYEtHDHC6Bun7-sRvh_vMKA-L6QmpkfhuQVLsz9HVUP0tSGZPEk4/s640/Stuff+172.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My Punta Arenas hotel. My room is the one with the</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">balcony and the lights on.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4pcpycv5PoPBSTsC71-nW71IzSSKFQ49pp5vnrUPI4lKn35HIU3AzlT1FW4Tm5IQxBLoxe-7qustp5MFzvJkxkWqQNpvltsTsXfx5WeUyfMkDINbhpHM0Cmg-4f-Fh83UDJgdCVR8HSY/s1600/Stuff+168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4pcpycv5PoPBSTsC71-nW71IzSSKFQ49pp5vnrUPI4lKn35HIU3AzlT1FW4Tm5IQxBLoxe-7qustp5MFzvJkxkWqQNpvltsTsXfx5WeUyfMkDINbhpHM0Cmg-4f-Fh83UDJgdCVR8HSY/s640/Stuff+168.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My hotel room!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZdDPgD0woXbNueRL2386pwJy_-9OaKP6XwLBvYRlrP8oRrj873dj5wp_R83vLG62zIBJx6-Nj6BUNZoNQ-X2Z71CCR3PpKhMe_KFzkF4JuaOYTUJYmab86sl1ETdUWkyfcEGw4D7mV0n/s1600/Stuff+170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZdDPgD0woXbNueRL2386pwJy_-9OaKP6XwLBvYRlrP8oRrj873dj5wp_R83vLG62zIBJx6-Nj6BUNZoNQ-X2Z71CCR3PpKhMe_KFzkF4JuaOYTUJYmab86sl1ETdUWkyfcEGw4D7mV0n/s640/Stuff+170.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">View of the Plaza from my balcony.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXmigh95X6QrhGruLW-FXISokf4r98WhdZRTao8HcApX873OM33O35VPK-nVvd3EIquRA2ckDGOQSYIMVTmlVgTro_VREnEHpPkHzLuUcma19W9h1ans5pub3Ak9tEGYaJnMAlQETk096/s1600/Stuff+169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXmigh95X6QrhGruLW-FXISokf4r98WhdZRTao8HcApX873OM33O35VPK-nVvd3EIquRA2ckDGOQSYIMVTmlVgTro_VREnEHpPkHzLuUcma19W9h1ans5pub3Ak9tEGYaJnMAlQETk096/s640/Stuff+169.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">More view from my balcony.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3jHnxaUIA50fgYLrmAa0JpupEUgchqCsxsuQCsvDWez-lqPVxwND-bUMLCL9CeyBhMFtRwCUsBE32tDGkphF4km65u1KjJqzLBdAgv0lROJ4KrH10ssJ52intZDHCUI0TANn0U7yelhO/s1600/Stuff+176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 11pt; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj3jHnxaUIA50fgYLrmAa0JpupEUgchqCsxsuQCsvDWez-lqPVxwND-bUMLCL9CeyBhMFtRwCUsBE32tDGkphF4km65u1KjJqzLBdAgv0lROJ4KrH10ssJ52intZDHCUI0TANn0U7yelhO/s640/Stuff+176.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Me, on my balcony in Punta Arenas.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My flight to Santiago the next day allowed me to sleep in and the hotel's breakfast made a good start to the day. Sunday went without incident until I reached the American Airlines counter in Santiago. I had to clear the domestic area, collect my luggage, and then check in again on the international side of the airport. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The very helpful lady at the AA counter informed me that my flight to Dallas had been delayed for six hours and offered me several options. I decided to wait it out, but she rebooked my connecting flight and gave me $20 voucher to get some dinner. The international terminal was much better equipped than the domestic terminal and I had a decent sit-down dinner. The beat part? I got their wifi password so as long as I stayed in range I had internet. I wandered, snacked, surfed, and napped the hours away. Apparently I didn't nap too much as I managed to sleep all the way to Dallas. Finally back in the States I was a bit overwhelmed by the heat, sun, and the large number of people surrounding me. However, customs was kind enough to clean my shoes. Since the Falklands is basically one giant farm and NMSU is an agriculture school I figured better safe than sorry. My final flight I the journey came with a nice surprise - the only seat the AA agent in Santiago had been able to book me was in first class. I was so exhausted that I didn't really get to enjoy it, but the extra space was appreciated. Eric met me at the airport with roses and he didn't even have to go back to work. I was so out of it that I wasn't entirely sure what day it was. Oh, and my first meal at home? A veggie burrito from Chipotle.</span></div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-31815563245996133182012-08-16T10:07:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:06:36.805-06:00Loose Ends: July 20 - 26<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My last weekend in the Falklands was seriously epic. Friday night presented the dilemma of poker night vs. pub quiz. Debs was putting together a pub quiz team, but there was an unfortunate bit of confusion. When I texted her on Friday morning to confirm I learned that Mike had taken the last spot on the team 30 minutes earlier. This confused me a bit as Mike was supposed to be playing poker. As it turns out, poker night was cancelled before I decided to do the pub quiz instead. In any case I walked all the way to the Narrows Bar to cheer on my friends. As it turned out, Debs played with her surrogate Falklands parents opening up a spot on the team with Mike, Paul, Andy P, Roddy, and Paula. The quiz felt like it would never end, but it was pretty fun. Besides the standard trivia rounds, we also had to make a potato into a recognizable famous person. We were not alone in our decision to create Mr. Potato Hitler. After the quiz finally concluded we were rather surprised to learn that we had won. Huh. That was unexpected and we owe it to Paul's origami frog which defeated all the other teams' frogs. Our tangible prizes were a couple of bottles of wine and a box of chocolates, but I think the bragging rights were the best part. We went off to celebrate our victory at Deano's.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hhM_HcOWW6lTprLmQqJAu3hk1j_ADK2hvYdcmSIHDJZfc08cefYk_TF8sDZsPhM1kmnY4-pQ0WUBviS-tr1PJyRAopS-NNSwA3yQIggSW3DhJZSuNQjg_u9lE8MDUccT-9q2DsTTLbCA/s1600/Stuff+147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6hhM_HcOWW6lTprLmQqJAu3hk1j_ADK2hvYdcmSIHDJZfc08cefYk_TF8sDZsPhM1kmnY4-pQ0WUBviS-tr1PJyRAopS-NNSwA3yQIggSW3DhJZSuNQjg_u9lE8MDUccT-9q2DsTTLbCA/s640/Stuff+147.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Our Hitler is the one with the Argentine flag.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I walked into town on Saturday to do some souvenir shopping and loaded up with Falklands swag, including a giant flag for my office, small gifts for professors/family/friends, and a "Keep Calm and Keep the Falklands British" t-shirt. I am currently hatching a plot to wear the last item to a Morrissey concert in November. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going as I am torn between my love for the Smiths and my love for the Falklands.* In any case, if I go to the concert I will proudly don said shirt. As usual, the evening's festivities started at the Vic, where I found myself faced with multiple options. First, a birthday party for someone I kind of knew at Andy P's house (I was invited by Andy P, but not the birthday girl). Or another night at the Trough. I delayed making my decision by dancing at Deano's, but ended up at Andy P's, where there was a great spread of food, good music courtesy of two Pauls, and more dancing. I distinctly remember getting to samba to Lily Allen's "Not Fair." All in all, it was a great night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The weekend's fun continued on Sunday with an asado at Alex and Vanessa's house. Basically a Chilean barbecue with a giant slab of meat. Everyone brought something to share and we spent the afternoon cooking, eating, and drinking. As I don't exactly cook particularly well I was tasked with squeezing lemons and limes for Pisco Sours. I must have done my job well as the resulting drinks were delicious. I still need to check to see if I can get Pisco in this area. I also learned how to make the ridiculously obvious snack called "choripan" (chorizo + bread). I felt almost as stupid as that time I asked when Cinco de Mayo was when I asked what went into a choripan. Eventually the slab of meat was deemed ready to eat and we were allowed to go inside. It was definitely worth the wait. Oh, and we were joined that afternoon by an American PhD candidate in anthropology considering writing his dissertation on the economics of the Falkland Islands. It seems I'm not the only one who noticed a serious gap in scholarship. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The delicious slab of meat on the grill.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEljh0HhsGz1Fi1OVWOA7i-cYZiSreaWVL-x3zFwQRyB34PgQZFJt7zsfYVjvLLfpuno4tq3b8vR1h-KhfRuqFd4Ed9h0RC0B-7lhNZDLsMUMCvDkrQc7SelHsQJvwD8WgdKxvn77pa6X/s1600/Stuff+151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEljh0HhsGz1Fi1OVWOA7i-cYZiSreaWVL-x3zFwQRyB34PgQZFJt7zsfYVjvLLfpuno4tq3b8vR1h-KhfRuqFd4Ed9h0RC0B-7lhNZDLsMUMCvDkrQc7SelHsQJvwD8WgdKxvn77pa6X/s640/Stuff+151.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Everyone bundled up to brave the cold and watch the meat cook.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On Monday morning I returned to transcription at the museum and found that Leona was also back after she had been out the previous week with a punctured eardrum. Ouch. My transcription was interrupted by a visit from Jay, the American anthropologist, who had mentioned that he might stop by the museum. As he hasn't yet made the final decision whether or not to write about the Falklands, I introduced him to Leona and Tansy over at the Archives. With introductions made and research discussed, I took Jay into town for some lunch and to check out the Falklands 30 exhibit. Tuesday and Wednesday meant even more transcription as I worked to complete my deliverable by the end of the week. I finished early on Wednesday in order to do a short interview for the <a href="http://www.firs.co.fk/">Falkland Islands Radio Service</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My FIRS interview with the lovely Samantha Addison. Just in case you're wondering, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">not all Falkland Islanders sound like her. Sam is from Yorkshire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Wednesday was also my last steak night and as such became my first pseudo-going-away party. When I showed up to the Vic pretty much everyone I cared about was already there - it was pretty awesome. However, I noticed that no one had ordered any steaks. Apparently the steak portion of the evening had been cancelled due to a migraine. Steve and Mike solved this problem by fetching everyone fish and chips from down the street. With or without steak, it was a great night and we closed the pub. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">I got up early Thursday morning as the museum had arranged for me to go on a FIGAS round robin. The Falkland Islands Government Air Service offers flights within the Islands on the very small Britten Norman Islander aircraft. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEvhbHLhX0fSdKrIk2wq_Z_ffLtyGyaCqu6icu1FdKenhg1mgOl-oA8H8AmZYFng0F83t_CeqOQm79DgpyXkTAsXBnKJYtXSyafu-4OHhOsnBEc1WBL_4-EsKiZRXKyPbknF4wFwxQLmQ/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEvhbHLhX0fSdKrIk2wq_Z_ffLtyGyaCqu6icu1FdKenhg1mgOl-oA8H8AmZYFng0F83t_CeqOQm79DgpyXkTAsXBnKJYtXSyafu-4OHhOsnBEc1WBL_4-EsKiZRXKyPbknF4wFwxQLmQ/s640/download.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">A FIGAS plane (from the <a href="http://www.falklandislands.com/contents/view/116">Falkland Islands Tourist Board</a>).</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 11pt;">The round robin option allowed me to ride shotgun for the morning itinerary of one of the five planes. We flew from Stanley to Port Howard, Pebble Island, Carcass Island, and then back to Stanley. The first landing was rough as snow was falling in Port Howard, but the flight was pretty smooth after that. I got an incredible view of several islands and was only airsick twice. Unfortunately, I didn't get very many pictures as I was concentrating on the scenery around me and trying not to be sick again.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvB9OWM3OXxSMaF2ORO15l2RFt8FR997-sB8haSLMCVrcIuqYRG07D0zfp74dS7j3a0bmSajuGhF2q2_ikIQ-32rMiq3nqVNmoTHvRBBOjuiDQF1k1DwOWuV1InoBxA4679J60sNGKgtA/s1600/Stuff+163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvB9OWM3OXxSMaF2ORO15l2RFt8FR997-sB8haSLMCVrcIuqYRG07D0zfp74dS7j3a0bmSajuGhF2q2_ikIQ-32rMiq3nqVNmoTHvRBBOjuiDQF1k1DwOWuV1InoBxA4679J60sNGKgtA/s640/Stuff+163.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Carcass Island. The last stop on my round-robin flight around the Islands.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">*Read<a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/southamerica/falklandislands/9119100/Morrissey-British-know-the-Falklands-belong-to-Argentina.html"> this story </a>to find out why my love of the Smiths conflicts with my love of the Falklands.</span></div>
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Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-25971090306010684652012-08-14T12:50:00.002-06:002013-05-11T22:08:24.424-06:00Get to the Chopper: July 13 - 19<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This next week continued the transcription holding pattern I'd established during the previous week. I worked from home on Friday to do laundry and then headed to the Vic after dinner. The after party that night ended up at Paul's, where dancing ensued. Apparently, I wore myself out as I slept for most of Saturday. That was a Trough night, so I'm glad I was well-rested as I had plenty of energy for more dancing, though no one had much energy after the Trough closed. A few of us went to Paul's, but we just sat around for a little while. The rest of the week really was just endless transcription - at the museum during the day and at home in the evenings. I did finally get back to the Falklands 30 exhibit to take pictures, though. I also checked in with the library and discovered that they don't actually collect fines - they just want the books back. That was a stroke of good luck as I had been late returning several items.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ypgz6dsjsij5tdXONw1xorYvKukdJ8Aq_T9NRbyPaRbO8COoHcOrddtpi3LQEq3140t_26h50BKRmjATbCUZS1t5F0Ucb8bF4a_6ksXZnMP1VRem_KjYA4IE69TCPLzD7WOGizbVzTEK/s1600/DSC00310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ypgz6dsjsij5tdXONw1xorYvKukdJ8Aq_T9NRbyPaRbO8COoHcOrddtpi3LQEq3140t_26h50BKRmjATbCUZS1t5F0Ucb8bF4a_6ksXZnMP1VRem_KjYA4IE69TCPLzD7WOGizbVzTEK/s640/DSC00310.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The first part of the exhibition. It continued to follow the invasion </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">chronologically.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsB3CyOfA0s_IOGJAbTvI8IPhTxisK_Qtmrc4nO9brrEnTjQsx-NzBZOBU2Pg8Lf5l-mLa0CxDDVTBVlVY42yV3Ae2U82_nQrs5FxHRWdou76X8H0iH2xvrwpSKipzZuNX8zupt6XfF_6I/s1600/DSC00313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsB3CyOfA0s_IOGJAbTvI8IPhTxisK_Qtmrc4nO9brrEnTjQsx-NzBZOBU2Pg8Lf5l-mLa0CxDDVTBVlVY42yV3Ae2U82_nQrs5FxHRWdou76X8H0iH2xvrwpSKipzZuNX8zupt6XfF_6I/s640/DSC00313.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">This area contained one of my favorite parts. That old radio concealed an </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">iPod dock which played snippets of Patrick Watts' broadcast of </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">the Invasion, when he stayed on air all night.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The British soldier caused all kinds of trouble as we simply could not get </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">him fat enough. Also, his boots were too small.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I realize now that I got confused in my last post. I confused and combined two different Steak Nights. The after-party at Steve's was definitely on July 11, but it followed a perfectly normal and timely Steak Night with him, Mike, and Miguel. July 18 was the Steak Night when everyone showed up late. How do I know this? Because I went for a helicopter ride the next day. I had asked Gary a couple of weeks before about the possibility of tagging along on a CHC flight. He said it didn't look good and there wasn't anything scheduled before I left, but at this Steak Night he said there was a flight the next day that I could go on if the weather held. The next morning the skies were clear and the flight was a go. My hosts drove me to the Stanley Airport and I hung out on the tarmac before it was time to go. This was just a short test flight over Stanley and back, but it was pretty awesome. I'd never been in a helicopter before and as soon as we landed I wanted to go again.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">East Stanley - I actually did an interview at one of those houses.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The Lady Liz</span></td></tr>
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<br />Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-51836783310796327852012-08-08T15:29:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:10:01.664-06:00Historian on the Move: July 6 - 12<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After a long week of transcription I headed to the Vic on Friday with no definite plans, but it turned out to be one of my best nights in the Falklands. My friends were at the pub planning to go to the dance at the Town Hall marking the end of Farmers' Week. It was so much more fun than the Liberation Ball! There was no dress code to speak of and the bar was set up in the same room as the music and dancing. Under 18s were not allowed, so the adults got to take over the dancing. Between Andy P, Paul, and Alex I got to do a lot of dancing! Paul had taught me the "Falklands Two-Step" on Liberation Day so I could handle that one, but there were so many other dances that I didn't know. Some of them reminded me of contra dancing at William & Mary and Anna's wedding in 2010, but there was no one calling the steps - the dancers either already knew them or just picked it up as they went. My inner academic popped up during the evening to observe that someone could write an entire dissertation on vernacular dance in the Falkland Islands. I'm not a dance historian, but it's completely uncharted territory. One of my interview subjects was the man who teaches the weekly dance lessons on Wednesday nights in the Town Hall and he told me that a woman had come down to study Falklands folk music, but no one had taken a similar interest in dancing. According to Andy P there are even distinctions between the ways people dance on East and West Falkland. We all cooled off after the dance with a bit of a sing-song and some delicious leftovers from a dinner Alex had prepared for a large group of farmers at the Waterfront.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On Saturday my hosts actually returned from their months of travel, accompanied by a truckload of luggage. First introductions were only a little awkward, but fortunately I had plans and somewhere to be - the Vic for Pride Night. I hadn't realized the GLBT community in the Falklands was large enough to host a </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pride Night, but they surprised me. Still, the majority of those who turned out were allies and supporters. It was still a pretty normal night for Stanley; we assembled at the Vic, danced at the Globe and Deano's, then finished the evening at Paula's. However, a bunch of Paras up from Mount Pleasant for exercises at Hillside was also out on the town and making a ruckus on the dance floor. I later found out that the only trouble they caused was among themselves, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Now that I was no longer alone in my house, I wanted to get out of the way on Sunday to allow my hosts to settle back in. I walked around town for a while and had a late lunch at the West Store, where I managed to run into a couple of CHC crewmen and one of the Commandos from Hillside. They satisfied my need for human interaction before they headed off to watch </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Pacific </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(they also love </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Band of Brothers </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and bemoaned the lack of a British equivalent at the previous Steak Night).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Over the past two months I did most of my transcription spread out at the dining room table in my house, but I now needed to find a new work space. Alex offered a solution on Monday by kindly allowing me to work from the Waterfront. I set up my computer and pile of references on a table in the dining room and sat down to a full day of transcription. It was a little chilly for the first few hours as the heating wasn't working in that area of the hotel, but Alex got that fixed before long. Several benefits came from working at the Waterfront: an unlimited supply of tea and biscuits just steps from my table, an easy walk to Jac's for lunch, and the added bonus of getting to see friends on a Monday. I even got a lot of transcription done!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fortunately, on Tuesday, last week's bad luck did not continue and the weather cleared up enough for my excursion to Goose Green. This would turn out to be my only trip to the Camp and it was an experience I won't soon forget. My guide for the day was Eric Goss, who managed Goose Green during the 1982 Invasion and kindly let me tag along as he took a group of veterans out to the battlefield. We picked them up at Liberty Lodge, an </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">accommodation</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> established exclusively for the use of 1982 veterans and their family. Our group included a member of 2 Para (and his son) as well as a sailor from the </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">HMS Exeter </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(whose father joined him on this trip to the Falklands, but didn't feel well enough to join us that day). The drive out to Goose Green took about an hour, allowing me plenty of time to stare out the window at the barren yet beautiful scenery. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuph53ezHztov1moWI1ygkJiEWoMc4q61bzVCJbx9o9bmVI88FThQRFgUcJY4UDNVTYfFNy3a-fU6IpX1H78Gyv_yf7fI-AuNSDpcyuzCyNs1NYV7xWPgi33aDNGsMFwmQHqOYCoK-jbK/s1600/Map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="491" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkuph53ezHztov1moWI1ygkJiEWoMc4q61bzVCJbx9o9bmVI88FThQRFgUcJY4UDNVTYfFNy3a-fU6IpX1H78Gyv_yf7fI-AuNSDpcyuzCyNs1NYV7xWPgi33aDNGsMFwmQHqOYCoK-jbK/s640/Map.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You can see the route from Stanley to Goose Green (2) on this map from </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the </span><a href="http://www.falklandislands.com/assets/documents/falklandsmap.pdf" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Falkland Islands Tourist Board</a><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Upon arrival, we stopped our 4x4s near a shack that had definitely seen batter days to survey the area where British forces started the battle. Eric Goss relied on his own memory, heavily annotated maps, and the account in </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Razors-Edge-Hugh-Bicheno/dp/0753821869/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1344458333&sr=8-8&keywords=razor%27s+edge">Razor's Edge</a></i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> to take our group through the entire length of the battle, ending at the Goose Green settlement. We saw the remains of Argentine gun emplacements, positioned with an almost complete control of the landscape; markers and monuments for both fallen Brits and Argentines; ground still scarred from a crashed Harrier. I've visited many battlefields over the years with my dad, but nothing really compares to walking ground drenched with blood only 30 years ago accompanied by people who saw it with their own eyes. Sorry, Dad, but I don't think I'm going to be able to write a Staff Ride. The consistently warm reception from the Islanders and the ability to revisit these places has helped many 1982 veterans deal with the lingering effects of the conflict. I can't even imagine how so many Islanders cope on a daily basis, constantly surrounded by reminders of the war and unable to lay memories to rest.</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The shack and the British approach towards Darwin and Goose Green.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">An Argentine gun emplacement, with a blanket still stuck in the ground.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqL7R5l5hYzMeHU5-vrEMTXiTLZWsuJ1oUFilqkG9kApbDg55WjBn7bYIzDd9UYBF3CVrk2JIJIAmEjNZmt__ZxnYc7vG28Gsd0cQYOIO5_LoANrbFaL97ZOUWWZSUOaOXNKhjenaiWJC/s1600/DSC00277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqL7R5l5hYzMeHU5-vrEMTXiTLZWsuJ1oUFilqkG9kApbDg55WjBn7bYIzDd9UYBF3CVrk2JIJIAmEjNZmt__ZxnYc7vG28Gsd0cQYOIO5_LoANrbFaL97ZOUWWZSUOaOXNKhjenaiWJC/s640/DSC00277.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Argentine view of the British approach. The dark speck on the right is the shack from the first photo.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKrsWuWQ8ul0T3ueIHByIiNEaEaDEKfXpX8riXVvLGkvz9GhmE07FlPiU-RDwu1df1ljbXClljSr7AAcUGbs4hdGGxhFr_PP0PxSMUIkOR-4AMQw19699TzD8iXLchy4BxtQvuHizpsgn/s1600/DSC00287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKrsWuWQ8ul0T3ueIHByIiNEaEaDEKfXpX8riXVvLGkvz9GhmE07FlPiU-RDwu1df1ljbXClljSr7AAcUGbs4hdGGxhFr_PP0PxSMUIkOR-4AMQw19699TzD8iXLchy4BxtQvuHizpsgn/s640/DSC00287.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Eric Goss standing with the cross that marks where he</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">buried the Argentine dead in 1982. Their bodies were</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">later moved to the nearby Argentine Cemetery.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWgKq12fp0Ey9EIfwctfM0WSbbvAu4fK7f1ufSkS0614-BLF7Q322SwdAXvxu5XdAB-bergcE8qwex-ZCuX5bG8BKG2BKeIl_cVm7BszJt7b_K4AJSJk8GsN-JazE9ax-nT3-lnPeta8K/s1600/DSC00296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWgKq12fp0Ey9EIfwctfM0WSbbvAu4fK7f1ufSkS0614-BLF7Q322SwdAXvxu5XdAB-bergcE8qwex-ZCuX5bG8BKG2BKeIl_cVm7BszJt7b_K4AJSJk8GsN-JazE9ax-nT3-lnPeta8K/s640/DSC00296.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">What the British would have seen while climbing Darwin Hill. The gorse</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">on the ridge concealed Argentine snipers.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFIdYJviwge7FDKQXaVRPjD2d3mCD-rfEwXWe0JXVVX8_k1NvC_ZF8V1J5WY1O23y1emI3nXfUbkADdI9i4OVmIL4LY2tTgUtkjWkoEsEH80DFbzBS4d9HGcoOt7UJg1-U8-3OM0_Q8hg/s1600/DSC00301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBFIdYJviwge7FDKQXaVRPjD2d3mCD-rfEwXWe0JXVVX8_k1NvC_ZF8V1J5WY1O23y1emI3nXfUbkADdI9i4OVmIL4LY2tTgUtkjWkoEsEH80DFbzBS4d9HGcoOt7UJg1-U8-3OM0_Q8hg/s640/DSC00301.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The town hall in Goose Green, where Argentine forces imprisoned the</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">settlement's residents.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wednesday meant business as usual, though my excursion to Goose Green remained at the front of my mind. Miserable weather killed any intention to walk the mile to the Waterfront, but I found another work space at the museum, only a block away from home. With the 1982 exhibition now open in St. Mary's Hall, the collections usual home lies mostly empty and roped off from visitors. I managed to create a fairly comfortable nest surrounded by the remaining artifacts and the museum offered equally unlimited access to tea as well as the biscuit tin. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ACr_KhleAyuVKFBXYwoCaMsuCuNl1vnSctFPgnRTbDtlbD13CH4SW-qUuVdJVAh9M5R6fh97pPRsRUieau4FtigOEpKLkjfRKxo69gGL4cbGJIKktHkAkccQcyloH6oKgMAhd3yJPt2g/s1600/DSC00302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ACr_KhleAyuVKFBXYwoCaMsuCuNl1vnSctFPgnRTbDtlbD13CH4SW-qUuVdJVAh9M5R6fh97pPRsRUieau4FtigOEpKLkjfRKxo69gGL4cbGJIKktHkAkccQcyloH6oKgMAhd3yJPt2g/s640/DSC00302.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My makeshift office in the 1982 room, complete with</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sidewinder missile.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I received word of two interviews scheduled for that afternoon, but long before it was time to go both interviewees had cancelled due to illness - the same bug that knocked me down the previous month. In any case, I got a lot of transcription done before braving the weather as I walked to the Vic for Steak Night. The pub was surprisingly empty, but I was not deterred. The nice thing about being a regular at the Local is that you always know someone to talk to. I texted the regular crowd to see where they'd gotten to and ordered my steak. I was wondering why I hadn't gotten any responses and decided to check the balance on my phone - I had no money left! I was almost done eating my steak at the bar and planning to head home soon when Steve, Mike, Gary, Miguel, and Paula strolled in. They sweet-talked their way into a few late steaks and explained that they'd been at the Stanley Arms. The pub across the street from my house all the way on the other side of town that no one but the regulars ever go to. In any case, I stuck around while they ate and even until closing, by which time Joss, Kathy, and Vanessa had shown up. We all headed to Steve's for a bit more merriment before the end of the night. On my way out the door Joss invited me to her birthday dinner </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the next night at the Malvina - I guess I had plans for Thursday now!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I continued working from the museum on Thursday, but that afternoon's interview appointment actually held. I got to talk to a man who used to work in the whaling industry on South Georgia. He had some great stories, but I'm afraid that days without an interview had left my skills a little rusty and didn't produce the best recording. Not a great way to go out as this would be my final interview in the Falklands. My packed evening made up for my lackluster performance during the day. I visited my friend Sam before heading to dinner, but I had an unfortunate encounter with a mud puddle on the way from her house to the Malvina. I didn't wipe out completely, but mud splattered the bottom foot of my jeans and completely covered my black Chucks. Obeying signage and not wanting to make a mess, I left my shoes at the door and walked to the dining room in stocking feet. My bright red wool socks raised a few questions about where my shoes had gotten to, but at least one person figured it out on their own. Upon his arrival, Alex asked if those were my mud-covered Converse by the back door. Dinner was delicious - I had the squid rings again followed by a delicious piece of lamb. I'm glad I got to try the Malvina for both lunch and dinner. As this was a celebration, there was birthday cake, and we closed the place down. Festivities continued back at Alex and Vanessa's house, where an uninvited neighbor called the police with a noise complaint. We turned the music down and closed the windows, but the policewoman answering the call didn't know quite what to do when two of her fellow officers answered the door and invited her in for a drink. I love the Falklands.</span></div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-1369924177566908852012-08-02T18:29:00.001-06:002013-05-11T22:10:27.831-06:00Emergency History: June 29 - July 5<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I think I really found my interviewing groove. I woke up on Friday to find I had two interviews that afternoon at my house. There was a slight mix-up regarding who I was supposed to speak with at which time, but (big surprise) my subjects knew each other and it worked out. Both of them came from really old Falklands families and had a wealth of stories about managing sheep farms on the Islands and about horse culture. In the old days, horses were the only form of transport on the farms and so most Islanders had to be excellent horsemen. This translated into leisure activities twice a year during sports weeks, which centered around horse races (in between dancing, drinking, and mutton). Today, 4x4s provide transport between the farms while motorbikes have replaced horses for managing the sheep. Most farms have only a handful lot horses, if any, and there are many more horses kept for sport or as pets than there are working horses anymore. In order to get a taste of the way things used to be I really wanted to go for a ride outside Stanley, but unfortunately everyone had sent their horses out of town for the winter. However, doing all these interviews on short notice made me feel a bit like an emergency historian, on-call to record people's memories.<br />
<br />
On Saturday, I expected to start sharing my house as this was the date my hosts had given me for their return, which would signal my transition from house sitter to houseguest. The LAN Chile flight arrives at Mount Pleasant, about 45 minutes outside of Stanley, every Saturday afternoon, so I expected them home around supper time. However, time came to go to the pub and I was still on my own. Oh, well - I had more important things to do as it was a Trough night. Vanessa was awesome, as usual, but we all called it a relatively early night and caught a cab after the band finished up. Sunday brought a rather unfortunate revelation as I tried to cook my dinner and found there was no gas to be had. Oops. I emailed my hosts to ask them what to do (and where they were), then settled in to watch the EuroCup final. That was an awesome match and I really enjoyed watching Spain play. A reply came from my hosts explaining that they decided to spend a week in Chile before coming back the next Saturday and that I should have more gas delivered.<br />
<br />
Getting more gas proved incredibly easy on Monday. I called Stanley Services, they delivered more that afternoon, and charged my hosts' account. Simple, hassle-free, and I could cook again! I also managed to set up a trip to Goose Green on Thursday, tagging along with a couple of veterans and the former farm manager. I had another great interview at my house. The more good interviews I had, the more confident I got as an interviewer, but I do have to be careful not to get cocky. Tuesday's did not go quite as well. There was confusion over where the interview was taking place and I think that seriously affected how relaxed/comfortable my interviewee felt. I walked to his house clear on the other side of town, while he drove to my house and knocked on all the doors. His wife invited me in, but unfortunately he doesn't carry a cellphone, so there was no way of getting in touch. I had a chat and a cup of tea while we waited for him to give up on me and come home. Eventually, he did make it back, but we were both clearly discomfited by the confusion and behind schedule. Rough as the interview may have been, I took advantage of my presence on the far east end of Stanley to take some pictures and visit the Memorial Wood.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqeOWXV39xvxnqjgbCoRGyenTgOuJHyKjIE6FM879AUnp1TMlmIDABCTSJHp4tQzCFvUuEaKeodZuJ1mOXmxtyCifVbltK5kGK74mAhqisUxbq8B5lSw9FGE2VYCME6b7RUZS149kKVQj6/s1600/DSC00235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqeOWXV39xvxnqjgbCoRGyenTgOuJHyKjIE6FM879AUnp1TMlmIDABCTSJHp4tQzCFvUuEaKeodZuJ1mOXmxtyCifVbltK5kGK74mAhqisUxbq8B5lSw9FGE2VYCME6b7RUZS149kKVQj6/s640/DSC00235.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Some of the trees in the Memorial Wood. Originally a tree was planted for </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">every British soldier killed in the 1982 war, but it has since been expanded </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to include all those killed while serving in the Falklands.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53J9HvtprGK2uLfp6DCT9Ti4DS4ntHW4ddjy84IgqBhbMo2FMYylBMzijm1fP7gZrFEVmThMS8Qeu8-6QL08AQLRsGaEJBABHcOB2r-mEZUCNPiw1UUi2J9d1lOQEXZlgBgpXFu55UH_9/s1600/DSC00240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53J9HvtprGK2uLfp6DCT9Ti4DS4ntHW4ddjy84IgqBhbMo2FMYylBMzijm1fP7gZrFEVmThMS8Qeu8-6QL08AQLRsGaEJBABHcOB2r-mEZUCNPiw1UUi2J9d1lOQEXZlgBgpXFu55UH_9/s640/DSC00240.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A view of the Memorial Wood and the Narrows.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I had a couple of hours to kill in town as I was planning on attending the FIODA (Falkland Islands Operatic and Dramatic Association) Variety Show at the Town Hall. A sandwich at the West Store Cafe and a cider at the Vic easily passed the time before I could take my seat for the show. With my long history in the theatre, I'm always fascinated to see local amateur dramatics and this show provided the expected variety. I think the highlights included an original song composed by students from the Falkland Islands Community School and a comedy bit of Queen Elizabeth II giving a "State of the Union" speech to the Falklands. My real reason for going was the final act as Christine was in the group performing "The Cell Block Tango" from <i>Chicago</i>. They did a pretty good job, but as the only American in the audience (as far as I know) the accents did sound a bit odd. Mike and I had an ongoing argument about whether or not Shakespeare could or should be performed with American accents. Having done it several times myself, I naturally said that it could be, but hearing <i>Chicago</i> in a variety of British accents may have helped me see where he was coming from.<br />
<br />
The Fourth of July dawned with snow. Incredibly breathtakingly beautiful snow. I spent most of the day at home working on transcription, but I headed to the Vic for Steak Night to celebrate a little bit. Is it ironic to celebrate Independence Day in one of Great Britain's last remaining colonies? </span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiio6mmc34RE__LtD8Xplr4zgZqZ8XoHilL3h0ubZks8aQ7JKkCOPEsXJ-7buzzgv1wYgboRp4H9ifceTzjqGaU593d3mwNENNYxcHS_iUIb3MP0THUnLz9BqLNlC6GEjzMlqn7EB_L740/s1600/DSC00259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiio6mmc34RE__LtD8Xplr4zgZqZ8XoHilL3h0ubZks8aQ7JKkCOPEsXJ-7buzzgv1wYgboRp4H9ifceTzjqGaU593d3mwNENNYxcHS_iUIb3MP0THUnLz9BqLNlC6GEjzMlqn7EB_L740/s640/DSC00259.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The beautiful view from my house on July 4th.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My usual Steak Night crowd were nowhere to be seen, but I didn't have to eat alone. Christine and Ruth were there with a couple of CHC crewmen and some squadies from Hillside. I ended up staying until closing enjoying some excellent conversation - I even managed to get into an argument about military history! The guys were rather impressed when I demonstrated that I did actually know what I was talking about and could name various tanks and weapons. Snow was falling as I headed home to Skype with my mom, promising poor conditions for the planned excursion to Goose Green.<br />
<br />
Unsurprisingly, when Thursday morning came my guide called to say the outing was postponed until next Tuesday since the roads were so dangerous. I also had no interviews scheduled as Farmers' Week had kept most potential interviewees very busy. Another day of transcription.</span>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-23175398988889418892012-07-31T18:00:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:10:40.741-06:00Falklands Plague: June 22 - 28<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After two days in bed I was damned if I was going to miss a single weekend in Stanley even if I had missed a few interviews. My fever had broken and I decided to spent Friday in bed again to recharge. It was a good thing, too, as Debs decided to have a dinner party. I sounded like a frog and I was still coughing, but I actually felt pretty good. On the advice of several locals I attempted to medicate myself with vitamin C and alcohol in the form of Vodka Fresh (i.e. screwdrivers). That didn't really work very well, but I persevered. I do admit that it was rather annoying at Deano's to have to interrupt my dancing every few minutes to cough. But it didn't stop me from going to Vanessa's after the pubs closed. Sebastian was leaving the next day and I didn't want to miss the chance to say goodbye. No jägermeister this time, though (thank goodness). Another consequence of the plague's bad timing came on Saturday. I had planned for weeks to participate in the Midwinter Swim, but decided that jumping in the South Atlantic with a virus would be rather suicidal and stupid of me. Knowing my inclination to do crazy shit, this meant I couldn't even go to the beach to cheer on my friends who were well enough to participate. The last time I went somewhere determined not to swim, I ended up in the Gulf of Finland in my underwear.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLtw8xZCe_xpwzsDSF1bL5BNjysK82ordI0sa9w2yqcz7dUA4GJ7I0ShC_WlS4i8ExH3-niabNwHrUKf4R2kEndBXAoiVeHHHYeqFs_uDzNZckn63FJxH_btH4v6iqkKmGGzBrtae7u6o/s1600/2008+-+Russia+1140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLtw8xZCe_xpwzsDSF1bL5BNjysK82ordI0sa9w2yqcz7dUA4GJ7I0ShC_WlS4i8ExH3-niabNwHrUKf4R2kEndBXAoiVeHHHYeqFs_uDzNZckn63FJxH_btH4v6iqkKmGGzBrtae7u6o/s640/2008+-+Russia+1140.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Since I didn't get in the South Atlantic, here's a picture from our 2008</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">picnic that ended up with all of us in the Gulf of Finland. One major</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">difference? It was summer then.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However, even if I couldn't go the swim there was still a party to attend. Mike's birthday (oh, and it was Miguel's birthday, too) started with a football match, delicious lunch, and finally mulled wine prepared by Andy P. Unfortunately my condition went from bad to worse. Somehow, over the course of the afternoon sitting on Mike's couch I managed to get conjunctivitis. WTF? So, I felt fine, but my eye was red and swollen, I was still coughing, and my voice was very croaky. I still made it out to the Vic and Deano's, but people kept asking me how I felt. I also met my first American in the Falklands - an American staying at the Waterfront and pursuing a PhD in Spanish. That is one of the advantages of staying at the Waterfront; Alex might take you to a birthday party on your first night in town. The party ended up back at Mike's, where Andy P progressed from mulled wine to hot rum. However, as people kept streaming in the door I realized that I simply did not have the energy for that much party. As it turned out, I missed some good music and the last party at Mike's as the festivities prompted a letter from his landlord. Still, my decision was probably for the best as my eye was completely swollen shut and crusted over when I woke up on Sunday morning. I stayed in and watched Italy eliminate England from the EuroCup in a penalty shootout. That was pretty intense.<br />
<br />
I checked in with the museum on Monday, but Leona was out so I was on my own with transcription again. I did, however, get to test the National Health Service with a trip to the King Edward VII Memorial Hospital. My first surprise was finding Vanessa working the front desk. The swelling had gone down in my eye, but I knew from experience that the infection had spread to my other eye and I would need eye drops if it turned out to be bacterial in origin. I got to see the casualty nurse within about 15 minutes. She took a look at my eyes and entered me into the system, but unfortunately she couldn't prescribe the eye drops for me. She could, however, get me in to see a doctor in about an hour, but I would have to pay out of pocket for the appointment. Apparently overseas insurance companies have spent the past decade trying not to pay their bills in the Falklands, leading to the hospital's current policy of not accepting foreign medical insurance. During my 5 minute consultation with the doctor, he confirmed my diagnosis, prescribed the eye drops, revealed that he was a member of the Legislative Assembly, learned that I was an unpaid intern who had begged to come to the museum, and then he ripped up my paperwork. I'm not making this up. Apparently he decided that I shouldn't have to pay 90 pounds for a 5 minute appointment in which he told me something I already knew. How was I supposed to argue with that? I picked up my eye drops at the pharmacy, but I knew I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Vanessa. Since she was supposed to process my payment information, she was just as confused by the doctor's actions.<br />
<br />
While I did not spend all week in bed, I was still quite under the weather, what with the cold/flu bug and the conjunctivitis. I did get some transcription done, but I didn't have any interviews until Wednesday. Not my best work. The first one suffered from almost everything that can go wrong with oral history. I had almost no information on my subject and I was supposed to interview him while he was at work in the security hut at FIPASS.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJumsCtNn94nIYYlitDFFtWpxB3pbM7cSd2O-JXNYeyBALJ_5BkcnvjgThTEFGhcGA6IGXw2o8KHV3qP69KIdFytDbJPTPmRKP3ciBhOSEjdNlJiTFbu3g3MKww5sd2u-iNcEHmA969dU3/s1600/DSC00413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJumsCtNn94nIYYlitDFFtWpxB3pbM7cSd2O-JXNYeyBALJ_5BkcnvjgThTEFGhcGA6IGXw2o8KHV3qP69KIdFytDbJPTPmRKP3ciBhOSEjdNlJiTFbu3g3MKww5sd2u-iNcEHmA969dU3/s640/DSC00413.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">FIPASS - the Floating Interim Port and Storage System built in 1982.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, I was coughing and struggling to come up with questions while this guy concentrated on checking the permits on all the cars that came on and off the dock. Not really the best circumstances in which to have a candid conversation with someone. Oh, and I didn't hit record until 15 minutes into the interview. Whoops. It was bound to happen sooner or later, so I guess I was just happy that it happened during what I think was my worst interview overall. My second interviewee came to my house and that went somewhat better, but still wasn't my best work. This woman had amazing stories about growing up in Camp, but she needed a fair amount of prompting and questions to jog her memory and I just didn't know enough about her to keep her going. She would go off on a memory for a few minutes, then ask if I had anymore questions for her. I managed to keep her going for an hour, but I really think she would give an amazing interview to someone with better preparation. Unfortunately, I got a call from Vanessa on my way to the second interview. The hospital was onto me and I needed to come back to pay my bill.<br />
<br />
I felt pretty sheepish slinking back into the hospital on Thursday morning, when I found that the woman who takes care of billing had recovered my torn-up paperwork and pieced it back together. She was very nice about the whole situation, explained that she had scolded the doctor, and even thanked me for coming back in. I now have a bill and a letter I get to file with the insurance company when I get back. Oh, joy. Lunch on Thursday was a treat. Every time someone has a birthday at the museum, everyone gets together and goes to the Malvina for lunch. The Malvina is the only place in town that could really be called a restaurant and I knew I had to try it at least once before I left. I had also been told that I needed to eat the squid rings as the local squid was the best in the world. Wow. I'm not really a seafood person, but the squid rings with sweet chili sauce were delicious. And then I had the pumpkin, spinach, and mozzarella cannelloni. Now that was a good lunch. Fortunately someone had thought ahead and scheduled my interview for the day a bit later than usual. I think this one made up for Wednesday's mistakes. We talked for two hours, covering topics of education, history, the Falkland Islands Government, and even dance. I think this was one of my most successful interviews of the whole trip.</span>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-76851870172436756152012-07-30T18:00:00.000-06:002012-10-17T11:45:11.092-06:00The Work Begins: June 15 - 21<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like most of my Friday nights this one was spent at the Vic, followed by an after-party at someone's apartment. As usual, there was drinking, dancing, and good conversation. Funnily enough everyone crowded into the kitchen rather than expanding into the living room. However, I spent most of the night trying to protect one of my guy friends from unwanted advances. That was awkward. Saturday night I was supposed to meet Alex and Sebastian at the Vic to then got to the Trough to hear Vanessa sing, but they had to work so we didn't manage to link up. Instead I had a couple of drinks with the CHC guys and resigned myself to a quiet night at home. Therefore, I was in a bit of a mood on my way home and as I walked past Deano's something happened which almost resulted in me starting a girl-fight. I was just minding my own business when a girl started yelling at a guy walking near me to come back to the pub. She changed her tactic, asking "if he was shagging young girls then, or old girls if that's her." I was the only female in sight to whom she could have been referring and I was not pleased to be called old. Fortunately, the night took a turn for the better after I got home. Via text message, Debs persuaded me to catch a cab to the Trough. The cab took about 30 minutes to come, but I manged to catch Vanessa's second set and had a great time dancing. After the Trough closed, we kept dancing at Paula's, where Sebastian may have called me the first North American he's met who could dance. I think this means I am no longer the whitest girl you will ever meet. The night went so long that I ended up crashing on the couch at Alex/Sebastian/Vanessa's house around 5am. However, this meant I got a delicious breakfast the next day of toast with avocado, scrambled eggs, and ham, accompanied by strawberry milk and tea. We had a lazy afternoon watching <i>The Romantics</i>, which Vanessa called a "rubbish movie," but I enjoyed it. The Russian House Exiles are just incestuous enough that I could imagine really going to a wedding as messed up as the one depicted in the film.<br />
<br />
With the new exhibition opened and Liberation Day over with, I expected to walk into Leona's office Monday morning, find that she had scheduled some interviews for me later in the week, then walk over to Customs & Immigration to renew my visitor's permit. Yeah...not so much. At first, it was especially terrifying as Joleen handed me two post-it notes with interviews scheduled for this afternoon. Thank goodness Leona returned to her office a few minutes later to fill me in. She managed to schedule two interviews for me this afternoon with residents of Stanley who live just down the street from the museum. We agreed to focus on Stanley this week, then see if we can get me out into the Camp. With less than two hours notice, I rushed back to my house to grab my recorder and make sure it was ready to go. The batteries were fully charged, but the 1 GB SD card only had enough room left for one interview. I reformatted it and switched it out for my own 4 GB card, allowing much more time to talk. I've borrowed a Zoom H2 Handy Recorder (complete with accessories) from NMSU for the summer and while I have played with it a bit, today was my first time using it in earnest. It behaved very well during both 80 minute interviews, though I may want to increase the mic volume a little bit. I think the interviews themselves went very well. I got some great stories, didn't interrupt, kept my audible responses to a minimum, and got both release forms signed. However, I do need to squirm a bit less. You can hear the couch squeaking in the first recording and I think I kicked the table with the recorder a couple of times. The second interview may include the clink of my tea mug on its coaster and I had to interrupt it near the end to take a bathroom break. In general, I'm satisfied with the results (especially since I had no idea I'd be doing interviews when I woke up this morning) and I can't wait to do more! However, it was a bit hard to keep myself out of the conversation as I had several moments where I wanted to relate my own experiences to those I was recording.
<br /><br />
I did two more interviews on Tuesday afternoon, though I had only expected to do one. Afterwards I stopped by the pubs since I knew England was playing a match in the EuroCup that afternoon. I found a bunch of my friends at Deano's watching England beat Ukraine. Hurray! It may have been a Tuesday, but this was still cause for celebration. We decamped to Andy P's house, where the boys cooked us delicious food since most of us had chosen football over dinner. This was the first time I got to meet Andy P as he had been in the US as part of the Falklands delegation visiting the UN in June.
<br /><br />
I had noticed a tickle at the back of my throat during my interviews on Tuesday and unfortunately by Wednesday it had turned into a full-blown cold. I spent the next two days in bed coughing up a lung and had to cancel the rest of the week's interviews. Very bad timing. Throughout my time in the Falklands this cold/flu bug ravaged Stanley, hitting pretty much everyone. I was reminded of the stories last December about the Falklands turning away a cruise ship because of norovirus. International health professionals claimed that the outbreak on the ship was not large enough to be a danger, leading to comments that refusing the cruise ship had been a political action. People, take this from someone who has experienced: any bug that gets into Stanley spreads like wildfire and the hospital simply cannot cope with an epidemic, nor could the Islands afford to have so many people out sick during the tourist season.</span>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-6124147719236857532012-07-29T19:59:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:11:02.440-06:00Liberation: June 8 - 14<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And now for the second installment of Annie-tries-to-remember-everything-she's-done- in-the -Falklands-for-the-past-two-months. Being stuck at the airport in Santiago provides an excellent opportunity for this recap.<br />
<br />
Friday, June 8 - Thursday, June 14<br />
<br />
I'm not entirely sure what happened this weekend, but I think it involved Jägerbombs. Lots of Jägerbombs. Also probably dancing. But that's most weekends in the Falklands. The Jägerbombs, however, were unusual. I do remember that my back was killing me when I woke up on Sunday. It was so bad that I emailed my absent hosts to see if they would mind my moving bedrooms. The house has two spare rooms, one upstairs and one downstairs. I spent the first few weeks in the upstairs bedroom, which is much larger and has a closet, but also has a rather uncomfortable mattress. With approval via email, I moved my stuff down the stairs to the tiny bedroom, which has a much better bed and a couple of other benefits. First, I don't have to run up and down the stairs to use the bathroom or visit the kitchen in the middle of the night. Second, the room is tiny enough that it contains heat very well. I just shut the door during the day and it's toasty warm even when I've turned the thermostat down at night.<br />
<br />
After lollygagging for the past few weeks I tried to establish a routine this week. You know, getting up at a reasonable hour, working a full day, transcribing interviews, and reading library books. It didn't work that well. After a day of this, I was feeling restless so I went over to Christine's for a glass of wine. She convinced me that coming to play water polo on Tuesday night was a good idea. It was fun, but another reminder of just how out of shape I am. It's been a while since I've been swimming so the constant treading water really wore me out. What better way to recover than with a drink at the Vic and a few games of pool with friends?<br />
<br />
I went into the museum on Wednesday since with the new exhibition opened, Leona now had time to address my project. I briefed her on my impressions of the existing set of interviews and she promised to start contacting people to set something up for the next week. After out meeting I got my hair fixed by a professional. I walked into the one salon in Stanley in Monday, hoping that seeing my hair in person would inspire them to pity me. It worked and they squeezed me into the schedule for Wednesday afternoon. My hair went from short to REALLY short over the course of 30 minutes. I also got some good news via text message that morning. Christine managed to get me a ticket to the Liberation Ball happening that night in Town Hall. Unfortunately, I had not anticipated attending a ball when I packed my single suitcase to come here. Something to remember for future travels - always come prepared for a ball. I did have a simple cotton dress which served once I did some emergency accessorizing. Not great, but better than nothing. However, with my new haircut and wearing Chucks with my dress, I totally looked like a hipster. Dinner with friends beforehand was delicious, but the ball itself was a bit disappointing. Since Under 18s were in attendance, the bar had to be set up separately from the dance floor and drinks could not leave that room. Therefore, most of the adults crammed into the bar while the teenagers had the run of the dance floor. I danced a bit, but otherwise called it an early night as Thursday promised to be a long day.<br />
<br />
Thursday was Liberation Day, celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Argentine surrender in 1982. The day began with services at Christ Church Cathedral, but I joined in time for the parade and ceremony at the Liberation Memorial located in front of the Secretariat. The weather was absolutely miserable; windy and cold with very wet snow falling. Even as bundled up as I was, I spent most of morning shivering. However, it was truly impressive how many people braved the weather to honor the occasion. One of the things I have noticed about the Falklands is just how much these people treasure their liberty and respect the armed forces, especially veterans of the Falklands War.</span>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeE3zAiC5FxYuZM5KrWZY0Y3ZpiLoEcy-w_dFo1b5jOHy7LPHnh0cj8SF3lTRbDMzo9VyvV1-3Nla0feimPtgjpliXLcxojQRpGKZvuputZpRjNxTsMXFNVlFdp1Fm1U5wLv7CdZoekuNf/s1600/DSC00216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeE3zAiC5FxYuZM5KrWZY0Y3ZpiLoEcy-w_dFo1b5jOHy7LPHnh0cj8SF3lTRbDMzo9VyvV1-3Nla0feimPtgjpliXLcxojQRpGKZvuputZpRjNxTsMXFNVlFdp1Fm1U5wLv7CdZoekuNf/s640/DSC00216.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The FIDF looking sharp.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4v5SsTqexHW_F7A3ZHR5KKgWIS3xW7YfpCf41yE4sJbvqTYHJGfFpBdreOe0-AXfAq0aXKWGJK1lK5jOxY7xVY_65eqKFLHDZ6d2zDwwL3qeXi6XcVw2wqud0GZMmjmN3yLp-t6RHAFe/s1600/DSC00200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4v5SsTqexHW_F7A3ZHR5KKgWIS3xW7YfpCf41yE4sJbvqTYHJGfFpBdreOe0-AXfAq0aXKWGJK1lK5jOxY7xVY_65eqKFLHDZ6d2zDwwL3qeXi6XcVw2wqud0GZMmjmN3yLp-t6RHAFe/s640/DSC00200.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Part of the freezing crowd around the Liberation Memorial.</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It was a long day, but I fueled up after the parade with a delicious brunch with Ruth, Christine, and a couple of the CHC crewmen. Normally I hate things like eggs, but this was seriously delicious. Also, we watched football. Somehow I keep ending up abroad during the EuroCup and that seems to be the only time I actually care about football. It is, however, rather convenient that my St. George tattoo can represent England as well as Russia. Well fed and well rested we headed over to the FIDF hall around 3pm. Somehow we made it through the packed space to the bar for a couple of drinks. The section of the hall that didn’t contain the bar did have an interesting display about current development projects and industry in the Falklands. It really reminded me of FIBAB in the Mesilla Valley around the turn of the twentieth century as that organization was also dedicated to promoting the economic opportunities of a remote community. At the FIDF hall I met up with Debs, Paula, Paul, Mike, Vanessa, Alex, and Sebastian, with whom I headed to Shorty's for a late lunch/early dinner.<br />
<br />
This is the only time I made it to Shorty's so I'm glad I went with them as it is a bit of an institution in Stanley. It's pretty much your basic diner, but I think the entire staff is from the Philippines. In any case, I had my first burger in a month and it was tasty. From Shorty's we embarked on a pretty epic pub crawl. We started at the Rose as Paul had been requested there for a sing-song (he plays guitar and does sing quite well). Wow - and I thought the Vic was a local pub. The Rose is so local it doesn't even have a sign and it was completely packed. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy7u4XersmierGU-NPkPg6nfmollwTv0yfzTH0ninpXVfe8PXA2FaAozDictWi1sIQOEhFPDV46mcBsXehZC3E9DfPhcegGmYUb6K-dgNsJI02kYni_wVZtc-e5WyT26sfW7s2nyiqiUA-/s1600/DSC00306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy7u4XersmierGU-NPkPg6nfmollwTv0yfzTH0ninpXVfe8PXA2FaAozDictWi1sIQOEhFPDV46mcBsXehZC3E9DfPhcegGmYUb6K-dgNsJI02kYni_wVZtc-e5WyT26sfW7s2nyiqiUA-/s640/DSC00306.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The Rose: hiding from tourists in plain sight.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We had quite a struggle to get our drink orders in, but pleasantly surprised to find that drinks were on the house…until it was mine turn to buy a round. Bad timing, that. In any case, we felt a bit out of place and ended up sitting at a table in the corner away from the crowd. It was time to move on. Deano's Bar is east of the Rose on John Street and is a weekend destination for dancing. Though normally the music is more discoteque than hoedown. Apparently on Liberation Day even the clubs are expected to Benny Bop. We spent several hours at Deano's playing dice, which I somehow managed to lose four times. Using five poker dice, we went around the table counting the cumulative number of aces rolled. Whoever rolled the 7th ace had to name a drink, the 14th ace would buy the drink, and the 21st had to drink said drink. Because people think it's hilarious to make you drink awful things I had straight gin, port, bailey's and lime, as well as Kahlua and OJ. Big surprise: Kahlua and orange juice tastes exactly like a Jaffa Cake. That one was pretty yummy. Oh, and between rounds Paul taught me how to do what I refer to as the Falklands Two-step, which is generally done to country music(?). After Deano's we had to stop at the Vic for a game or two of pool, but we ended the night dancing at the Globe Tavern as they had a special license to stay open late that night. Since the day started so early there was no real need to go to anyone's place after that.<br />
<br />
I felt the first bit of panic set in as I realized that I only had six weeks left in the Falklands, had yet to do an interview, and had no definite plan for the rest of my time here. Further worry-making was the fact that almost as soon as I get back to the US I'll be moving to New Mexico.</span></div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-56961781241596389382012-07-16T17:00:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:11:40.309-06:00Rule Britannia: June 1-7<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wow. I think this little experiment proves once more that I suck at blogging. Somehow I cannot manage to write up my experiences on any kind of regular basis…unless I have nothing to write about. I only wrote a couple of posts from St. Petersburg in 2008, but when I was sitting on my arse* and unemployed I managed to post regularly. I guess there's a lot to catch up on now since I haven't really posted since May. Shall we try this in weekly chunks? </span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
Friday, June 1 - Thursday, June 7
<br /><br />
I didn't really have any plans Friday night, so I just went to the Vic. Wasn't
too bad a plan as I did actually meet up with people I know. Ended up eating
pizza at a Chilean dance party, where only a handful of us didn't speak
Spanish. However, I keep winding up at people's houses at the end of the night
with no idea where I really am and have to rely on friends to get me back to
familiar territory. It's pretty difficult to get lost in Stanley, what with the
hill on one side and the water on the other, but I'm sure I could manage it if
anyone could.
<br /><br />
Saturday was Steve's birthday, to which I was lucky enough to be invited because I
needed a place to sit on my first Steak Night at the Vic. Festivities began
with cocktails and nibblies at the Waterfront, one of the nicest places to stay
in Stanley. It was really fun and the food was fantastic. Seriously. Such good
food. Of course, from there we went to the Vic for a round, Deano's for dancing,
and then back to someone's apartment. This seems to be the pattern for Stanley.
</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrkQqIBa02-f-VtLyHNAEwioPIuisy3BUzwosvmFGwWAgJvWoxPsuqyOzZsIEVD_7mWPTSQEVu6ljYJDjgE-dyNY4sJRfihH0Ru9uCUca70VY-xvwxJeU5uBXMce9Uzz_FSINKqUEFPVn/s1600/470784_10150865424387393_1377085238_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrkQqIBa02-f-VtLyHNAEwioPIuisy3BUzwosvmFGwWAgJvWoxPsuqyOzZsIEVD_7mWPTSQEVu6ljYJDjgE-dyNY4sJRfihH0Ru9uCUca70VY-xvwxJeU5uBXMce9Uzz_FSINKqUEFPVn/s640/470784_10150865424387393_1377085238_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Photo borrowed from my friend Fernanda. I ganked it from Facebook </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">because I think my face perfectly captures just how excited I was about the </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">food at Steve's birthday.</span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
On Monday, Falkland Islanders celebrated Her Majesty's Diamond Jubilee with a
massive bonfire on the beach. The bonfire was one of many beacons lit around
the world, but I'm not sure how many others had snow. Someone had a smart idea
and ran a shuttle from the jetty out to Surf Bay, so a group of us bundled up
and boarded the first one to leave. However, whoever set up the bonfire was not
quite as thoughtful as they had failed to take the tide into account. When we
arrived at the beach, the bar tent was flooding. Of course, this did not
discourage anyone from buying drinks. This all just felt completely insane when
I realized that I was at a bonfire on the beach in June and it was snowing.
With no Health and Safety to interfere, people quickly began to ignore the
flimsy tape barrier delineating the "safe" distance from the bonfire.
Hey, it was cold and the fire was warm. This was also the first time I got to
see the mysterious garment known as the "boiler suit." It's not
really mysterious, I just hadn't heard the phrase before. It's essentially a
snowsuit available for an array of different temperatures and many people wear
them for work here. I haven't tried one on, but they do look quite cozy.
By the time we left, the bonfire had shrunk from a tower of pallets to a
glowing pile of splinters. But, of course, the night can't end there! A bunch
of us went back to Debs' house for more drinks and some very tasty leftovers.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcZUnLu5Nc6jvkvCHXv7jC_2I2bB6QxcDXMDn1H1HjPxKM3VZk2kiSKjR3EvBznIAq38cFg7yAXvktDs83zK954vAk1AXRlGC6QSucMkb8iWqtr1YRvuayi4X_JthO3Fxikm3ZTtmda01/s1600/DSC00162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUcZUnLu5Nc6jvkvCHXv7jC_2I2bB6QxcDXMDn1H1HjPxKM3VZk2kiSKjR3EvBznIAq38cFg7yAXvktDs83zK954vAk1AXRlGC6QSucMkb8iWqtr1YRvuayi4X_JthO3Fxikm3ZTtmda01/s640/DSC00162.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Congratulations, Your Majesty! Now you just have to hold on until </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">September 10, 2015 and you'll beat Victoria's record.</span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
I spent Wednesday actually doing some work for the museum as that night we opened
a new exhibition in the center of town for the 30th anniversary of the
Falklands War. I spent most of the day at the hall, hanging up text, images,
and artifacts. It was all hands on deck and we finished the exhibition with
barely enough time for everyone to go home and make ourselves presentable. A
bunch of people braved the falling snow to see the exhibit and enjoy free
drinks, including the governor. Apparently there was some problem with the post
as not everyone got their invitations, requiring the museum to smooth a few
hurt egos. I followed up the exhibit opening with that wonderful weekly
tradition - Steak Night! However, Christine declared that it was also Bailey's
night and that it could not end at the Vic. Therefore, I visited the Globe
Tavern for the first time. Now, I had actually heard of the Globe before I ever
came to the Falklands. Professor Milliorn gave me a copy of a really really
terrible documentary film about an Argentine who visited Stanley with the
intent of retaking the Islands by impregnating as many women as possible,
eventually transforming the population from British to Argentine. Yeah, it was
so bad that I couldn't get through the whole thing, but I'll probably try again
when I get home just to see familiar places. The film is rather aptly titled
"F*ckland" and the Globe is one of the places the Argentine frequents
looking for women. In any case, we were still out after the Globe closed at
which point I joined Christine for a glass of Hazelnut Bailey's. Yummy!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5OhGXK7a_0cGoyU4yFACfaLPoDXDHzmWPrnXJFIUouqkhsLEhBZRpN59njaLTUfIJxp5HQlJc6wGVZZ7eMhCZXRrXLnRT9QzjWN5TDehB4caNg3gAPMLnQwRIWeVoClFYUnZt6G4k7wg/s1600/DSC00310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5OhGXK7a_0cGoyU4yFACfaLPoDXDHzmWPrnXJFIUouqkhsLEhBZRpN59njaLTUfIJxp5HQlJc6wGVZZ7eMhCZXRrXLnRT9QzjWN5TDehB4caNg3gAPMLnQwRIWeVoClFYUnZt6G4k7wg/s640/DSC00310.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">The first section of the Falklands 30 exhibition at St. Mary's Hall.</span></td></tr>
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<div style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's
probably best that the museum didn’t have much time for me this week as I doubt
I woke up at a reasonable hour the next day. The biggest occurance was probably
when I cut all my hair off with a pair of scissors I found in the kitchen.
Whoops. It started with me just wanting to have bangs again, but once I
finished that I took a look in the mirror and thought "F*ck it, it's all
going." Fortunately, I already had plans to see people that night.
Christine braved an honest-to-god blizzard to pick me up for curry night at
Ruth's. We couldn't see a damn thing. I tried to walk back after dinner, but
the storm was still too bad for me to walk the couple of blocks back to my
house. I got another ride from Christine, who was also kind enough to clean up
my rather rough haircut. Oh, and don't worry, none of us died going out in the
storm. Just another crazy night in the Falklands.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoRG_boA8xWqFSdmo2INijTFPwPHYsdo8h3wvDNWbb7gbn3NobmIjYPxIl6gFotScD72puelr9rbkYFryzUqHhTdkuj2RqUeiN5yMhYddhWS3AJdM2nEKJVz74QhZYUWRsD5ZHVirI7eP/s1600/223870_895244006747_528191624_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoRG_boA8xWqFSdmo2INijTFPwPHYsdo8h3wvDNWbb7gbn3NobmIjYPxIl6gFotScD72puelr9rbkYFryzUqHhTdkuj2RqUeiN5yMhYddhWS3AJdM2nEKJVz74QhZYUWRsD5ZHVirI7eP/s640/223870_895244006747_528191624_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">New hair! After Christine cleaned it up for me.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*yeah, my vocabulary
is a bit British at the moment.Some of it's intentional just to make myself understood (ordering fillet instead of filet) and sometimes it just happens. This time, I honestly typed arse instead of ass without realizing. It probably also doesn't help that I have Microsoft Word currently set to "English (United Kingdom)" for transcription purposes.</span></div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-64517801708192629322012-05-29T17:42:00.001-06:002013-05-11T22:12:40.268-06:00There's Nothing Casual About Penguins<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I took a couple of days to settle in and get acquainted with the area before I went into the museum. On Monday Steve, the museum's taxidermist/handyman, took me to see some of the sites outside Stanley. He drove the the museum's 4x4 across some rather treacherous terrain out to Cape Pembroke, the most eastern point int the Falkland Islands. There were tracks through the rolling grass/peat/rocks, but many had filled with water and it was a challenge to figure out the best path without getting stuck. For five pounds, the museum lends out the key to the Cape Pembroke lighthouse, which no longer works as its mechanism was damaged in 1982. However, you can climb all the way to the top and out on the walkway of this prefab cast-iron Victorian structure.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAjlSM3pL2Gu3eGTznciNWNbM4TVlJ1e7K1K8pyP1VLggic9gGXqec0rVIi2FXQ4olg6f6EfxRYb3fx_ONmOTyuDtFp_GFeJFL6F_TucCy1agY4msXNomBcKrcRL2T-vmJE7kipzCpFYK/s1600/DSC00138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAjlSM3pL2Gu3eGTznciNWNbM4TVlJ1e7K1K8pyP1VLggic9gGXqec0rVIi2FXQ4olg6f6EfxRYb3fx_ONmOTyuDtFp_GFeJFL6F_TucCy1agY4msXNomBcKrcRL2T-vmJE7kipzCpFYK/s640/DSC00138.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">You can just make out the lighthouse beyond the dunes.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm pretty sure neither the National Trust nor the National Park Service would let anyone up there as the last two ladders are a bit tricky and it's easy to loose your footing on the walkway in the smallest wind. If I'd let it, the wind would have blown me around the top a few times. Back on the ground, we walked past the memorial for the Atlantic Conveyor, a ship sunk in 1982, to a small spot covered in the native Tussac grass. This grass appeals so much to the wildlife that it has disappeared from much of the Islands. However, mine clearing operations are helping to bring it back as clean areas are being replanted with Tussac. Farther to the west, we spied some Gentoo penguins enjoying white sand beaches made private by the presence of more mines. Don't worry, the penguins aren't big enough to set the mines off (if they're even there).</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2NvyhX8qjFrXy4Jv1WpUJqKE-B0bYQqKcW7i7jhuxW7BjUtkm3OqI-x-EBBJTv6Sopskh_RVYL0AiYzohtmljD0JwGTKWhUoinnZPIEpczwr5nZCAZvBS_0jnH3iUkZ-IqHgYhmjGsI0/s1600/DSC00137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2NvyhX8qjFrXy4Jv1WpUJqKE-B0bYQqKcW7i7jhuxW7BjUtkm3OqI-x-EBBJTv6Sopskh_RVYL0AiYzohtmljD0JwGTKWhUoinnZPIEpczwr5nZCAZvBS_0jnH3iUkZ-IqHgYhmjGsI0/s640/DSC00137.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">Barbed wire and the risk of death separate me from the penguins.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Continuing west, we stopped again at two of the most popular wildlife spots in the summer. Yorke Bay and Gypsy Cove spend months crawling with Magellanic penguins and other creatures, but they have vacated for the winter. Instead of making nests, the Magellanic penguins dig burrows where they lay their eggs. Visiting the Falkland Islands, you're much more likely to trip over one of these than tread on a mine. However, the resulting infestation of penguin fleas may make you wish for the mine. Our adventures left plenty of time for Steve to drop me at the library before it closed. The Community Library occupies part of the Community School/Leisure Center complex and lends books to visitors and residents alike. I was pleasantly surprised by both their excellent selection and the availability of DVDs to rent. It looks like I'll be catching up on my new releases when I'm not devouring their local interest section</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQy4uW1gkTjjfPAZatdxVickXsM-qlErau7THe8OXRIzSyR_HiN-cBWkhqJP1UEklrKgNngyA8pZuqJ4dUQNxaG0txGuv3x7lmT6sOSPamQOZntvrr6mYLcdMA9d_PqozbgZZuHMGiXe4/s1600/DSC00153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQy4uW1gkTjjfPAZatdxVickXsM-qlErau7THe8OXRIzSyR_HiN-cBWkhqJP1UEklrKgNngyA8pZuqJ4dUQNxaG0txGuv3x7lmT6sOSPamQOZntvrr6mYLcdMA9d_PqozbgZZuHMGiXe4/s640/DSC00153.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">A typical Stanley day - snow one minute, sunshine the next.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The museum's manager, Leona, was out on Tuesday, but I still got to look around the museum. For a small operation, their collection is fairly impressive. Unfortunately, they just don't have the space to display everything properly and most of the exhibitions have been assembled rather haphazardly over the years. The artifacts are grouped somewhat thematically/chronologically, but there's no overarching interpretation or story and text is restricted to small object labels. Within the next year and a half, the museum is planning to move from its current location to a historic building closer to the center of town. This should increase both their space and visitation. Currently, most visitors have to walk a mile from the jetty where their cruise ships drop them off and not all tourists are up for the walk. I'll try to take some pictures at the museum next week. On Wednesday, Leona was in and she handed over what oral history materials she could find.
<br /><br />
The museum is in chaos preparing for an exhibition on 1982 they're opening in town next Wednesday, so I took my box of CDs and assorted paperwork back to the house. After isolating the clocks behind the closed office door (they were ticking and I hate ticking clocks), I've set up shop on the dining room table. Most of the recordings were done in 2009, but there are plenty of others and there's no central location for documentation or recordings. The archives has a fairly complete spreadsheet, but the head archivist used to be in broadcasting so she doesn't distinguish between Oral Histories and other recorded primary sources. I've now finished rough transcriptions of two interviews from the 2009 collection. In class at NMSU, I also advocated for the inclusion of all "um"s, "uhs"s, "you know"s, and pauses in oral history transcripts. I TAKE IT BACK. I'm so glad the museum is letting me leave those out. However, I am rapidly forming a rather negative opinion of the gentleman who did these interviews. He doesn't begin the recordings by introducing himself/the interviewee/date/location, he's constantly interrupting, and asks a lot of leading questions. In general, he just talks far too much. On one of the recordings it was quite entertaining to listen to his interviewee getting more and more irritated.
<br /><br />
Of course I have already acquainted myself with several of the local pubs. My favorite, known locally as "the Vic," even has a cat! I went in there on Wednesday for Steak Night and didn't get home until about 4 in the morning. It was so crowded that I didn't have anywhere to eat my steak until a group of relatively young guys made room for me at their table. Since then, I've hung out with them (and others of the 20/30-something expat community) a couple of times and I'm even going to a birthday party this weekend. It seems strange to use the word "expat" since many of them are Brits, but there are also Canadians, Chileans, and people from all over. It's a little terrifying how many people I've met here who came on a short contract and years later still haven't left.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkuND0VDh_UqsMzpoAx3hQuunqt4BkdZ2CK_iogWFG8BxhIeqNrjjl2bWLEQ0j_pzaaHYHq5yXd5gaUFuBkIiQcIKiz7JECWk_1iCSlKvIjHhOxLZKwgdi6NHYXW9NvESLBvuRblSWHnG/s1600/DSC00144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkuND0VDh_UqsMzpoAx3hQuunqt4BkdZ2CK_iogWFG8BxhIeqNrjjl2bWLEQ0j_pzaaHYHq5yXd5gaUFuBkIiQcIKiz7JECWk_1iCSlKvIjHhOxLZKwgdi6NHYXW9NvESLBvuRblSWHnG/s640/DSC00144.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The mysterious pub cat, waiting to be served. I've </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">heard several strange stories </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">about his </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">identity. One </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">person told me he had a twin, another that his name </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">was </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">"Bacardi." I think the most likely story was that his </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">name is "Smoky." How original...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: left;">My house does have a car I can use, but I'm staying far away from that adventure as I can't drive a manual transmission, I've never driven on the left, and I'm much more comfortable in my Fiesta than a hulking 4x4. This means that I walk pretty much everywhere. As the center of town is about a mile away, I'm walking 2-4 miles everyday. On Friday I'm pretty sure I walked 6 as I went into town twice and wandered around quite a bit. Today, I tested grocery shopping for the first time. I took a reusable shopping bag from the house and walked to the supermarket at the center of town (after making stops at the museum, the archives, and the library). I discovered that the very sturdy and affordable bag safely holds a basket's worth of groceries. Perfect! It got a bit heavy on the way home, but the cold kept anything from spoiling and I made it.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL71iMw1Sw2BU43-aQa1R-dhFszYE5EE4RceFP2XY19Y-koXxYtYlNtzXPTeOUr4r-Ym9QHb6EuRWPaJjbrB74JHRMSYFNC-GjsFNuGfMXSpBWESYT51t3afuB1qalWzMenoY5C6SeHmUt/s1600/DSC00155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL71iMw1Sw2BU43-aQa1R-dhFszYE5EE4RceFP2XY19Y-koXxYtYlNtzXPTeOUr4r-Ym9QHb6EuRWPaJjbrB74JHRMSYFNC-GjsFNuGfMXSpBWESYT51t3afuB1qalWzMenoY5C6SeHmUt/s640/DSC00155.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The ever so convenient and sturdy shopping bag. Why</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">don't they make them this well in the US?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">MK will appreciate this: On Friday night, after the pubs closed, the party continued at the apartment of one of the Brits. He explained to me that I was freaking out rather unnecessarily when Patrick Wolf's "The Magic Position" came on somewhere between the Top 40 and the Chilean dance music as it was perfectly logical for a Brit to have a song by a British artist. However, I do believe this was the first time I have ever heard this song played by someone who was not MK or myself. For the rest of you: Enjoy!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SFI9s6INJPQ" width="560"></iframe></span>
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Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-44448505022399602772012-05-20T17:57:00.000-06:002013-05-11T22:13:55.366-06:00Live From Stanley!<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well, I'm here. Friday seemed like it would never end. After briefly snagging enough internet to post, I never managed to find another connection. I did, however, get my chai. I ordered an "alto te chai latte con...raspberry" and the barista figured it out. She also figured out that I did not speak Spanish. For the rest of the night, I alternated between sleeping at various gates and hunting for internet. This leg of the journey (Santiago to Punta Arenas) was a domestic Chilean flight, making for a rather different experience. First security was a breeze; everything stayed in my backs and my boots stayed on my feet. In fact, I did not remove my boots at all from about 2:30 pm Thursday (MST) to 3 pm on Saturday. My feet were stinky. The hours in Santiago lent themselves to several observations. First, as I listened to the baristas clean up at Starbucks, that girl power is the same in every language. Even they listened to the Spice Girls. Surprisingly, the 3G on my Kindle worked in Chile - points to Amazon.com - but I haven't tested it in Stanley, yet. All the announcements for my flight were in Spanish, providing me with an idea of what it's like for non-English speakers to travel domestically in the USA. Difficult.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfleckJr4G84w04_DmFr5eX2wQ9ZmfMY7-k7ozHkM6S6d2wbmTPenrF_dpU7e0YxlEUwP9QbUeOwfyfZaHKJChqcy-Xwyd7A-wXSqoGm0sS81bAvTKT93Swfi2c3jFKi1N1EhPYyCXHuM/s1600/DSC00088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfleckJr4G84w04_DmFr5eX2wQ9ZmfMY7-k7ozHkM6S6d2wbmTPenrF_dpU7e0YxlEUwP9QbUeOwfyfZaHKJChqcy-Xwyd7A-wXSqoGm0sS81bAvTKT93Swfi2c3jFKi1N1EhPYyCXHuM/s640/DSC00088.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">I'm fairly certain that this sign in Punta Arenas is </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">warning me about Cholera. Huh.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Three hours later, I found myself in the tiny Punta Arenas airport, with three gates and only one designated for international departures. The sun had not risen yet and my fellow travelers quickly left the terminal to claim their bags. I spent about 5 hours alone in this empty airport, waiting for a flight that only comes once a week. I should probably write something up for the travel agency in New Mexico just in case anyone else ever tries to go to the Falklands. It would appear that the later flight to Punta Arenas from Santiago that morning continues directly to Mount Pleasant, allowing the passengers a long enough layover in Santiago to get a shower and sleep in a bed. The influx of British tongues was a relief after hours spent alone in the empty airport, but I envied their clean and well-rested appearances. What surprised me greatly was the mass of Russians who followed the Brits off their flight from Santiago. How do they always find me???</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYA9ahhU_QvFdTN1TTm_n1k5abQeeybpRtUD3qwAsqkpRPtZdI__XH_pUi0IsyFDUVWyFaZ7CMUabGKMIlI3aT0QLTpv5JgMpjnMqHQJYzibuGY2tqAL93kYHEdydKjpKlCvILNsF0odOL/s1600/DSC00089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYA9ahhU_QvFdTN1TTm_n1k5abQeeybpRtUD3qwAsqkpRPtZdI__XH_pUi0IsyFDUVWyFaZ7CMUabGKMIlI3aT0QLTpv5JgMpjnMqHQJYzibuGY2tqAL93kYHEdydKjpKlCvILNsF0odOL/s640/DSC00089.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The eerily empty Punta Arenas airport.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The flight from Punta Arenas to Mount Pleasant was the shortest of my long journey, but landing was downright otherworldly. After viewing large expanses of the Atlantic Ocean, clouds blocked the ground from view. We descended through layers and layers until the Falklands finally appeared below. The tiny Mount Pleasant airport is part of the Royal Marines' base, necessitating restrictions against photography and other behaviors. I had thought that El Paso had harsh winds, but at Mount Pleasant we all felt the plane shifting back and forth, then had to keep a tight hold on the railing to keep from blowing away as we descended the stairs down to the tarmac. Once inside, chaos descended. Those new to the islands rushed to get carts and blocked the small space as they waited for their luggage, which hadn't even begun to be unloaded. I followed those who knew what they were about into the immigration line, received my stamps, got my bag, and went through customs before most people had realized what was going on. What a relief!
<br /><br />
The museum's taxidermist picked me up and drove me the 45 minute trip into Stanley.
Once we left the military base, the smooth road turned into gravel and potholes, making for quite a bumpy road. And this is the main road in the Falklands, mind you. Imagine what the others are like. Due to such poor road conditions most people drive 4x4s and you don't need to ask them where their mud is - most of the vehicles I've seen are covered in it. Surveying the landscape, the only similar scenery I could bring to mind were parts of New Zealand's south island. The combination of grass and rocks reminded me of the area outside Christchurch where Peter Jackson placed Edoras and Deer Park Heights outside Queenstown. The Falklands have a fairly unique geological feature called the stone run, which manifests as rivers of stone running throughout the countryside. There are certainly theories, mostly involving glaciers, but no one knows quite how they formed. Besides these stone rivers, I also saw sheep, birds, horses, and well marked minefields along the roadside. Apparently it's at the locals' request that the minefields have not all been cleared yet. The minefields here have caused no human casualties, are well marked, and only occasionally take out a cow or a sheep. Therefore, the locals believe that the mine clearers' efforts are much better spent in places where mines end or damage human lives. It makes sense to me.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2DUs7VZCElkKaoHPil4ElzXmBLKvTmcfW1Z9QgkRolBXcDIaxw8_y5Q3H2TjN1_5SFsasQ5OwvnM7gouVIbYugAgjBO7Wp_X2JVL9jOIoBdK3XrWsFjGwtc6eWW0VzzbPyXGvosBu-Pi/s1600/DSC00090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2DUs7VZCElkKaoHPil4ElzXmBLKvTmcfW1Z9QgkRolBXcDIaxw8_y5Q3H2TjN1_5SFsasQ5OwvnM7gouVIbYugAgjBO7Wp_X2JVL9jOIoBdK3XrWsFjGwtc6eWW0VzzbPyXGvosBu-Pi/s640/DSC00090.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The fruits of my victorious shopping trip!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> We drove the long way through the center of town to my cute little house on the waterfront, then returned to the center of town to pick up some groceries. Since the Falklands are so isolated, the best fresh food comes from local sources. I picked up a fresh loaf of bread and some locally made sausage among my purchases. However, this does mean that the only dairy commercially available is the dreaded box-milk. Apparently, if you know someone with a cow you can get fresh milk, but it's not sold in the store. I still delighted in wonderfully British commodities such as Hobnobs,Jaffa Cakes, and Fanta Lemon. The wide variety of Indian sauces was also quite exciting, but made me realize that I don't know how to cook rice without my ricebot. I pretty much passed out after dinner last night. The trip wore me out and I couldn't bring myself to stay up any later, either to read or to write up my travels.
<br /><br />
This morning I had a delicious breakfast of porridge with raspberry jam and set off to explore the town. I walked into Stanley's center along the water, then ventured up the hill into more residential areas. I also located the library at the Stanley Leisure Center. It'll be open tomorrow. Around 1:30 pm, I wandered into the Victory Bar, where I ended up spending most of the afternoon talking to locals and drinking Strongbow. Very fun! I even got into an argument about the causes of the Civil War. Walking back home after dark, I couldn't believe how bright the stars were. I'm not even sure I believe I'm actually here.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLaIx6l0qb1IN8tF4iZV5lulrJ7tMsvGaQHyRI6tXmfbKZIGbsbSvLY5IJalVL1IbllS9dgp9FsUF9MYgd9smuH2wJRKga1Huo1z77ISwBoGC0m0Xe6KbWk1cucII-QZrVnWt7zrOVOiM/s1600/DSC00091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLaIx6l0qb1IN8tF4iZV5lulrJ7tMsvGaQHyRI6tXmfbKZIGbsbSvLY5IJalVL1IbllS9dgp9FsUF9MYgd9smuH2wJRKga1Huo1z77ISwBoGC0m0Xe6KbWk1cucII-QZrVnWt7zrOVOiM/s640/DSC00091.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">The view out my bedroom window.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Throughout this journey I've felt a bit like Lyra Belacqua on her way to the North. Too bad I don't have a panserbjorne to cuddle with.</span>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-87371112499421705282012-05-18T18:05:00.001-06:002013-05-11T22:14:24.728-06:00Seven Down, One to Go<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">UPDATE: Now with pictures, thanks to free wifi at the Punta Arenas Airport.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have now
officially visited seven of eight continents. The only one I'm missing is
Antarctica - if I were visiting the Falklands in the summer, then I'd knock
that one out on this trip, too. However, as it is currently too cold to
undertake the passage to Antarctica, I'll have to make another trip. Oh, darn.</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I left El Paso
Thursday afternoon, beginning my epic journey. Surprisingly, my bag full of
technology and my winter attire did not faze the TSA…but they did have to pat
down my head. That's the last time I travel with pins in my hair. While waiting
for my flight to Dallas, I noticed that the departure sign did not say
"Dallas - Fort Worth," "DFW," or any of the more common
phrases. Instead, it said "Dallas -FTW," leaving me asking "is
Dallas really for the win?" I think not. That flight was short and
decently comfortable as my neighbors managed to engage me in conversation about
air travel and A Song of Ice and Fire.
At DFW, the boards were not showing the correct time or number for my
flight to Santiago, so I had a moment of panic before confirming at the gate
that my flight would proceed as planned. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And so began the
longest leg of my trip. I lucked out big time. The plane had seats grouped in
2/4/2 and I had a window (as usual). My neighbor abandoned his aisle seat for
an empty row before we even took off, giving me an extra seat to stretch out
on. Wrapped in my dorky purple coat, using my furry hat as a pillow, I fell
asleep in no time. I woke up around 4am in time to see morning arrive over the
Pacific Ocean. Based on this flight,
though, American Airlines seems pretty junky. We spent almost ten hours in the
air, but our seats didn't have the personal screens I've come to expect from
lengthy international flights. There was a space on the back of each seat where
a screen would fit perfectly, but nothing was there but upholstery. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8lQCf8gYNrmDRtfWaXEVPyjzlsQQE2mkeNaasiOY50sbLkE3HjA8ExgGb3yQhjt7lToeyOnWvpvNEu3vtkvzPCxcrIAi86uwbYGnc8Z931NgAxRUkmsPavhLhZiutksiZqu7lX0Qk01J/s1600/IMG_0077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8lQCf8gYNrmDRtfWaXEVPyjzlsQQE2mkeNaasiOY50sbLkE3HjA8ExgGb3yQhjt7lToeyOnWvpvNEu3vtkvzPCxcrIAi86uwbYGnc8Z931NgAxRUkmsPavhLhZiutksiZqu7lX0Qk01J/s640/IMG_0077.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">See what I mean? The screen should be right there!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Flying in
over the mountains was incredible and a thick layer of fog covered the city as
we descended. Waiting in line at immigration and customs always makes me wish
for my diplomatic passport. Back in the day, all I had to do was flash that
black cover and walk on by.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIufJdla-bpx5NbhXhkUTN8a3LJwC_nSoPL8dtaZknZFLhyphenhyphenW0chtbocvRDMgpA8SL21xKeBKZCufwQ5LMi9HV_PbnzWzQPh02gWYwxdbSq2F28DKE6qfe7TgHe-DvljdvOJDxxPcIoRs6/s1600/IMG_0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIufJdla-bpx5NbhXhkUTN8a3LJwC_nSoPL8dtaZknZFLhyphenhyphenW0chtbocvRDMgpA8SL21xKeBKZCufwQ5LMi9HV_PbnzWzQPh02gWYwxdbSq2F28DKE6qfe7TgHe-DvljdvOJDxxPcIoRs6/s640/IMG_0080.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Morning in South America.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I made a mistake
after customs. I needed to find a place to check my bags for the day, so I shot
out of the secure area and past the mob of chauffeurs and gypsy cabs.
Unfortunately, one of the more persistent ones followed me about 20 feet out of
the crowd, when it became obvious that I had no idea where I was going. He
actually proved rather helpful as he led me to the baggage storage and
translated for the attendant and I. Free of my backpack and suitcase, I went to
change some money. I generally do not change money at airports, but I knew I'd
need it to get into the city, the rate was decent, and I'd rather change once
at an OK rate, then keep changing money all day. I almost evaded the eager
taxi-man as I left the exchange office, but he caught up to me. Before I knew
it, I had agreed to pay 25,000 pesos for a ride to the funicular station in a
private taxi. Oops. My brain caught up with me in the backseat of the car as I
plotted fleeing the vehicle at a stoplight if I smelled anything fishy. When I
arrived safely at the Funicular station I paid the driver 20,000 pesos. This
was still almost double what the trip was worth, but he didn't have the English
to argue with me and I didn't have the guts to pay him any less. However, I did
not tip airport taxi-man for ripping me off.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="en-US">I
think my boots are even more out of place in Santiago than in Texas. Then
again, my Spanish is nonexistent and I'm only here for a day, so I've given up
my usual struggle not to look like a tourist. The purple dork coat definitely
doesn't help, but after I took it off I was apparently convincing enough to be
yammered at in Spanish a couple of times. Santiago, surprisingly enough,
reminded me strongly of Eastern Europe…but with friendlier people, who were very
forgiving of my Spanish throughout the day. It really doesn't help that when my
brain is in foreign language mode it goes automatically to Russian. I caught
myself saying "</span><span lang="ru">да</span><span lang="en-US">" more
than once. I do know some basic Spanish
words, but not the basics I would want to get around (I swear, in Russian you
could manage with just </span><span lang="ru">можно,</span><span lang="en-US"> </span><span lang="ru">сколько, где, </span><span lang="en-US">and a few pleasantries). In fact,
the only full sentence I know in Spanish is "mi pantalones en fuego por
Jesus" - not really a useful phrase when navigating a new city, if ever.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I arrived at the
funicular station 15 minutes before it opened, perfect timing for me to catch
my breath and the second tram up to the top of Cerro San Christobel. I opted not to
stop at the zoo (though it was recommended several times), but took in the
incredible panoramic views of the city and mountain. The funicular itself is a rickety old thing
running on a track that looks like it was carved into an old stone staircase.
As I was waiting to board a large group of American adolescents arrived at the
station. They looked like middle-schoolers and they just kept shouting in
English. One of them was even wearing a Tony Romo jersey. Was I that annoying
as an adolescent in foreign countries? </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxuSqAp_T0tYodK19AyqiQcSCV3eneRajiUDx4NkLFAjhJ4qPYyfOOic0tIQ5VyuBImechVZ7ztTqcHhSBnUAKGYDy-ir_ueBPm51iRzBqFsKXokDQkHZwCu5vw9kWUczymnYX4csmjwH2/s1600/DSC00073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxuSqAp_T0tYodK19AyqiQcSCV3eneRajiUDx4NkLFAjhJ4qPYyfOOic0tIQ5VyuBImechVZ7ztTqcHhSBnUAKGYDy-ir_ueBPm51iRzBqFsKXokDQkHZwCu5vw9kWUczymnYX4csmjwH2/s640/DSC00073.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Santiago from above.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I climbed further up
the mountain to the giant statue of the Virgin Mary and the Sanctuario of the Immaculate Conception. After all, what is a trip to South America without
enormous religious statuary? I also took some time to peruse my guidebook and
plan my next move. I had already decided that I wanted to visit the Plaza de
Arms, but wasn't sure how to get there. Somehow I came to the conclusion that I
hadn't done enough climbing and set off on foot. Almost immediately, I was
hopelessly lost, but I enjoyed my stroll through winding streets near the
university and even came upon an art class meeting al fresco. Further
wanderings found a couple of metro stations, but brought me no closer to the
Plaza. Eventually, I gave up, studied the map, and descended into the nearest
station. I must have looked so pathetic as a tried to buy a ticket. The lady at
the counter almost immediately said "ticket" holding one up to show
me. I handed her my pesos, ashamed that I couldn't manage even this simple transaction.
The route involved two train changes, but I made it to the plaza! It was
lovely, but very crowded with people, dogs, and pigeons.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihQlejsmGqKs28VP1SPnNyo0JkWFbEG1-URvhVwEvpT2l79MF6aGg9ZLqfk37mYKl8V-TL0g8JqmhbZIQF-9a3LOtcLy6adhm_TvxeTgRFfn1J-KNFOGUM0JOnJDqYYfqE9_b_9ojvuUqI/s1600/DSC00070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihQlejsmGqKs28VP1SPnNyo0JkWFbEG1-URvhVwEvpT2l79MF6aGg9ZLqfk37mYKl8V-TL0g8JqmhbZIQF-9a3LOtcLy6adhm_TvxeTgRFfn1J-KNFOGUM0JOnJDqYYfqE9_b_9ojvuUqI/s640/DSC00070.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Can Giant Virgin Mary see her son in Rio?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After orienting
myself, I found the National Museum of History and set off. Again, I turned
into a three-legged kitten as a very well-dressed security guard greeted me in
Spanish, then explained to me in English that the museum had free admission
today. I still have no idea why. The main exhibition tells the story of Chile's
history using a wonderful collection of artifacts. I only wish I'd been able to
read the text accompanying them. A smaller gallery housed an exhibition of 19th
artwork depicting Santiago and other places in Chile. These pieces were really
wonderful, but again I wished there was some kind of supplementary guide in
English.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="en-US">Sitting
back out at the Plaza, it was 1:10 pm and I was pooped. My legs were so
exhausted that I couldn't stand still without them shaking. Nothing else in my
guidebook really grabbed me, so I just wandered around the area for a while.
Finally, I resolved that I was ready to go back to the airport and embarked on
a mission to find one of the buses that offers affordable transport between the
city and the airport. I ended up at the central train station. I didn't find
the buses, but I did find a </span><span lang="ru">рынок</span><span lang="en-US">,
which only added to the feeling that I was in Eastern Europe. Realizing that I
had walked all the way to the next metro stop in search of the elusive bus, I
gave up and hailed a cab. A REAL cab this time. He had a meter and everything.
The trip back to the airport cost less than 10,000 pesos. Damn, I really did
get ripped off this morning.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At the airport, I
retrieved my luggage with a plan in mind. I would check in for my flight, clear
security, then splurge for the VIP lounge to enjoy wifi, food, and a shower.
Like most of my plans in Santiago, this one didn't exactly come together either.
After repeating about a dozen times that my flight left tomorrow, the girl at
the check-in desk informed me that she couldn't accept my suitcase until 6
hours prior to departure. Girl, if my flight leaves at 1:45 am, I don't have a
hotel room, and I don't get to sleep, then for all intents and purposes my
flight leaves tonight. Seeing as how I
couldn't check my bag until 7:45 pm, I now had almost 5 hours to kill
pre-security in the Santiago airport. Delightful. After a brief transformation
into my alter-ego, Madame du Cranky Pants, I grabbed some food and took a nap
outside domestic departures. Better-rested, fed, and changed into a clean
shirt, I feel much better. Still no wifi, though.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today I travelled on
5 different forms of transportation: airplane, taxi, funicular, foot, and
metro. Doesn't break my mom's record*, but still respectable.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">8pm: Through
security, but still hunting for Wifi. I'm so early that my flight isn't even on
the board yet, but there's a Starbucks with a wireless network. Maybe if I
order something, they'll give me the password. How do you say "tall
raspberry chai" in Spanish?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">VICTORY IS MINE!!!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*My mom set the
transportation record during out 2008 trip to Istanbul, when she managed to get
us on 7 different forms of transportation in one day: tram, foot, taxi, ferry, funicular,
metro, and trolley.</span></div>
Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-17944210012339758952012-05-12T00:36:00.000-06:002012-12-26T11:00:26.181-07:00Time Travel<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My semester concluded yesterday. The assignments are turned in, classes completed, and final exams graded. I spent a large part of my semester involved in time travel, through both my living history course and my public history seminar. While experiencing the technique myself, I also worked on planning the 2013 <a href="http://www.bridgingages.com/" target="_blank">Bridging Ages </a>Conference which will be held in Las Cruces next April. We concluded out time travels weeks ago, but the Las Cruces Sun-News published a piece on us today:</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pcMl5xxxiqk" width="560"></iframe></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The video features a few snippets of an interview I did about my character and you can read the accompanying article <a href="http://www.lcsun-news.com/las_cruces-news/ci_20604826/students-experience-1912-through-nmsu-time-travel-program" target="_blank">here.</a></span>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8383522654995694863.post-52474104973950223042012-04-26T19:05:00.000-06:002012-10-17T11:42:21.691-06:00Synecdoche for Empire<i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Below is the text of my paper written last December. It is a bit lengthy for a blog post, but I feel it's important to make it available. Sovereignty in the Falkland Islands is still a controversial issue and I want to be clear about my stance on the issue as a historian. This work presents my analysis of the relationship between the Falkland Islands and the United Kingdom, based on the sources available to me in New Mexico. Most of these sources come from outsiders looking in on the situation. The lack of sources from the Falklands and the people who live there is part of what has motivated me to go there and see for myself.</span></i>
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During the twentieth century, the significance of the Falkland Islands increased as Great Britain attempted to remain relevant in the bipolar world of the Cold War. In the absence of her once-great empire, Britain tightened her hold on this archipelago in the South Atlantic. However, the British fixation with the Falkland Islands began centuries ago. Repeated conflicts over the islands have served to reaffirm Britain’s imperial might politically, militarily, and economically. The Falkland Islands have come to represent the majesty of the entire British Empire, making it impossible for the United Kingdom to relinquish sovereignty. In the twenty-first century, the Falkland Islands serve to commemorate Britain’s former greatness and hope for future generations of Britons.</span>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">British attachment to the Falkland Islands began as early as the sixteenth century, when early explorers noticed the islands as they travelled through the Straits of Magellan. However, early modern cartographers could not accurately mark the Falklands’ location, leading to much confusion about their existence. Spanish and Portuguese explorers, including Amerigo Vespucci and Ferdinand Magellan, sighted land near the latitude of the Falklands, but many of these islands (e.g. Pepys, the Sebalds and Sansons) proved nonexistent after further study.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn1">[1]</a> English tradition maintains that Richard Hawkins first sighted the islands in 1594, naming them the “Maiden Land” in honor of Queen Elizabeth I.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn2">[2]</a> An early twentieth century cartographical study by Commander B. M. Chambers reexamined this tradition, suggesting instead that Hawkins recorded seeing the Cape Tres Puntas on the Argentinian coast.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn3">[3]</a> However, others have refuted Chambers’ analysis in order to continue justifying English possession based on discovery.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn4">[4]</a> Fortunately for these historians, other English explorers claimed to have visited the Falklands. A short account by John Davis records that his ship the Desire took refuge on the islands after a storm in 1592, a fact undisputed by Commander Chambers.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn5">[5]</a> Almost a century later, another Englishman, John Strong, named the islands after the First Lord of the Admiralty, Viscount Falkland.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn6">[6]</a> The Dutch captain Sebald de Weert may have also visited the islands in 1600, as soon afterwards they began to appear on Dutch maps, bearing the name “The Sebalds.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn7">[7]</a> The confusion surrounding the discovery of the Falkland Islands should prevent any nation from claiming sovereignty on those grounds. However, Max Hastings wisely observed after the Falklands War that “from the moment of their discovery they seem to have embodied the national pride of whoever held them.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn8">[8]</a> England certainly would not prove immune to the islands’ attraction.</span>
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The Falkland Islands also drew interest from Spain and France as the Great Powers of Europe set about dividing the world amongst themselves. Strictly speaking, Pope Alexander VI granted the Falkland Islands to Spain in 1494 as they fell within the Spanish territory delineated by the Treaty of Tordesillas.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn9">[9]</a> Nevertheless, a Frenchman became the first to attempt colonization; Bougainville founded Fort Louis on East Falkland in 1764.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn10">[10]</a>Supposedly unaware of the French presence, John Byron formally claimed the Falkland Islands for England less than a year later.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn11">[11]</a> John McBride confirmed this claim by establishing the first English settlement at Port Egmont on West Falkland in 1766.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn12">[12]</a> Both colonies continued in ignorance of the other’s existence until the end of that year, when “to [Captain McBride’s] utter amazement he came upon the Malouine settlement.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn13">[13]</a> He protested the French presence and demanded that the colonists remove themselves from English territory. Back in Europe, Bougainville had actually sold the Iles Malouines to Spain based on the Treaty of Utrecht, which had confirmed the status quo in the New World.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn14">[14]</a>Upon closer scrutiny, this justification does not bear much weight as it relies on the application of the Treaty of Tordesillas to islands whose existence was not confirmed until two hundred years after its signing.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn15">[15]</a> In addition, the Protestant Reformation lessened the scope of the Pope’s authority in Europe, as his pronouncements could not compel non-Catholic nations such as England and Sweden.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn16">[16]</a> France only considered transferring the Falkland Islands to Spain in order to uphold the Family Compact between the two Bourbon kings.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn17">[17]</a> Had the two nations not been allies at this time, the islands surely would have remained in French control.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">These attempts at early colonization led to England’s first dispute over the Falkland Islands, which would prove both her naval power and the majesty of King George III. Captain Hunt returned to England in 1770, where he reported the presence of a Spanish settlement on East Falkland.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn18">[18]</a> England immediately demanded that Spain withdraw its forces. Spain did not comply, but opened negotiations with the English Prime Minister, Lord North. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn19">[19]</a> Acting independently, the governor of Buenos Aires removed the English from Port Egmont by force.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn20">[20]</a> “The action of the governor of Buenos Aires, Francisco Bucarelli, in ordering Spanish forces to evict the British garrison on the West Falkland Island, was seen as part of a general challenge to the supremacy of British sea power.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn21">[21]</a> When word reached Europe of this eviction, a squabble over land-rights became a crisis of sovereignty.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn22">[22]</a></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">George III demanded the restitution of the English colony and an apology from Spain for the offense done to his honor.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn23">[23]</a> The tiny militia outpost at Port Egmont could barely have been called a colony, but the King of England hinged his dignity on its recovery. Not for the last time, the majesty of Empire rested on an archipelago 8,000 miles away from the British Isles.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn24">[24]</a> Though the Family Compact bound France and Spain together, France found itself ill prepared for war and informed Spain that Charles III would fight England alone if they could not settle the dispute diplomatically.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn25">[25]</a> In response to Spanish rumblings, England began to increase her navy. This period of armament created the British navy that would dominate the seas for centuries to come.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn26">[26]</a> Spain could not defeat the growing English navy without French support, ergo negotiations began in earnest.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn27">[27]</a> The French Foreign Minister, Choiseul, negotiated an agreement that satisfied honor on both sides. Charles III apologized for the insult done to George III and allowed the English to return to Port Egmont. Official records document this part of the peace, with no mention of a definite ruling on sovereignty. The Spanish declaration read that the agreement “cannot nor ought in any wise to affect the question of the prior right of sovereignty of the Malouine islands, otherwise called Falkland’s Islands.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn28">[28]</a> Thus, negotiations preserved both Spanish and English claims to the Falkland Islands.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn29">[29</a>]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Some historians claim that Charles III only assented to this declaration because of a reciprocal promise from the English Prime Minister Lord North. This “Secret Agreement” promised that the English would soon vacate the Falkland Islands and implied the abandonment of all English claims to sovereignty.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn30">[30]</a> However, the only evidence of this agreement comes from the correspondence of Spanish diplomats. While this agreement is absent from English accounts, Spanish records suggest that the English delayed abandoning the Falkland Islands until after the militia returned to Port Egmont and that they denied that they had relinquished any sovereignty.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn31">[31]</a> The details of a verbal promise seem easily forgotten. When the English did finally leave Port Egmont, they left behind a plaque confirming continued English ownership of the Falkland Islands:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">Be it known to all nations that the Falklands Islands, with this fort, the storehouses, wharfs, bays, and creeks thereunto belonging are the sole right and property of His Most Sacred Majesty George the Third, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of Faith, etc. In witness whereof this plate is set up, and his Britannic Majesty’s colors left flying as a mark of possession by S. W. Clayton, commanding officer at Falkland Islands, A.D. 1774.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn32">[32]</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The American Revolution necessitated this withdrawal, but the Falkland Islands proved a useful tool for George III to extend his majesty and naval might.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">An official British presence did not return to the Falkland Islands until 1833, but private citizens continued to visit their shores. During this period of Spanish and Argentinian occupation, the economic and strategic value of the islands emerged.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn33">[33]</a> An abundance of seals, whales, and fish filled the icy waters of the South Atlantic, making the Falkland Islands an ideal location for commercial outposts.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn34">[34]</a> Whalers and sealers from Britain, the United States, and other countries often made temporary camps on the islands.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn35">[35]</a> The islands’ location also made them an excellent resupply point for ships travelling either between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, or bound for exploration in Antarctica.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn36">[36]</a> Close proximity to the Straits of Magellan would also allow whoever held the islands to control that passage. As the British Empire expanded in the nineteenth century, the Falkland Islands became an appealing foothold in the South Atlantic.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The collapse of Spanish control over the American colonies in the early nineteenth century broke the Spanish monopoly on South American trade for the first time in centuries. However, Great Britain would not be the first nation to claim the Falkland Islands in Spain’s absence. The United Provinces of the La Plata, which would become Argentina, nominally inherited the Islands from Spain, but they did not formalize this claim until 1820, when Colonel Daniel Jewitt visited the Islands. He did not establish a new colony, but warned the foreign sealers that Argentina now reserved all rights to hunting and fishing.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn37">[37]</a> In the wake of this announcement, Buenos Aires granted those rights to a Frenchman named Louis Vernet. This is where British and Argentinian accounts diverge. Louis Vernet may have served as the official Governor of the Islands, or he may have been an entrepreneur.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn38">[38]</a> In either case, he reinforced his commercial rights on August 30, 1829, but American and British sealers ignored Vernet’s protestations.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn39">[39]</a> Forced to take action, Vernet provoked an attack from Captain Silas Duncan of the USS Lexington, who destroyed Vernet’s operation. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn40">[40]</a> Afterwards, Duncan claimed that Vernet had been nothing more than a pirate and declared the Falkland Islands res nullius.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn41">[41]</a> The persistence by both the British and Americans in continuing whaling and sealing operations on the Falkland Islands resembles the manner by which Britain established the Opium trade in China. Both endeavors were accomplished by blatantly ignoring the authority of another nation to control economic activities within its borders. Argentina another attempt to establish a penal colony on Islands, but this venture also proved a failure as the prisoners murdered the only governor sent to them.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn42">[42]</a> Argentina could not successfully colonize the Falkland Islands, but it was heavy-handed action by the United States which created a vacuum of power on the Falkland Islands.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">While Argentina struggled to found a viable colony, Britain maintained her claim to sovereignty by formally protesting Louis Vernet’s endeavors. As soon as he began his venture, The British Consul General, Woodbine Parrish, argued vehemently that Argentina violated British sovereignty by authorizing Vernet’s actions on the Falkland Islands. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn43">[43]</a> Parrish maintained his protests even though Argentina offered no response. He justified British possession of the islands by right of discovery and sovereignty established, but not withdrawn, in 1765.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn44">[44]</a>Renewed British colonization became inevitable as “the Admiralty held the position that effective occupation of the Falklands constituted the only means of securing their claims to sovereignty.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn45">[45]</a> On July 21, 1833, Captain Onslow and the HMS Clio raised the British flag over the Islands and notified any remaining Argentinian forces that they should depart at once.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn46">[46]</a> One possible account suggests that British residents of the islands requested that Great Britain found a colony there after the American attack.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn47">[47]</a> However, it is more likely that the British felt the approaching urgency called for by the New Imperialism, characterized by growing competition for unclaimed regions of the world. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn48">[48]</a> “The high tide of late-Victorian imperialism had already begun to rise a half century or more before.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn49">[49]</a> It took some years to grow a viable colony as the islands did not present the most attractive opportunity in the Empire. Almost all goods and some raw materials, especially timber, had to be imported and the Falklands contained little potential for new exports.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn50">[50]</a> A safe harbor at Port Stanley created a market for resupplying and repairing ships, but Britain made little effort to develop the Islands further. Sealing and whaling continued, but these were not industries around which a colony could be built.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The introduction of sheep around 1835 created a new industry with more appeal for families.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn51">[51]</a> Most settlers came from the northern islands of Scotland, including the Shetlands and Orkneys, as the British government felt they would adjust quickly to life in the South Atlantic.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn52">[52]</a> The Islands became a crown colony in 1843, exporting wool and whale oil back to the motherland.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn53">[53]</a> The Falkland Islands Company received its charter on December 23, 1851, which granted it control over most of the Islands’ industry.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn54">[54]</a> As a crown colony economically controlled by a mercantilist company, the Falkland Islands fit right in with the nineteenth century British Empire.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However, during the twentieth century, the British Empire mostly ignored the Falkland Islands. Their strategic position led to naval victories in 1914 and 1939, but completion of the Panama Canal in 1914 greatly diminished their importance. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn55">[55]</a> For administrative purposes, Britain created the Falkland Island Dependencies in 1908 and 1917 to oversee the South Orkneys, South Sandwich Islands, South Shetland Islands, South Georgia, a large portion of Antarctica, and various other islands.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn56">[56]</a> The British Antarctic Survey on South Georgia and several other Antarctic expeditions enjoyed the proximity of the Falkland Islands as a base for resupply, repairs, and medical care.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn57">[57]</a> British visits to the islands painted a grim picture of life in the South Atlantic. In the 1920s, Clarence Jones reported that wool and whale oil continued to dominate the economy.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn58">[58]</a> The only potential area for development he saw might be found in fisheries, as the bounties of the South Atlantic remained largely untapped.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn59">[59]</a> In 1946, Miles Clifford reported that he found the Islands “in poor shape, financially, and very much of a Cinderella colony. There was no form of political representation, no social security, and no communications.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn60">[60]</a> He contributed to some minor improvements, but life on the islands continued to stagnate. British negligence seems to have been the norm as a report from 1949 surveying development and investment in the remaining colonies barely mentions the Falkland Islands. This document notes a scheme concerned with sealing, some survey work, and a proposal for a mutton freezing plant; that is the extent to which the 53-page booklet discusses the Islands. The inside back cover also offers a 10 minute supplementary film on “work being done by the British in Antarctica,” which seems to have been more important than any activity on the Islands themselves.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn61">[61]</a></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When Lord Shackleton visited the Falklands in the 1970s, he found the situation unchanged. Wool remained the major industry, mostly under control of the Falkland Islands Company. The mutton freezing plant in the 1940s had come to naught.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn62">[62]</a> Social problems pervaded the Islands as the gap widened between inhabitants of the “camp” and Port Stanley. Population dropped as both young and old fled the Falklands. Women of marriageable age were in very short supply as many had left the Islands after marrying Royal Marines. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn63">[63]</a> The Atlantic Ocean continued to contain huge resources of fish and algae, but no effort had been made to develop an industry. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn64">[64]</a></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From 1950-1974, the Falkland Islands paid taxes as a crown colony, but received no reinvestment for development. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn65">[65]</a> Indeed, during this period, Britain benefited financially from neglecting the Falkland Islands and their mercantilist company.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn66">[66]</a> “The economy of the islands is dominated by the Falkland Islands Company, a miniature replica of the East India Company and the British South Africa Company of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, with some of the characteristics of its mighty ancestors.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn67">[67]</a> In all practical ways, the Falkland Islands Company controlled the islands, the islanders, and their lives. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn68">[68]</a> The final insult came in 1981, when the British Nationality Bill deprived many Falkland Islanders of British citizenship.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn69">[69]</a> Throughout the twentieth century, Great Britain exploited and neglected the Falkland Islands, but the islanders remained firm in their commitment to the Empire.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Argentina did not remain silent when British forces occupied the Falkland Islands in 1833. The young nation spent the next seventeen years tirelessly protesting British sovereignty, but the complaints of a fledgling South American country are almost as easy to ignore as a secret promise.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn70">[70]</a> Britain considered the matter settled in her favor, therefore there was no need to negotiate questions of sovereignty. Argentina let the matter drop later in the twentieth century as British investment built its economy and infrastructure.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn71">[71]</a> With Great Britain as Argentina’s largest creditor, it would have been uncouth to challenge the matter of the Falklands/Malvinas. A small rebellion surfaced in 1884, when an atlas included the Falkland Islands within Argentina’s territory. Naturally, the British protested this affront.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn72">[72]</a> However, this incident heralded a resurgence of Argentinian claims during the twentieth century. Grade school curriculums began to specifically cover the Falkland Islands, indoctrinating children at a young age. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn73">[73]</a> By the mid-twentieth century, Argentina’s leaders had been “taught from the cradle that ‘las Malvinas son argentinas’.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn74">[74]</a> They took up the cause again in the context of post-WWII decolonization. With support from the United Nations, Argentina forced the United Kingdom to open negotiations about the decolonization of the Falkland Islands in 1965.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn75">[75]</a></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">UN Resolution 2065 mandated that the United Kingdom and Argentina work together to decide the fate of the Falkland Islands.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn76">[76]</a> Negotiations began well, as the UK had little interest in continuing the maintenance of a dwindling colony 8,000 miles away.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn77">[77]</a> In 1967, British overtures contained the very clear message that they felt prepared to cede sovereignty.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn78">[78]</a> A survey led by Lord Shackleton in the 1970s assessed the economic potential of the islands, concluding they needed much investment and development to catch up to the rest of the world. In this light, the UK and Argentina began a joint economic mission in the Falkland Islands; Argentina established a weekly air service, built a temporary airstrip, and allowed easy travel between the islands and the mainland.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn79">[79]</a> British officials hoped that this closer relationship would soften the Falkland Islanders’ attitude towards Argentinian sovereignty.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In decolonization efforts, the UN emphasized self-determination above all other factors and the Falkland Islanders were determined to remain British. Lord Shackleton observed that “the people there are entirely indistinguishable from any British person that you find walking about in England.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn80">[80]</a> However, once the Falkland Islanders came to the forefront of any agreement in 1968, negotiations were doomed.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn81">[81]</a> The Islanders would never consent to Argentinian rule, no matter how advantageous such an arrangement might be for them. Though the Islanders now had final control over any decision, even in 1979 British negotiators “recognized that for Britain the Falklands were of secondary importance whereas for Argentina they were of prime importance.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn82">[82]</a> The insistence of the Falkland Islanders on their “Britishness” prevented any negotiated result that would satisfy all parties. Thus, Great Britain gladly allowed herself to be drawn into a war 8,000 miles away by an unfeasible colony of fewer than 2,000 people. After the embarrassment of relinquishing control over colonies that struggled for independence, Great Britain was unlikely to let go of a colony which ardently desired to remain part of her Empire.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During the twentieth century, Great Britain’s prestige diminished greatly as her colonies went the way of independence. The United States and the Soviet Union filled the imperial void after World War II, dividing the world into two factions. Britain struggled with her reduced identity and increasing irrelevancy on the world stage. When negotiations with Argentina soured in the early 1980s, a Conservative government discovered an opportunity to continue their legacy of defending the Empire.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn83">[83]</a> The Argentinian invasion of the Falkland Islands in 1982 marked the beginning of Britain’s last imperial war of the twentieth century. All parties involved recognized the absurdity of the War, but careful mythologizing and propaganda transformed it into a national phenomenon.</span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Britain’s precarious position as the imperial core fighting to retain her periphery meant she had to tread lightly as no one could deny that the Falklands was a colonial war. First, after Argentinian aggression, it would be essential for Great Britain to gain support of the UN and the United States. Careful diplomacy at the UN legitimized any military action Britain took to defend against Argentinian aggression.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn84">[84]</a> Likewise, American support would prove instrumental in winning the war. Britain’s first semantic victory came when the United States failed to invoke the Monroe Doctrine in Argentina’s defense. The US had ignored the British occupation of the Islands in 1833 because British claims to the Falkland Islands predated 1823; therefore, they could not easily justify application of the Monroe Doctrine 150 years after the fact.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn85">[85]</a> This support for Great Britain struck a double blow to Argentina, whose Foreign Minister had counted on the “anticolonial ticket” winning support for his country.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn86">[86]</a>However, no one denied the colonial nature of the Falklands War. Britain even deployed Gurhkas, an essential weapon of Empire, to help retake the Islands. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn87">[87]</a> On the way to the Falklands, Lieutenant David Tinker wrote that it was “very much a 1914 affair, with the Royal Navy going off to defend her colonies.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn88">[88]</a> He lost his life in this colonial war, but he also noticed that his compatriots felt certain that they fought for a just cause.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn89">[89]</a> A war fought by sea and air justified the continuation and modernization of Britain’s Royal Navy, which faced serious budget cuts and still used outdated equipment. Just as in 1770, the prospect of naval warfare justified increased armament. “Great Britain went to war, sending a naval task force of one hundred ships eight thousand miles to the South Atlantis, to engage an enemy off the last outpost of a forgotten empire.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn90">[90]</a> This imperial war allowed Great Britain to return some dignity to her increasingly overlooked stature as a world power.</span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The key to selling the imperial war resided with Margaret Thatcher’s mythmaking rhetoric and propaganda. Most importantly, she transformed “the British troops and, more significantly, the Falkland Islands and its inhabitants into symbols of the essential England.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn91">[91]</a> Thus, she made Falklanders out of all British citizens, creating a personal connection between them and the distant conflict.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn92">[92]</a> More than that, the Falkland’s War became “a myth of national rebirth in which feats of arms would open up the way for a simultaneous retrieval of pre- Welfare State verities and radical change along monetarist economic lines.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn93">[93]</a> If she could win the war, then the Conservative plan for Britain would win as well. Victory did secure Mrs. Thatcher a second term as Prime Minister as she continued to connect herself and her party with Great Britain’s strength in ages past. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn94">[94]</a> However, as in previous conflicts over the Falkland Islands, a question of honor led to war. “Argentina’s invasion immediately transformed it into a challenge to the United Kingdom’s national credibility.”<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn95">[95]</a> National pride governed the other side in the war, too, as Argentinians associated the Islas Malvinas closely with their identity as a nation.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn96">[96]</a> President Galtieri chose the year 1983 symbolically; he promised to return the Islas Malvinas to Argentina before the 150th anniversary of their occupation by Great Britain. He staked the junta’s power on this gamble and lost. Propaganda in both nations transformed the Falklands War into a matter of national pride, which would destroy the loser’s government and restore the winner’s former glory.</span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After the expenditure required to win the Falklands War, the United Kingdom could hardly justify continued possession of the Islands without finally making some improvements. Most importantly, the Falkland Islanders regained their British citizenship in January 1983.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn97">[97]</a> Lord Shackleton’s survey became the blueprint for development, but Great Britain would bear a huge financial burden to bring the Islands into the twentieth century. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn98">[98]</a> Today, the islands are classified as a British Overseas Territory, administered by a royally appointed governor and a small elected legislative council. The population has grown significantly since the 1980s as the overall quality of life has improved. Thanks to British aid, the Falklands became self-sufficient in 1998, after the fishing industry finally developed. Other modernizations include the construction of wind turbines, a modern hospital, an airport with weekly international service, telephones, internet access, and a new constitution. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn99">[99]</a> However, education on the Islands ends at 16, forcing anyone interested in higher education to travel to the United Kingdom, as most colonials would have done in the 19th century. In addition, schools in the Falklands use methods, tests, and curriculum set by Great Britain.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn100">[100]</a> The Falkland Islands Company continues operations under its royal charter, but it no longer completely dominates the economy.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn101">[101]</a> In spite of this the Falklands’ imports and exports continue to resemble those of a nineteenth century colony. Most finished goods and many raw materials must still be imported while the Islands export raw materials such as wool and fish.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn102">[102]</a> Today, the Falkland Islands have all the modern conveniences, but their economy, education, and governance would identify them as a nineteenth century crown colony.</span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Through a remarkable series of events, Great Britain has repeatedly wagered all her power and majesty on the fate of the Falkland Islands. These islands may seem insignificant, but they have come to represent the British Empire as a whole. Today, the islands bear a closer resemblance to a nineteenth century crown colony than a member of the British Commonwealth. Britain’s continued attachment to these islands indicates that she has not completely let go of her imperial past. Max Hastings called the Falklands War a “freak of history…almost certainly the last colonial war that Britain will ever fight,” but the British hold on the islands suggests that she may wage imperial war again. <a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn103">[103]</a> Someday, Great Britain may have to attack Antarctica with sheep, but until that day, the importance of the Falkland Islands remains symbolic rather than strategic.<a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftn104">[104]</a> By relinquishing the Falkland Islands and consequently the British Empire, Great Britain would have to reevaluate her relevance in the twenty-first century.</span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref1">[1]</a> Julius Goebel Jr., The Struggle for the Falkland Islands: A Study in Legal and Diplomatic History (New York: Kennikat Press, 1927), 4-14.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref2">[2]</a>[2] Goebel, 37.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref3">[3]</a> B. M. Chambers, “Can Hawkins’s ‘Maiden Land Be Identified as the Falkland Islands?”The Geographical Journal 17, no. 4 (1901): 421.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref4">[4]</a> H. Henniker-Heaton, “Did Sir Richard Hawkins Visit the Falkland Islands?” The Geographical Journal 67, no. 1 (1926): 52-57.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref5">[5]</a> Chambers, 415.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref6">[6]</a> Max Hastings and Simon Jenkins, Battle for the Falklands (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1983),</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref7">[7]</a> Miles Clifford, “The Falkland Islands and Their Dependencies,” The Geographical Journal 121, no. 4 (1955):405.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref8">[8]</a> Hastings, 6.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref9">[9]</a> Fritz L Hoffman and Mingo Hoffman, Sovereignty in Dispute: The Falklands/Malvinas, 1493-1982 (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984), 17.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref10">[10]</a> Goebel, 226.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref11">[11]</a> William Clayton, “An Account of the Falkland Islands. By William Clayton, Esq. of His Majesty’s Navy,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London 66 (1776): 99.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref12">[12]</a> Clayton, 100.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref13">[13]</a> Clifford, 406.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref14">[14]</a> Goebel 269.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref15">[15]</a> Clifford, 406. It should also be noted that Argentina voided any claim based on the Treaty of Tordesillas when they refused to accept Pope John Paul II’s ruling on their dispute with Chile over the Beagle Channel. (Hastings, 47)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref16">[16]</a> Goebel, 63.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref17">[17]</a> Hoffman, 41.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref18">[18]</a> Goebel, 275.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref19">[19]</a> Goebel, 285.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref20">[20]</a> Goebel, 276.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref21">[21]</a> Nicholas Tracy, “The Falkland Islands Crisis of 1770: Use of Naval Force,” The English Historical Review 90, no. 354 (1975): 41.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref22">[22]</a> Hoffman, 53.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref23">[23]</a> Hastings, 4.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref24">[24]</a> David Monaghan, The Falklands War: Myth and Countermyth (Hampshire: Macmillan Press LTD., 1998), 27.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref25">[25]</a> Goebel, 338.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref26">[26]</a> Tracy, 51.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref27">[27]</a> Tracy, 45.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref28">[28]</a> Goebel, 359.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref29">[29]</a> Pascoe, 7.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref30">[30]</a> Hoffman, 55.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref31">[31]</a> Hoffman, 84.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref32">[32]</a> Hoffman, 60.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref33">[33]</a> Dillon, vii.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref34">[34]</a> Gough, 266.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref35">[35]</a> George C. Hurlburt, “The Falkland Islands,” Journal of the American Geographical Society of New York 19 (1887): 258.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref36">[36]</a> Woodbine Parish, “Account of East Falkland Island,” Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London 3 (1833), 94.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref37">[37]</a> Gough, 267.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref38">[38]</a> Pascoe, 15.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref39">[39]</a> Hoffman, 72.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref40">[40]</a> Hastings, 5.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref41">[41]</a> Hoffman, 73.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref42">[42]</a> Hoffman, 80.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref43">[43]</a> Hurlburt, 259.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref44">[44]</a> Clifford, 407.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref45">[45]</a> Gough, 270.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref46">[46]</a> Clifford, 407.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref47">[47]</a> Lord Shackleton, “The Falkland Islands and Their History,” The Geographical Journal149, no. 1 (1983): 3.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref48">[48]</a> Gough, 285</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref49">[49]</a> Gough, 287.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref50">[50]</a> Jones, 399-400.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref51">[51]</a> Clifford, 407.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref52">[52]</a> Gough, 274.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref53">[53]</a> Clarence F. Jones, “The Economic Activities of the Falkland Islands,” Geographical Review 14, no. 3 (1924): 394.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref54">[54]</a> Gough, 284.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref55">[55]</a> Patrick Vincent, “The Falkland Islanders,” The Geographical Journal 149, no. 1 (1983): 16.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref56">[56]</a> Jones, 394.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref57">[57]</a> Jones, 394.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref58">[58]</a> Jones, 397.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref59">[59]</a> Jones, 402.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref60">[60]</a> Clifford, 408.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref61">[61]</a> British Information Services, “The British Colonies in 1949” (British Government, New York, 1950), 20, 22, 43, 55.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref62">[62]</a> Lord Shackleton, R.J Storey, and R. Johnson, “Prospect of the Falkland Islands,” The Geographical Journal 143, no. 1 (1977): 4.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref63">[63]</a> Shackleton (1977), 5.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref64">[64]</a> Shackleton (1977), 10.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref65">[65]</a> Hoffman, 11.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref66">[66]</a> Shackleton (1977), 5.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref67">[67]</a> Hoffman, 11.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref68">[68]</a> The Sunday Times of London Insight Team, War in the Falklands (New York: Harper & Row, 1982), 12.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref69">[69]</a> D. George Boyce, The Falklands War (Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 10.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref70">[70]</a> Pascoe, 22.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref71">[71]</a> J. M. Taylor, “Argentina and the ‘Islas Malvinas’: Symbolism and the Threat to Nationhood,” Royal Anthropological Institute News 52 (1982): 2.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Gough, 278.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref72">[72]</a> Hurlburt, 254.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref73">[73]</a> Pascoe, 32-34.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref74">[74]</a> Hoffman, xiii.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref75">[75]</a> John Darwin, Britain and Decolonisation: The retreat from empire in the post-war world(Hampshire: Macmillan Education Ltd., 1988), 312.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref76">[76]</a> Hoffman, 103.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref77">[77]</a> Darwin, 312.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dillon, viii.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref78">[78]</a> Boyce, 12.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref79">[79]</a> Hoffman, 175.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref80">[80]</a> Shackleton (1983), 4.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref81">[81]</a> Dillon, viii.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref82">[82]</a> Hoffman, 135</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref83">[83]</a> Darwin, 326.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Monaghan, 7.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref84">[84]</a> Hastings, 99.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref85">[85]</a> E. Taylor Parks, “European Possessions in the Americas,” Journal of Inter-American Studies 4, no. 3 (1962): 398.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref86">[86]</a> The Sunday Times of London Insight Team, 199.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref87">[87]</a> Taylor, 3.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref88">[88]</a> Hastings, 84.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref89">[89]</a> Hastings, 133.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref90">[90]</a> The Sunday Times of London Insight Team, ix.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref91">[91]</a> Monaghan, 8.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref92">[92]</a> Boyce, 148.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref93">[93]</a> Monaghan, xi.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref94">[94]</a> Monaghan, 28.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref95">[95]</a> Dillon, 94.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref96">[96]</a> Taylor, 1.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dillon, 59.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref97">[97]</a> Hoffman, 175.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref98">[98]</a> Melamid, 211.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref99">[99]</a> “Country Profile: Falkland Islands (British Overseas Territory)” Foreign and Commonwealth Office, http://www.fco.gov.uk/en/travel-and-living-abroad/travel-advice-by-country/country-profile/south-america/falkland-islands</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref100">[100]</a> “Education,” The Falkland Islands Government, http://www.falklands.gov.fk//Education.html.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref101">[101]</a> “The Falkland Islands Company,” http://www.the-falkland-islands-co.com/index.php?section=0.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref102">[102]</a> “Commercial Sectors,” The Falkland Islands Government,http://www.falklands.gov.fk//Commercial_Sectors.html.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref103">[103]</a> Hastings, vii.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="file:///C:/Users/Owner/Documents/Muirhead.PAT2012.docx#_ftnref104">[104]</a> Eddie Izzard, Dress to Kill, directed by Larry Jordan (1998. Ella Communications, 2002), DVD.</span>Annie Muirheadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08466886038130755211noreply@blogger.com0